#i need to write something for these four........

[hoshifighting]

Can you pleaseeee also write staff mingyu x idol reader🥹🥹

staff!mingyu

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, jealousy, suggestive. may be triggering because of; extreme diets, blackout, getting scolded by the choreographer, fingering, a bit of possessive talk, hair pulling, cock riding, devoted mingyu too.

staff!mingyu who you're in one of those tiny-ass dressing rooms with, the ones where you can barely move without smacking into a light fixture or tripping over cables, andhe's , towering over you, big frame almost making the room look even smaller. he’s your stylist-slash-PA-slash-damage-control-for-whatever-stupid-thing-you-say-in-interviews guy, which means he’s there to check every last detail on you, no matter how close he’s gotta get.

it’s day four of this overseas tour—barely halfway in, and you’re already feeling like you’re running on fumes. you’re dodging local food left and right, not ’cause it doesn’t look good, but ‘cause it’s either not on this wild diet they’ve shoved you on or it just doesn’t sit right with your stomach. for real, you didn’t think there’d be a point in your career where you'd be skipping meals, just ‘cause the food doesn’t fit some "ideal look" they cooked up for you.

and staff!mingyu... always there, at the exact moment when your stomach’s about to start an opera of complaints, hands full of grocery bags and this half-smile on his face, like he’s in on some inside joke only the two of you share.

“alright, sit down,” he says, like you’re gonna argue, and starts unloading enough ingredients to feed a small village. he moves around the hotel kitchenette—pots, pans, seasonings, a whole rotation of stuff he’s pulled outta his endless stash. he even managed to drag around a few of those little plastic spice bottles from home, ‘cause apparently, foreign supermarkets don’t stock paprika exactly how he wants it.

“didn’t know your resume included chef duties,” you joke, propping your chin on your hand as you watch him chop veggies with the same focus you’ve seen when he’s backstage, touching up your makeup or fixing your outfits.

he laughs easy. “oh, it doesn’t,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. “but you looked like you were about to faint this morning, so i figured i’d make an exception.”

“what, you gonna make a whole buffet?” you tease, but the moment he sets that first plate down, you’re quiet. it’s nothing fancy, but it smells like heaven—garlic, spices, veggies mixed with something hearty, real food for the first time in days.

“look, you eat this, or i swear i’m shoving it down your throat myself,” he says, crossing his arms, and even though he’s joking, there’s this serious fringe in his eyes. like, he won’t let you get away with just picking at the food.

“alright, alright.” you dig in, taking that first bite, and it’s somehow exactly what you needed—warm, filling, like someone wrapped you in a blanket from the inside out. you’re not even halfway done, and he’s already cleaning up, telling you about how he once had to do this for himself, back when he was training and could barely afford takeout, let alone proper meals.

“so, yeah, i’ve been cooking for years,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. and it hits you then, this guy, who’s supposed to be here to make sure your eyeliner doesn’t smudge, is actually going out of his way to make sure you’re not just a shell of yourself on stage.

“you know, if this whole career thing falls through, you’d make a damn good chef,” you say, and he just shakes his head, laughing.

“nah,” he says, “i think i like this job better. get to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t faint halfway through a song.”

staff!mingyu who notices everything, who noticed how you walked into the practice room that day looking like... hell, honestly. there were bags under your eyes so dark they could’ve been bruises, and your skin was that shade of pale that came from days of no sleep, maybe a crazy diet, who knows what else. mingyu was hanging out with a bunch of the other staff in the corner, narrowly paying attention at first, but then he caught sight of you—really looked at you—and yeah, it wasn’t just fatigue. he knew what he was seeing; it was that same look he’d seen too many times in trainees and idols back in the day. the look that meant you’d been pushing way too far for way too long.

by the time you got through the first set of counts, your choreographer was already on your case, his tone sharp as knives. “again,” he snapped, crossing his arms, and you could practically hear his frustration from across the room. “you’re not even hitting the moves properly. what is this?” he scoffed, giving you that disappointed stare that always made you feel about two inches tall. “do you even want to be here right now?”

mingyu’s fists clenched a little. he’d seen you pull off that choreography a hundred times before, and he knew damn well it wasn’t that you didn’t care. it was that you literally didn’t have anything left in the tank, and this guy was still going in on you like you were some slacker.

but you didn’t argue back, didn’t defend yourself, nothing. just bowed your head, muttering, “i’m sorry,” in this tiny, defeated voice. mingyu could see the exhaustion written all over you, the way your shoulders slumped, how you couldn’t even lift your head all the way back up after bowing. you just stayed there, bent over in that apologetic pose, like maybe that was the last bit of strength you could pull together.

but then, as he watched, you didn’t straighten up at all. in fact, you didn’t move for a solid couple of seconds. and then, like you were a puppet whose strings had just been cut, you dropped. one second, you were still standing, and the next, your knees buckled, and you collapsed right there on the damn floor.

for a split second, no one reacted; it was like the room had frozen.

but then mingyu snapped out of it, his heart racing as he lunged forward. the rest of the staff started moving too, voices rising in panic, but mingyu was already at your side, leaning down and calling your name, voice barely hiding the worry.

“hey! hey, can you hear me?” he said, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder. you were breathing, but it was shallow, and your face had gone even paler than before, if that was possible. mingyu felt this pang in his chest seeing you like that. you’d been pushing so hard that your own body just gave up on you.

someone behind him was calling for water, another person was getting the choreographer to back the hell off.

jobs in general weren’t easy, he knew that. but for mingyu, there was nothing worse than watching idols, the people he was supposed to support and protect, get wrecked like this—shoving themselves into diets, swallowing the criticism like it was part of the gig, sacrificing sleep and health just to fit into a pair of jeans or to mold into some industry standard that kept shifting.

he’d been in this job for years, and he’d seen it all before. too many nights spent watching trainees lose more weight than was healthy, idols pushing themselves until they’d practically faded away. sometimes, in the back of his mind, he wondered if it’d be worth leaving, finding a path where he didn’t have to witness it all so up close. he’d think about it on those long nights when he was running on four hours of sleep and too much coffee, wondering what the hell he was doing here when he could be somewhere else, not dealing with the cycle of pushing and breaking and then pushing even harder.

but then there was you. you, with your stubborn smile and that relentless drive he couldn’t help but admire. maybe it was that same drive that had you here, running yourself down like you’d forgotten how to stop. but mingyu had felt that pang deep in his chest at the thought of not being around you—of not being there to see you through the highs and lows, to make sure you had someone who cared about more than just your stage presence.

it was that thought, that tiny, persistent ache, that kept him rooted here every damn day. even if he had to watch you crash sometimes, even if it drained him dry just trying to keep up, he’d stay. he’d be right there, whether you knew it or not, making sure that someone in your corner would be looking out for you, whether you wanted it or needed it, or not.

staff!mingyu who’d quietly made it his side mission to keep you fed, like he’d added it to his job description without anyone even asking. it started small, maybe just a little sandwich he’d stash in his bag for you after seeing you collapse that one time. but then it became routine, almost sacred, the way he’d show up like clockwork with that lunch pack in hand, looking half like your bodyguard in his all-black staff gear, half like your own personal chef with a menu that he swore changed every time he showed up.

“mingyu, what’d you make me today?” you’d ask, bouncing into the dressing room after each performance, all amped up and practically beaming because, let’s face it, you’d come to love his little surprise meals more than you’d admit.

and mingyu, with that smug but bashful little smile, would act all nonchalant. “oh, nothing much… just a little chicken and veggie stir-fry,” he’d say, but it was always something next level—some five-star recipe he’d learned just for you. and the best part? he’d make it seem like it was nothing, just a side gig he’d taken up on the fly, when really he’d been researching recipes, planning, and even practicing to make sure it came out perfect.

he’d hand you the lunch pack like he was passing off something top secret, keeping a close eye as you took that first bite, watching for any sign you didn’t like it. but, of course, you always loved it. because mingyu wasn’t just making food—he was making damn art. you’d take a bite, eyes lighting up as you hummed in appreciation, and he’d try to hold back that grin but always failed, shoulders relaxing like he’d just won something.

“you don’t get it, mingyu,” you’d say, mouth full but smiling like a kid on christmas. “i think you’re the reason my performance’s getting better. you’re, like, my actual secret weapon.”

and he’d laugh, pretending to brush it off, but inside? he was proud. because knowing you were hitting the stage with a full belly, with energy to burn and that spark back in your eyes—that meant everything. it was his way of giving back to you, even if you never asked for it, even if you didn’t realize how much he cared.

staff!mingyu who somehow became the world’s best photographer without ever meaning to, taking these casual, almost-too-good photos of you that drove your fans insane. you’d be walking through some cobblestone street in italy or leaning out of a coffee shop in tokyo, and he’d be there, catching that perfect shot with his phone. no fancy equipment, no staged poses—just mingyu, with his natural eye for what made you shine, snapping photos that were somehow intimate and made you look like everyone’s dream. fans called them “girlfriend pics,” and if only they knew the man behind the lens.

you had to admit it—he was stealing your heart a little more with every click. at first, you brushed it off as some harmless crush, a side effect of him being so damn good at his job. but then he’d do something small, like bring you soup when you were sick, or drape his coat over your shoulders when you got cold during a late-night rehearsal, and it’d hit you all over again. mingyu, with that goofy smile, the biggest heart, and hands that somehow felt gentle and grounding as he adjusted your hair or let you lean on him during those endless backstage waiting times.

it was easy to fall for him. too easy, really. and the way he cared? the way he was there for you, always? how could you not? he had this way of making you feel seen, like no matter how chaotic things got, he was your solid ground, always steady, always there to keep you safe and keep you going.

but, of course, staff!mingyu was a catch to more than just you. you’d see the way the other staff members watched him, the way some of them giggled and whispered, eyes lingering a little too long. and mingyu, ever the nice guy, didn’t even seem to notice—or maybe he did, but he didn’t really care. he’d give his number when they asked, smile back when they flirted, just being his usual, friendly self. you’d tell yourself it didn’t bother you, but the truth was, it was like a little ache in your chest every time.

after a show one night, you and the whole team went out to celebrate, and mingyu was right there, laughing, clinking glasses with everyone, in his element. when it got late, exhaustion finally started to settle in, and you decided to call it a night. you told everyone you were heading back to the hotel, hoping he’d maybe do the same.

but mingyu didn’t. he stayed behind, still chatting and laughing with a few of the girls from the staff, and you could feel it—that twinge of jealousy, the frustration, knowing they’d probably spend the rest of the night with him, hanging on his every word, maybe more.

as you looked back one last time, watching him, it hit you like a punch in the gut. maybe to him, all this was just work—a job. you were part of that, someone he cared about, but just someone in his care. and the pang of that realization stung. maybe you weren’t so special after all.

what you were about to do wasn’t right. hell, it felt downright selfish. you sat in the bathtub, hot water swirling around you, trying to drown out the nagging voice in your head that told you to just let it go, that this was a bad idea. but you couldn’t shake it off—every thought twisted into a knot in your stomach. you felt almost sick, like you had this strange, heavy weight pressing down on your chest, something that felt more like heartbreak than anything else.

“god, what am i doing?” you muttered to yourself, scrubbing at your skin like it might wash away the confusion. you knew mingyu was just doing his job, that he was sweet and caring and everything you admired. but watching him flirt with those girls, knowing they’d likely take him away for the night, made you feel like you were going to hurl.

“ugh, this is so dumb,” you groaned, splashing water around, the sound echoing off the bathroom tiles. “why can’t i just be normal about this? it’s not like i’m his girlfriend or anything.”

but then the truth hit you again, a sharp stab of clarity amidst the chaos. you wanted to be.

after a few more minutes of spiraling, you said “fuck it,” feeling a rush of determination surge through you. you fished your phone out of your towel, thumb hovering over his name. your heart raced as you typed out the message.

“hey, mingyu. i know you’re probably busy, but i just wanted to say... i’m not feeling great. kind of sick, actually. do you think you could come by?”

you hit send, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter as you leaned back against the tub. was this too much? but then again, maybe it was time to stop hiding how you felt, to admit you needed him without a million excuses holding you back. it was either that or let him slip away for good, and you weren’t ready for that.

mingyu came in a rush, as if he’d been waiting for your text the entire time. you barely had time to wrap yourself in a towel before he was at your door, knocking frantically. “y/n! are you okay? open up!”

you opened the door, and the sight of him—hair a little messy, eyes wide with worry—made your heart race. “yeah, um, just feeling a bit under the weather,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, but it wavered slightly. you didn’t want to come off as dramatic or needy.

he touched your forehead and you leaned into his touch without even realizing it, closing your eyes for a brief second “you don’t have a fever at all,” he said, confsed.

you pulled back abruptly, the warmth fading as reality crashed back in. clutching your towel tight around your body, you walked over to the window, pretending to be fascinated by the view outside. the city lights twinkled in the distance.

“y/n?” mingyu called, confusion clear in his voice. “what’s going on?”

you couldn’t believe you took one of his rare moments of lounge because of being selfish. mingyu leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in confusion. “y/n, you were perfectly fine just a few hours ago. what’s really going on?” he asked, the suspicion creeping into his voice.

“i told you, it’s just a little... off,” you replied, avoiding his gaze. the guilt gnawed at your insides, knowing you were lying, but the way he was looking at you made it hard to come clean.

“off?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “that’s the best you can come up with? you don’t just go from fine to ‘i need my staff member to check on me’ for no reason.” he took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “you’re not actually sick, are you? what’s up?”

you shifted uncomfortably, the towel clinging to you. “seriously, mingyu, it’s nothing. maybe just a little headache or something,” you said, hoping the casual tone would brush off his concern.

he let out a huff of disbelief. “a headache? so bad that you needed me to rush in here? that doesn’t add up.” he studied you, like he was piecing together a puzzle. “just tell me the truth. are you really feeling sick, or is there something else bothering you?”

“i just thought maybe you could... keep me um... company, you know? just for a bit.”

“keep you company?” he repeated, tone incredulous. “so you fake being sick just to get me in here? you could’ve just asked! you know i’m always down to hang out.”

“mingyu—” you started.

but he cut you off, his voice firm, the playful light fading from his eyes.

“why would you do that? this isn’t some joke, y/n. my job isn’t a game. it’s serious.”

you pressed your lips together at his louder tone, the shock of it stinging more than you expected. you hadn’t meant for things to escalate this badly, and as you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, it hit you like a ton of bricks: you never thought mingyu would raise his voice at you. it felt so out of place, so foreign, and your heart sank.

“hey, hey, i’m sorry,” he said, the anger melting away as he noticed your expression. he stepped closer, the care flooding back into his eyes.

you quickly wiped your eyes before the tears could fall, you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “you know what? i hate it,! you blurted out, unable to hold back any longer. “i hate when they’re all over you, mingyu! it makes me sick to my stomach!”

his brows furrowed, clearly caught off guard. “wait, what? you hate it when who’s all over me?”

“those girls! the staff!” you said, your voice rising with every word. “the way they throw themselves at you like you’re some kind of trophy. and you smile back at them, like it’s all just a joke or something. it drives me insane!”

mingyu looked stunned, blinking at you as if he were trying to process what you were saying. “y/n, are you—are you... jealous?”

“i — well— hell yeah, i’m jealous!” you shot back, frustration spilling over. “you’re so kind and caring, and they see that. they want you, and it feels like they think they can just waltz in and take you away from me. it’s infuriating!”

“but it’s just… it’s just me being friendly,” he stammered, “i’m not trying to lead anyone on. you know that, right?”

“i know, but it doesn’t change how it makes me feel,” you replied. “it’s like you’re this perfect guy, and they all want a piece of you. and here i am, just trying to keep my head above water, feeling like i have to compete for your attention.”

mingyu shook his head, a soft smile creeping onto his face despite the tension. “you don’t have to compete for anything. you’re… you’re the one who has my heart. all those girls? they’re just… coworkers.”

you pause, processing his words, and mingyu scoffs lightly, a teasing grin on his face.

“oh please, it’s true. you think i’m not bothered when i see those idols shoving their numbers on your sandwiches?”

you blink at him, completely taken aback. “wait, sandwiches? what are you talking about? i only eat the ones that you make for me.”

he interrupts you with that signature smile of his, one that always makes your heart race a little faster. “yeah, exactly. that’s ‘cause i always give those sandwiches to someone else.”

“mingyu, what the hell?”

“y/n, what the hell?” mingyu mocks, raising an eyebrow at you, a playful smirk creeping onto his face. “you seriously thought you could pull this off? lying about being sick? that’s low, even for you.”

you roll your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of defiance. “i wasn’t lying, i just—”

“sure, sure,” he cuts you off. “and is wearing just a towel part of your grand scheme too? because if it is, you’re gonna need to step it up a bit.”

“and what if i just want you to come over… in a towel?”

“then i’ll take that as a personal invite,” he grins, his gaze flickering to your towel before meeting your eyes again. “just know, if you’re gonna pull this kind of stunt, you better be prepared for me to take advantage of the situation.”

staff!mingyu who wastes no time, pressing forward until you’re caught between his solid frame and the cold glass, as his body pins you in place.

“you really went all out for this hm?” his fingers trailing down to the knot of your towel.

staff!mingyu who tugs the fabric free, letting it drop to the floor, leaving you fully naked. his hands spreading wide over your back, fingers firm as he turns you around to face the glass. your chest presses against the cool surface making you gasp as mingyu’s hand trails up your spine, steadying you.

staff!mingyu who grips your hips, pressing you forward, and then trails his hands up over your sides, his fingers brushing along your curves until he reaches your shoulders, leaving no part of you untouched, as though he’s marking every inch of your skin as his.

staff!mingyu who leans down, one hand sneaking around to splay across your stomach, pulling you closer to him, making you feel his hard erection on you.

staff!mingyu who lets his hand slip lower, teasing over the sensitive skin of your thigh before slipping higher, his fingers skillfully finding your pussy as he watches you through the reflection, face contorting in pleasure, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“don’t look away.” he instructs, his tone a command softened by that grin of his.

staff!mingyu who keeps one hand firm on your hip, controlling your every move as he slips his fingers inside you, “all this just because you couldn’t stand seeing me with someone else, huh?” he curls the fingers, trying to pull a response form you. “admit it,” he coaxes as he presses you harder against the glass, his fingers never relenting. “tell me you wanted this—wanted me.”

staff!mingyu who doesn’t stop until he feels you melt against him, a soft, teasing chuckle escaping as he takes in your breathless state. “next time,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, “just say the word. i’ll come running.”

staff!mingyu who yanks your hair, tipping your head back to meet his lips as you twist in his grip. it’s a little clumsy, the angle throwing you off, but he holds you steady, his mouth hot and insistent on yours. you’re all melting into him, trusting the way his hands keep you secure, letting him take control as his grip on you tightens.

staff!mingyu who, somehow, maneuvers you both towards the bedd, he scoops you up with ease, laying you back as he hovers over you, he presses his hands into the mattress on either side of your head, caging you in as he dips down, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone, down to your shoulder, and back up to your jaw.

staff!mingyu who takes his time, exploring every part of you with slow touches, like he’s determined to map out every reaction, to memorize every place that makes you moan.

staff!mingyu who, even in bed, is all about making sure you’re comfortable, arranging the pillows just so, adjusting the blankets if they’re too rough, whispering “is this okay?” and “tell me what you need” like he’s got all the time in the world. his hands are warm, grounding you, and he never rushes, taking the time to check in, to make sure you’re exactly where you want to be, that he’s giving you what you want, down to the smallest detail.

staff!mingyu who lets you wrap yourself around him however you want, all limbs and tangled sheets, whispering soft reassurances in your ear as his hands trace your back, making sure you feel safe. he’s patient, careful, coaxing you with soft, murmured words, taking his time until you’re both lost in it, every sensation heightened.

staff!mingyu who surprises you by pulling back, catching his breath, and suddenly flipping the roles—guiding your hands to explore him, encouraging you to take control. “i’m yours too, you know,” he murmurs, watching you with that familiar smile, the one that’s equal parts playful and sincere, as he lets you explore, giving you the chance to take the lead.

staff!mingyu who’s all breathless and desperate under you from the moment you take the lead FORREAL and ride him, his hands gripping your hips, trying to guide you even when he’s struggling to keep up. soft, wet sounds filling the room as you roll your hips in slow circles, making him whine. his head tips back, eyes fluttering shut, but you bring a hand to his cheek, making him look up at you.

“tell me,” you murmur, lips brushing just against his ear, “tell me you’re mine, mingyu. that none of these hoes matter.” he looks up, his eyes hazy but still so focused on you, like he’s trying to pour everything into that gaze.

“i’m yours—yours, only yours,” he chokes out, his voice rough and pleading, like he needs you to believe it. he’s babbling now, his grip tightening on you, thumbs pressing into your skin, anchoring himself as you move, each drag pulling another whimper from his lips. “none of them—none of them mean anything,” he gasps, desperate, brows knitted together. “just you. only want you.”

staff!mingyu who’s practically begging at this point, his hands sliding up to your waist, trying to pull you down, closer, as if he could somehow get more of you. “please.” he whispers, his eyes filled with so much want it makes your heart pound.

“you’re mine, mingyu. no one else. got it?” and the way he shudders, that choked, relieved sound he lets out, is everything. he nods frantically, hands gripping you tighter as he starts to lose control, bucking up into you.

staff!mingyu who’s wholly ruined beneath you, lost in every kiss, every whispered word, clutching onto you as if he’s scared you might sneak off, even when you’re right there, telling him over and over again—“all mine.”

[drunkinyourbenz]

IF YOU'RE GONNA LIE, DO IT IN MY BED

☆ SYNOPSIS: billie kept lying to your face, but when she looked at you like that, you didn't really have it in you to care. you did, however, have it in you to push her further by being a brat. ☆ RELATIONSHIP: dom!billie eilish x fem!bratty!reader ☆ WARNINGS: SMUT, mean billie (oops), reader is a tiny bit pathetic, bratty reader, situationship/fwb, angry sex (kind of?), crying, established safe word (not used), strap-on, oral on a strap-on, deepthroating, gagging, oral, overstimulation, squirting, degradation, praise, petnames (pretty girl, baby, ma, etc.) name calling (slut, whore, brat, etc.), choking, hair pulling, humiliation, dumbification, billie is so condescending in this, toxic dynamic. ☆ NOTE: sorry babes i've been totally off the grid, writing this when i should be studying calculus lmao!! this is long as hell i'm so sorry i got carried away 😭 title from the song ‘guess we lied…’ by fletcher. this is oxytocin billie at her finest btw!! also situationship/fwb billie has me in a chokehold !! also i'm on my period rn lmaooo ☆ WORD COUNT: 4.8k words

you’d been in a friends with benefits situation with billie for roughly the past four months, but you’d known each other for far longer. billie was too busy for a proper relationship, so the past four months had been all hotel rendezvous and stolen kisses, but no real commitment.

billie would always fuck you better than anyone else could, and you'd be left alone in a cold and empty bed the next morning. she knew how to treat a girl, that was for sure, she was just emotionally unavailable. she needed someone who didn’t need her to actually be present in their life, just there for a good time when she felt like it. 

of course, that was where you came in—you and the countless other girls she had wrapped around her finger. there had been many girls throughout the years, but rumour had it, most of them were gone after less than a month. that knowledge gave you an addictive feeling of importance, something that kept you coming back for more. you might mean nothing to her, but you meant more than the others did. 

you’d planned to meet up today, but billie was late—of course she was. 

she’d been at a party—of course she had. 

chances were, she’d been out fucking one of the many other girls she had totally entrapped in her siren-like charm—she told you that you were her favourite, but you weren’t sure you believed her. she probably told every single girl she fucked that, she just happened to keep you around for longer than most. 

so she stumbled into the hotel room she’d told you to meet her in, forty five minutes late, a resting frown on her face as she kicked off her shoes upon entering the room. you look up from where you sat on the bed scrolling your phone, raising an eyebrow. 

“late again, where were you?” your voice didn’t sound accusatory, simply curious, but you were accusing her of something, and she knew it. 

she shrugged casually, her face still set in that slight scowl. “a party, it’s not important.” 

she was clearly in a bad mood, but you didn’t really have it in you to care. her bad mood was no excuse to leave you hanging for almost an hour. you laughed dryly. “next time, just cancel. i don’t care if you don’t want to see me, that’s fine. just don’t leave me waiting here for you to show up.” 

billie rolls her eyes slightly, through her eyes, it genuinely didn’t matter, and it was irrational for you to be this annoyed. the two of you weren’t dating, she did this with so many other girls, you weren’t special. “god, you’re so dramatic. it was just a party, it’s not a big deal.”

you let out a soft scoff, “i don’t care that it was a party. just let me know next time so that i don’t sit alone in an empty hotel room for almost an hour looking like an absolute loser.” 

“i meant to get here on time.” 

“don’t lie to me, i know that if you mean to do something, you do it.” which was true. if billie actually wanted to do something, she found a way to do it. 

billie raises an eyebrow, “you’re being a brat.”

you bite back another scoff, but can’t stop yourself from snapping back at her. “and you’re being a bitch.”

something seemed to change in billie’s eyes then, one of her eyebrows raising as she took a few steps towards you. you almost instinctively took a step back, a reminder of the control she had over you even when you were trying to be mad at her.

her eyes were a fraction darker than they had been before, her sharp blue eyes fixated on you as she kept waking forward, backing you towards the hotel bed without even touching you—that was the power she held over you. 

“i’m being a bitch? hm, interesting. you don’t look like you think i’m a bitch, you look like you want me to fuck you.” her voice was smooth and level, but there was a sort of harsh bite to it, a warning, foreshadowing for what was to come.

you couldn’t even deny it, not really. you wanted to deny it, but she was right. you did want her to fuck you, despite how little she clearly cared about your feelings right now. 

she took a step closer again, and you felt the back of your knees hit the mattress—you hadn’t even been aware of stepping that far back. she watched you closely, a calculating look in her eyes.

“so? you gonna say it, or what? i know you waited around for a reason.”

again, she was right. why else you have waited around for almost forty five minutes? no one fucked you like she did, and you could tell she knew it, from the smug smirk that always painted her lips when she was fucking into you with her strap. god, she could be so cocky sometimes, the knowledge that she was so incredibly hot was a little too powerful for her. 

when you thought about it, it was kind of pathetic that you’d actually waited around for forty five minutes. like, who does that? why had you sat alone in the hotel room, waiting for her in the silence? why hadn’t you walked out after twenty minutes and gone to the party where your friends were probably drunk off their faces—the party that you had skipped because you already had plans. plans with billie. 

you’d waited around for forty five minutes, and you knew full well that you weren’t going to get her to have a mature conversation. so, you concluded, you might as well make the wait worth it, and let her fuck you. and if you were going to get fucked, it might as well be good. 

so, when you spoke, you kept the slightly snarky tone. “obviously, why else would i have waited around for so long?”

she saw the bratty look in your eyes, and her eyes darkened further. she clearly wasn’t in a great mood, and needed a way to blow off steam—your brattiness was giving her exactly that, an outlet. she huffed, grabbing your jaw tighter as she stared at you. she pushed you so you fell onto your back on the bed, landing with a slight impact on the soft mattress. she crawled on top of you so she was straddling your hips, one of her hands coming to wrap around your neck, pressing down to give you just the right amount of pressure. it was a warning, but you weren’t at all worried. 

“watch your fuckin’ tone, ma. and don’t look at me like that. you’re a brat today, aren’t you?” 

you caught the slight sparkle in her eye in reaction to your attitude, which just pushed you further. she was enjoying this, seeing you act up. you kept the same tone to your voice, looking up into her eyes as her ring-clad hand pressed down on your neck.

“well, i think i deserve to be a brat, after being left hanging for almost an hour.”

she pressed down slightly harder on your neck, her nails digging into your skin slightly and her eyes narrowing as she held your eye contact. 

“is that really how you want to play this? don’t act like you didn’t wait around here like an obedient little slut for that whole hour.” 

you could’ve sworn you felt your brain falter as her words went straight to your core, because when she talked like that, you always melted a little bit inside. you couldn’t find any quick smartass comeback this time, but you didn’t want to look even more pathetic by fumbling for a response you weren’t going to find, so you simply rolled your eyes.

at your eye roll, she pressed her lips together slightly, “where’s the good girl i normally get to fuck? hmm?” she said those words as if your bratty attitude is somehow displeasing to her, but you knew for a fact that it was the opposite. she loved when you were like this, it gave her an excuse to be rougher, meaner. 

“guess i’ll just have to remind you how to behave, won’t i?” 

the hand on your neck snaked around to the back of your head, where she took a fistful of your hair in her hand and tugged roughly at it, sending a stinging sensation to your scalp. she used the hand she was pulling your hair with to angle your face upwards, so you were looking right up into her eyes. you held the eye contact, an almost challenging look in your eyes as you spoke again.

“maybe you should. might wanna hurry up with it, though. getting bored here.” that was a blatant lie, you were not bored, and you could listen to her degrade you like you were her slut for hours, but you wanted to push her. you wanted her to be unable to resist fucking you hard. no matter how good the other girls she’d fucked at the party were, you would be better, and you were sure of it. you had to stand out somehow.

your words did indeed have the intended effect on billie, and she let out a scoff, giving your hair another harsh tug as a reminder that she was in charge. 

“watch that fuckin’ mouth, sweetheart. it looks better when it’s being put to use.”

that, of course, was the perfect opening for another bratty remark, and you were too deep in to resist winding her up now. “well, i don’t see you putting it to use, do i?” 

and… that was it. you could practically see something in the wiring of her brain change as she snapped. “that’s it,” she breathed out, her grip on your hair tightening as she climbed off you, pulling you off the bed and pushing you to your knees on the floor in front of her in an instant. 

“you really can’t learn to shut your pretty little mouth, can you? you know, you’re a lot prettier when you shut up.”

she was unbuttoning her pants as she spoke, and you could see the bulge of her strap-on underneath the clothes. within moments, her pants were discarded on the floor, revealing her signature long red strap. for how long she’d spent on the back and forth teasing, she sure seemed to be in a rush now. her hand returned to your hair, gathering it in a makeshift ponytail, harshly tugging your head back to an angle that worked for her. 

“you’re also a lot prettier on your knees, so gorgeous f’me.”

those words were misleading, almost soft. when she spoke again, her voice was raspy as she looked down at you with that harsh look in her eyes. “my fuckin’ slut. gonna take what i give you, and you’re not gonna complain.” 

that you weren’t, even in your bratty state, you knew you weren’t in a place to complain, on your knees in front of her. plus, you were pretty sure that you wouldn’t need to complain, not for this. you were right, when she pushed the strap-on into your mouth. you hollowed out your cheeks to make it easier to take—not that billie was at all concerned with whether this was easy for you. she wanted to make you cry, she wanted you to be an absolute mess, right there in front of her and on your knees.

your tongue swirled along the sides of the strap, putting on a show for her. she smirked, loving that she had finally shut you up. the satisfaction of seeing you no longer talking back didn’t last for long, however, and soon she had tightened her grip on your hair, holding your head firmly in place. then, she started thrusting the strap as deep as she possibly could inside your mouth.

you faltered at first, your gag reflex acting up, as always. you’d always had a bad gag reflex, but billie didn’t seem to care. after a moment, you managed to sort out the gagging reflex, but it wasn’t long before it was acting up again. you could feel the tears prickling at your eyes, as you always did when billie did this. you were convinced the only reason billie ever got you to suck off the strap was so she could see you cry when you gagged. 

after a while, you felt the tears rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the spit that had gathered around your mouth from the sheer pace at which billie was thrusting the strap into you. you let out a muffled whimper around the faux dick, and if you could look up and move your head from the tight grasp billie had on your hair, you’d see the cocky smirk painted on her face. she loved shutting you up like this, and she loved seeing the tears rolling down your cheeks. it was a reminder that she could make you into a mess like no one else ever could. 

“god, look at you. so pathetic f’me.” 

eventually, once billie was satisfied with how much of a mess you were, she pulled the strap out of your mouth, using the still-harsh grip on your hair to pull you up off your knees. she manhandled you to your feet in front of her, looking you up and down for a moment with a smirk. she took a moment to just take the sight in, your hair messy from how she’d held it, your cheeks tear-stained, and a slightly dumb, empty look in your eyes—oh, how she just adored how much of a mess she could make you. 

it wasn’t long that she spent admiring you—she was still in a bad mood, and she desperately needed to blow off some steam. pretty soon, she had crossed her arms while she looked at you closely, “strip.”

you didn’t hesitate—she was unbelievably good at stripping you of your brattiness, as well as your clothes. you could feel any stubbornness you’d had leaving your body at an alarming speed. once you were stood there in front of her in just your bra and panties, billie’s lips twitched up into a small, satisfied smirk. she placed a hand on your shoulder, pushing you backwards to the bed with ease, and you fell backwards onto the sheets and pillows that had been perfectly smoothed out by the hotel staff earlier that day—they wouldn’t be looking that flawless for much longer. 

she took a few more moments just admiring you, in front of her on the bed, almost bare. her index finger slipped under your panties before letting them snap back onto your skin with a teasing grin. her other hand moved to your bra, where she tweaked at one of your nipples through the lace, the sharp pain rushing straight to your core.

it wasn’t long before she’d manhandled you into the position she wanted—from behind, it seemed to be a favourite of hers—and rid you of your bra and panties. she lined the strap up with your entrance, and within moments, she’d thrusted the strap fully into you, not giving you any time to adjust. one of her hands circled your clit teasingly, dipping inside your pussy briefly and gathering your wetness on her finger with a smug smirk.

“so wet…that all from me throwing you around? treating you like some dumb toy? fuckin’ whore.” 

you let out an utterly pathetic whimper, and she chuckled darkly as she thrusted into you roughly from behind, your pussy swallowing her so perfectly, so willingly—a huge contrast from the bratty display you’d been putting on earlier. her hand squeezed at your ass as she gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail again, harshly forcing your head back. 

“mm, look at you taking me so well, so much prettier when you just shut up. moments like this remind me why you’re my favourite.” you were sure you weren’t her favourite, you were sure she said that to all her girls, but you didn’t care. you let out a moan at her words, and she gave your hair another tug in response. “so fuckin’ pretty when you let me do the thinking, baby.” 

she gave your hair another harsh pull to emphasise her next words, “dumb brats don’t need to think, yeah?”

you whined again, and she laughed, the hand that was grasping your hair moved to circle around your neck, squeezing slightly. it wasn’t enough to really hurt you, just a display of dominance—as if the way she was thrusting into you wasn’t enough to tell who was in charge. 

the metal of her rings dug into the skin of your neck as she squeezed, and another moan spilled from your lips at the feeling combined with the pace at which she was fucking you from behind. 

keeping her pace the same and her hand around your neck, she asked, “colour?” she always checked in, no matter how caught up in fucking you she might seem, she was always attentive to your signals. 

“green,” you muttered, surprised you even managed to get a word out with the amount of pleasure you were feeling.

she grinned, although you couldn’t see it, and kept pounding into you at the same harsh speed, the hand that wasn’t around your neck squeezing your ass again. then, she leaned over to speak in your ear, her body pressed against your back. her lips brushed against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. god, she knew what she was doing. 

“still think i’m a bitch, hm?” 

you debated just not replying, but you knew that being bratty again was just what she wanted you to do—and who were you to deny her? “a bitch who’s fucking me good, yeah.” 

if you could see her, you would’ve seen her smirk widen as her warm breath fanned over your neck near your ear, and she gave your ear a teasing nip, “still a brat, i see. guess i’ll just have to fuck it out of you.”

she moved away from your ear, the hand around your neck moving back to its previous position in your hair, tugging your head back with her harsh grip. her other hand moved to your hip, holding you in place as she thrusted into you. another trail of moans fell from your lips, your hands moving to dig into the sheets of the bed. “i’m- fuck, billie—” 

she laughed condescendingly, giving your thigh a slap, and you whimpered as the pain sunk in. “mm, a bitch who’s fucking you so good you can’t even form a whole sentence, right?” 

you just cried out at her words, your hands gripping the sheets as your walls clenched around her strap, your head going fuzzy from the pleasure she was bringing you. you didn’t care how many other girls she had fucked right before she got here, not when she was fucking you this good. you were so, so close, and she could tell.

“cum on my cock, baby. wanna see you fall apart,” she gave your hip a squeeze and tugged your hair, and that was enough to push you over the edge. you came with a moan, clinging onto the sheets like your life depended on it, pleasure washing over you in the most intense waves. your eyes squeezed shut as you mumbled incoherent nonsense, “bils, fuck—oh my god…”

she grinned again, keeping up the bruising pace, which you assumed was just her helping you ride through your orgasm. but even once you’d come down from the intense pleasure, she was still thrusting deeply inside you, causing whimpers to fall from your lips. 

“bils, too much–fuck, it hurts—”

giving your hair another pull, she spoke with that same raspy voice, “i don’t care if it hurts, you’re gonna take what i fuckin’ give you, mamas. you know what to do if it’s really too much.” 

you let out a strangled cry as she kept pounding into you, the pleasure mixing with pain and creating an intense feeling of ecstasy—but she was right, if you needed her to stop, you knew what to say. but you didn’t, you just kept letting out those same broken moans as your hands tangled in the sheets. your release was gathering around the base of the silicone as she pounded into you. 

she let go of your hair, moving her hand so both of them were firmly holding your hips, keeping you in place as she fucked into you at that bruising pace. you were almost certain you would have bruises from how firm her grip on your hips was—not to mention how unlikely it was that you’d be able to walk the next day—but you didn’t care. it just felt too good, her fucking into you like this, the way she was manhandling you…

it wasn’t long before one of her hands snuck down to your clit, circling it torturously with her index finger and drawing even more desperate moans from your lips. you were embarrassingly close to your second orgasm, it couldn’t have been longer than five minutes since you came down from the last, but you could feel your walls clenching around her strap again. 

billie noticed this, of course, and you could visualise the smug smirk on her lips when she spoke. “gonna cum f’me again, pretty girl? god, you look so much better like this.” 

so, you came around her cock for the second time that night, moans falling from your lips like music. your arms were aching from holding yourself up, and you slumped down slightly, resting your head on the newly messed up sheets of the bed, a soft sigh escaping you. your thoughts were jumbled and you couldn’t pick out a single coherent thought amidst the mess of pleasure, your thoughts just a repeating mantra of billie’s name. 

after a moment, billie pulled the strap out of you, and you whined again at the feeling of emptiness that took over you. she laughed softly, a slight condescending undertone to it, before grabbing your shoulders to turn you over so you were laying on your back. her touch was decidedly more gentle than it had been earlier, but she clearly wasn’t finished with you yet. 

once you were on your back, she pushed your thighs apart and settled down between them, propping herself up with her elbows and looking up at you. her lips twitched upwards when she took in the expression on your face, you were completely wrecked—and she’d made you like that. she watched as you took deep, heavy breaths, your head resting back against the bed as you stared at the ceiling. 

“can you move up f’me? get your head on the pillow, ma.” 

her voice was almost soft, and you nodded quietly, using your weak arms to pull yourself up the bed slightly. once your head was resting on the pillow, you let out a soft sigh of relief—your neck was aching from how hard she’d been gripping it, so the pillow gave you some much needed extra support. 

she looked at you for a moment, before speaking again, that raspy hint to her voice still very much present. she seemed a bit more cautious than she had been, a lot of her frustration from the day clearly fading from how hard she’d fucked you. “i wanna taste you, baby. colour?” 

you nod softly, exhaling slowly. you were exhausted from how hard she’d been fucking you, but you needed her mouth on you. “mhm, green.” 

it didn’t take any more confirmation for her to lean down and bury her face in your pussy, her hands gripping your thighs and holding you firmly in place. her tongue licked a stripe up your slit, drawing a loud moan from you. your thighs instinctively closed around her head, the amount of pleasure she’d given you hard to bear. she tsked, giving your thigh a warning slap and firmly forcing them open again,

“stay still.” 

two fingers slipped inside you with ease, and she started thrusting them inside you at a torturously slow pace while her tongue circled your sensitive bud. the slow pace was a contrast from how fast she had previously been pounding into you, and you knew she was doing it on purpose to drive you insane. everything she did was always so calculated, exactly what you needed at that moment to make you fall apart, to make you an absolute mess for her. 

her free hand moved up to your tits, giving them both a soft, misleading squeeze, before harshly pinching your nipple between her index finger and thumb, laughing mockingly when you let out a soft cry of pain.

“oh, it hurts? hm, you’re fuckin’ pathetic, baby. such a mess.”

the sounds of her fingers inside you echoed around the hotel room, the only sound other than your moans. you were so impossibly wet, and you could feel another orgasm approaching rapidly as her fingers curled inside you, “mm, you’re taking me so well. such a good, dumb slut for me, hm?” 

your walls clenched around her fingers at her words, and she grinned, nipping at your inner thigh teasingly before returning her tongue to your clit. “yeah, my good little slut. like when i call you that, ma?” 

you moaned again, and you were coming on her fingers before you could stop yourself, your body going limp against the bed as you were hit by your third high of the night, moans falling weakly from your lips. 

billie didn’t stop her movements, her tongue moving from your clit to your pussy, gathering your taste on her warm tongue and moaning softly. her fingers replaced your tongue at your clit, and you flinched as they circled your sensitive bud. 

you let out a whine as her tongue kept up her movements, slurring out a soft protest through the pain of being so overstimulated, “bils, i can’t– ‘m too sensitive—”

she hummed against your pussy, the vibrations eliciting another moan from you. she pulled back ever so slightly to respond, but you could still feel her warm breaths hitting your clit in the most achingly pleasurable way.

 “fuckin’ take it like a good girl, know you can.” her fingers kept circling your clit. “you want to be a good girl for me, right? make up for being such a brat?” 

you nodded desperately, because yes, you wanted to be her good girl. you wanted to please her, “yes, fuck– wanna be your good girl, billie-” 

billie grinned, her tongue returning to where it had been, slipping inside you as her fingers teased your clit, “mhm, my good girl. my favourite girl.” 

you whined at the pleasure she brought you, trying not to close your thighs around her head again as they shook from the sheer pleasure of this moment. you didn’t even really comprehend her words, the way she kept throwing around the lie that you were her favourite.

you didn’t even care if you weren’t her favourite girl, being one of the girls was more than enough for you. you didn’t care how many other girls she’d fucked right before this, because you could feel her tongue coaxing yet another powerful orgasm out of you. a sob left your lips, the pleasure overwhelming you and taking over your body in every way possible. god, she was too good at this.

you opened your mouth to warn her, but all that came out was a moan as she flicked your clit with her finger, and the dam broke. your head fell back against the pillow as liquid gushed out of you, soaking her chin and the sheets below you. 

she eagerly lapped at it, and you let out another strangled whine, your hand reaching out to her head. your fingers tangled in her hair, trying to guide her off you. your things were shaking, your skin tingling, your body drenched in sweat, your mind foggy.

it was too much, the pleasure becoming too overwhelming. you’d have told her that if you could form words, but she took your signal and dragged her mouth away from your pussy, pressing a few soft kisses to your inner thigh. 

“mm, look how messy you are, mamas. such a messy slut, all for me?”

you whined softly as she pressed kisses to your trembling thighs, “all for you.”

she grinned up at you smugly from where she lay between your thighs, her eyes raking over your face and body. her smile widened as she took in just how wrecked she’d made you, your hair messy and your body limp and exhausted, paired with the marks that were already appearing on your hips and neck from her harsh grip. she found you unbelievably gorgeous when you were like this, and she gave one of your thighs a teasing squeeze. 

she had fucked the brattiness out of you, just like she’d said she would. 

“see, baby, what did i tell you? so much prettier when you’re not being a brat.”

[wanu-wa]

Making Music, Making Out (LJH)

Synopsis: Making music for your group is your passion. After producing, writing, singing and rapping for years, what happens if you run into a writers block? What happens if you run into a well-known producer in your time of need?

Pairing: Hybe Idol!Reader x idol!Woozi

Word count: 1.5k

Genre: smut, angst (not really sad though)

Warnings: virginity loss, clothed grinding, eating out, oral (f rec), studio sex

Your eyes have started to become weary and your limbs are slowly becoming weak. How long has it been? It’s been 4 hours. For four hours you have been stuck at your desk with a piece of paper infront of you and a pen in your clammy hands. After years of writing masterpieces of lyrics for songs, why of all of sudden youre struggling to the point there are tears threatening to fall down your face and onto the empty paper?

Maybe, and just maybe, it’s because of the instrumental. It’s very sensual and sexy, something new to you and your group. Leaning into your hands and tugging on your scalp, you let out a frustrated groan. What can you do? Maybe it’s not you who’s the problem, but it’s your stomach. Youve always made sure you ate well, however it’s been 9 hours since you last ate and you wont lie when you say your stomach kinda hurts.

With all the strength in your body you prop yourself up of your chair grabbing your phone and keys. Leaving the studio you locked the door behind you and started to head down the Hybe hallway. Stumbling towards the elevator you reach out for the elevator button, just as you pressed it, in your peripheral you see an approaching figure. Although you have no intention of starting a conversation or seeing someone you know, you glance over to them.

You’ve never been ‘close’ to Seventeen but you would say you are friends, you and a few of your members started training after Seventeen did and as they were debuting you were still training. Over the years you become friends with a few of them, you and Hoshi were a fan favourite, for having similar dancing skills and always a bubbly energetic personality, you guys were always paired for dance TikToks, challenges and much more. But almost every time you met him, he would say you reminded him of his best friend, the reason being both of you being workaholics and great producers. Lee Jihoon, or the man in front of you.

He blankly looked you in the eyes, you met eyes with him and smiled, instead of smiling back his expression softened. He watched as you turned from smiling to confused. “Whats wrong?” You hesitated to ask since you haven’t even greeted him yet, but you were eager to know.

With your head slowly tilting to the side,“Your eyes.” He said with a hint of worry behind his voice, pulling out his phone and opening the camera app, he faced it towards you. Blood shot eyes and veins through your eyelids, so as tired as you felt is as tired you look. “Oh… uhm I’ve just been working for long.” His mouth gaped slightly as he began to speak, “Oh yeah, Hoshi said you have a comeback thats coming up.” You nodded timidly, not much of a response but there nothing for you to say.

“Do you need any help?” You slightly chuckle to yourself at his query, still you think if you should let him support you or not. Scratching the back your head and looking down you can feel his eyes on you. “I… l don’t know if you can.” His eyebrow softly raises, hesitant to question further, as the curiosity always gets the best of him, “I can come with you and take a look?”

“Yeah i guess thats fine.”

-

Taking a glimpse back at him while you hold a tight smile and unlock the studio. Entering slowly.

“So, whats the problem?” He prompted as he turned and closed the door behind him.

It’s almost midnight, so you figured theres no point of shy about this.

“The songs supposed to be… well sexy, and I don’t know how to write lyrics to a sexy song.”

Woozi didnt seem uncomfortable and he was trying to nonchalant about this, but the blush spread across his face said otherwise.

“I thought your group was cutesy type��� how come you are doing a different concept?” Woozi’s words were slightly hesitant but he was acting bold.

“I know its something different but, management thought it would be better for us” as you sat down on the couch behind your desk chair, you looked up at him.

“I guess writing sensual lyrics can be hard but i don’t think it should be that hard. Whats the real problem?” He was really gone squeeze this out of you and you gonna let him.

“Well i don’t have… experience.” What an embarrassing thing to say to your superior, and kind of an idol to you.

His eyes looked up at you, you couldn’t read any emotion behind them. However, his glaze was marginally intimidating, made you feel insignificant, like prey. You felt your breath becoming heavier and your throat getting tight.

“Theres no way,” he scoffed, sitting beside you and leaning back, “I mean… you?”

You look at him in disbelief, you have just told him something so embarrassing and he’s mocking you, “Well i spend alot of time being an idol, i- I barely get any time to myself.” And you were stuttering with a pain in your chest, you felt humiliated. You knew you were quite old to be a virgin.

He starts to chuckle, interrupting your overwhelming thoughts, “No, I meant because you’re just so beautiful,” he leaned forward and put his hand on yours, “So many fans fight over you, and other male idols talk about you all the time. I just cant believe that…” he looked you in your eyes leaving his words hanging in the air. You looked so pretty to him in the dim light of the studio.

The gap between you and him closed as he leaned into your lips, the tension was finally cut. You’ve kissed before but nothing like this so without hesitation you let him lead you on his lips. Thighs pressing against each other. His head turned to the side as his hands climbed up your legs and onto your hips, pulling you closer to him. He pulled away, leaving you desperate for more.

“I just cant believe, no one has touched you like this.”

“You’re the first one” you gasped out breathlessly.

He chuckles, slowly pinning you down onto the black leather couch. His hands on both sides of you for support, finding an angle to go deeper into the kiss. You had an awkward aura coming of you as you didn’t really know what to do. He knew this, taking full control over you. Fully letting him take care of you.

He pulls away from the sloppy kiss, holding intense contact with you. Your doe eyes were doing something to him, he didn’t know if he could become any harder. “You’re the only one who has touched me, the only one to see me like this, the only one to take of my clothes.” In your sultry tone, your words feed into his head and flip a switch in him.

Suddenly, his hand roughly pull down your sweatpants and just for a moment he feels his stomach flutter when he sees a pair of pink lace panties. Looking up at you once again, “take off your shirt.” and you did as he ordered, revealing a matching pair of pink lace bra. It’s like you were trying to kill him. You slowly unclasped the bra off and as you did, he took off his loose shirt. Leaving you in panties and him in grey sweatpants and underwear.

Leaning down to your clothed core, he blew cold air onto it, you twitched at this action. He looked up at you through his eyelashes and you nodded. Without hesitation he dove down, sucking on your clothed clit, gasping, you grab for his hair. Tightly locking in with his hair. He felt so close to you, eating you like he’s been starved.

His hand crawling up your sides, grabbing tight on the hem of your panties, he swiftly throws them off and somewhere into the studio, and he immediately goes back to licking, sucking and eating you. He grips your sides and pulling you closer to him. Throwing your head back in immense pleasure, “you’re so good.” You manage to choke out.

He hums in reply, sending vibrations up your core creating a knot in your upper stomach. “Im gon-nna cu-“

Pulling away from your clit, he pushed a finger into your hole. “Cum for me”

And just like that, you made a mess all over his fingers and chin. Through your squirming you heard him, “fuck your so pretty.”

Opening your eyes you see him above you again, your hands pinned to each side by him.

“You got any ideas yet?” His exasperated expression locked eyes with yours. Whining you feel his clothed bulge grind on you.

He effortlessly pulls you up and onto his lap, his strong arms manhandled you like it was nothing. You lay your head in the crook of his neck trying to catch your breath. His hands roam from your thighs to your breasts, he slowly fumbles with your nipples, listening closely as your breath hitches.

Ignorantly slow, you pull away from his neck, leaving drool on his skin. Your hands interlock between his hair and you look at him with a smirk. As you start to speak his eye go up from your chest to your eyes.

“I need a few more ideas.”

——————

A/n: i knowww… the cliffhanger🙃

BUTTTT i need help from anyone how to do masterlists and do a wc easier because i had to individually copy and paste each part into a word counter and took so long (which might be a reason of the short story and cliffhanger😭)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 7: Sapphire] [Series Finale]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus @chattylurker, more in comments 🥰

💎 Thank you for reading (and tolerating all my nautical puns)! 💎

How can love be a curse? How can it be something to fear, to condemn, to break?

She has dreamed of him all her life. First he was a protector, almost fatherlike, and then a remote, bewitching phantom as she crept into adolescence, and then when Harwin Strong died Daemon sailed over Saint George’s Channel to offer her solace in England, and at last the fantasies she never would have confessed to anyone were fulfilled, two marriages and four children later. Rhaenyra remembers what he told her in the mist-draped lakeside cottage where they met in secret, crossing paths like an asteroid striking a planet: My wife means nothing to me. She’s not like us. She is young, and weak, and afraid, and I could never respect that kind of person. Her father owns the last Connemara marble quarry in the world, and I needed a son. But the only woman I want is you.

Aegon fires the pistol as he chases her through the corridors of A-Deck, and when she shrieks nobody hears, or if they do they don’t appear to rescue her; the ship is full of people screaming, sobbing, clawing for their lives against wet walls and locked doors. He shoots and misses again. There’s something wrong with his hands. He keeps fumbling with the gun and almost dropping it, hissing in pain as he squeezes the trigger, and there’s blood staining his fingers.

Good, Rhaenyra thinks. I’m glad he’s hurt. I hope he’s dying.

She sees an open room and ducks inside, slamming the door behind her and barring it with the weight of her body as Aegon rams it with his shoulder. Rhaenyra is surrounded by the trappings of another family who purchased first-class tickets: chairs with velvet upholstery, a faux fireplace, paintings by Rousseau and Boccioni and Homer. The lights flicker and the steel beams of Titanic groan, low and disastrous. There isn’t much time left.

“Daemon!” she yells as loudly as she can. If he hears her, he’ll come running. I have to get to a lifeboat. I have to live for my father, for Jace and Luke and Joffrey, for the children I will one day give Daemon.

Rhaenyra struggles with the lock as Aegon batters the door and it quakes on its hinges. Just as she latches it, he fires the pistol through the door. Wood cracks and splinters; a bullet pierces Rhaenyra’s ribcage like a blade. There is unbearable pressure, and then a sharpness, a pain she believes she cannot stand until it keeps getting bigger, deeper, ripping her open and filling her with dark wet weight like the ocean surging into Titanic. She crumples to the floor. When she coughs, blood spurts out onto her lips. Rhaenyra wipes it away and then stares at the red on her palm.

I can’t die now. My life just became what it was supposed to be.

Aegon punches a hole through the mangled door large enough for him to reach in and unlock it. Then he stands in the threshold looking down at her, his hands shaking but his eyes hard, fierce, unflinching. Rhaenyra has never seen him like this before. She didn’t know he could be good at anything.

“How the fuck did you get on the ship?” Rhaenyra snarls as she scrambles away, hacking up more blood. The black opal ring Daemon gave her gleams like onyx or obsidian, something born of heat and earth and insurmountable, ancient gravity.

Daemon and I were made for each other. The same blood, the same bones, the same will to carve treasures from the bleakest places.

Aegon follows her across the floor, slow stalking steps. He doesn’t answer; instead, he shakes his right hand a few times—steadying himself, casting out tremors like demons—and then grips the pistol with it. He raises the gun, the barrel aimed at Rhaenyra’s face.

“Daemon?!” she screams, but he isn’t here. Then she asks, sudden desperate confusion, her blue eyes wide: “Why are you doing this?”

Aegon’s voice is calm. “Because she can’t be free unless you and Daemon are gone.”

That girl? Daemon’s sad, stupid wife? I’m dying because of HER?

“Father never loved you,” Rhaenyra seethes, red on her teeth, blooddrops spilling from her lips like rubies. Her eyes are cold, glinting sapphires, pools of freezing water that only needs minutes to stop the heart. “Just like Daemon never loved her.”

“I know. And I used to care. It almost killed me, it almost ate me alive. But now I’m better. And I finally know exactly who I’m supposed to be.”

Aegon pulls the trigger.

~~~~~~~~~~

As Daemon descends the Grand Staircase, you crawl down towards the next landing, your head spinning, your hands empty, writhing on your belly like a snake.

The dagger???

But you can’t find it, and you don’t have time to stop and search. Daemon is only a few steps behind you. When your palms hit B-Deck, you try to drag yourself upright, grappling for the banister; but before you can get your feet under you, Daemon kicks you and sends you hurtling down the next flight of stairs. You tumble towards C-Deck, clawing in vain for something to break your fall. Your head strikes the English oak wood and you hear your father’s bewildered voice as he sat at the dining room table in Lough Cutra Castle: Where are you going? When will you be back?

Never, never, never; and now from somewhere below you recognize the roar of rushing water.

“You were going to kill me?!” Daemon taunts as he bears down on you like a storm. Blood soaks his throat and the white shirt beneath his black suit jacket. His eyes are bright, feral, monstrous. “After all those times I spared you when I could have drowned you in a river or a hot bath or the sea? You’re so fucking useless. You really can’t do anything right. All you had to do was shut up and endure, and you could have lived to be an old, old woman with all the comforts my empire afforded you. Now, my dear, you will never see another sunrise. And when Titanic sinks, you’ll be buried with her.”

Down, down, always down towards the ocean floor, you crawl faster away from him as his footsteps grow louder.

“Help,” you moan weakly. Aegon? Anyone? But the only reply is the echoing of your own voice and the sounds of the dying ship: breaking metal, distant screams, gushing torrents of seawater.

You crash into C-Deck and again try to stagger to your feet, but Daemon is here, shoving you as if from a cliffside or off a balcony. And as you plummet down the Grand Staircase towards D-Deck—where the First-Class Dining Saloon is, where Thomas Andrews once assured you that Titanic was unsinkable—it is not hard wooden steps you collide with but swirling ice-cold seawater. You plunge beneath the currents and then come sputtering up to the surface, your white wool coat drenched and threatening to pull you below again like an anchor. You struggle to shed it with arms that are rapidly going numb.

I’m so cold, I’m so cold, if I don’t get out of the water I’ll be dead in minutes—

Daemon’s fingers close around your throat and he forces you under the waist-deep water. You thrash and try to push him away, to pry him off of you, but your muscles seem to have disappeared, they have been scraped off your bones and now you can only wait to die, your breathless lungs burning as your body freezes. You have a sudden vision of Daemon in his firelit study at Lough Cutra Castle, marveling at a shard of Larimar dredged up from the Caribbean Sea and quoting the first known treatise on gemstones, written by Theophrastus in the time of Alexander the Great: Of things formed in the earth, some have their origin from water.

“No!” you scream through the depths, bubbles rising up to air you cannot taste. You claw at Daemon’s hands, but you cannot wound him, cannot get a grip on him, and hasn’t that been true since you married him five years ago?

The dark, freezing water makes you want to give up. It makes death feel easy, painless, inevitable. You imagine faces you’ll never see again: Draco, Aegon, your parents, Fern. You hope Carpathia will be here soon to rescue the survivors. You wonder what will happen to Aegon’s paintings.

Through the water come the muffled booms of explosions, four of them, surely something catastrophic, the ship splitting in half or a distress flare misfired or boilers bursting and shearing through what’s left of the hull. Then Daemon’s hands vanish from your throat and someone is hauling you up out of the icy currents, they are freeing you, they are disinterring you from an oceanic grave.

“I’m here!” Aegon is shouting as you burst into open air, gasping and flailing. He drags you towards the Grand Staircase where you can climb out of the flood, but you’re looking for Daemon. He is a few yards away and floating face-up, one hand clasping his chest and a gurgling sound leaking from his throat. The water around him is turning red. He’s fading, but he’s not dead yet.

“Aegon, he’s still—”

“I know. I’ll take care of him once you’re out of the water. I don’t have any more bullets left.”

“I want to do it.”

“We need to get you dry and warmed up—”

“I want to do it,” you say again, and Aegon lets you go.

You twist off your black opal engagement ring and throw it into the water beside Daemon. Then you place both of you hands on his chest and push him beneath the surface, Aegon standing just behind you with the barrel of the pistol in his grasp in case he has to use it as a club. The glacial seawater froths and whirls as it rises over Daemon’s hemorrhaging chest. He startles—a death rattle, a late rite—and resists feebly, gazing up at you with glassy, disbelieving eyes. They ask: How did this happen? I was supposed to kill you, remember? I own you. I own jewels trapped in subterranean darkness all over the world, and you are the very least of them.

“Draco isn’t yours,” you tell Daemon as you force him under. “Rhaenyra isn’t yours. And I’m not yours either. Now sink and die and make me free.”

He twitches, he bares his crimson teeth at you, but after all this time finally Daemon is the weak one. The rising water flushes maroon around him, his skin goes a frail and translucent bluish-white, his heart is drained until the chambers are cold and grey and empty. You hold him beneath the water until the bubbles roiling up from his nose and mouth disappear. He will never touch you again, he will never hurt anyone, he will never bruise or break or ensnare or captivate. And who will inherit his mines scattered across the planet?

Draco. His only son. And my family and I will act as trustees until he’s eighteen.

“We have to go,” Aegon is saying. He must have taken off his coat before he went into the water after you. He stands shivering in only his white shirt and green corduroy pants, the ocean now lapping at his chest.

“Rhaenyra?” you ask.

“She’s gone. I’m sure.”

“It’s over,” you say softly, feeling weight like stones roll off of you, feeling warmth like sunlight on your face.

As if in reply, the listing ship groans and the lights flicker again. “Not yet,” Aegon says, grabbing your hand. “Let’s hope there’s a lifeboat left.”

You wade to the steps and climb out of the water. Aegon helps you wring out your soaked hair and the skirt of your gown, then snatches his black wool coat off the steps where he left it and puts it on you. You race up the Grand Staircase to C-Deck, and then B-Deck, and then the A-Deck landing where you find your green handbag with Aegon’s tiny aluminum lighter still inside.

“I think you dropped this,” Aegon says when he spots the dagger on a nearby step, still covered with Daemon’s blood. He wipes it clean on his corduroy pants and then passes it to you. When you hesitate to take it, he grins. “Who knows. You might need to stab someone else tonight.”

“I never want to draw blood again.” But you accept the dagger and place it in your handbag, the captive gemstones glimmering there: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire like the North Atlantic Ocean that is swallowing Titanic down into her cold, crushing belly. Then you ascend one last flight of steps to the Boat Deck, passing the bronze cherub statue and the ticking clock, stealing a glimpse up at the dome of glass and wrought iron that will soon shatter when the sea punctures through it like a bullet or a blade.

Outside the night air is so frigid that ice crystals begin forming in your hair, and the hem of your blue gown begins to stiffen as it freezes. You are barefoot, you only now realize, and if splinters from the pine planks of the deck needle their way into your flesh you won’t be able to feel them. There are only two lifeboats left on this side of the ship, one of which is already being lowered down to the sea. Officers are still directing women and children into the other. Benjamin Guggenheim and his companions are very drunk, clumsily herding frantic first-class passengers towards the boats. The string quartet is now playing The Merry Widow by Franz Lehár.

“Come, come quickly, Lady Targaryen!” the officers shout when they see you, knowing by your gown that you belong here, perhaps recognizing you from strolls on the Promenade Deck or when you and Daemon boarded Titanic in Cork with much fanfare. Aegon helps you into the lifeboat, his wounded hands cradling yours. Another distress flare is shot into the sky, metallic rain, doomsday portents.

We’re going to be alright, you think. We’re going to survive this.

“Darling, you’re sopping wet!” one of the women in the lifeboat exclaims, and they all begin to fret over you. There are dogs here, a Pomeranian in one lap, a Yorkshire terrier in another.

“Get her under a blanket,” Aegon is saying. “Keep her warm or she’ll get pneumonia. Give her a lifebelt.”

“We will, we will,” another lady shimmering in jewels—a mother of two boys in heavy coats and blue-striped pajamas—promises him. “We’ll take good care of her.”

You turn back to Aegon. “What?”

He tells you, his voice quiet: “Petra, they’re not going to let me in.”

“No, no, you can’t stay here—”

“Women and children only!” an officer booms, then begins waving several shrieking maids towards the vessel, just moments from launching.

“Aegon,” you say, horrified. He’ll die if he stays. He’ll drown or he’ll freeze and he’ll be entombed at the bottom of the Atlantic. “No.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“No you won’t,” you sob, then look desperately at the officers. How can I change their minds? “He’s a Targaryen, he’s a first-class passenger, he must be allowed aboard!”

“A Targaryen?!” one of the officers says distractedly as he battles with the rigging. “I know all the Targaryens on Titanic, and he’s not one of them!”

“Just look at him,” the other officer mutters, meaning: He isn’t dressed like someone with castles or mansions or titles or mines. He can’t be someone who matters.

“He is,” you plead, tears stinging on your cheeks as they freeze. “He’s Aegon, he’s a Targaryen, please, he can’t be left behind—”

“Women and children only!” the first officer barks at you as the other pushes away a group of panicked young men in black suits trying to bribe their way into the vessel. “And if you want to stay here with him, that’s your business, but get to it so the rest of us can try to make it off this ship alive!”

“There’s more than enough room for him, for Christ’s sake, there are dogs in here!”

“There will be other lifeboats, love,” one of the women tells you as she drapes a scratchy wool blanket across your shoulders, but you don’t believe that’s true. The maids are climbing into the lifeboat; the officers are beginning to lower it with sharp lurches that make the occupants gasp.

You reach for Aegon, your hands catching on his drenched shirt, the thin layer of ice cracking beneath your fingers. “No, no, Aegon, I can’t go like this.”

“You have to,” he says calmly, and he holds you face still and touches his lips to your forehead, a kiss goodbye, gentle and lingering.

“No—”

“You have a kid. You have to go. Draco will be looking for you on Carpathia.”

“You deserve to be free too.”

“I’ll stay out of the water for as long as I can,” Aegon says like a vow. “I’ll try to find something to float on. And once Titanic goes down…maybe the lifeboats will come back to pick up any survivors.”

The water is too cold. I’ve felt it, I’ve been paralyzed by it, once you go under you only have minutes. “You can’t…you won’t…”

“Petra,” Aegon says, and his eyes turn desperate. He knows it’s his only chance. “Make them come back for me.”

“I will,” you swear to him.

And he pries your fingers off his shirt and rips away from you before your resolve can weaken. High above and through tears that blur your vision, constellations of stars gleam like diamonds.

~~~~~~~~~~

He runs to the other side of the Boat Deck, searching for lifeboats that haven’t launched yet. He can’t find any. There are swarms of passengers weeping, shouting, jostling, and officers trying to restore order. Pistols and flares are fired, chairs are tossed overboard for passengers to cling to as they float. But Aegon knows that won’t be enough; if they stay submerged, they will die.

I need something bigger. I need something I can lie on. A door or a dresser or…

He shoves through the crowd to get to the ship’s railing. Below, the ocean has gotten so much closer. He sees a lifeboat bobbing in the waves, just far enough away that someone brave enough to leap could not get to it. Inside, along with perhaps twenty first-class women and maids, Aegon recognizes Laenor Velaryon and his ever-present Parisian friends. They are puffing on cigars and toasting glasses of brandy, celebrating their good fortune. They must have successfully bribed their way aboard.

“Fuck,” Aegon sighs, his breath fog in the frigid air.

How am I going to stay out of the water long enough to survive until I’m rescued?

Then he replays the evening in his mind—his first night with Petra, perhaps his last night on earth, red silk and candles and oil paint and the warmth of her beneath his hands—and Aegon gets an idea. He sprints back to the Grand Staircase and soars down to B-Deck, seawater ankle-deep on the floor. He splashes through the corridors to the staterooms once occupied by Daemon Targaryen’s wife and child, now rid of him, now waiting for what will come next. Aegon hurries through the sitting room, passing the taxidermied tiger head above the fireplace and the large, heavy chest where Daemon made Petra lock up the art she bought in Paris.

She didn’t remember to put the real Picasso’s paintings in a lifeboat, but she saved mine, Aegon thinks. If I make it out of this alive somehow, I’m marrying her the second we dock in New York.

He goes to the bedroom, finds what he needs, carries it with him as he returns to the maze of hallways. Now the icy water is nipping at his knees.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ocean is calm, the lifeboat rocking placidly on inky surf. The women comfort their children and their dogs. You take Aegon’s aluminum lighter out of your handbag and light yourself a cigarette, then pass it around so the other passengers can thaw their lungs with hot plumes of nicotine, here in the early hours of the morning when it feels like you’ll never be warm again. The officer who took command of the vessel—the same one who shouted at you and refused to admit Aegon—is rowing vigorously as you and several other women help him, staring horror-struck at Titanic as she goes down by the bow.

“We have to get away from the ship,” the officer keeps saying, and he sounds genuinely petrified. A woman in a glittering gold gown steers with the tiller. “Or she’ll suck us into the water with her.”

There are shadows of other lifeboats nearby, also fleeing from the condemned Titanic, that miraculously colossal and opulent triumph that everyone had told you was unsinkable. You wonder which one Draco and Fern are in, undoubtedly cold and frightened but safe.

Aegon deserves to live too. I have to find him, I have to save him.

Now there is seawater flooding over Titanic’s deck at the bow, where you and Aegon saw third-class passengers—now dead, or very soon to be—kicking around pieces of the iceberg that they didn’t know had doomed them. The ocean surges higher, covering B-Deck, and A-Deck, and finally the Boat Deck, where the towering funnels collapse and you can hear shrieks and guns firing. You know you won’t be able to see Aegon from here—you won’t be able to tell if he made it into a lifeboat somehow, or if he is one of the figures that falls from a lethal height into the waves, or if he is crushed or shot or trapped below deck and drowned—but still, you cannot stop looking for him, peering through the night to where Titanic glows in her spotlight of white-gold electric luminescence.

As the bow sinks, the stern begins to rise, higher and higher until the tension cracks the ship in two, and the passengers you share the lifeboat with wail and sob as the ship’s lights blink out for the last time and the gravesite goes dark. Women call out the names of their husbands, fathers, brothers, adult sons, knowing they must be dying. You can only watch with tears streaming down your face, thinking: How could he survive that? How could I have left him?

The stern bobs for a while in the nightscape sea, a shade, a phantom, and then it plunges into the ocean. The water—indifferent, dispassionate, not a mortal but a titan, here long before humans and destined to outlast them, not unlike the treasures of the earth—gulps down metal beams and pine planks and split bones and shredded flesh. There are screams, so many, so pitiful, so loud they fill the sky, and the howling women in the lifeboat cover their ears and those of their children so they will not have to try to exorcise the sound from their memories later.

As soon as the stern has been consumed by the depths, you say to the officer: “We have to go back to look for survivors.”

“Are you mad, Lady Targaryen?” he snaps at you; but there are tears in his bloodshot eyes. “We’ll be mobbed if we sail into that. They’ll pour into the boat until we go under too. Do you want to freeze to death with them?”

“People will die quickly. They are dying already, the water is cold enough to kill in minutes. If we start rowing towards them now, most of the passengers will be dead by the time we get there. And then we can rescue anyone who’s left.” Please still be alive, Aegon.

“Not a chance in hell,” the officer says.

You turn to the other women. They blink back at you in dazed, timid terror. “It’s murder to leave your men behind,” you implore, you beg them to agree. “Help me row to them.”

But the women only weep softly to themselves and look to the officer to tell them what to do. He smirks at you victoriously, an expression of no humor but rather grim, fearful misery that could drive someone insane. In the lap of one woman, the Pomeranian whimpers.

I can’t leave Aegon, you think. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

You open your green handbag and pull out the dagger, the blade pointed at the officer. He shouts and bolts away from you, incredulous, furious.

“You’re threatening to kill me?!”

You shake your head. “I’m offering you a gift.” You turn the dagger around so the officer can grasp the handle. His gaze catches, transfixed and wondrous, on the gemstone spheres like perfectly aligned planets. “This dagger is worth more than you would make in a decade of work. Go back for survivors, and it’s yours. Refuse, and when we are rescued and my son inherits my husband’s fortune, I will make it my life’s work to destroy you. I will follow you anywhere on earth. I will ruin you. So take the dagger as payment and break my curse, and let us save the people who are left.”

The lifeboat sways in the small, serene waves, and the stars revolve high above in a moonless sky, and you and the other women wait for the officer to reply. After a minute or more—we have to go back now, right now, we don’t have much time—he finally lifts the dagger from your open palm and tucks it into his belt.

“Fine,” he says, picking up his oar again. “Let’s go. I cannot abide your damnation. I’ll be haunted by enough ghosts already.”

He and several of the other women row into the throng while you find the flashlights stored in the bottom of the lifeboat, then perch at the bow searching for Aegon. Instead you see hundreds of bluish corpses floating in their lifebelts, dead men and women and children, some of them first-class or crewmembers of the ship but most of them third-class passengers: Italian, Polish, Greek, Syrian, Russian, Chinese, Irish, discarded people, good for dying in the operations of mines or factories or railroads and little else.

“Aegon!” you shout over the water, but he does not answer. There is only the mist of your own words and the sound of cold currents rippling as the lifeboat cuts through them.

Your group saves two people from the sea, both nearly frozen to death and unable to speak: one man floating on a table washed out of a dining room, one little girl clutching her dead mother. Then a long time passes with no living souls to salvage.

“Have we done enough now, Lady Targaryen?” the officer asks you gravely. “Have you seen a sufficient number of the dead to assuage your wrath?”

“Not yet,” you say, steely, your eyes fixed on the water as the flashlight illuminates lifeless faces, scraps of wreckage, nothing, nothing, nothing. And then the light settles on him.

When the stern of Titanic went under, so did Aegon: there are ice crystals in his hair, and his clothes are freezing to his skin, and his lips are blue, and he’s shivering violently. But unlike over 1,000 other passengers, he didn’t stay in the depths long enough to perish as the cold stopped their hearts and lungs. He had something with him, a life raft, a second chance, a treasure mined not from some far-flung crevice of the earth but from the bedroom where he uncovered you, where you found each other and never wanted to go back to the way life felt before.

Aegon is sprawled across the oval-shaped mirror that once stood beside your bed, the fractured glass reflecting the stars that glimmer in the night sky. His ravaged hands cling to the wooden frame. And when the beam of the flashlight skates across his face like moonshine, Aegon knows you’ve come back for him, and he reaches for you until your hands link with his and help pull him aboard.

~~~~~~~~~~

Carpathia arrives an hour later, just before four in the morning on April 15th, and as the sun rises over the North Atlantic Ocean you and Aegon find Draco and Fern on the bow deck, where stewards are distributing blankets and tea to the survivors. Women wander the ship pleading for help finding their lost loved ones, weeping endlessly for their brothers, their fathers, their husbands. Your tears have stopped entirely.

Carpathia’s passengers are generous. They offer in charity their food, their clothing, even their rooms. Children share their books and toys with Draco. Fern teaches him how to play marbles; you read him The Story of Saint Patrick. A doctor onboard disinfects and bandages Aegon’s hands, and assures him that he will be able to play viola again, not now, perhaps not even soon, but one day.

That first afternoon, as you and Aegon are taking a stroll on the Boat Deck, you spot a man painting a scene of the sunset: gold, tiger’s eye, ruby, red beryl. Aegon shows him some of the portraits from his scuffed leather portfolio…though, of course, one in particular is not suitable for mixed company. The man is so impressed that he insists Aegon must not be deprived of the ability to create such beauty for lack of supplies, and gifts him an easel and some paper, brushes, and oil paints.

It’s difficult with his sore, bandaged hands, but Aegon still wants to try, and when his brush begins to shake he asks you to help him. Aegon explains things to you as you steady his hands: chiaroscuro, scumbling, alla prima, glazing, impasto, a foreign language that will soon become familiar. Already, you are learning. And as Carpathia sails into New York Harbor on the evening of April 18th, Aegon takes a paintbrush and draws a circle around your ring finger in vivid, sapphire blue, a worthless gift of no gleaming gems or metal, a vow that means everything.

It’s been years, but Aegon remembers the way to his mother’s house. He leads you, Draco, and Fern to the doorstep of the Hightower mansion on Fifth Avenue. He knocks and a butler answers, a middle-aged man who gapes at Aegon in shellshocked disbelief.

“One…one moment, sir, if you’d be so kind to…to…to just wait here, please,” the butler stammers, then disappears inside. A few minutes later, a different man appears in the threshold. He must be Aemond, tall and white-blonde and precise in every movement, his left eye concealed by a black leather eyepatch. His remaining eye, a clear alert blue, darts to where Fern is holding Draco on her hip and then to you and Aegon, his bandaged hands resting so lightly on you they could never leave a mark.

Then Aemond’s face softens, and there is a kind sort of relief that seeps in, and you imagine your parents will look the same way when you return to Lough Cutra Castle. “You’re home,” he says quietly.

And Aegon smiles and replies: “We all are.”

[wanderingelvis]

just thinking about what elvis would be like with you if you had a stutter or a stammer.

he’d be so patient with you, not everyone is, they get easily frustrated and fed up that you can’t get your words out properly but not elvis. he lets you take your time and it’s almost even more intimidating that someone is waiting for you to finish speaking.

but he won’t just say encouraging words to you, he’ll gently trace soothing circles into the small of your back. kiss your knuckles after rubbing them with the pad of his thumb, playing with the loose strands of your hair as he tells you “s’okay honey, y’doin’ just fine baby.” when you look to him desperately for comfort and reassurance.

he knows your prone to shutting up altogether when the nerves get the better of you but he loves nothing more than coaxing those thoughts out of you.

you’ll feel your mouth go dry as you try to manage a coherent sentence, getting all worked up and upset when you can’t do it but he never makes you feel bad for it.

you’ll sniffle through tears as elvis lovingly holds your hands and speaks to you softly but firmly, telling you that, “now, there ain’t nothin’ you gotta be upset about baby, you’re tryin’ your best ain’t you darlin’? hm? now i’m real proud of ya, tryin’ y’best like that, there aint no need for those tears now princess.”

and then he’ll let you collapse into his big hold, his arms engulfing you as he presses tender kisses to the top of your head, letting you get settled again as he soothes you.

and even if he tries to encourage you to speak and finish your sentences, sometimes he knows that ain’t always going to be the best thing for you.

like when you’re in a boutique, buying all them pretty dresses that elvis just loves to put you in, and the shop lady shows you something just gorgeous, and all you can do is try to get your words out.

“tha-a-tha-th-“ it’s on the fourth stutter that your eyes go all glossy and panicked, seeking out the big n powerful man like you’re just some little lost puppy searching for her owner.

and so he’ll step in, taking a hold of your little hand in his big coarse one and turning to the shop lady to speak on your behalf. “thanks honey, that’s awful kind of you to show us this. looks like it might just be the one that this little one is gon’ wear tonight.” he says fondly, the shop lady and elvis both looking at you with patience and a smile for you to swallow the lump in your throat and nod — that’s all you can manage for now but it’s enough. and sure, sometimes you feel like you’re four years old and unable to do anything yourself, not even speak, and the frustration gets to you, and the fear.

when you first began to date elvis, you’d wait for him to snap at you, the same way your parents would for embarrassing them in front of others, but elvis doesn’t do that — the thought wouldn’t enter his head.

no, elvis instead crouches down, whisperin’ “such a good girl,” to you. “such a polite, good girl huh?” he practically coos, knowing it’s hard for you, knowing how hard it is for you to even try to speak sometimes.

so elvis reminds you that you’ve tried and that is what matters most.

and elvis is always proud of you for trying. it’s okay if you can’t get your words out, he knows you and he understands you. and you love him, oh how you love him and how he look after you and takes care of you.

sometimes the stuttering makes you insecure, that elvis will get just as fed up as the memphis mafia do, or colonel tom does, but he doesn’t and he won’t.

he loves every part of you. stutter or no stutter, you’re his and he loves you.

note; had a bad week with my stutter, failed a test in a course i'm taking as it was part speaking and couldn't manage it, got rlly upset and rlly hating myself for it, so i thought writing down a lil about how elvis would be with me would help.

masterlist is here

request an elvis imagine etc here, i always love new ideas

love u all ❤️‍🩹

[hxney-lemcn]

Late Night Chaos — Daisuke x gn! reader

summery: things start going bad on the Tulpar, and the worst possible outcome comes to fruition

tw: reader is implied to have trauma surrounding domestic violence (specifically loud arguments), Jimmy making the worst choices imaginable, if you watched/played the game then you should be good

a/n: haha, so I choose unbearable angst...

wc: 1.2k

Master List

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

Tense. That was the best way to describe how you felt. Eyes locked forward, tuning out the conversation around you. You despised fights, bringing you back to a time you long wished to forget. This was meant to be a party, a break from all the monotonous work, a celebration. Apparently you all had to share a communal birthday party, and according to the veterans (Anya, Swansea, and Jimmy), it was Captain Curly’s turn. You were excited, looking forward to having a good time, have some cake and maybe play some games. It was a surprise party as well, which made it all the better. You and Daisuke had taken charge of decorating, placing up banners and balloons with the help of Swansea. Even Anya was excited, putting a birthday hat on Polle, the Pony Express mascot. 

The captain had looked surprised, a small smile curling on his lips as you all stood in front of him wearing birthday hats…but you noticed it seemed a bit strained. Unfortunately, he was the only one able to make the cake, leading you all to wait for it to be made. The air was light though, everyone sitting down and waiting for Curly to cut the first slice. Well, at least that’s what you were waiting for, instead, Daisuke asked Curly to make a speech.

“Can’t argue with that,” Jimmy agreed.

“Speech, speech, speech!” Daisuke chanted with a grin. 

“Go on,” Anya nodded, also seeming excited. 

“I…” Curly hesitated, blue eyes trailing across you all in uncertainty.

“...Hey,” Jimmy cut in. “What’s wrong?”

That was the catalyst. Curly had explained that you were all losing your jobs, and were the last shipment for Pony Express. You felt your stomach drop, hunching in and eyeing the older adults that surrounded you. You were merely an intern, you could bounce back from this, but the people whose entire lives depended on this job? You were just waiting for the pin to drop.

“Pony Express finally kicking the bucket, huh,” Swansea grumbled angrily. “What a joke. And we’re the punchline.”

“I don’t have any savings,” Anya spoke up shakily. “T-they can’t just do this, right?” You continued to look down at your empty plate, feelings unbearably uncomfortable. Glancing at Daisuke who sat beside you, he seemed to feel the same, the both of you the odd ones out.

“Pony Express was one of the last manned crew freighter companies,” Swansea explained. “The writing’s been on the wall for a long time.”

“When did they tell you?” Jimmy asked, and you felt yourself freeze. His tone was icy calm, but you could see the anger swimming behind his eyes. 

“Earlier this week. I was instructed to wait until we’re closer to the haul destination. But I can’t keep something like this from you all.” Curly responded, and just like that it was like you could hear the pin hit the ground.

“...So I guess you got what you wanted, without the guilt,” Jimmy chuckled humorlessly. 

“Jim…” Curly trailed off, looking like a kicked puppy. His people pleasing tendencies were starting to make you feel sick…and the electric tension you felt in the air. “If I had known…”

“I can go back to my…how’d you put it?” Jimmy mocked, causing your shoulders to tense. It was then that you started to disassociate, mind turning empty as Jimmy continued to berate the Captain. You flinched when Jimmy hit the table, wearily eyeing Jimmy’s angry expression. Too much, this whole situation was too much, you felt the incessant need to run, but also frozen in place. 

You nearly jumped in your spot when you felt Daisuke’s warm hand envelope your own, looking just as uncomfortable, but also worried. You squeezed his hand tightly, using it as a distraction from the unsettling atmosphere when Captain Curly began to cut the cake, fidgeting with the rings that lined his fingers. 

You had become more on edge after that, jumping at any noise that was too loud, scared of making the situation worse somehow. Anya, who you had looked up to as being strong, had become battered, clearly terrified of what her future held. Swansea had become even more isolated, swiping tools from Daisuke’s hand and muttering ‘just lemme do it’. The captain seemed tired, unsure how to fix an unfixable situation. Even you knew there was no way for there to be an option where everyone won. Then there was Jimmy, more irritable and snarky, like a mini whirlwind causing a trail of disaster in his wake. If you were avoiding him before, then you were acting like he had the plague now. 

Sure, when he snapped at you for seemingly no reason that one time you were ready to fight back. He had just been an annoying boomer who thought he was better than everyone else. But now? Now it was different. He was a desperate man who had no hope, and that’s what terrified you. The pure, unbridled anger in his eyes at the party made your skin crawl, and you thought for a split second that he would do something that would bring you all down with him. 

…

“Hey, you okay?” Daisuke asked softly. It was only two days after the unfortunate ‘party’ and all the effort to get you to open up seemed to have been instantly undone. He noticed your discomfort during the argument, but he had been wrapped up in his own effort to try and act like everything was okay instead of addressing the problem head on. But it got to the point where he couldn’t ignore it, heart twisting painfully everytime you tensed at his touch, the split second fear in your eyes before calming down when realizing it was just him. 

“Yeah,” Your response was desolate. It was obvious you weren’t okay, and Daisuke nearly backed down, but your blank gaze didn’t sit well in his chest. 

“You’re lying.” He hated confrontation, but he didn’t like seeing your teasing and cheerful demeanor subsiding into something timid, frightful and bleak. Sure, the crew had an argument, and even he felt like he was walking on a tightrope, but you didn’t need to be so scared. 

“You’re right,” You didn’t even try to fight back, fingers twitching, feeling on edge. A silence fell between you both. He was getting nowhere, and he wasn’t sure how to get you to just tell him what was wrong. It was better to share your worries than keep them in, but he also didn’t want to pry too deeply into a topic you didn’t want to share. 

“Why?” Daisuke asked, feeling hopeless.

“I have a bad feeling,” You spoke, eyes finally landing on your frowning boyfriend. “Something really, really bad is gonna happen. I just know it.”

You seemed to have a foresight that he lacked. Your haunting words echoing through his head as the red emergency lights blared throughout the ship only four days later. Everyone scrambled to the Captain’s corridor, and Daisuke could only watch on in horror as Captain Curly stood burnt, hands and feet trapped in the emergency foam, Anya ordering you to get her medical supplies. As you rushed past and made eye contact, an understanding was held in both of your gazes. 

You were right. Something really, really bad had happened.

[deathbxnny]

Oh yeah, raising literal childish soldiers canNOT be good for one's conscious 🥲

But, I'm glad you're eager for more of that succulent emotional hurt, though this one will be... different the previous ones. And without further adieu, let's get into it 😈

So, I've noticed how, in this series, any harm sent mother's way has always been somewhat second-handed, and psychological in nature. Physical arm has always gone to the Children of The House. So, what if for this scenario, "Mother" is the unexpected one coming to harm?

Now, I could definitely write up a scenario of "Mother" getting hurt in some drastic way, and Arle and the House Kids retaliate in grand fashion, but that would be... kinda generic, no? Rather, I'm thinking of a scenario where "Mother" is hurt by the one thing that not even The Knave herself can protect her from.

Herself.

Or more specifically, her own body. Lemme explain.

So, "Mother" is in a position that can be IMMENSELY stressful and emotionally draining, so imagine one day, it's about as normal as life in the Hearth can be, "Mother" is at work, performing or assigning chores, or maybe prepping a meal for the kids, with some their help. When suddenly, she's hit with immense chest pains, as though her rib cage is squeezing around her heart, it becomes hard to breath, hard to focus because of how dizzy she's become. That's right, Mama suffer (or very nearly suffer, that detail is up to you) a literal heart attack, give everyone in the House a good scare, if you would 🤭.

And so, after this incident "Mother" is pretty forced to "take it easy" so that she can recover (which according to some brief searches I've done, can take anywhere from a couple weeks to a few months). And, considering how "Mother" is definitely seems like she'd be something of a workaholic, someone who feels she needs to be present and contributing to be a "worthy" mother, suddenly being forced to take a break from all her usual daily tasks must make for an absolutely miserable experience for her.

So, in the meanwhile, Arle and the kids try to figure out some things to cheer her up and keep her mind occupied while she recovers.

X Anon

Heartfelt devotion. | Arlecchino x Fem!Wife!Reader

(Part one) (Part two) (Part three) (Part four)

A/N: Hello X Anon! Thank you so much for your request. I really enjoyed writing this. In fact, this turned out to be a bit of a personal piece due to me having had the experience of an immideate family member suffering a heart attack, so I put some of that into this fic, which is why I took a bit of a different approach to your idea. Either way, I hope it's to your liking X Anon!!<33

Content: Heart attacks, comas, angst, hurt/comfort, wife reader, mentions of Curcabena, reader becomes a bit delirious, trauma, sfw

Reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

The will of the Tsaritsa never rested for anything.

The expectation for everyone to continue until nothing was left of them always weighed on your shoulders, but it did little to ever make itself noticeable in the ranks of the Fatui. Exhaustion? Sickness? Death? None of that was an excuse enough to stop. You were all motivated by the goal ahead, even if uncertainty of what exactly it was often lingered in your mind. It was inspiring to work hard even in the face of pure agony and hell. It's just how things were. That's just how you kept going for so long as an organization.

The Tsaritsa's gentle kindness was ultimately not enough of a reason when the cold, icy snow and wind of your home ripped at your skin hungrily for more of your soul to take.

And you especially, as the wife of a Harbinger and "Mother" of the House of Hearth, felt that deeply.

Day in, day out.

It was all the same in the house of Hearth that forever kept busy no matter the occasion. You were unofficially the head of it all. Your wife often had better things to do as a diplomat and therefore entrusted you with your family from day one. The title and duties of the "Mother" weighed on you painfully, just as expected from you. And whilst you've spent endless years attempting to repair the relationship between that title and the family, you still didn't feel like it was enough. The woman that raised you and the 4th Harbinger haunted you with every step, always looking over your shoulder with that sinister smile of hers. You could feel the scrutiny in her gaze, see the rage in her grin, hear her venomous words in that sweet, gentle voice of hers.

Arlecchino had moved on from her by taking on the title of "Father," but you remained cursed. You remained in the past where you belonged, fixing connections that died for a reason, yet you were stuck with due to your own doing. There were no regrets in your actions initially, but now, after seeing the carnage and death you had caused to your own children by sending them off to the grim reaper yourself, you realise that over time, your mind and body has become worn down dangerously. You were beginning to fall apart, yet tried to keep yourself together just enough to continue every day. Like everyone else here.

It was getting hard to move and sleep lately, however, something that should've unnerved you when it was first starting to become noticeable. But you waved it off like everything else, your mind focused on your daily tasks and responsibilities instead. With your wife abroad back in the motherland for a Harbinger meeting, you were stuck shouldering absolutely everything again, not that you ever protested or cared much. You saw it as a necessity, perhaps even an honor to work at her side and take care of such an important part of the Fatui. If only the glamor and patriotism didn't melt away every time you got a new death report regarding more of your children. Crucabena used to read them as though they were the latest fashion magazine, a content smile on her lips every time. You, on the other hand, shed endless tears, finding no enjoyment in what you've become.

How did she do it? How was she able to be so indifferent and cruel to you all without feeling a thing? What was the secret to absolut absolvation from the guilt and shame? Years later, you still find yourself asking these questions in the shadows of the night, your blurry reflection in the water of the cold bathtub mirroring her image. You wonder if you even were any different than her ultimately. You felt like you did the same things as her, just less cruel, less callous. Was your care and love for the children enough to make a difference?

"Of course not. You and I are one in the same, my dear child." You often hear her voice whisper to you in those painfully sleepless nights, and you wished Peruere was there to keep her quiet again.

Taking a deep breath, you let out a weak hum when you felt someone grab onto your shoulder with a gentle shake. "Mother?" Lyney asked carefully, brows furrowed in worry at your near catatonic state lately. You barely seemed alive at times, your blank stare staring through everyone, some of your tasks even neglected seemingly unbeknownst to you. Your movement was sluggish, slow, and clumsy. Everyone noticed this, and the worry was beginning to seep into all the children belonging to the house. This was nothing like you. And yet, you didn't seem to be aware of it. Or maybe you were ignoring it.

Either way, Lyney had enough of just watching you suffer, his gaze becoming stern when you gave him a tired look. "Have you... slept or eaten properly lately? You look ill." The answer was 'no' to both, of course. You haven't been able to eat much due to the sudden huge workload you were confronted with ever since their Father left for much longer than usual. Sleep was out of the question due to the odd pain and pressure in your chest whenever you laid down. This led to you often sitting in a chair instead in front of the fireplace in hopes of getting some sleep that way... but unfortunately, that didn't work either.

Gently shaking your head, you mustered the strength to give him a shaky smile in hopes of calming him. "I'm alright, dear, don't worry about me. It's just a little stress, nothing more." Ever so perceptive, you sighed when you saw his eyes narrow. He didn't believe you, and you certainly wouldn't believe yourself either. Something was terribly wrong, but you had no time to deal with it. You didn't want Lyney to take on any duties he didn't have to yet, even if he'll most likely be your wife's successor one day. The pressure was too much. You didn't want him to feel the way you did.

Behind him, you saw two agents enter the kitchen through the backdoor. Masks obscured their faces, but the aura they let in was grim and cold. One you were so awfully familiar with, including the documents in their hands. A red envelope peeked out, a silent sign of more carnage and death raised by your own hands. The pressure in your chest suddenly increased once more when the guilt crept back up your body and whispered those evil words of self-doubt into your ears again. "How... How many this time?" You breathed out, a hand pressed to your chest in pain. Lyney grabbed onto your arm in surprise as your body nearly keeled over. Your mind was ringing, and you couldn't even hear the response to your question anymore.

It was all too much. You couldn't take it anymore. In the forefront of your mind, the woman that raised you gave you a "proud" smile, like she always did. It sickened you, for it meant that you've done something that once again proved that your title was cursed.

"Mother!" Lyney yelled out in panic, quick to alert everyone around them to your collapsing form. This has never happened before. The Lady of the House never fell, never faltered. And yet, as you now laid there on the floor, hands pressed against your chest as you heaved painfully, unable to breathe, you realised that everything you've done in your life has led you to this point. This was karma. This was the pain you deserved. Your children's terrified faces faded away and swirled into your mother's dark, sinister gaze. She reached out to you, her gloved hand pressing against your sweating forehead and tearstruck eyes, but you didn't feel any comfort. You felt like another death report, her favorite and one she has been waiting for forever.

If this is how you died, then so be it. One thing about Curcabena was that she'll always find a place for you to sit next to her no matter what. This time, you supposed, it would be in hell for the hurt you've caused.

How fitting.

"... Is she going to ever wake up?" "Not for a while. The doctors said the coma is necessary for her recovery. The reanimation took too long and... it's on her now to awaken." Lynette took a deep breath, her voice coming out in hushed whispers in fear of being overheard by their stressed Father. When Arlecchino came back come after an emergency letter practically crashed into the meeting room through a panicked Fatui agent, she found herself in the middle of a near warzone. You kept the house together at all times. But with you being in a medically induced coma now, everything fell right onto Lyney's shoulders. The one thing you never wanted.

The Knave had yet to say a thing, her lips pressed into a thin line at all times, as she silently moved to reorganize everyone and ease the pressure off of the young man's shoulders. Not even three days of taking on everything, and he was done emotionally and physically. How did his mother do it every day? How was she able to function? How was she able to keep everything in mind, do every task with perfect precision? He had so much to still learn, and that's what your absence proved him so painfully.

But hope still remained. If you woke up soon, then things would get better. Then, no one needed to be so terrified anymore.

Freminet nervously leaned against the doorway to your room, red eyes casted downwards to his shoes in silent shame. Guilt was eating everyone in the house up, their hearts aching with the question, "Could we have done more?". Yet their father wasn't keen on answering anything, her reassurance coming in the form of stern orders and a call for strength from them all.

"I see... in that case, I'll stay and watch over her for the night. You should go rest, Lynette." The young man spoke, watching as his sister exhaled a deep breath and nodded reluctantly. No one was getting any sleep lately, but it's the thought that counted. Passing by him with a short hug they both needed, Freminet watched her disappear into the darkness of the corridor, the moonlight filtering in through the windows leading her way. Stepping into the room with a soft sigh, he closed the door behind him and approached your sleeping form. His father hadn't stepped into this room much due to how busy she was with the chaos that broke out with your absence... but when she was in here, he saw the way she'd just stare at you, the pain in those stern eyes melting the ice and leaving behind a worried, foreign gaze that was rare to see on her.

Pulling a chair to the edge of the bed, he leaned his head against your slowly rising and falling chest, his eyes fluttering close in hopes of catching the tears that threatened to fall again. He wanted you to wake up so badly. It hurt to see you in this broken, weakened state. You were so pale and looked hollow, like all the life had been taken out of you. It was a terrifying sight that he could only barely comprehend. You have never looked like this before. You were always so strong and domineering.

He just couldn't believe it.

Fingers running through his blonde hair calmly is what made him flinch back to reality, his body reeling backward in surprise, yet the hand kept him there firmly. "Calm down, child... don't be afraid. It's just me." It was your voice, yet it sounded raspy and defeated, a slight slur to it from the lack of using it. Freminet froze and stared into the white covers of your bed, his tears dampening the soft fabric. But you didn't seem to notice his plight at first. He wanted to stay still, in case this was a dream. He was afraid that a single sudden move would make you fall back into your coma, the irrational thought plaguing him painfully.

"Mother..." "... Is this... heaven, after all?" You whispered, mind returning to the woman that haunted you. Surely, this must be the bliss before the storm. You imagined that soon flames and the hands of the children you've sent to their death would reach out and drag you down with them. And yet, all you got was the blonde boy pulling himself back again and grabbing onto your hand. "N-No! You're... you're alive." He stuttered out in panic and confusion, wishing someone else would help him, someone else could be here with you and take care of you much better than he could.

But once you processed those words of his, your heart skipped a beat in panic. The emotions finally caught up to you, and the surge of emotions made you attempt to sit up. Letting out a small yelp, Freminet attempted to hold you down and comfort you, knowing how you were about the house and your duties. The doctors had warned about this happening, too. Yet nothing could have prepared him for the sheer strength you demonstrated despite everything that happened. Something which could prove deadly soon, if you didn't relax immideatly.

And as though the heavens had heard his prayers, the door to the room creaked open, and in came his Father, an unreadable expression on her face at the sight of your struggling form. You were alive and somehow filled with energy, which unnerved her a little deep down. This certainly was going against your bedrest orders. "Peruere, I... I'm sorry for disappointing you- I'll get back to my duties as soon as I-" Her hand rose, and your deafening silence came with it. Taking slow steps towards you, her hand came down to rest on top of her trembling son's head. A silent absolvation from his duties for tonight.

"It's okay. You have not disappointed me in the slightest. Now rest." Her voice was stern and cold like it always was, but beneath the icy surface, you could feel the warmth and worry spread through her like a wild fire. She didn't want you to feel this way, and you could tell that the state you were in hurt her deep down. You and your family were her only weaknesses. Wanting to ease her pain, you leaned back into the soft pillows, eyes not daring to look up at her anymore. Why did you feel so ashamed? Perhaps because you should have taken care of yourself better. If you had, then maybe you wouldn't feel like a burden now. As though she was reading your mind, Arlecchino gave her son a curt nod, which he immideatly took as his sign to reluctantly leave.

Silence now overtook you both until she sighed and took a seat in the chair Freminet was in earlier. The moonlight filtering in through the open window illuminated the side of her tense face, her unique eyes near glowing. It was a peaceful moment, despite the pain that now raked through your entire body and especially chest. You closed your eyes weakly in relief when you felt her clawed hand carefully caress your sweat drenched face, your throat feeling so awfully dry as you gulped.

"I... I need to get up... I need to go back to work." "Not for a while." "... For how long then." A week maybe, you hoped. It was more than enough. It was all you allowed yourself, and even that was pushing it. Your restless mind was spinning in circles at all the tasks it still had to complete, and you felt yourself at a loss for words when she shook her head with the faintest frown. She knew you too well. You were an open book she had read many times over and couldn't get enough of. "Six weeks. Perhaps even longer after, depending on your state-..." She stopped herself when she saw your body trembling, and in the dimmest moonlight, she saw tears glinting in your eyes.

"Please don't cry. This is for your own good. I was... afraid when I heard of what happened. In fact, I'm grateful that you are alive, my songbird." Oh, how delicate her words were. Her honesty was forever going to be proof of her undying love for you. The ache is your heart lessened at the gentle warmth that spread through you from her touch, her tone lulling you into the safety you've craved ever since you fluttered your eyes open again. If only the guilt left with it. "What of our children? I must've scared them terribly. Especially my poor Fremi'..." You whispered after a moment of contemplation. Arlecchino watched your sick, tired form with kind eyes that were only reserved for you.

She figured that you'd feel this way. You were always so desperate to prove yourself to absolutely everyone. Whether it was to her, your children, or even the entire organization, you wanted to show everyone that you were better than Crucabena. Yet no matter how many years past, and no matter how much you achieved, you were never able to realise the truth. You had always been better than her from day one. The moment you rebelled and refused to take her side on the day, Arlecchino defeated her was proof of it.

"Do not fret over them. The children are strong. It is you that we need to worry about now. Just take it easy and sleep." Her words were comforting, even if short and to the point. You trusted them with your life. And yet, the feeling of being a burden just creeped up your body until you fell into a restless slumber once more.

The next few weeks were filled with nothing short of attention and borderline spoiling from all children in the house and beyond. Whether young or old, they all took care of you in the same way you cared for them. Something you could only barely handle. You felt like you should be doing that for them only, never the other way around. Yet under your wife's iron gaze, you were left with no choice but to accept your fate and stay put in bed or, on the rare occasion, in the living room near the fireplace. Lyney and his siblings especially took charge of your care, and you couldn't help but feel guilty at what you've put them through. You had attempted to apologize to the young man plenty of times for simply collapsing the way you did in front of him, but he'd always wave you off with a gentle smile. One they all attempted for you to mirror again.

The magician and Lynette would perform small shows just for you, knowing how much you enjoyed their tricks. Freminet, who was practically glued to your side, would read books with you about sea animals, whilst the other children brought you tasty pastries and food. The house was kept spotless by everyone, and you didn't have to lift a singular finger. And your wife was more affectionate with you in her own special way. Gentle kisses and careful, early morning cuddles were the norm, despite her reluctance for physical touch beforehand. You could tell through her actions that the state you were in had hit you deeper than she was most likely aware, and it didn't help the small guilt that was still left in your heart. All she had left from her old life was you. The woman she considered her wife and the mother of the house.

And by the time you've mostly recovered fully, you realised that the past wasn't haunting you anymore. Crucabena's strict hold on you had faded away, even if you knew that she was simply waiting for your arrival in hell one day. But your small revenge would leave her seething, absolutely enraged for years to come first.

In fact, it felt so good to be alive now.

[eddiemunchem]

hiii!! i love your work so much and i was wondering about a little idea i haddd that ik you’d do justice (if you’re taking requests, if not then totally ignore this ☝🏽).

soo, i was thinking about dom!eddie getting pussy drunk? like he’s his regular babbling self, but when he starts getting close he loses it and starts begging A LOT to cum inside.

if you do decide to do this, thank you sm, i appreciate you and your work and i hope you have a lovely day <333.

━━━━━━━━ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ ━━━━━━━━

📄 turned tables | eddie’s a dom through and through, but there’s something about coming in your pretty pussy that just reduces him to a complete mess.

⚠️ 1.1k words, fem!sub!reader, mean/hard!dom!eddie (srsly… pls heed this one), HEAVY d/s themes, rough sex, bondage/restraint, overstimulation, mean!eddie, m!dom to slight!m!sub, begging, whimpering, slight degradation, big dick!eddie, multiple orgasms, breeding/creampie, unprotected p in v, allusions to subspace, language, dirty talk, graphic depictions of male ejaculation (wtf is that tag), praise, i think i got everything

✏️ when i say the sub inside me QUIVERED while writing this… please fckin believe me 💀 also, i’m really not the best at articulating m!subs so i’m really sorry if that part isn’t the best 🙏

“oh, baby, look at those tears.” eddie cooed, large hands cradling your cheeks as his hips brutally slapped into yours.

you couldn’t speak, could only moan and whimper and whine as he used you, tears cooling against your temples as you just laid there taking it.

“hear how sloppy your lil’ pussy is? oooooh, she’s so greedy tonight, isn’t she?” eddie teased, thumbs swiping across your cheeks and lips pulled into that devilish grin. “think she wants my cum, angel?”

it was starting to border on too much — you were completely helpless as he ravaged you, hands bound to the bed posts by his pair of sterling handcuffs, the strain on your wrists less pleasant and more painful now. eddie had told you to count each orgasm he ripped from you, but your fuddled brain couldn’t make out whether this impending climax was your third or fourth.

“fuck, pretty girl. you’re clampin’ down on me; gon’a cum, yeah?”

you nodded fervently, hoping the action would be enough to satisfy eddie’s hunger for control — but it didn’t.

the gentle cradle of his hands turned to a firm grip, blunt nails biting into the skin along your jaws.

“use your fuckin’ words, angel. i know i’ve told you this before.” eddie growled, hips picking up speed and fucking into your sopping cunt with a punishing force.

the wail that ripped from your throat pulled a satisfied groan from eddie, who’s hips faltered for just a brief moment — but it was enough of a tell for you to know he was approaching his end, too.

fucking finally.

“yes, yes, i’m gon’a c-cum!” you blathered, fresh tears pooling in your eyes as eddie battered your cervix straight into your stomach. it was so painful, with no care to the impact on your body — the way eddie knew you needed it.

“mmhmm, yeah? how many, angel? which one is this?” eddie pressed, clearly referring to the amount of orgasms you’d been wrecked with and — shit, was it three? or was it four?

“i’m waiting, sweetheart.” eddie trilled, hips never stilling, driving into you with the force of a damn bull. it was sapping every bit of your strength, fogging your mind over with a haze of pain and pleasure so intense that you could hardly even mentally navigate through it.

“f-four!” you spilled out, lips, hips, legs and feet trembling — your stomach was so tight now, so painfully tight; you were going to die.

“oh… angel.” eddie whispered, tone saturated with what you could faintly decipher as disappointment. just two words were enough to have your stomach twisting in fearful knots, pussy quivering around the cock brutalizing it.

“maybe i’m fucking you too stupid… this is your third, sweet girl.”

the sound you released was downright pitiful — not quite a moan, not quite a whimper, but something in between. you’d gotten it wrong.

you’d answered his question wrong.

“‘m sorry!” you cried, hands pulling against the restraints. “‘m so sorry!”

that’s all you could do now — apologize and beg for his forgiveness, for even the slightest bit of clemency.

eddie hummed low in his throat, but the noise seemed strangled. his hips stuttered once more and his cock kicked against your walls — and it dawned on you that he was a lot closer than you initially thought.

“i’ll let it slide this once, angel.” eddie whisped, breathlessly. “but in return, y’gotta cum f’me. gotta get this cunt nice and sloppy f’me, ‘kay?”

you hadn’t expected to receive clemency so easily — but you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“yes, yes, thank you…” you babbled, head so pleasantly fuzzy and muscles weak with relief.

eddie groaned deep in his throat and whipped his right hand away from your face — you were almost completely unprepared for it when he planted his fingers over your clit and rubbed harshly, the slide aided by the creamy mess between your bodies.

“fuck! too much—” you cried out, back arching straight off of the mattress. it was all hot lightning, shooting all through your body and electrifying your muscles.

“it’s not — it’s not. just fuckin’ cum, already.” eddie demanded, though it slipped into something a bit needier at the end — as if he were begging for you to do so.

your ability to speak was robbed by the intense pain coursing through your body — there was pleasure there, of course, but between eddie’s cock bullying your cervix and his fingers abusing your swollen clit, there was very little chance for it to shine.

the orgasm building inside your gut wasn’t one of pleasure — rather, one that was being forced from your tired body, completely drawn through by your anatomical structure; you were built to orgasm after a certain amount of stimulation, and you’d do so even if it hurt.

“eddie, i-i’ll die!” you wailed, body quaking, nerves fraying — and all at once it stopped, eddie’s fingers disappeared from your clit and he was no longer hovering above you pounding you senseless. on the contrary, he was no longer fucking into your cervix with savage accuracy.

“fuck, it’s so good!” eddie groaned, hips bucking wildly. “so fuckin’ sloppy and warm — bes’ fuckin’ pussy — mmmm, yeah — shit!”

eddie had seemed to of completely forgotten about your orgasm — he was chasing after his own now, high off of your pussy, drunk on the sensations around his cock. you’d never heard him sound so… whiny, or needy before.

“god, please, please. let me c-cum in’ya, angel. le’me fill’ya up.” eddie slurred, voice thick yet airy, hips slamming into you without any real rhythm.

“you feel so good, i jus’ — jus’ wanna breed you. wan’a stuff you. can i?” eddie wasn’t even really giving you a chance to respond, more words and vulgarities tumbling from his lips like a waterfall.

“yeah, you’re gon’a le’me fill you up. fuck, fuck, yer so good, losin’ my fuckin’ mind—”

eddie was completely scrambled, eyebrows knit tightly together and eyes glazed over — he looked so fucked out, so crazed, that it left you starstruck.

“mmm — god, baby, yes, i’m-i’m coming!” eddie whined, slamming deep into your pussy once, then twice — and then he was spilling inside you, cock twitching and throbbing with every single shallow pump of his hips.

as always, his cum was thick, shooting out of his cock with such a velocity that you could faintly feel the way it splattered against your cervix — and the whole time, as your pussy milked him, eddie whimpered against your ribcage, body practically folded in half over yours as he rode his orgasm out in short, slow thrusts.

it took you a few moments to register what had actually just happened — and when it dawned you, you didn’t really know what to think about it. it was an idea that was just far too outlandish to consider, had you not witnessed what you had.

eddie may have the propensity to be a switch.

[mayrose713]

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 6

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

I don't think you guys realize how hard it is for me to write Hyunjin and Seungmin as rude and mean, I just love them so much. I promise it's not forever though. I'm going to start refiring to Felix as an omega as the pack does all see him as one. He is still completely a beta though.

Chapter 6

Y/n has been wandering around the house a little bit to have a better understanding as to where everything is while most of the pack is out or doing their own things. She avoids going into any of the bedrooms she knows about, not wanting to invade anyone's privacy even though all four alphas and Jisung and Felix told her she’s welcome in theirs anytime she wants.

She hadn’t realized exactly how big the house was originally until she started to explore. There’s an indoor and outdoor pool that is connected and just has a  small opening under glass that separates it. They have an at home gym, which is where Changbin and Chan currently are. There’s a game room with a pool table, foosball, video game set with several consoles and a large TV and a lot of seating. As well as a small wet bar that looks like has some alcohol and snacks. She really only had gotten to glance in there though since Hyunjin is currently painting in there and made sure he didn’t notice her. 

She saw their den just off of the living room and dining room, it having a large nest to be able to fit the whole pack. She already knows that it was Felix who had made it. And saw the other four guest bedrooms already knowing the fifth one as Hannah’s since she’s been getting clothes from the closet each day. She had planned to wander around outside and see how big the grounds are but there has been something about the second floor that has been bothering her.

She had noticed that there were ten bedrooms and five bathrooms. Minho had told her whose rooms were whose of the packs as well as who was sharing which bathrooms, she’s sharing a bathroom with Felix and Jisung gets his own since he’s too messy, no one wanted to share. But there’s that tenth bedroom that he had just walked past and didn’t say anything about, and she wants to know what’s in it.

She quietly goes down the hallway and reaches the bedroom at the end right next to Chan's room. She glances around to make sure she’s alone before opening the door. She walks in and sees a bare bed and there’s a few boxes around. No decorations on the wall or even a dresser or desk. And the closet is empty. She feels a little guilty for snooping but she can’t help but to look inside the boxes. 

There’s a bunch of pictures in one box, it’s all of the pack from when they were younger except there’s another guy in each one that she doesn’t recognize. She goes through each one smiling at how cute the pack was so young but she’s curious as to who the ninth person is and wonders where he is now. 

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” A voice scares her causing her to drop the pictures back in the box as she looks up to see an angry Seungmin. 

“I-I was just… w-wandering the house.” She tries to explain herself. “To-to get a feel for everything.”

“You’re a guest here, you don’t get to just go around snooping.” He growls and grabs her bruised wrist hard, causing her to whimper as he drags her out of the room. “Besides, this room is off limits.”

“No-no one told me that.” She holds back making any other sounds of pain. “I’m sorry.”

Seungmin pushes her down the hall a little causing her to stumble. “Know your place, omega.”

“Seungmin.” Chan growls, having witnessed what just happened, still sweaty from his workout with Changbin.

The beta just glares at his alpha, not caring about any consequences. “Don’t go reprimanding me, she was snooping when she shouldn’t be.” He motions to the now closed door.

“I’m so-sorry.” Y/n curls in on herself scared the alpha’s going to lash out at her. “I didn’t know the room was off limits. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay baby girl.” Chan reaches a hand out to place on her cheek causing her to flinch a little before leaning into his touch which breaks Chan's heart. “I’m not mad at you, you didn’t know, no one had told you that there were any off limits rooms. It’s okay.”

“Seriously?” Seungmin grunts throwing his arms up in the air and rolls his eyes causing Chan to glare at him.

“Go to your room, Seungmin.” The alpha growls and his eyes harden when the younger boy doesn’t move. “NOW.”

The omega jumps a little at Chan’s voice and cowers when Seungmin stomps past.

“I’m sorry if that scared you.” Chan rubs his thumb on her cheek. “And I’m sorry for Seungmin, did he hurt you?”

Y/n shake’s her head no not wanting the beta to get in anymore trouble for hurting her wrist more but Chan saw how hard he had a hold of her injured wrist.

“I’m sorry for snooping.”

“You have no reason to apologize.” He coos. “No one told you that we keep that room closed for a reason. And you’re just trying to get a better understanding of the house, right?”

“Yeah.” She nods before looking away from him. “Can I ask why that room is off limits? And… who is that guy in the pictures?”

Chan sighs. “That room used to belong to that guy in the pictures.” She notices how he clenches his jaw as though it's a hard subject to talk about. “Can I tell you more another time? It’s a complicated and delicate subject. And I need to deal with Seungmin.”

“Yeah.” She whispers and just after, the sound of the front door opening and Jisung yelling her name is heard. 

“Why don’t you go see what the pups have for you.” Chan smiles and hurries her along before he goes to the youngest beta’s room

Y/n walks down the stairs to see Jisung, Felix and Jeongin bringing in bags and bags of pillows, blankets, plushies, and two bags of clothes.

“What is all of this?” Her eyes widen in shock before she moves to inspect the contents.

“Nesting materials.” Jisung beams at her as he starts pulling out some soft fluffy blankets. 

“Some for the communal nest in the den. I want you to help me remake it.” Felix starts to explain. “And some of it is for the rest of the house to start getting all of our scents on it so you can use them for nesting, both in your room and for us when we need to update the den.”

“And I picked out some comfy clothes for this weekend.” Jeongin shows her the variety of sleep shorts and pajama pants, soft t-shirts, sweatshirts and crewnecks. “We plan to take you on a proper shopping spree later.”

“You guys didn’t have to do all of this.” The omega feels a wave of emotions overcome her as she tries to hold back happy tears.

“Yes we did.” Jisung pulls her to him, wrapping her in a big hug. “You needed some proper stuff, we just happened to go a little bit overboard with it.”

“A little bit?” Changbin laughs walking into the living room from the home gym as he wipes the sweat away with a towel around his neck. “It looks like you guys bought the whole store.”

“We weren’t sure exactly which materials she would prefer more, so we got several of each.” Felix pouts as if it was a logical thought to him.

“How thoughtful.” The alpha ruffles Felix’s hair, kissing his head before pulling both Jisung and Y/n to his chest as the beta was still hugging her.

“Eww, hyung, you stink.” Jisung tries to move them away. “Go take a shower.

“Only if you join me, baby.” Changbin smirks at how flustered the younger one gets.

“Binnie, not in front of the omegas.” Jisung wines before letting go of Y/n as he gets dragged away by the alpha. 

“Gross.” Jeongin scrunches up his nose at the two before turning to the two omega’s. “I’ll go ahead and get your new clothes washed so you can put them away in your room. Lix, where do you want all the nesting materials?”

“Leave them for now, whatever we don’t use in the den I’ll distribute between all of the rooms to get everyone's scent.” 

Jeongin nods before taking the bags of clothes to the laundry room as Felix drags Y/n into the den.

“Alright, let's strip this nest and rebuild it.” Felix starts before noticing the omega standing outside of it unsure. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never actually built a nest before.” She rings her fingers together. “I don’t know what to do or how it’s supposed to go.”

“It’s okay, that’s why I’m here to help you.” He holds his hand out to her and brings her into the nest. “Your omega instincts are supposed to tell you how it wants it to feel like but I know yours are suppressed right now. So for now do it based on how you would want certain scents and textures where. Once the suppressants wear off and you're better we can redo it again with better instincts.”

Y/n nods and helps strip the nest before they get to work on rebuilding it. They use a mix of the old materials as they still have the packs scents on them as well as the new ones just bought as they both like how it feels. Once they were done they went around and distributed the rest of the blankets, pillows and plushies around the house. Felix took some to each of the members' rooms and Y/n placed some in the living room and the game room now the Hyunjin is no longer in there.

“I think we did good.” Felix beamed after they were both done and came back to the den. He grinned at the omega before tackling her into the nest, cuddling her. “Now I think it’s time for omega bonding.”

“You didn’t omega bond enough when you guys were making the nest?” Jeongin walks in with a basket of Y/n's new clean and folded clothes.”

“Not like this.” Felix pouts.

Jeongin smiles before motioning to the basket. “Where do you want me to put these, Y/nnie?”

“You can set them by the doorway, I’ll take them up to my room and put them away when Lixie lets go of me.” She smiles and wiggles against the other omega to make him laugh. “Thank you for washing them for me Innie, I could have done that later.”

“It’s no problem.” 

“Seriously?” Hyunjin walks in from the back door with some of his art supplies, stopping when he sees the two in the nest. “Now she’s contaminating our den?” Jeongin growls at the older member as the beta gets closer to the nest. “And did you guys let her remake the nest? There’s no way I’m doing anything in there now.”

“Jinnie, she needed to since she’s going to need to be in the den during her dry heat.” Felix sits up to reason with Hyunjin.

“Why?” He scoffs. “She can just stick it out in the room she’s staying in.”

“You stormed off when we were discussing everything about it so you don’t get to have a say on where she goes or how we go about this.” Jeongin crosses his arms trying to assert his dominance even though he's younger than the beta. 

“Whatever.” Hyunjin rolls his eyes and walks away heading upstairs. 

Felix pouts, wishing both Hyunjin and Seungmin would come around to their omega, his scent souring a little which causes Y/n’s to also sour as she feels she’s the cause of all of this.

Jeongin crawls into the nest and pulls the two to him. “Come here.” He coos as he scents both of them trying to sooth them as much as possible before just cuddling them. “My omegas.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

When Minho got home from work and getting groceries he texted the other three alphas to help him bring everything in but only Chan and Chanbin came.

“Where’s Innie?” 

“I haven't seen him since he got home from shopping with Ji and Lix.” Changbin furrows his brows as he opens the trunk. 

“Y/n didn’t exactly know what she likes for food and drinks since her family limited her.” Minho explains as they start grabbing bags. “So I got different kinds of snacks and drinks and just some normal filling foods for meals for her dry heat to make sure she gets enough nutrients and then after I plan to just make meals as normal and we'll learn what she likes and doesn’t like.”

“God I’m hating her family more and more each day.” Changbin growls as they take all the bags inside. 

“I’m pretty sure all of us feel the same way.” Chan sighs as he sets bags on the kitchen counter.

“I also got her some heating pads to hopefully help soothe the cramps.” Minho pulled them out of a bag and was about to put them in the den when he noticed Seungmin and Hyunjin standing in the doorway of it with their arms crossed. 

All the alphas walk over to question what they’re doing when they realize Jeongin is cuddled up with Y/n, Felix and Jisung, who had joined after showering with Changbin, in the nest napping. This causes the three alphas to melt at the sight of it, especially when they hear both omegas purring. They don’t get to hear Felix purr very often.

Minho notices that Y/n’s bruised wrist seems to be worse than it was when he had put the bruising cream on it this morning and is a bit irritated causing him to frown and furor his eyebrows. He gets Chan’s attention and motions to his wrist before pointing to her. Chan realizes what he means and scowls at how worse her wrist looks before mouthing Seungmin’s name. Minho huffs and glares at the beta before angrily turning back to putting the groceries away. 

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this series

Tag list: @estella-novella @mbioooo0000 @ms-flowergirl @blindspot143 @sinfulfic @ihrtlix @arishoriasims @fic-for-readers @motheraiya55 @hwangrfrnd @pixie0627 @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @juskz @borahae-reads @dreamerwasfound @galaxy4489

[mohammedalanqar]

It is not in the nature of noble souls to pass by in silence while others suffer. Some calls for help may not be clear, but they arise from genuine need, and recognizing them is a testament to our humanity.

"I am not talking here about financial donations; there are ways that can support my family more than material aid."

Have you ever asked about my children? Your message alone could be a source of joy and hope for them. Isn’t that a part of our humanity? We are vulnerable in this world.

Do you write and share posts? Do you have the heart to stand beside those in need? Is it hard to support this family with a single post? Imagine the joy of doing something meaningful with your day by bringing a smile to a family facing hardship with four children in the midst of war.

Do you care to follow their blog? It might make them feel they matter to someone. Even if they don’t survive these circumstances, it would be beautiful for them to live with a sense of hope, just by knowing someone is there with them.

Happiness may come from simply trying to help others! Make today different from other days and offer them even a kind word.

Sometimes I dream that a big blogger reaches out to me and says, ‘Go, take care of your children and provide for them. I will support your campaign and share it on my blog.’ Just the thought of someone lifting this weight from me fills me with hope.

[inkedtae]

Happy Chantober!

SO! We have reached the end! I literally cannot believe that thrity-one days have gone by so fucking fast! It has been a hell of a month though! Shall we do a quick recap?

In total, I have posted four fics to celebrate Chan. We started off with his b-day fic, The Underground. It was yet another whirlwind of unhinged horniness on my part. I wrapped up the Howlin' series with the final chapter. It only took me two fucking years to finally get around to it. Next, I kept it quick and light with a Hogwarts AU, posting Between Roar and Whisper. Who doesn't love some tense enemies-to-lovers smut? And finally, only one day late, we ended it with a spooky bahng with Elixir of the Damned. This late fic really took it out of me. I was sleep deprived for the week leading up to its posting and knocked right out the moment I hit 'post'.

I do not regret a single second of it though because I was doing it all with you! Thank you so much for reading, liking, rebloging, and sending in asks/comments about the fics and just Channie in general. We even had a highlight reel going during the last week. It really kept me motivated and I'm just so happy I was able to get out as many fics as I did.

I know I still have so much to learn when it comes to bias months. I get way too ambitious. Even though I planned four main fics, I also wanted to post bonus chapters of previous fan favourites and do character asks. I just never have time between working and writing. I definitely need to start these fics at least a month or two in advance. I constantly underestimate the amount of time I have to get all these fics done.

However, while I still have a long way to go, I still believe it was a success! This month has really kickstarted my passion for writing again. I don't think I have ever felt more like myself in nearly year than I did during these last thrity-one days. The stories, the characters, the worlds I discovered and explored have been like a dose of fresh air after being underwater for so long.

More than that though, just being able to reconnect with you and Chan again has really made me feel a part of something. I know that I have been gone a long time and I know that this blog is a safe haven from the pressure of society and just the reality of everyday life for some people. I hope it continued to be that safe space for you and you were able to, even just for a minute, get lost in something else this month.

I really hope you had a wonderful Chantober! Thank you again for celebrating with me! Sending you all big hugs and wishing you a great day/night!

chantober 2024

Welcome to Chantober!

I have a problem.

I am in love with Christopher Chan Bahng. As I am sure you might be too if you are reading this. Or perhaps you are just a fan of my writing and want to know more about when I will post and what is to come. Either way, I want to welcome you to another year of Chantober!

I had wanted to continue this bias month tradition last year, however with the ending of Chan's Room and some other personal events occuring, I did not have the time, energy or motivation to write 1 fic, let alone 3 or 4.

But in the time I took to heal and self-reflect, I have found that no matter how hard I try, I cannot stop conjuring ideas, characters, settings and stories. Chan centred around a lot of them since his comforting character prevents me from literally losing my mind between having a shitty job and navigating some family issues.

I used to think he and I were very much alike- and perhaps a lot of it was due to delusions of my own making (though his bubble messages are very misleading). But I think I have started to notice how different we are, and that perhaps the only thing that really connects us, besides the music, is the loneliness of never feeling enough. Maybe that's what connects Stays to Stray Kids as a whole. This hovering feeling of inadequacy looming over us, adamant on prevent us from reaching our full potential.

However, Stray Kids have time and again proven their talent and passion. Determined to be something more, to make something more of themselves, they work hard and reach far, even if they don't think they will make it. They try.

I needed someone like Chan to lead me back into myself. It took a while. But, I am here.

SO! Whatever brought you here too, may it be curiosity, fate, obsession (i literally never stop thinking about him/skz either), or you clicked on this by accident, I hope that you stick around for another month of everything CHAN.

As per Chantober ritual, I will only be posting Chan content (though there will be one day of exception when Hobi finally comes back from military service!). I will be posting a fanfic every Thursday and dedicating my posts from texts to pics all to Chan. If you have any Chan content or would like to participate beyond just reading fics, please send it my way here! I will also be tracking the tag #chantober 2024.

Happy Chantober! 

❥ the underground ⟶ october 3rd     ↳ dark themes, boxing au, s2l

❥ howlin' ⟶ october 10th     ↳ werewolf au, soulmates, f2l

❥ between roar and whisper ⟶ october 17th     ↳ hogwarts au, slytherin x gryffindor, e2l,

❥ elixir of the damned ⟶ october 31st     ↳ vampire au, witch au, s2l

updated : october 31st

[lovecla]

TAKE IT EASY (OTHERWISE I’M LEAVING) | connor bedard.

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist, single chapter:

ᡣ𐭩 — pair: connor bedard x fmc (olivia)

ᡣ𐭩 — synopsis: in which connor bedard’s girlfiend, olivia, is tired of seeing her boyfriend destroy himself every single day.

ᡣ𐭩 — word count: 3.1k

ᡣ𐭩 — chapter warnings: inspired by the song “you” by chase atlantic, angst, hurt with a dash of comfort.

ᡣ𐭩 — from me to you: the second chase atlantic released this album i knew i had to write something inspired by it. i missed writing for bedsy and since he’s our golden, hardworking boy, i thought this was very fitting. hope u like it 🤍

ᯓᡣ𐭩

but you've been diggin' up the truth

haven't slept in like four nights now

blame it on substance abuse

out in the deep end, i'm swimmin', i'm swimmin' again

YOU WOKE up startled with the loud bang coming from somewhere inside your apartment, your whole body jumping and your heart starting to race inside your chest.

Now, almost fully awake, you stare at the clock sitting on your bedside table, reading the time. 4:13 a.m., and when you pat the other side of the bed, where your boyfriend of two years should be laying, you frown as you find it empty and lukewarm to the touch.

“Connor?” You whisper, scared to wake him up unnecessarily, even if you knew he wasn’t lying with you in bed. Again.

You get up, the fabric of his old Blackhawks sweater heating up your skin, as you put on your slippers and leave the bedroom, noticing traces of Connor’s absence here and there— his slippers aren’t by his side of the bed, his duffel bag isn’t on the hallway like it usually is, his water bottle isn’t on the couch like he had left it last night, when you both went no sleep at one in the morning.

So that’s why you don’t understand what he’s doing by the front door, ready to leave, even if he had only slept for three hours.

“Connor?” You call again, watching as his blue eyes look at you, surprise and guilt decorating his expression like a famous painting hanging on the Louvre’s wall. “What are you doing?”

Your voice is still soft, and despite the scare, your eyes can barely stay open. You’re tired, tonight was the first night you had allowed yourself to sleep freely since now you were done with your exams. And you were happy because you managed to convince Connor to come home earlier, at eleven instead of midnight, just so you could spend some time together, like you used to do when you started dating.

“Liv, hey,” he whispers, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

That’s when you realize what he’s doing. The bag, the stick on his hand, the outfit. He’s—

“Are you serious right now?” You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. “You’re going to the rink? At four in the morning?”

“Baby, you know I need to,” he tries to sound convincing and if it wasn’t for the fact that this is probably the hundredth time he’s done this, you would’ve actually believed him. “We have a game coming up and—”

“Yes, I am well aware of that, Connor. But you went to sleep at one. Two nights ago, you also went to sleep at one and woke up at five. And the night before, and the night before that too.”

You don’t try to hide your feelings anymore. You want him to know you’re upset, and you want him to know that this, whatever the hell he’s doing, isn’t okay.

“I know, baby, but you know I have to keep practicing so I can help the guys.” He’s now facing you, his body visibly tense.

“That doesn’t even make sense, Connor, what the hell. There are other twenty fucking people in your team, you’re not the only player there. It’s not your responsibility only!” You cover your face with your hands, truly upset.

“Liv,” he calls your name, and it hurts to even hear it, because his voice is so full of guilt and shame. It makes you feel sick. “You’re not being reasonable right now. This is the NHL. You know how hard I’ve worked for this. There are people counting on me.”

“And I’m not one of them?” You whisper, making eye contact again, only to realize you’re not strong enough to have this conversation at four in the morning.

“Liv—”

“It’s fine, Connor. Go to practice.” You sigh, making your way back to the bedroom, praying that he doesn’t notice the tears running down your cheeks.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

you said, "take it easy, otherwise i'm leaving

yeah, i don't wanna stay and watch you die",

ᯓᡣ𐭩

CONNOR HAD an injury.

His jaw had been fractured, and he had to go to surgery to fix it. You were in the arena watching the game with Connor’s sister when it happened, and you had never been so scared.

You know Hockey is about hitting people as much as it is about playing and winning, but you won’t lie and say your heart doesn’t hurt inside your chest whenever you see Connor getting hurt on the ice.

And you aren’t dumb. You know that some players will purposefully hurt him just because he’s good. And even if people aren’t one hundred percent sure that that is what happened that night, you still remember the terrible feeling of losing when you were in the ambulance with Connor to the hospital, trying your hardest not to cry in front of anyone because you know what they would say.

She’s not tough enough to date a NHL player.

But you believed yourself to be tough. The only problem with all of this is that you knew Bedard would never take great care of himself, meaning that you’d have to be with him twenty-four-seven, which wouldn’t be a problem, if only he accepted your help.

Now, four weeks after the surgery, you’re inside the United Center, the Blackhawks arena in Chicago, stomping your feet as you walk towards the rink, the sound of your steps being muffled by Connor’s constant skating.

“Connor.”

You have to call him a few times so that he can finally get out of his head and look at you; once again, those blameworthy eyes looking down at you, as he skates closer to the benches where you were standing.

“Liv.”

“What do you think you’re doing, Connor?” You snap. “You’re supposed to be resting. You’re definitely not supposed to be on the ice.”

“I know, but my jaw is just fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.” He removes his helmet, running his gloved hand through his hair.

“It didn’t seem like it was fine last night when you had to swallow a bunch of pain pills because it was hurting. Connor, don’t you see what you’re doing to yourself?” You can feel your face heating up, and you’re trying so hard to keep your shit together but— “You have to allow your body to rest. If you keep up with this, you won’t get better—”

“That’s not an option, Liv, and you know it,” he hissed back, now looking more distressed than guilty. “This is my life. And I did allow myself to rest, I spent four weeks doing absolutely nothing, just like the doctor asked me to.”

“He said six to eight weeks, Connor,” you sigh, tired, not actually believing you’re having this conversation with him. “Please. Just think about how I feel when I know you’re not well enough to be here yet you still are.”

He pressed his lips together, placing his stick on the floor next to him and moving his helmet around his hands.

“Liv, you know I love you but this— Hockey is what I am. It’s what I do. You have to understand—”

“And I have done nothing but understand you!” You shout, finally losing your cool and snapping at him, your loud voice echoing through the empty arena’s walls. Connor takes a step back, but now you’ve already started and you won’t can’t stop. “Ever since we met, I have been nothing but understanding. I stood by your side at all times, even when what you were doing wasn’t healthy for you!”

“Olivia—”

“I went to sleep alone and cried more nights than you could ever imagine,” your voice cracks, and your stubborn tears are already rolling down your face. “I still supported you no matter what. I cooked your meals, I packed your bags, I went to those ridiculous gala dinners and I did it all with pleasure because I love you and you’re supposed to do these types of things for the people you love!”

“Baby—”

“So you don’t get to stand in front of me and ask me to understand how badly you treat yourself and how you don’t care about anything else besides Hockey when I gave up everything to be with you!” You try to wipe your face, stepping back when Connor tries to reach you. He frowns when you flinch. “I gave up my freedom because I wanted to be with you and God knows I’d do it all over again because I fucking love you.”

“Baby, I know all of this and I’m grateful, I really am but—”

You let out a wet chuckle, shaking your head. “There’s always a but with you.”

“Hockey is important to me, baby.”

“And I am not.”

The silence after your words is cruel, and it tears you apart, scratching your skin and making your insides hurt. His blue eyes, your favorite color to ever exist, are also filled with tears and you hate to see it. You hate to feel bad about saying these things.

The thing about loving someone is that the thread between giving up yourself for them and giving yourself to them is really thin.

You love Connor Bedard. Have loved him for years now. He makes you happy, he listens to you, he’s your best friend.

“You know that’s not true, Liv,” he gets closer, the sound of his skates hitting the ice making you want to puke. “You know you’re more important to me than any of this. You know I love you.”

“No, Connor, I don’t,” you whisper, smiling even when all you feel is pain. “I can’t do this. I won’t watch you d-destroy yourself and not do anything.”

He removes his gloves quickly and grabs your wrist, cold fingers holding your arm down. “Olivia, wait.”

“No,” You shake your head. “I need time. Sorry.”

You don’t look at his face as you leave the arena, and you certainly don’t listen to his voice shouting your name, over and over again.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

i don't know what to do

i’m stuck in a loop, stuck in a loop

ᯓᡣ𐭩

HE WATCHES you talking to the children from afar.

You’re sitting on the floor, and it’s so obvious you’re better different from everyone else at the party. The children surround you like you’re their favorite princess or superhero, all of them wanting a little bit of your attention.

Connor feels like he should be offended, since those kids were there to see his team in the first place. It was some kind of reunion Foligno arranged with the media team, inviting some of his son’s friends and some other children with less opportunities.

But he isn’t. First of all, he’s thankful because if it weren’t for your charm, he would be the one having to deal with the children, something he wasn’t very fond of. Sure, he likes kids and he’s happy they like him, but if he could avoid social interactions, he would.

Besides that, watching you happy is something that he had missed, and he feels like shit for it. He knows he hasn’t been a good boyfriend, and he knows he should do better. Ever since that one night at the rink, you haven’t been the same.

But if he thinks about it too much, he realizes that you haven’t been yourself for a long time now.

And it hurts.

It hurts because he doesn’t know what to do. He loves you, the very first girl he fell in love with, but he also loves Hockey. As a young player in the NHL, he feels like he constantly needs to prove himself to others, and since people give him so much attention, he needs to keep on being a good player.

He doesn’t know how to balance things, how not to spend hours and hours without end on the ice, muting all of his doubts and worries while he keeps throwing the puck in the net.

You smile at a little boy who’s now handing you a flower, and Connor smiles as he watches you ask the little boy to put it on your hair, laughing when the other kids stop their babbling to clap at your newest look.

You make eye contact with him, and he feels himself getting devastated when he notices that the shine in your eyes lessened a little when you looked at him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

(why do you hate me?)

i could never hate you, despite the words that you've been sayin'

i’ve been having breakthroughs

and hoping you were proud, just maybe

anxiety drives me insane, and my newest addiction is pain

i know i said it was a ‘phase’

five years later, still stuck in my brain

ᯓᡣ𐭩

CLOSING THE front door with a sigh, you let your first sob out. The tears won’t stop, and you don’t bother to wipe them, it would be pointless.

All you want to do is slide down to the floor and stay there, letting the hardwood hurt your back and get you dirty, but you can’t. Your car decided to break in the middle of the road on your way back from college, and you had to walk until you found the nearest telephone to call your insurance company, which would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the terrible storm going on, the water drops penetrating your thin shirt like you weren’t even wearing anything in the first place.

It’s just one of those days where everything that could possibly go wrong goes wrong, but you’re already so fed up with life lately that this all seems too much.

“Liv? What happened, baby?”

You lift your head up faster than you should've, because now you can see tiny, black dots floating around in your vision. You weren’t expecting to see Connor at your house, much less wearing the apron you gave him when he prepared his first dish by himself two years ago— a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Connor,” you whisper, not looking him in the eye. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I texted you,” he says, removing the apron that read “cook it yourself, cunt”. “What happened, baby? Are you hurt?”

You don’t say anything, mostly because you’re certain that if you let one little word slip past your lips you’ll start crying uncontrollably once again, so you just shake your head and leave your things on the floor beside you, walking past him so you could get to your room.

He’s quick to follow, though, watching as you remove your wet clothes and get in the shower, both of you silent and lost in your own thoughts.

Not talking to Connor about your feelings feels weird, but you can’t help but feel like you’re holding him back. It’s sickening, because all you want is to stay with him and be happy, but sometimes loving is also letting go.

You get out of the shower, feeling the tears coming back when you spot the change of clothes Connor left for you on top of the toilet lid— his shirt, his pants, your favorite panties.

He knows you too well. He knows who you are as a person and he knows who you want to become. He knows your fears and your ambitions, he knows your dreams and hopes. He knows what you stand for and what you absolutely despise.

He knows you.

You change, and leave the bathroom quickly, wanting nothing more than to lay down and sleep for days.

“Some lady from your insurance company just called, saying your car will be ready next week,” Connor says, and only then you noticed he’d been standing next to your wardrobe the entire time, crossed arms in front of his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me your car was broken?”

You shrug. “I knew you were at practice. Didn’t want to bother you.”

“So you walked home? In the rain?” You can tell by his tone that he’s upset, but there’s nothing much you can do.

“I mean, what did you want me to do?” You scoff. “My phone died and I had no cash on me. And honestly, we both know that you would never leave the ice for something like this.”

“Liv, you know that’s not true,” he whispers, getting closer to you. “You know that I’d leave at any moment if I even knew you needed me.”

“Whatever,” you mumble before reaching for your phone in your bag, the device thankfully still dry, and put it to charge, removing the hundreds of pillows you have on top of your bed and throwing them on the carpet floor, already visualizing the amazing sleep you’d have.

“What are you doing?” You feel his hands on your back, his body closer to yours than it’s been in a while. “You haven’t had dinner yet. I cooked…”

His sad tone makes you break again, and you hate yourself for it. But you still love him so much, and it hurts to see what you’ve become.

“Liv, please, tell me what’s wrong,” he pleads, turning you around and wiping your tears with his thumbs. “I’ll fix it, I promise. Just tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

“Can you fix us?” You whisper, resting your head against his chest, inhaling his comforting scent. He smells like home and the winter. “Can you fix what we’ve become?”

He’s quiet for a while, long fingers caressing your hair, like he used to do back when you had started dating.

“I’m trying, I swear I am,” he whispers back, and you can finally hear genuineness in his voice. “You’re everything to me, baby, and I won’t lose you.”

“I’m not asking you to give up on Hockey,” you explain, watching as your tears stain his shirt. “I’m just asking you to take care of yourself. Connor, I need you to take care of yourself.”

“I know, baby, and I’m sorry,” he kisses your cheek, the first time his lips touch you in more than two weeks. “I’m so sorry.”

You listen to his heartbeat and sigh, choosing not to say anything. You know the only way you can find out if he’s being genuine or not is with time, because only it will tell if you’re fixable or not.

But as you let yourself sleep close to his body that night, losing yourself between the sheets and his arms, you can finally breathe again.

Because he said he’ll try, and Connor Bedard always tries his hardest with everything.

[emmaitoshi]

SEASONAL SENDOFFS - WINTER I

To Sae,

Happy New Year! I hope the first part of your season with Re Al has gone well. I was watching your last game before the winter break, you're playing really well in the midfield, considering you've always been a striker. It’s super cool that they upload all of the academy games on their website, so I don't have to spend all my savings trying to get a flight to Spain!!

Rin was upset this Christmas, he really wished you were at home, but maybe next year! Did you get any gifts? Did you and some of your teammates do secret Santa? I did it with our friends back here and I got a Re Al jersey with your name and number on the back. It's super cool and I put a picture of it in this envelope.

School is going okay, I’ve started my studies for entrance exams, but according to my teachers I could get into any school so hopefully they go well! Are you studying over in Spain? If so, are there any differences between schooling there versus in Japan? Are you learning Spanish? Is it an easy language or are you finding it hard?

Relating to school, the end of Junior High School dance is coming up in February. I’m going with one of the guys in class 3-C, he seems nice and he and his friends have started sitting with a few of us girls at lunch. He’s really good at football too, but never as good as you, he only plays at provincial level. But anyway, I thought it’d be fun to go, even though it feels a little weird going to something like this without you with a guy. I’ll definitely send you pictures so you can judge my outfit. Or maybe, if you’re feeling brave, you can send me a pic in some non soccer clothes for once!

Oh, also, seeing as you probably got a new phone number due to changing countries and all, I have an instagram account now. You can follow me there and we can text so it doesn't cost us any charge, my user name is @yn.ln !!

Everyone back home is really proud of you Sae, especially the school football coach. It’s funny, at the guys’ training he’s always telling the forwards to “play like Sae,” which honestly puts them under pressure because not everyone has that talent. But someone who does is Rin, he’s a first year but is starting as one of two strikers for the team. He really does wish he was just like you, and he still tells me of his dreams to win the World Cup for Japan with you.

By the way, have you found any cool places to hang out in Spain? Tried any new foods? I know you’re usually super focused on training, but I hope you’re taking some time to enjoy everything there too. I read in one of the magazines I picked up that Spanish food is amazing, like churros and paella! If you’ve tried any, let me know if they live up to the hype.

Well, I better wrap this up since I still need to finish some homework before tomorrow, this was included! Apparently to raise English standards in the country every student needs to write four letters, in English, every year. So start expecting to receive these every once in a while.

But I wanted to say keep going, Sae. Everyone here misses you, and we’re all rooting for you! Take care of yourself, and I hope we can catch up in person soon. Who knows? Maybe I’ll save enough for that ticket to Spain by the end of the year!

Write back to me if you have time! And send lots of pictures if you can.

Happy New Year again, and good luck with the rest of the season. You’ve got this!

Best wishes, Y/N L/N

[mixterglacia]

Content Warning: VIVZIEPOP CRITICAL/STOLITZ CRITICAL UNDER THE CUT.

TL;DR: The episode felt very disjointed, with an extremely weak opening and a decent end.

Biggest takeaway from this episode is how incapable the team seems to be at balancing themselves. Their humor is mediocre, but fine, with moments of brilliance. But when paired with the serious elements, it cheapens both to the point of totally undermining themselves.

The first half DRAGGED on, and got old pretty instantaneously. I am begging this writing crew to get better material than "haha tit dick swear word laughter pls". Often times, it takes away from a potentially great gag. Take the bellhop/igor guy. His initial reveal was hilarious, and got a full on belly laugh out of me. The moment he spoke totally ruined the bit.

You had it in the bag! You don't need to gild a lily! This is the penguins all over again. The decent end was so bogged down by the first half that it dulled all that followed.

The one through line that I enjoyed was Moxxie spiraling over the finances. Very well done.

I'm not particularly pressed about Blitz being this distressed over the breakup, but they're not focusing on what I feel is realistic for him? If you started it by having him panicking over losing his one source of income, that makes more sense.

Have money be the beginning, then transition into his deeper feelings. This way it doesn't feel at odds with his motivations in previous episodes. His meltdown is believable, but you've done nothing to show the path he took to get there. It was like a switch flipping, rather than natural progression. It wasn't earned. Especially when their relationship is nothing short of emotional abuse.

Abuse victims often go back to their abuser, but they're trying to frame it as something romantic. This. Is. Abuse. Financial, emotional, and social abuse.

Speaking of earning, the second half's payoff. As I said, the humor being so lackluster in the start tarnished the good writing at the back end. There's no balance. The jokes weren't strong enough to contrast the heartfelt parts.

I really do appreciate them actually putting effort into Millie for once. I wish it was more consistent, because often she's totally shoved to the sidelines. She's not a main character, but that doesn't mean you can neglect her until you need her to make the boys look better. I'm also a bit ???? about her saying that Blitz makes her life better? She's constantly in trouble and financial duress because of him.

If they really wanted to make the end feel more cohesive, they needed to spend time focusing on her relationship with Blitz in the rest of the series. There's practically nothing beyond him bitching at her. Or harassing her and her husband. You need to lay the foundation so your house doesn't sink into the earth.

Once again, the Helluverse's greatest flaw is them not wanting to spend time to earn their cool shit. It's nothing more than a series of loosely connected drabbles. That structuring can work, but you need to commit to the nature of it. The team can't decide what they want from their product and it shows.

What. Is. The. Point?

Is this slice of life? Is it telenovela? Is it the Office, but in Hell? What is the goal? Because it's getting EXHAUSTING to try and follow. There's nothing wrong with wanting to change the plot of your work. But you have to put in the effort to make that transition solid. This is something they don't seem to grasp.

Additionally, if this if going to be used to set up Blitz finally cutting Stolas out of his life, it would be a decent frame for that. The entire office is circling the drain because a rich, pompous, pathetic little prince formed a parasocial relationship with someone that never liked him in that way. This episode would hold a lot of weight to swing at Stolas. But I fear they're just going to use the "uwu he secretly misses him" aspect, and neglect the owl RUINING FOUR PEOPLE'S LIVES BECAUSE HIS FAKE BOYFRIEND DOESN'T WANT TO COMMIT TO A FAKE RELATIONSHIP.

Small bits:

The antagonist was fun, and honestly surprised me with the quality of his writing. If the first half was stronger, or not present, I'd consider this one of the best episodes overall.

I'm not entirely clear on why Blitz is so fixated on fucking a ghost? He has no issue getting dick/pussy in hell so what's the issue? Is he mildly addicted to the softcore he's watching? Dunno. It's just one of the bits that bogged down the start.

Rodgers and Nixon did a very good job with what they had voice wise. Major kudos.

[fierceawakening]

The bizarre condescending attitude she’s demonstrating (I only got through a little over a minute. Tried to do all four but those are two minutes I could spend, like, writing my damn book) is exactly how I feel about her.

If you agree that some people will be unrepentant no matter what, if you think your community supports aren’t going to work on Diddy or Donald, WHERE ARE YOU DISAGREEING WITH ME?

There are some people who it’s just not safe to allow in the community and who we just haven’t yet found a way to restore to prosocial behavior enough to allow back into it. That is what “I hate that we will always need prisons but you have not convinced me you’re close to a permanent solution” MEANS.

Part of me wants to say something a little less condescending in reply but Jesus CHRIST.

I keep trying to give these people a chance and they just keep doing this.

Yeah, I’m taking back my two minutes. There’s just no fucking point.

Said this in a longer convo and thought it got at a point I’ve been struggling to make about “punishment should not be a part of morality” type claims I see on here:

Basically, I look at statements like, “if we were truly good we’d evolve past the desire to punish those who harm us and our loved ones” and think “every once in a while the left reinvents original sin and gives it a new name.”

[moonfurthetemmie]

Deimos & Phobos

Deimos

deimos is not best please with the shit Phobos is getting up to with Petruccio and Gonzalo.

I went through a couple of different boots for him but i think i've decided I like these best. i think this is like the only time i haven't given an evil Jet alternate some kind of fancy skirt, though I almost DID give him one

deimos' hair tips are Colored (slightly. is dark. but its there)

Since he can move by dissolving into shadows and nyooming around, practical shoes aren't quite as much of a concern for him if he has to fight. having said that, he's broken his ankles a few times in the past because he refuses to be sensible. he still has not learned his lesson. and he never will!

also there's abetter look at Deimos' armor + the ring that his pose hides. waow isn't he cool

for real tho i rarely do asymmetrical stuff like this because it messes with my brain (negative) but....ough he's pretty.......

I CAN'T MAKE HIM GLOW THE WAY I WANT. WAILS

Phobos

meanwhile, the shit Phobos is getting up to is just sparring with the JMV pair. in deimos' defense tho, if Gonzalo's not careful with his radiance he could very, very easily kill Phobos. Fortunately, after all these years being joined at the hip with Petruccio he's become very good at smothering his aura so he doesn't hurt corrupts that are just hanging out around him. phobos'll be fine.

Tbh this is like the 50th time i've put a dark alt in a very combat-ready outfit and I don't even know why. they just look really good like that i guess.

Heroforge hack: Making a really really dark color, setting it as a metal, and turning the roughness up to max makes it impossibly dark. it's great. Had to crank it down tho because it was so dark his hair had 0 definition. it was just a black blob.

Also the Scar. Deimos hasn't seen it yet. It used to just be the black lines from becoming a corrupt, but now...

Phobos is doing his best to keep Deimos from knowing without being suspicious about it. Because while he can't explain why, he knows with absolute certainty that the moment Deimos finds out he'll grab Phobos and run as far away from the manor, and especially Gonzalo and Petruccio, as he can.

But did you notice? The little touches of that same blue on his magic spear and on the buttons on his shirt? It's only a matter of time before Deimos realizes...