#if not I will probably go to one of the other two places I really like

[goldenhourology]

SAVE THE DATE.

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader

genre: smut, fluff, angst, frenemies to lovers

summary: 5 weddings in one year. 5 dates you saved for you and your boyfriend to attend — before he cheated. and now, you had to force your best friend, vernon, to go with you. but after losing a bet, mingyu agrees to take vernon’s place and be your date. this wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go, but you guess you could settle going with your only one-night-stand from college.

warnings: oral (f!recieving), fingering, 69ing, unprotected sex, reader on top, praise, mingyu has boyfriend dick<3, sub-ish!mingyu, also power bottom!mingyu 👍, multiple sex scenes, marijuana smoking/shotgunning, marijuana-induced horniness lol, one bed trope, forced proximity, miscommunication, HEAVY mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 19.9k

note: first things first, APOLOGIESSSSS for this taking so long. I've had a lot going on (which I know just about everyone says) and I was lowkey struggling to write this, even tho I was so amped for it. nevertheless, I'm so glad I was able to focus and finish it, because I care so much for these two and I desperately wanted to share their story with you 💓 per usual, please expect angst with your smut, and if you cry, I will not judge you and honestly would love to hear it lol. enjoy friends! (taglist posted at the bottom.)

in rotation: bmf, sza / mona lisa, mxmtoon / gorgeous, taylor swift / moonstruck, enhypen / finally // beautiful stranger, halsey

Your mom had told you that the friends you make in your first year of college stay with you for life, but you didn’t expect that when you met Vernon. He had been shy, refusing to speak to anyone in your orientation group, but knowing glances turned into sitting next to each other, which then had you both whispering jokes back and forth, until finally, he told you his name. Hansol Chwe to be exact, but he insisted on “just Vernon.” By the second semester of freshman year, you both had become inseparable. He was your best friend, been with you through some of the toughest moments of your adult life, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Vernon’s friendship survived through many of your boyfriends, and you knew he’d outlast many more. He experienced some of the worst ones – a.k.a. the men who refused to believe you two were just friends – and also the boring ones – the one guy who used you to get to him. But none of them had pissed him off more than your most current breakup: the man who was three years your senior and cheated on you with a 22-year-old. You assumed by age 27, you’d know how to pick ‘em, but that was clearly wrong.

Now you were left to your own devices with five weddings to attend this year. In retrospect, maybe there was a few you could’ve skipped, but you hated saying no in situations like this. You had agreed to go to all of them with your now ex-boyfriend in mind, placing a 2 on the invite’s attending line. Per usual, Vernon had stepped up and begrudgingly offered himself to be your date.

So why were you now meeting up with Kim Mingyu to discuss the dates of said five weddings?

You first met Mingyu when Vernon joined a fraternity in sophomore year to make more friends. “I can’t just have you. I need to have at least some friends that are dudes,” he said, which made you reply, “That’s the toxic masculinity talking.” And boy, had Mingyu been the epitome of that statement. Him and Vernon had connected instantly, sharing the same major and an affinity for art girls. You had never really gotten along with him like Vernon had hoped, but he was … attractive, to say the least.

Okay, maybe you had a crush on him. You had eyes.

But it was college and you both were on the cusp of 20. It was so hard to confess feelings back then, especially to someone like Kim Mingyu. Who you didn’t particularly enjoy talking to in the first place. However … he was probably one of the hottest men you’d ever seen; made in a lab for every young girl’s fantasy. Sometimes you couldn’t help but just stare at him, admiring his perfect teeth or the way his honey-gold skin shined in the afternoon sunlight. (You thanked your lucky stars that Vernon joined the college football team alongside Mingyu, just so you could  secretly ogle him during practice.)

Suffice to say, you did eventually hook up. In the most cliche way possible, you had both gotten a little too tipsy at the first frat party of senior year and wound up in Mingyu’s dorm, locking out his roommate for the entire night. It almost felt weird, realizing your attraction had been reciprocated, but he hardly said a word to you come morning. In fact, he never mentioned it again, period, choosing to avoid you except in group settings with Vernon. You weren’t a fool; you were quick to realize it meant nothing to him, just another notch on his bedpost.

Mingyu was every girl’s dream, but Mingyu was also uncommitted.

And he was walking towards you right now.

You looked up from your phone after stalking – looking through Mingyu’s Instagram. You never followed him, never checked in on him after graduation, but you knew how close he still was with Vernon. He even posted a picture with him recently. You rolled your eyes. Despite his long hair, you recognized Mingyu instantly as he went up to the barista and ordered a coffee. You studied him for a moment, noticing that there was a curl to his hair and the way those dark stands hung around his eyes. His skin was as perfect as ever and – goddamn, did he get bigger? He was wearing a jacket over his t-shirt and you could still tell how big his muscles were.

When he finally looked over his shoulder and your eyes connected, his face remained unchanged, if not a little awkward. He walked up to you, rubbing at the back of his neck, and said your name as if it were a question. “Yeah. Hi, Mingyu,” you replied with a wave. “It’s been a while.”

“Five years since graduation,” he added, pulling out the chair across from you and plopping down. “So you stopped putting those blonde highlights in your hair?”

Your eye twitched. Before you could spit out a response, a cute, dark-haired barista came over and set a fresh mug of coffee in front of him, completely ignoring that your own was practically empty. Mingyu flashed her a smile, showing off his pretty canines as she walked away. You frowned.

Vernon had told you last night that Mingyu wasn’t the same guy you knew in college, but you begged to differ.

Turning back to you, he took a sip from his mug and asked, “Why did you want to meet up again?”

“Because my best friend is an asshole and you lost a bet.”

“Oh, yeah. That.” He nodded.

You almost didn’t believe Vernon when he told you. You knew he didn’t exactly want to be your date to all these weddings and probably felt like he had to, but he did offer so you didn’t think much of it. Until he told you last week that he put all his guest invites on the line while playing a drinking game with Mingyu, which the latter lost. So now Kim Mingyu, your college one-night-stand that was scared of commitment, was committing to being your date to several weddings this year.

Kill me now, you thought.

“I thought drinking games and making silly bets like this didn’t happen once your frontal lobe formed,” you said, and his dark eyes flickered up to yours.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he cleared his throat and set the mug down again. “Men never really grow up.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and sat back in your chair. “Apparently,” you muttered under your breath. “How do you have the time to actually commit to this? Don’t you have a girlfriend or something?”

“One,” he held up a single finger, “I take bets very seriously and I’m not a sore loser. It’s only removing five weekends out of the year for me. No biggie. And two,” he lifted another finger, “No.”

You raised a brow. “Well, I guess that answers all my questions.”

Mingyu stared at you for a moment, running those two fingers over his bottom lip. You suddenly had a flashback to that night, remembering his hands all over you, remembering his fingers plunging inside and curling –

Not the time.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend? Why put down two people on these RSVPs you sent back and then force just anybody to be your date?” He fought the urge to smile, trying to dig a little deeper into you. You weren’t falling for it this time. “I love the guy, but I know Vernon wasn’t your first choice to accompany you.”

“My ex and I broke up,” you replied. “Not much to it.”

Intrigued, he sipped his coffee again. “Why?”

“It’s none of your business, Mingyu.”

“Well, as your new date –”

“Drop it,” you said, voice taking on a new tone. “I’m serious.”

Mingyu raised his hand in surrender, and you shook off your anger. This was supposed to be a friendly, quick conversation, but it was seemingly moving off the rails. A sigh escaped your mouth before you asked, “So you said this is only taking five weekends out of the year. What do you do with your time? Are you working?”

“I thought I answered all your questions.”

You narrowed your eyes.

He chuckled softly, exposing those canines once again. His smile was so … ugh, you needed to stop getting distracted. “I work at a restaurant four days a week as a cook, and then teach flag football at a rec facility the rest of the time. I’ve been trying to save up to open my own restaurant for years, but I got the time to be a makeshift wedding date.”

You knew Mingyu had always loved to cook – you remembered when he’d been the resident chef at the fraternity – but to hear he was still passionate almost … melted you a little. Almost. You were dedicated to not being too swayed by Mingyu’s pretty words. This was a deal and that was the end of it.

“I see,” you nodded, uncrossing your arms to play with the handle of your still empty mug. “I’ve been working at the same marketing agency since college. Pays the bills, you know?”

Mingyu gave you a knowing look before running a hand through the long strands. “Always so committed.”

Your lips pursed. “One of us has to be.”

“Speaking of commitment,” he said without missing a beat, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “What are the dates for those weddings again?”

Save the Date for the wedding of Choi Seungcheol and Holland Levine: February 28th

It was a rainy Sunday in February. Your coworker, Choi Seungcheol, was getting married today at a local venue on the outskirts. His girlfriend, Holland – otherwise known as, Hinge Holland, when he met her on the dating app 3 years ago – was a little kooky and asked for them to be eloped that morning. Seungcheol was too in love to say no; he’d do anything she asked. They were married early morning, and lucky for you and Mingyu, all you had to attend was a reception. It was a nice way to test the waters of this deal before anything got too crazy. 

Mingyu had picked you up in his truck, and together struggled to help lift you inside with your dress and heels on. As he drove away from the city and into a more rural area, he commented, “Your coworker must be real whipped to agree to a reception here.”

“What are you talking about?” You looked through your phone for the address Seungcheol had sent you months ago. “I thought the reception was at some small venue.”

Mingyu said your name, and you glanced over, seeing the smile on his face. “It’s a VFW owned by someone in his girlfriend’s family.”

You realized just how right he was when he pulled up to a spot in a VFW parking lot, seeing a crowd of Holland’s family pour into the post. You knew what the inside of a VFW looked like; you had your sweet 16 at one. But going to a wedding reception at one was a whole different story. Were the walls so old that they’d crumble once the DJ dared to play Dancing Queen?

Rain pounded from the sky, making the cold February wind even more chilly. Mingyu rounded the truck and opened your door, making sure to hold an umbrella above your head as you slid out of the seat. He looked … okay, he looked extremely handsome in his suit, tailored exactly to his body. You were in an old, off-the-shoulder black dress with mesh sleeves that were doing nothing in this wet cold. This wedding had crept up on you, and before you knew it, you remembered you didn’t have any new dresses to wear. And while it looked nice, the dress just barely zipped and you had to keep pulling up the neckline. Clearly, you had grown a bit since the last time you worn this. Probably in college.

Mingyu was staring at you now, letting his eyes wander down, and you were yanking at the neckline again. He didn’t deserve to see more of your cleavage. He whispered, “You look …”

“Just come on,” you cut him off, tugging him in the direction of the VFW. He struggled to keep up for a moment, rushing to hold the umbrella above both of you. 

As soon as you both walked inside, you realized just how dressed up you were compared to the place. The building looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1990s. There was, at least, a huge buffet-style food setup in the corner and a man so old that he probably had one foot in the grave behind the bar. A sign in front of him said, OPEN BAR, written in thick sharpie. Various family members were congregating at tables, while the DJ – who looked like a Pitbull impersonator – was setting up at the head of the room. 

Seungcheol ran over the second he saw you meandering through tables. He had the biggest smile on his face, tugging his new wife over to introduce her to you before wiggling his eyebrows at you when he noticed Mingyu on your arm. Even Holland couldn’t help but ogle him. Seungcheol was one of your closest coworkers, so it wasn’t weird when he asked, “Who’s the beefcake?”

Mingyu was too busy dealing with Holland’s questions to hear you reply, “Don’t ask. I’ve cycled through many options before I was forced to bring him.”

“I’m sure it was quite difficult for you,” he snorted, before carefully pulling his wife’s hand off of Mingyu’s and introducing himself. Not long after, he was ushering her away to start making speeches. 

You and Mingyu found your seat quickly, and luckily enough, you were sat with most of your coworkers. Every single one was looking at Mingyu like he was a piece of meat, but he didn’t seem to notice as he had a friendly conversation with each of them. You struggled to not roll your eyes. How was he perfect with everyone? Maybe your dislike of him was irrational and unwarranted, maybe he did change. But … ugh, could he fuck up for once?

Your coworker, Minghao, sat to your left, watching Mingyu converse with the young assistant – Amelia, right? – who was very clearly batting her eyes at him. Leaning towards you, Minghao whispered, “I thought you were bringing Vernon?”

Minghao was one of the few people you told about your breakup, as well as Vernon and of course, your girlfriends. It wasn’t like you to go around everywhere and post on social media about your breakup; it wasn’t anyone’s business. But Minghao gave great advice, and he was one of the first people that helped you get over the heartbreak. He wasn’t just a coworker. He became a trusted friend.

Turning your head, you said, “Would you believe me if I told you that he lost a bet?”

“Considering who you ended up with,” he chuckled, “I’d say it’s a win in your favor.”

“He’s not that great.”

“Then you might want to pull Amelia off of him before she starts sucking his face.”

The reception ended at an early hour thankfully. Most of the elderly guests were falling asleep anyway. Mingyu was a class act, per usual, trying to get you up and out of your seat to dance with him, but the last thing you wanted to do was dance to Toxic by Britney Spears in front of your boss at the marketing agency. Instead, he took the lead to asking Seungcheol’s mom to dance, and made Amelia’s day when he asked her to join. Minghao only continued to laugh when you rejected each of Mingyu’s advances.

Once 10 PM rolled around and you both were exiting the doors of the aging VFW, you noticed the rain hadn’t let up. In fact, it seemed to have gotten even worst. You had to run to Mingyu’s truck with him holding the umbrella above both of you and almost trip over your dress as you hopped up inside the cab. Assuming it would be fine to drive, just a few minutes in the rain left you both realizing that it might be extremely unsafe to drive back to the city in this weather. You really couldn’t argue with Mingyu when he suggested you stay the night at a motel right down the road. 

The woman behind the front desk at the motel was chewing so loud that you thought the wad of bubblegum between her teeth might be larger than your palm. She informed you both that the only rooms available were ones with a single queen-sized bed. As much as you desperately wanted two, you’d take what you could get. She started grabbing both of your informations to check in when a loud bolt of lightning cracked, followed by a crash of thunder. You instantly gripped Mingyu’s arm, and he paused signing his name to look down at you.

“Are you scared of thunder?” He asked playfully.

Realizing how tight you were holding on, you quickly removed your hand. “No, I’m … it’s fine.”

His bicep felt so much harder than anticipated. All muscle. 

Stop that.

The front desk attendant gave you an actual metal key to open your room, the number dangling from a kitschy pendant. This was the kind of motel where you needed to venture outside to get to your room, and with your arms locked together, Mingyu led you both through the pouring rain to the right building. He shoved the key in the lock, immediately opening the door and allowing you to walk inside first.

The room was smaller than expected. The heat was hardly circulating and you were still shivering. A queen-sized bed was situated in front of an old RCA TV, decorated with a comforter that looked strangely similar to the one from the 80s that your mom had given you when you first moved out. The room smelled like bleach and all you could hear was the rain on the roof. Noticing you shiver, Mingyu walked over to the thermostat and adjusted the heat.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” you said, hugging your arms around yourself.

Mingyu pointed to the large window by the door. “I can’t drive in that. It takes an hour to get back to the city and I can hardly see the road.”

“Okay, well –”

Lightning struck again, painting the window white, and you jumped. Mingyu shook his head and walked over, closing the shades over the glass. He looked down at you, and you were acutely aware that he was the kind of person who could say everything just with his eyes. “Better?” He asked, a smile playing at his pink lips.

He was so close that you could smell his cologne and – god dammit, you were such a sucker for men that smelled good. He smelled like violets mixed with smokey sandalwood, spicy and musky. Whatever you were going to quip back died on your tongue, leaving you to reply, “I can’t sleep in my dress. I have nothing to wear to bed.”

Walking over to the tiny closet, Mingyu spotted a robe hanging up next to the vintage ironing board. He placed it in your arms and remarked, “Take a shower and put this on.”

“Are you saying I smell?”

He laughed. “No, you’re shivering and it’ll help warm you up.”

You nodded, heading off to the bathroom and shutting the door. As you slipped off your dress and let it pool onto the tile, you realized how antagonizing you were being for no reason. Mingyu had been nothing but nice to you, but you were suspecting him to switch-up at any moment. Maybe Vernon was right, or maybe you just needed to take a chill pill.

Mingyu was helping you out, after all.

After taking the warmest shower of your life and probably using all of the hot water in the motel, you walked out into the room with your robe tied firmly around your waist. The cotton smelled like mothballs and you hardly left an inch of skin showing. Granted you weren’t naked underneath, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your underwear. Again. After five years. 

He was wearing only a tank top and boxers while setting up a makeshift bed on the floor. You struggled to maintain focus with him looking … well, like that, and eventually spoke up, “What are you doing?”

He hardly jumped at hearing your voice. “I figured it would just be easier if I slept on the floor. Trust me, I’ve slept in far worse places.”

“Mingyu, you don’t have to do that,” you sighed, pulling back the covers and tossing the mismatching throw pillows on the floor. 

“It’s not a big deal.”

“I know, but it’s just –”

Thunder clashed outside, sounding like pots and pans clanging together, rattling your bones.

Your eyes connected with Mingyu’s, and you pointed to the empty side of the bed. “Sleep in this bed right now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You both agreed – more like, you told Mingyu and he listened – to place a wall of pillows between you two, leaving you on the edges of the bed. You curled up into yourself, your spine facing him, as Mingyu laid on his back and pinched the bridge of his nose. The rain was so loud. The thunder was deafening. You considered plugging your fingers in your ears as you slept.

Mingyu was shifting on the small sliver of mattress he had, wishing internally that he brought a joint or two with him. This bed was so uncomfortable that he probably wouldn’t sleep. But hopefully, you would. Although that was seeming highly unlikely from the way your back tensed with every boom of thunder.

He watched you from the corner of his eye, and eventually, you did stop shaking. Soft snores filled the room, replacing the sound of the rain. And then Mingyu felt himself relax, swiftly falling asleep with his arm thrown above his head.

Despite the pillow wall you built, you woke up with your head on his chest.

Mingyu had wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked that day, but he couldn’t find the courage to finish his sentence.

Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Chan and Adrianna Olson: April 4th

Tapping your freshly manicured nails on your bare arm, you leaned against the passenger side door of your car and huffed. You uncrossed your arms, beginning to pace outside Mingyu’s apartment building. The ceremony today started in two hours and you were about ninety minutes from the venue. Not to mention, there was only a matter of time before one of his neighbors showed up, forcibly removing you from the parking spot in front of the building you definitely did not live in. What the hell was Mingyu doing anyway? He said he’d be down ten minutes ago. 

You tugged off your heels, realizing they’d be a bitch to drive in, and pulled your sneakers from the back seat. Your floral, strapless sundress blew in the Spring breeze. Your curls – that looked like they could’ve been done by a toddler – whisked off your bare shoulders as you stepped into your favorite Nikes. 

“Sorry.”

Popping your head up, you halted while shoving the back door closed. You blinked, assuming your eyes were deceiving you, but there he was, sprinting down the front steps of his building with freshly chopped hair.

Mingyu was quickly walking over to shove his duffle in your backseat, pulling at his tie, when you leaned in and placed your hand on his head. Yep, that was his real hair. Those long locks that had reached his chin were gone, replaced by a hairstyle that was similar to how he looked in college. 

“I know we’re running late,” he apologized, letting your fingers sink into the strands for a moment, “but do you have to –”

“This is not about that.” You removed your hand, leveling a look at him. “You cut your hair.”

Mingyu raised a brow. “It was getting long.”

You paused, blinking at him. “Why didn’t you warn me of your new look?”

“I didn’t think I had to?” He shrugged, genuinely confused as to why you were questioning him. “My hair had gotten even longer since February, so I just thought I’d freshen up for you –”

You completely missed his words – for you, he’d freshened up for you – because you were already interrupting him. “Well, it’s just – it might look weird in pictures because my hair is up and your hair is so short. And I’m already going to have so many people looking at us wondering why my ex, who’s name I put on the invite, isn’t here. And I just want to eliminate as much attention as possible. And, well – and –”

Mingyu placed both hands on your shoulders. His palms were large, practically burning into your exposed skin. “Are you overthinking?”

“No, I …”

When your voice trailed off, Mingyu hesitated for a moment longer and then slid his hands off. “Vernon told me that you dated the groom. Chan, right?”

Of-fucking-course, Vernon told him. Your lips pursed before you replied, “We were friends before that, and we only dated for like a couple months in college. I introduced him to the woman he’s marrying.”

“Then why are you so nervous?”

“I think I have a lot of reasons to be nervous these days.” You continued to stare at him, waiting for him to come up with another quippy remark, but it seemed he contested and shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit. The same tailored suit he wore to the wedding in February, a few loose threads at the seams. “Let’s get going. We’ll be in the car for a while,” you said, rounding your car and hopping inside the driver’s seat.

As Mingyu dealt with finding room for his duffle in your trunk, you took this small second to text Vernon.

You: your friend is infuriating

You: also I’m never going to forgive you for telling him that I dated chan

Vernon: you’ll get over it lol

Vernon: is that the only reason why he’s infuriating?

You: HAIRCUT

Vernon: oh I probably should’ve told you about that when I saw him last week

Vernon: sorry :/

You closed your texts when Mingyu hopped in the passenger seat, turning on your music to drown out your thoughts. The drive was long and you were lucky that you got to the venue with ten minutes to spare. You parked the car in a haste, running to your back seat and quickly tugging your heels back on. You chucked your sneakers onto the car floor, almost hitting Mingyu in the face when he went to grab his phone from the same area. Locking your car, you grabbed his arm and yanked, both of you running towards the venue attached to a pretty hotel. Mingyu, even with his long legs, was struggling to keep up. He was also slightly impressed that you could run so fast in heels, and that was definitely the only reason why he was staring at your legs. He wasn’t admiring how long they looked when the wind lifted your skirt and he got a flash of your calf.

Even from your seat in the back of the ceremony, you could see Chan’s face light up as Adrianna was escorted down the aisle. She was wearing a vintage wedding dress, the veil sheer enough to see how beautiful she was underneath, and Chan was eager enough to lift it as soon as they said, “I do.” Adrianna looked like she hadn’t aged a day since school, and you could probably say the same for Chan. But he did manage to finally remove the earrings he got six years ago, which made you giggle to yourself.

Mingyu pretended not to notice.

Most of the people at the wedding were old friends from undergrad, even a few Mingyu knew in passing. Every time you were approached, you prepared yourself for the same question: “Where is He Who Will Not Be Named?” Or, for those that actually knew Mingyu: “Since when did you know Gyu?” You weren’t sure how much longer you could fake a smile and laugh, pretend that your heart still wasn’t sore from the breakup, rehash the same words over and over again. It was tiring; you were tired. 

Same explanation. Same heartbreak. You wouldn’t be surprised if the whole planet knew of your breakup by now. You didn’t announce it anywhere, besides telling your family and close friends. It was natural for people to be curious; you had been with your ex for a couple years, enough for your family to assume that he’d propose. But then he cheated, and you found out, and you were left in pieces, tied to Kim Mingyu as your date for a full year of weddings.

You just didn’t want to keep on doing this, explaining yourself ten times over, realizing that everyone was looking at you with interest. Maybe a second glass of champagne would be a good distraction …

“Wanna dance?”

You looked up from the rim of your empty glass. Mingyu had knocked you out of your daze, laying out a hand for you to take. The reception was lively with family and friends mingling on the dance floor, but Mingyu had still noticed you alone at the table, lost in your thoughts. Had he always been this attentive, or was he just prone to watching you?

Ignoring your internal monologue, you took his hand, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. Just as Mingyu was about to place his hand on your waist, the song changed, switching to a more upbeat track you used to blast in college. You immediately started laughing at all the older folks trying to follow the beat, and then found Chan with his wife, shimmying on the dance floor. Mingyu pinched the bridge of his nose, but found himself beaming when he finally saw the smile grace your features. He didn’t let go of your hand, let you twirl him to the song that took you back to the musty basement of a frat party.

Chan, at some point, had managed to dance over in your direction, bumping into you with a big grin. “I knew all the alumni here would love this,” he shouted over the music. “Do you remember when you puked outside a window once at some party and you said that it was this song that induced it?”

You were surprised when Mingyu said, “Yes,” at the same time as you. Both you and Chan glanced at him, eyebrows raised, until he added, “That was at one of my parties. I cleaned your vomit off the windowsill!”

The four of you erupted in laughter. Even Adrianna remembered that party, considering that was the night you drunkenly introduced her to Chan. She eventually pulled you away from Mingyu, leading you towards her group of bridesmaids so you all could dance together. But your eyes couldn’t help but find Mingyu’s across the floor, and then he was looking at you, and – god dammit, staring at him felt like a crime you’d consider going to jail for.

Everyone was looking at him, but he was looking at you. 

Actually, Mingyu couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you. Not once.

He stared at you as if it was just you two, as if you were stripped bare before him, just for his eyes to see. You could tell from the way he bit his lip while smiling. He looked at you as if you were naked.

Soon enough, you were slipping through the crowd and by his side once again. He was now leaning against the wall by the open bar, nursing a scotch. The party was winding down; all the older family members had left, leaving Chan and Adrianna – plus a few other young couples – swaying to a classic Ed Sheeran song. It wouldn’t be long until they ended the night with Can’t Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley. The time war nearing 11 PM. 

Slinking beside him, he offered the glass to you and you took a sip, wincing at the burn. You stuck out your tongue. “How can you drink that so smoothly?”

“Years of practice,” he replied, and then flicked your nose in a way that shouldn’t make you blush. But you definitely did. 

You blinked up at him, admiring how pretty he was in the faint, yellow light. Actually, he was pretty in every light, but you liked to find any excuse to admire him. Even if you denied it.

“Wanna get out of here?” You asked then, digging your nails into your palms. So afraid of rejection after all these years, even though he agreed to be here. “I think the reception is going to end soon anyway.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” He set his half empty glass on a random table and straightened his back before adding, “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

God, you needed to get it together. Those words were the bare minimum, but when he said them in that slightly muffled voice, it made your nails pinch the inside of your hands harder.

You both stood on opposite sides of the elevator, dragging up, up, up to your room on the seventeenth floor. Your eyes connected. A smile played at his lips. An unspoken tension brewing between the two of you. A feeling you didn’t want to be there in the first place, but something you couldn’t simply ignore. 

This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not tonight. Not ever again.

He opened the door for you, allowing you to slip inside and grab your bag. While he rifled through his duffle, you brought your bag into the bathroom and leaned against the sink. You allowed yourself a moment to just breathe. Maybe if you kept exhaling like this, you would release all the tension from your body. You knew how silly it sounded, but desperate times called for desperate measures. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, turning your face from side to side. Was it the makeup that made him look at you that way sometimes? Perhaps he still had a fondness for lipgloss, like he did back in the day.

When you finally stopped studying your appearance, you wiped off your makeup and tugged on a pair of loose pajamas. Wearing these would be so much more comfortable – and less awkward – than the robe you wore after the last wedding. You still had nightmares about that. Carefully tiptoeing out of the bathroom, you expected to find Mingyu already in one of the two  full size beds, scrolling through his phone and ignoring the noise you naturally made. But he was on the deck just outside your room, smoke billowing from his mouth. 

You stood near the unoccupied bed, balancing on the balls of your feet, as you debated your options. A smart person would go right to sleep, leave him to his business. You chewed on your bottom lip nervously.

Despite the slight warmth to the air, you threw on a hoodie, scared of the possibility of your nipples showing through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. You slid open the door and immediately closed it, preventing any smoke from getting into the room. He didn’t turn; he knew exactly who was behind him. His back muscles flexed underneath his suit jacket, the joint dangling between his lips as he prayed for his lighter to work again.

“You probably shouldn’t be smoking in this suit,” you said, saddling up beside him.

He chuckled, finally taking a long drag. “I promise to get it dry cleaned before our next adventure.”

Before our next adventure. You bit the inside of your cheek.

Your eyes didn’t leave the joint now sitting between two of his fingers. (Jeez, were they always that big?) He let more smoke filter from his lips and into the open air, clouding up the starry night sky. Without even looking at you, he asked, “Why are you staring?” His words hung in the silence for a moment. “Have you ever smoked before?”

You shrugged. “Only once or twice with Vernon. Probably as freshmen.”

“You want me to show you how?”

Blinking at him, all you could do was dumbly nod. Mingyu laughed under his breath, fighting with his lighter again, before eventually holding the flame to the end. He then cautiously passed the joint over to you, allowing the filter to brush your lips. “Take it in your mouth,” he instructed, “now inhale.”

When you did as he asked, you must’ve inhaled far too deeply, or just didn’t exhale at the right time. Because then you were coughing, doubling over as you tried to catch your breath. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, concern etched in his tone, and patted your back as you hacked up what felt like your left lung. His voice was soft, soothing, but you could hardly hear it through the ringing in your ears.

“Yeah,” you sighed, voice hoarse, “I’m definitely out of practice.”

As you stood up, his hand stayed on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing patterns. Your breath stilled as you looked up at him. Playing with the joint between his lips, he said, “Let me show you an easier way.”

“Okay,” you agreed, before your conscious could stop you.

You watched as he took a long pull from the joint, sucking it all in until you could see his eyes get a little pinker, and then moved closer to you. Instinctively, your eyes closed and your lips parted, welcoming the scent of him. His lips only lightly grazed yours as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth, letting it engulf your very being, and you felt yourself start to relax. He craned back, grinning down at you, and it took everything within you to not ask for another hit right then. 

In the moonlight, you could see why you fell hard for Mingyu. He had only gotten more handsome since college. Light, in any form, was so kind to him, but with the stars hanging above his head … it allowed his dark hair to shine, casting a slightly blueish tone to his warm features. You could see the twinkling stars reflecting in his eyes, especially when he leaned back in, expelling more smoke into your mouth.

This felt too intimate. This felt like fucking.

Once you both were so high you could do nothing but laugh, Mingyu stubbed out the joint and you stumbled back into the room. You both were finally going to have a good sleep at one of these, especially since there were two beds. Rolling into your bed, you immediately burrowed under the covers as Mingyu took off his suit in the bathroom.

The last thing you expected was to feel him plop down in your bed. He was wearing so little that it made your thighs press together, or maybe that was just the weed talking. He was disoriented, laying halfway off the edge of your bed, staring at you as if you were the Mona Lisa. You huffed, “Mingyuuu. You need to get in your own bed.”

“Do you really want that though?”

His words made your eyes immediately snap open. A grin was tugging at his mouth again, his teeth sinking into that plush bottom lip. Oh, so also wanted … Oh.

You tried to sound cool and nonchalant, “Considering this is a full size bed, yeah.”

Even in the darkness, even with his back to the moonlight streaming through the glass door – his presence was making you nervous. His eyes weren’t leaving yours. You felt your hand inch over, your pinky curling around his.

“If I can be so honest with you,” he whispered, licking at the corners of his lips, “you are so beautiful that I want to kill any guy that has done you wrong.”

You exhaled, “Mingyu …”

He leaned in, smiling like he knew he caught you in his trap. “Yes?”

You were pretty sure that you knew Kim Mingyu by now. You knew that this would be just another night that meant nothing to him. No matter how much he “changed” in Vernon’s eyes, it was very clear to you that he remained uncommitted. But fuck it, your heart was still burning from the breakup, stinging from the memory of people uttering your ex’s name tonight. It was only going to be a kiss. Just something to soothe the pain.

He was so much closer now, invading your space, his hand completely eclipsing yours.  He smelled like marijuana and lingering cologne. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, but you didn’t. You let him kiss you, and god, it would be so much easier to dislike Mingyu if he didn’t kiss so well. 

It wasn’t long before his tongue was pushing into your mouth, his large body looming over yours as he pressed you into the mattress a little more. And you’re desperate for it; you couldn’t stop. This was supposed to be simple – just a kiss – but you could feel yourself falling under his spell, feel how his palms burned against your skin as they dragged down your torso. He explored your mouth like it was the first time, parting your legs to make room for himself on top of you. When his lips left yours, you almost let out a whine, but he helped take off your hoodie before reattaching his mouth to your neck. Those large hands snake under your shirt – up, up, and up – until he was cupping your breasts and you can feel how hard he is against your thigh.

Mingyu looked up at you as he kissed down your torso, his spit soaking through the thin fabric of the t-shirt you were still wearing. He lifted one of your legs, adjusting it so your thigh could rest comfortably on his shoulder and – shit, you knew where this was going. Reaching the waistband of your panties, he begged, “Let me go down on you.”

You mulled over his words. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“No,” he grinned against your skin, meeting your eyes from between your legs. “But that’s a tomorrow problem. Please?” His head tilted. “Do I have to beg? I’m willing.”

You bit your tongue, egging him on a little as he nipped at the inside of your thigh. He bucked his hips once, them twice, trying to get the smallest bit of friction on his cock that was currently throbbing in his boxers. He grunted softly against your skin. 

“And if I say, ‘No?’” You asked with a raised brow.

He lifted his head and pouted his lips. After all these years, he still managed the perfect puppy dog eyes that could make just about anyone weak. “Don’t be mean,” he pleaded, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“You like when I’m mean,” you quipped, giving him permission by helping him shimmy your panties off. He adjusted your legs again, presenting you like a meal.

“I do,” he chuckled, his breath ghosting over your pretty, pink folds. “Especially, when you act like you didn’t want me here in the first place.”

Before you can rebuttal, he’s pressing his face between your thighs, dragging his tongue up your slit to collect the wetness that gathered there. Just the small amount of attention had you keening, your hips jumping for more of him, and Mingyu was happy enough to oblige. His tongue flicked at your clit as he slid one single finger inside of you, testing your limits. Those puppy dog eyes lifted from between your thighs, wanting to see you crumble, knowing that it was him who made you like this. You sighed out his name, your hand coming down to tangle in his hair. And god, if Mingyu didn’t love that … he’d be a dead man. He groaned when he felt you tug at the strands, beginning to swirl his tongue in a circle around your puffy clit.

You couldn’t even prepare yourself when he shoved another finger inside, pumping them in and out at an unreasonably fast pace. But you were bucking into him, tears pricking at your eyes as you whimpered for him. It was too much but almost too little at the same time. You could practically feel him smile as he devoured you. The bed rattled against the wall when he ground his erection against the frame, so needy and aching. His plump lips suckled on your clit, your slick smearing over his face, but he didn’t want to miss a drop of you. He needed more of you, so he started curling three fingers inside of you, teasing that sweet spot.

This wasn’t your first rodeo with Mingyu. He knew what you could take.

“Mingyu,” you whined, and he glanced up at you again with the most fucked-out eyes imaginable. And still, he didn’t stop. “You’re gonna … I’m gonna cum so fast.”

He moaned into you, then begged, “Please. Need to taste you.”

He was so determined, so desperate to feel you shake and moan and cry until he was completely spent on the taste of you. And it wasn’t long before he got his wish: as he shoved those three fingers into you, grazing your g-spot while lapping at you like you were his last meal on death row. You unraveled on his tongue, muffling your cries for the rest of the people sleeping on your floor. Biting into your hand, you had physically restrain your body from shaking as your orgasm rocked through you, but Mingyu held you down with a gentle hand on your stomach.  He was staring at you again and you were staring at him and fuck, his half-closed eyes made him look like he was drunk on you. You could feel him smirking into your pussy as he collected every last drop of you, knowing that he did a good job. He sighed with relief when he could finally taste you again and again and again.

Once your body settled, you felt him start to tug at your shirt and kiss up your stomach. The thought of now having him inside you made your hands clench with excitement, but dear god, he just knocked the wind out of you and you weren’t sure how you could last. You were spent, tired, probably could just fall asleep right now.

You weren’t feeling his lips on your skin anymore, so you opened your eyes. The moonlight gave you just enough to see that, despite the raging boner he probably had, Mingyu was now snoring softly with his head resting on your hips. Brows raised, you almost couldn’t believe that this was the moment he decided to fall asleep, but you couldn’t deny that you had been on the verge of doing the same. 

Untangling yourself from him, you quickly cleaned yourself up and wiped his face clean with a washcloth. You sighed, using all the brute strength you had to haul him up on what was supposed to be your bed, and wrapped the covers around him. You admired him for a moment, your hand coming up to smooth back his dark hair. Somehow, this felt even more intimate than you cumming in his mouth. So you quickly moved away and slipped under the sheets of the other bed, using his snores as white noise.

The next morning, neither of you spoke of what happened.

Mingyu had wanted to tell you that he had a crush on you the moment Vernon introduced you two all those years ago, even when you disliked him. And slowly but surely, he was starting to realize it never truly went away.

Save the Date for the wedding of Joshua Hong and Jordan Lo: June 20th

Two months passed and the spring air turned sweltering. It was on days like this when you rolled the windows down and wasted gas just to get an overpriced iced coffee that you reminisced. You were taken back to a time when you waited by the curb as Vernon appeared from football practice, and even though he was sweaty, you still always agreed to drive him back to his dorm on the other side of campus. You would watch him say goodbye to his teammates and – shit, the light would catch, and suddenly you were looking at Mingyu wipe the sweat off his face while laughing with the quarterback and –

Now you were thinking about Mingyu again.

You had been thinking about him since April.

All of this felt so silly, like stupid games young 20-somethings played. You knew it wasn’t good for you in engage in – well, anything with Mingyu. He had always been perfectly uncommitted with women, and he was clearly obsessed with his work, posting his new recipes or pictures of him and his flag football team on his Instagram stories. You could handle this. You could be an adult and have a functional acquaintanceship with someone you found attractive. 

So you kept your distance. On the off chance that Mingyu was free and asked if you wanted to get together (which was a shock in itself), you declined. Even if you wanted to. Even if you desperately wondered what would come of it. The next wedding wasn’t until the end of June and you were already biting you lip at the thought of seeing him in a suit again.

The only person you could finally blabber to about this was Minghao, and in typical fashion, he laughed. Not that you expected anything less.

“You’re overthinking the entire situation,” he said over drinks. “It’s completely normal for you to have a little fun, especially while healing from a breakup. That’s what being single is all about, my friend.”

He was right. Of course, he was right. But what if Mingyu rejected you yet again, like he did in college? You wanted to talk to Vernon about this. He always gave you the best advice with this stuff, but this was his friend. The last thing you wanted was to make his friendship with Mingyu weird.

You attempted to ignore him. You redownloaded some dating apps as a distraction. You deleted them just as fast.

On the morning of June 20th, your cousin, Jordan, was marrying her longtime boyfriend, Joshua Hong. You had only met Josh on a number of occasions, but considering that they had been together for almost twelve years, you trusted him enough to take care of her. You felt lucky to be chosen as a bridesmaid and you’d never make a fuss, but dear god, the dark blue of this dress clashed with just about everything. The color was so dark and the dress was clinging to just about all of you and Mingyu’s tie was the wrong shade of blue –

Damn, did he look handsome though.

Jordan had made you both get to the venue early for a rehearsal dinner, and then once the morning came, you were whisked off to hair and makeup. You had barely said a word to Mingyu, too scared to give him anything besides small talk, but you couldn’t help but compliment the new suit he bought for the last few weddings. “Figured I’d cave and invest in one that wasn’t from Goodwill,” he explained, “for you.”

For you. For you. For you.

Your heels were hurting your feet halfway through the wedding, and despite how hard you were trying to focus on Josh’s vows, you couldn’t help but find Mingyu’s eyes in the crowd. He wasn’t paying attention to anyone else, his stare burning into yours to let you know his intent. You swallowed hard. Would anyone notice if you hid your blush behind the bouquet in your hands? It felt like torture having him look at you like this, as if there wasn’t an extravagant wedding happening around them, as if he wasn’t Kim Mingyu. 

It wasn’t until the reception that you could finally get a word in with your cousin, some much needed alone time after what was surely going to be the craziest wedding you went to this year. You both parked yourself near the open bar, ignoring the guests on the dance floor that were screaming for another round of the Cha Cha Slide. Tucking a strand behind your ear, Jordan said, “I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. Jeez, I really didn’t think when I was three and met you a couple weeks after you were born that we’d be here. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You grinned, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” The bartender handed you a new glass of wine and you took a sip. “Besides, these days all I do is work or go to weddings. The life of being a permanent wedding guest, I supposed.”

“Speaking of guests …” Jordan turned her head slightly, ogling Mingyu from where he was standing up and trying to decline your great aunt’s advances to dance. Your cousin giggled. “He isn’t the older guy I thought you’d bring.”

“Circumstances change.” You shrugged, and she gave you a look. “I’d rather not get into it.”

Jordan’s brow raised. “You guys are having sex though, right?”

You almost choked while taking another sip of your wine. “Absolutely not.”

“You sure?”

“Well, I –” You sighed, and then decided to suck down the rest of the glass in one go. Jordan whistled. “We did at one point. Very long time ago. But he’s Vernon’s friend and … it’s a long story.”

“Sounds like it,” she snorted, eyes flickering around the reception until they landed somewhere behind you. “Well, if you’re not having sex with him, my friend just might tonight.”

Your expression muddled, until she pointed over your shoulder. Turning around, you found Jordan’s Maid of Honor chatting up Mingyu near the stairs that lead to the restrooms. Her hand was inching up his sleeve and he was blushing at what you could only assume was a compliment coming from her lips. He was clearly enjoying the conversation, despite the intimate looks he was giving you earlier. 

Classic fucking Kim Mingyu, you thought.

A pang of jealousy surfaced that you couldn’t control. It was probably best for everyone if you walked away and took a breather. After Joshua pulled his wife onto the dance floor, you adjusted the tight silk of your dress and headed for the bathrooms. You walked past them, your perfume wafting past Mingyu’s nostrils, a scent he would know anywhere. 

Instead of going inside the bathroom, you decide to stand in the empty hall connected to the venue and brace your back against the cool wall. You sighed, gathering yourself, completely unaware it wasn’t just you here until you heard the squeak of someone else’s shoes.

“I noticed you were empty,” Mingyu muttered as a way of greeting. He was holding two glasses of rosé between his fingers, stepping down the small staircase to get to you.

It was just you two now, and he was handing you the glass while standing so close that you could smell his cologne. Had this dress always felt that tight, or could you just not breathe right now? You watched the way his eyes flickered to your mouth, and it took everything in you not to yank him closer by the tie. Instead, you took a big gulp of rosé.

“You didn’t have to come after me,” you remarked, and then nodded your head in the direction of the Maid of Honor now on the dance floor. “You looked like you were having fun.”

Mingyu simply tilted his head to the side, studying you carefully.

“She’s pretty. Don’t stop on my account, but please be aware that we are sharing a room so you can’t bring anyone back there.”

Mingyu’s lips slowly curved into a grin. “Are you jealous?”

You scoffed, “No. I’m just … being realistic.”

Taking your half empty glass from your hand, he set them both down on a side table right near the women’s restroom. Your mouth opened, but the words died as soon as he placed a hand beside your head on the wall. He was so tall that he towered over you, even in heels, leaning into your space with pretty, half-opened eyes as he stared at your glossy lips.

“Can I be realistic with you?” He didn’t give you a moment to answer. “I cannot stop thinking about our last night together. I know you probably thought it happened because of the weed, but I … these past two months, it’s all I’ve been thinking about. And it’s killing me that I’ve been trying to be normal this whole night when all I’ve wanted to do is drag you away and make you cum again.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his words. He leaned in then, grazing his nose over the side of your face, desperate to be in your orbit. You took your bottom lip between your teeth and tried to control your heart rate, but how was that even possible when Mingyu’s other hand was brushing up and down your side, tangled in the silk.

“Well, that …” You swallowed hard. “That wouldn’t be a good idea considering all my family is here.”

He tsked under his breath. “Obviously, it wouldn’t be, but …” You felt his nose at your jaw, inhaling the scent of your perfume again, the one that made him crazy. And he damn near groaned in your ear. 

“Mingyu, you … you –”

“Fuck, how could you think I’m looking at anyone else here when you look this good in your dress?” His voice had taken on that needy tone he always got when he was horny. It almost felt like a reward to be able to hear it again. “I’ve been half-hard this entire reception just from looking at you, remembering the way you tasted …” He muttered another curse.

This was how he always acted. Mingyu could be so desperate and pleading when he wanted to get someone in bed, needy to the point he would do anything just to please you, but god – you couldn’t deny how much you liked it. He was reeling you in. You were like fish to bait.

Slowly, he laced your dominant hand with his and moved it from his belt buckle to his groin. You could barely breathe when you felt him harden under your touch, and then you remembered you were still in a public hallway, where just about anyone could walk by. 

Your eyes met his half-lidded ones as he murmured, “Look what you’re doing to me.”

And god help you, because you whimpered at the sound of his voice, slick starting to gather between your thighs.

“Okay, Mingyu, just …” You sighed, composing yourself because you knew he wasn’t going to any time soon. Your hand slipped away from his and he huffed, his forehead falling to rest on your shoulder. “Go to our room and let me make my rounds. I’ll meet you up there.”

He stood up. For a moment, he was almost tempted to drag you into the bathroom and bury his face between your legs, too hungry to let you get away now. But one of your uncles was walking down the hall, and you separated quickly. With a nod, you walked back to the reception and said goodbye to your family that you didn’t get to talk to for too long prior. Jordan gave you a look when you mentioned about going to bed early, and even Josh told you how weird you were being, but your cousin shut him up and sent you a wink.

You exhaled heavily and headed back to hotel on the other side of the venue. Slipping your heels off once you were inside the elevator, you debated if giving into Mingyu this easily was the smart thing to do. Smart? Definitely not. But would it be enjoyable? You didn’t need to answer that question. Mingyu knew what he was doing.

As you unlocked the door to your hotel room, you began to wonder if you were just setting yourself up to be hurt again. He didn’t come back to you like this in college, but what’s stopping him from telling you that he’s “just not that into you” at the next wedding? Or what if he just thought of you as an easy hookup that would get his dick wet every 2 months? Well, you hadn’t done that yet –

Yet. Yet. Yet.

The word repeated in your head like a melody, because when you threw your purse down and saw Mingyu walking out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower and dressed in only a towel around his waist, you realized that you were most definitely getting his dick wet tonight. Whether it was in your mouth or somewhere deeper, you were salivating for it. 

He was smiling at you and you were smiling at him and Jesus, he was so goddamn handsome that you couldn’t believe that he was the one desperate for you. Droplets of water trickled down his tan skin and that towel around his waist was just barely holding on. His torso was chiseled and his arms – fuck, his biceps were bigger than you remembered. He was something out of a dream – some horny, fucked-up dream that you only had after masturbating before bed.

He was on you instantly, pushing you against the wall and kissing you hard. Sighing into the kiss, your hands fist into the towel to yank him closer, but it only makes the flimsy fabric fall. You break away for a moment to mutter, “Oh, shit,” but his lips can’t stay away from yours for long. And he’s laughing, like you did exactly what he wanted. You were too hypnotized by the scent of his body wash to care.

Dragging his lips down your neck, he sucked at the spot that he knew made your thighs press together, grinning proudly against your skin when you moaned. His fingers gripped the soft silk of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric up to feel you that much closer. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much he liked you in this dress – and god, did he like you in this dress – he needed you out of it. Now.

Mingyu unzipped your dress with precision, setting it down on one of the two beds in the room, and both of you were suddenly wishingthere was only one. His hands smoothed down your sides, his breath hot against your mouth. He just wanted to feel you everywhere. He almost didn’t want to step away, afraid you’ll slip through his fingers like sand. When you two had hooked up in college, it was quick and explosive, letting out the tension that had been building for years. There was so much territory for him to cover now, so many ways for him to find out what made you whine and sigh with pleasure. But, if he were being honest, all he wanted right now was for you to –

“Sit on my face,” he begged, caging you into the wall, pressing his hard cock against your stomach. So desperate for just an ounce of friction, so hungry for another taste of you. He could literally start drooling at the thought of it. He was mesmerized by you; he’d do anything you asked just to have your pussy on his tongue again.

But you seemed to be debating your options, biting you lip again, and he wished that didn’t turn him on even more. You were just so pretty, and the way your face scrunched as you decided on something was a sight he couldn’t help but think about when he touched himself, even all those years ago. It was just you. You. 

Eventually, your face relaxed, and you replied, “Well, you don’t have to beg me.”

Mingyu’s lips pulled into a smile, and he laughed while pulling you down onto the nearest bed. Despite his request, you continued to straddle his torso and kiss him for just a little while longer. He was needy, moaning into your mouth whenever his cock bumped against your ass, but all you wanted to feel his lips on yours, tangle your tongue with his, even if it was just for another minute. 

You forgot Mingyu was stronger than you, though. It wasn’t much longer before he was yanking your body up and turning you around so you knelt just above his face. He inhaled the scent of your pussy and almost breathed a sigh of relief, but instead muttered, “Such a tease sometimes.”

Now that you were hovering above him, you were suddenly self conscious about how excited you were and if your arousal was seeping onto his face. You couldn’t even see if he was thrilled or not, since he had turned you to face away from him, but the way his cock jumped in front of your eyes told you enough. His hands gripped your thighs tight. “I don’t want to crush you,” you said nervously.

“You could suffocate me and I wouldn’t have a problem with it."

You chewed on your bottom lip. His tone was firm, probably the most serious you’d ever heard from him. But you were embarrassed and this was crazy and you still so wet. With flushed cheeks, you asked, “Mingyu, are you –”

“Yes,” he answered before pulling you down onto his face.

He wasn’t teasing you tonight. He was devouring you without even letting you catch your breath. His tongue swiping at your clit before he sucked on it – hard. So hard that you let you a sound that was a mixture of a yelp and a moan. Gripping you roughly, he spread you wider, drinking more of you in. Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his face, which made him groan into your pussy. The vibration in his voice spread throughout your entire body, goosebumps lining your flesh. “Mingyuuu,” you whined, begging for more, and you could practically feel him smirk as he flicked at your swollen clit. 

Leaning forward, you turned your head up and noticed again just how hard he was. His cock had always been perfect: the perfect size, dark pink at the tip, veins etched into the shaft. Precum beaded at the head, sliding down every so slowly, as he throbbed and ached and – god, his hips were almost thrusting into the air now. You didn’t doubt he could get off for hours on this, but that didn’t mean he needed to be unsatisfied.

Besides, you wanted something to do with your mouth anyway.

Mingyu whimpered as you shifted slightly to reach his cock. Your body stretched, your mouth at the perfect angle as you flicked the head with your tongue. He pulled you back towards his mouth, shoving his tongue inside your tight hole and making you gasp at the same time you licked a stripe up his shaft. His tongue worked you open while you swirled your own along the tip, and then finally took him into your mouth.

The grunt he released should’ve caused an earthquake.

You bobbed your head up and down his shaft, choking when he bucked into your mouth.  You could hardly breathe, taking every opportunity to inhale through your nose, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. God forbid, you have a hobby like wanting Kim Mingyu’s cock in  your mouth. He took the liberty of grinding you against his face with his own hands, wrapping his lips around your clit again, eager to taste your climax. And to be honest, he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last if you kept sucking on his tip like that. He groaned each time, feeling your tongue circle his head before going back down, taking as much as you could, as if you were rewarding him. And he just couldn’t help but whine along with you.

Your lips pulled off him to kitten lick the veins along the sides of his shaft, and you breathily asked, “Are you close?”

His only response was a moan straight into your pussy.

You nodded, even if he couldn’t see it, before your mouth opened like second nature. You spit on his cock and stuffed him down your throat once again. Head moving faster, you were slobbering on him like a dog in heat, trying not to gag and failing. Your free hand snaked up to cup one of his balls, and the sound he released was deafening. His tongue flicked and sucked at your clit like he had nothing left to live for, hungry for every last drop of your essence.

But then you were cumming, and he was too not long after.

You cried, choking on his cock as you came all over his face. White blurred in your vision, and you were a mess of sweat and spit and so much cum. He exploded in your mouth a moment later, hot seed running down your throat, and you consumed all of it. Neither of you wanted to miss out on the taste of each other. It was filthy, intoxicating, how much you liked this. How much you could suck him off over and over again, and not get tired of him.

You didn’t know it at the time, but Mingyu would say the same about you. If not worse.

He could spend all day between your thighs and never want to leave.

When you both finally angled off each other, spent and exhausted, your breathing was heavy and off by two seconds. Mingyu was glancing over at you before you could even process, a smile playing at his swollen lips. He brushed away a strand of hair that was stuck to your sweaty forehead.

“Mingyu,” you finally said, “has anyone ever told you that you have boyfriend dick?”

Mingyu had wanted to tell you how much he’d been dreaming of that moment, how much you had haunted his dreams and left him waking up so hard that he felt he was going through puberty again. Sometimes he dreamed of how good it would feel when he finally slipped into you, inch by inch. You’d feel like home.

Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Seokmin and Quinn Song: July 31st

You couldn’t go a day without talking to Mingyu. Whether it be through text or over the phone, you were joking with him, telling him about your day, and vice versa. Just a month prior, you had tried keeping your distance, but now … you simply couldn’t help yourself. It was like there was a voice inside your head telling you to contact him, to send him a funny video you saw that day, to tell him about the show you were currently watching. And on nights when you had too much to drink, that voice made you text him that you missed him. He always said he missed you too.

Mingyu: I’m watching that show you recommended

Mingyu: kinda wish you were watching it with me

Mingyu: but I’m still content here and I can see why you like it so much

You: right?? I knew you’d like it!

You couldn’t help but giggle at your phone when his texts came through. And you answered them immediately, like you always did. 

Mingyu: what are you doing right now?

You: wouldn’t you like to know

Neither of you made the effort to go on an actual date. It was all just flirty texts with a TikTok mixed in every once in a while. Promises about going back to that coffee shop someday, but never planning the day. To be honest, this was one of those moments where you were glad Mingyu was so uncommitted. If you started going on dates that didn’t include a vow exchange in between, it would be so easy to fall for him again, and then be let down when he eventually didn’t want to see you after wedding season. 

Mingyu: I mean that’s why I asked

You: I’m hanging out with

A pillow was suddenly thrown at your head. “Ow!” You shouted, head shooting up from your phone to glare at Vernon sitting on the other side of the couch. “What the hell was that for?”

“Anakin is literally burning alive and all you can do is look at your phone!” Vernon scoffed, turning Revenge of the Sith back on. You set your phone down on your lap as he muttered, “Kinda wish I never won that bet.”

Vernon, obviously, was becoming increasingly annoyed that you and Mingyu had rekindled … whatever this was. Sometimes you wondered if you were talking to Mingyu more than your best friend, but given the way Vernon was acting, that was probably the case. You probably shouldn’t even be texting Mingyu while hanging out with Vernon. Bad friend move; happens to the best of us. 

You apologized to Vernon in the best way possible: you bought him fried chicken from his favorite spot.

As summer came along, so did Seokmin and Quinn’s wedding at the end of the month, an invitation that was barely hanging on by an old Britney Spears magnet on your fridge. Quinn Song had been your first ever roommate out of college. You both had met on a Facebook group to find roommates in the area and quickly hit it off. She had been your roommate up until last year actually, when her now-fiancé Lee Seokmin asked her to move in with him. It was at that point that you finally decided to live alone, besides the few days out of the week that Vernon crashed at your apartment.

The wedding was being held on a pretty island in the northeast, nestled on the expansive grounds of a bed and breakfast in the area. The spot felt warm and lived in, the exact kind of place you imagined Quinn would get married at. 

Meeting Mingyu at the airport had been awkward, but at the very least, you two were sitting in different rows of the plane. Maybe it shouldn’t have been as cringe-worthy as it was, given the fact that you two had been talking nonstop, but it was the memory that the last time you did see each other in person, you were sitting on his face and his cock was so far down your throat –

Mingyu had found your eyes a couple rows behind him on the plane. Even he was blushing now, as if he could read your thoughts.

You had rented a car once you reached your destination and threw him the keys, letting him drive the convertible down the coast while the summer breeze whipped through your hair. You tried not to notice the way his hand twitched on the gear shift, like he was itching to place his palm on your thigh, to ground himself to your presence. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Especially when all you could do was stare out the window with a big smile on your face.

Unfortunately, you had to book a room at a small hotel near the bed and breakfast since all the rooms were used for the wedding party. The hotel was quaint, but definitely old and smelled like the Febreze scent your mom used to love when you were a kid. Your room was tinier than the pictures implied, but it was on the first floor and had a screen door that opened to a pretty view of the ocean. You didn’t have much time to enjoy it though, considering that the ceremony was in a few hours and the reception would probably carry on until way past midnight.

You decided to rewear the floral sundress that made a previous appearance at Chan and Adrianna’s wedding. It wasn’t like anyone here was at that event, and honestly, you didn’t care. Throwing your hair up into a perfectly messy updo, you curled a few pieces and took your time with your diligent makeup routine. Mingyu was in his suit before you could even blink, biding his time while you got ready by watching past game recordings of the flag football team he taught and trying to identify key moves they missed out on. As you finished up and clumsily slipped on your shoes, the perfume you sprayed seemed to beckon him like a siren song, and suddenly, he was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

Your brows shot up. “Done with your flag football research?”

“You’re beautiful,” he replied.

You turned, unable to stop your lips from pulling into a soft smile. His expression was so warm, cheeks tinged slightly pink either from embarrassment or a nasty sunburn. He was beautiful. In ways you couldn’t even comprehend. 

Holding out your necklace to him, you asked, “Can you help me put this on?”

He nodded, plucking the dainty chain from your palm. You moved back to the mirror as he struggled to open the clasp with his thick fingers, but he got it eventually. Placing the thin, gold chain around your neck, you watched the small, star-shaped pendant sit so delicately under your collarbones. He fixed the clasp on your neck, his fingers brushing the top of your spine, and you watched him lean forward in the mirror.

His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, breath hot and making the hairs on your neck stand up. “I meant it, by the way,” he whispered, and then placed the softest of kisses behind your ear. 

Your breath hitched, and you were unable to form a single coherent thought. For the first time in a while, he was catching you by surprise. He was moving back, and you noticed him smirk in the mirror, knowing exactly how he was affecting you. That annoying asshole –

“Ready to head out?” He asked, grabbing his wallet from the desk.

You huffed and tugged the strap of your purse onto your shoulder. “Of course.”

The grounds of the bed and breakfast were bigger than you assumed, enough to fit an extremely large tent and hardwood floor for all the guests to congregate. The ceremony was held near the shoreline of the ocean, and it was so, unapologetically Quinn to have a few seashell pins in her veil as she walked towards her husband. You had known Seokmin as long as Quinn had been your roommate, but you had never seen this kind of smile on his face until now. He completely lit up at the sight of her, and he didn’t waste a second to say, “I do,” once his time came.

As the guests crowded into the tent for the reception, Mingyu seemed to hold onto you like a toddler with it’s parent. His arm was locked around yours, letting you lead him through the crowd, even though he was tall enough to see over the tops of everyone’s heads. His palm was so warm on your wrist, and then his fingers were so easily lacing through yours, and you squeezed because you simply couldn’t help yourself. 

You were able to find your table easily, but you didn’t recognize the other people already there. They introduced themselves as Seokmin’s friends, and you remembered seeing one or two of them at a bar. You still couldn’t get a read on these people, and found yourself swiftly growing silent around their shared camaraderie. But Mingyu was suddenly so talkative, catching along with their jokes just as quickly, so you stood and whispered in his ear, “Do you want a drink?”

He leaned back to meet your eyes, and you swore time stopped for a moment. His hand reached down, squeezing your wrist, as he said, “You know what I like.”

Jesus. Fuck. Since whendid he have you this wrapped around his finger?

(Probably since sophomore year of college.)

You nodded, swinging your head in the direction of the bar, and your feet had started to head there when you halted in place. It almost felt like your heels were glued to the floor as you found the face of the last person you expected to be here. The only face that could make all the noise drown out around you.

Your ex.

He still had that same curl that always got in his eyes. He was wearing the same suit he wore to your mother’s engagement party last year. The same watch on his wrist; the same cufflinks. Same. Same. Same. And now, he was meeting your eyes across the room. Bodies formed in clusters under the tent – some hugging, some stumbling into each other – but he was unable to look away.

Until a head popped up in front of him, standing from her chair at the table. Her wedge sandals almost made her taller than him, and her dress looked expensive enough that he probably bought it. You didn’t know her, but you knew of her. Well, at least, you knew what the back of her head looked like, and that was her right there. 

You couldn’t forget the night even if you tried. Exhaustion had your shoulders sagging as you unlocked the door to your boyfriend’s apartment. He didn’t typically keep it locked, but you had a key anyway. You remembered how quiet the place was, except for the soft sounds echoing from his bedroom. At first, you thought he was just masturbating, and to be honest, you were too tired to engage in anything tonight. But a voice in your head had urged you to move, to go, go, go towards his room. And you were slowly pushing open the door, only to find your boyfriend fucking your 22-year-old neighbor from behind, yanking on her short hair like a leash. You had been too scared to move, too scared to breathe, but eventually, you had started wailing. His eyes had found yours – exactly like in this moment – and he screamed, slipping away completely as your back slid to the floor. He had tried explaining, tried to yell at the young girl, but everything had drowned away in that moment, and all you could hear was the ringing in your ears –

Your breathing was growing rapid, just like that day at his apartment. Sprinting to the inside of the bed and breakfast, you tried to act normal and say hello to whoever you knew mingling by the bathroom. But something was clearly very wrong. It was evident in your eyes, the way tears were pricking at the sides. You almost thought the universe was pulling a cruel prank on you, but then you remembered that it was Quinn who had introduced you two in the first place, that he had been a friend of a friend. 

Climbing up the staircase in the lobby, you plopped yourself down on the middle step and let your face fall into your hands. You began to count your breaths – one, two, three, one, two, three – anything to make you get a semblance of control. But you could feel your brain spinning, and your heart was beating too fast. Was this what it felt like to die? Was your cheating ex going to be the last face you saw before you completely slumped against this staircase? Vernon always said you had a flair for the dramatic. What a fitting way to end.

You felt a weight sink into the plush carpet next to you, and you lifted your head, tears brimming your eyes.

“You do realize that this isn’t your party. You can’t cry if you want to,” Mingyu joked, reaching out and swiping the tear at your lash line. His eyes softened then, looking at you like you were something fragile, like a baby bird. “What’s wrong?” His voice was hardly about a whisper.

You sniffled, dabbing at the corners of your eyes with your knuckles. The last thing you needed was your makeup messed up. “This is so embarrassing. I’m crying over something so …” Your words trailed off, noticing that he was leveling a look at you. You sighed before admitting, “I forgot that the bride, Quinn, might invite my ex because they were friends. Somewhat.”

“Your ex? As in that ex?” His brow shot up, and you nodded. “Did he come alone?”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, and after a moment, you watched his large palm slowly envelope one of yours. The rough pads of his fingers – the hands of a cook – brushed over your knuckles, and his touch was so warm that it could burn. 

His voice was soft in your ear as he said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

You chuckled a little, turning to look at him again. “Then we’d be sitting on this staircase forever.”

He smiled at you and stretched out his long legs. “That’s fine with me.”

Your lips pursed, and you found him staring at them for a moment. A sigh escaped, and you glanced down at your laced hands. How perfectly they fit together, how he held you with such a fierce softness. His thumb grazed the scar on your knuckle that you got the first time you fell off your bike. Finally, you answered, “He came here with the girl he cheated on me with.”

Mingyu didn’t speak, but you did hear him do a sharp intake.

“She’s twenty-two. She didn’t – she doesn’t know any better. He’s in his early thirties and he’ll do it again,” you continued, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. “I found them in his apartment after I came home from a late meeting at work. It was … messy. Walking in on them, the fallout, now this … everything about that breakup has felt like one big mess. And now, I have to see him here and be reminded of it all–fucking–over again.”

You didn’t even dare to meet his eyes as the next words tumbled out of your mouth, already feeling your voice start to break again. “It didn’t just hurt because I found them. It hurt because … I never wanted to become my mother. I love her. I really do. But the last thing I ever wanted was to become her. Be in the same situation as her. And yet, there I was, witnessing yet another infidelity that would affect my life for what seems like forever.” You rubbed at your running nose. “I found my father cheating too. It wasn’t exactly the same. I found him kissing my best friend’s mom in my parent’s bedroom one night when my mother stayed at work too late. The sentiment still stands, and history was always bound to repeat itself. Daughters always become their mothers and I always have to bear witness to another man not choosing to stick around –”

Mingyu stopped you by turning your face towards his, one hand cupping your cheek. His thumb skimmed the tears running through your blush. He didn’t say anything; his eyes let you know that he was here. That he was sticking around. Despite everything you thought of him, despite your past – Mingyu was here. 

He held you for as long as you needed, gathering you in his arms and cradling your head against his shoulder. He let your tears soak into the fabric of his expensive suit, promising he’d get it dry-cleaned, which made you laugh. Your fingers clutched his lapels and you almost considered not letting go. You would give anything to stay in this bubble, to sit on this staircase in his embrace forever.

“I meant what I said all those months ago,” he said, his voice muffled from his lips at the crown of your head. “I would kill any guy that has done you wrong. Do you want me to kill him?”

You chuckled and raised your head from his shoulder. “What are you gonna kill him with? A butter knife?” You shook your head. “No chef is gonna let you in that kitchen tonight to grab a weapon. You of all people should know that.”

Mingyu grimaced. “This conversation is getting morbid.”

Another laugh bubbled at your lips. “You brought it up!”

“And you’re smiling again,” he said, making your hands hold onto him tighter. “That’s all I could ask for.”

Such simple words could take your breath away, especially when they came from his mouth. You searched his eyes for a moment, your fingers now smoothing out the creases in his lapel. Eventually, you whispered, “I don’t know if I can survive this whole reception. I hate the awkward tension, but I should stay for Quinn.”

“Trust me, I know,” he snickered, and his hand covered over yours as an anchor. “I say we stay at the reception for as long as your comfortable. Then we go to bed early. Whatever works for you.”

Your smile was so kind as you nodded along with his plan. After touching up your makeup, you took his hand and let him lead you back to the reception. Once you saw Quinn in her short, after party dress and looking at Seokmin with stars in her eyes, you instantly felt more at ease. This was her day; you wouldn’t let one person sour it. And Mingyu, clearly, wasn’t going to let your own nerves sour it either. Anytime you locked eyes with your ex, there Mingyu was, distracting you by whispering in your ear how pretty you looked or asking you about your best memories while living with Quinn. There was one moment where you saw your ex heading in your direction, assuming he was finally going to talk to you, and Mingyu stood up to whisk you onto the dance floor. His large arms enveloped you, holding you close, as you swayed to one of your favorite songs. Everything about him felt safe, secure, and he even let you stand on his feet when you told him you had never been that good at dancing. And when you looked at him, you noticed that he was staring at you like how Quinn looked at Seokmin during her speech. Even when you had cried, had let him in, see parts of you that not even Vernon touched … he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

You stayed at the reception far longer than anticipated. When you told Mingyu that you were too tired to stay any longer, he didn’t question it. He simply grabbed your purse and jacket before taking your arm in his, walking the short distance back to your Febreze-ridden hotel. The first thing you did once you were back in your room was take off your heels. They were only a kitten heel, but your feet were already blistering, and you winced as you went to the bathroom to wash off your makeup. Mingyu had set your stuff down on the small desk before walking out onto the deck connected to your room. You craned your neck out, assuming he was going to smoke a joint, but he was just staring at the ocean, noticing how loud the waves crashed against the shore.

You padded out of the bathroom and leaned against the door frame for a moment, admiring him in the dim light. It almost left in you in disbelief how you had roped Kim Mingyu, one of the most attractive men you’d ever met and probably one of the longest crushes you’d ever had in your life, into being your wedding date for an entire year. He had a lost a bet, but he really didn’t have to be here. He didn’t have to invest in a new suit. He didn’t have take the time off from his two jobs. He didn’t have to listen to your trauma, or look at you like you were this painting to be worshipped, this Mona Lisa of sorts. Mingyu could’ve said no. 

But he didn’t. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” you finally informed him, and he turned to meet you eyes. “Can you help me out of my dress?”

He nodded diligently, following you to the bathroom. You pulled your hair up with one hand, and with deft fingers, he slid the zipper down your back. Typically, you would hold the dress to your chest until he left the bathroom, out of respect, but you were letting it pool at your feet tonight. You stepped out of it, your gaze locking with his as you turned on the shower. You were giving him this look and he was still standing there in his half-buttoned dress shirt, hands forming into fists as he fought the urge touch you. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for your permission.

But you didn’t even have to say anything. Your eyes said the words for you. As you climbed into the standing shower, he took his time removing his suit, pretending as if he wasn’t fucking dying to have his hands on you, and then he was behind you, the hard panes of his chest flush against your back. He closed the shower door as the glass began to fog up.

The water was scalding as it rained down on your head, steam forming around the small bathroom. You could still feel the dried tears on your face, imprinted underneath your makeup all night, and you did your best to wash them away. Mingyu noticed the way your shoulders sagged, the way you sighed while you were lost in thought, and as much as wanted touch you in places that made those sweet sounds fall from your lips, he held himself back. Instead, he let his hands comb through your wet hair before scrubbing shampoo into the strands. You relaxed against him, closing your eyes as he washed your hair.

It was so domestic that you could cry. 

(Again.)

The last person you ever thought could be capable of this kind of care was Mingyu. You both had known each other for eight years, and not once had he displayed this kind of person around you. Or maybe you just weren’t paying attention, too lost in your own perception of him. Even now, you couldn’t help but remind yourself of when he avoided you after the hookup in senior year. He really isn’t the same guy, Vernon’s voice echoed in your head. Give him a chance. You had never trusted those words, but in this moment … you realized where you had went wrong.

The water began to get cold when it came time to wash his own hair and you could tell he was struggling to rush. His mannerisms made you giggle, and even though the steam began to dissipate from the room, you still turned to his front and rested your forehead on his chest, letting the lukewarm water beat down your neck.

When you walked out of the shower, you had never felt more fresh and at ease. Your body was all warm and you had brought the comfiest pajamas for summer weather. The breeze wafting off the ocean blew through your room from the open screen door, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore could lull you to sleep.

But right now, it seemed like neither of you were keen on the subject. As you slipped under the covers next to each other, you were grateful that there was only one bed: one large, king-sized bed that both of you could be using to spread out. Instead, you were huddled close, hair still wet from the shower, and his arms locked around you like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go. Your hands cupped his face, studying parts of him that you didn’t think of in your previous lust-induced hazes. Fingers traced his lips, brushed over the tip of his nose – where his tiny mole was stamped – before you skimmed the shell of his ear.

You almost didn’t recognize your own voice as you whispered, “Thank you for tonight.”

“Anytime,” he smiled.

A beat of silence. Hands stilled. Lips pursed.

“Mingyu?”

“Yeah?”

“Please, kiss me.”

His mouth was on yours before you could even finish the sentence, but he still took his time exploring new ways to make you moan into the kiss. He kept one hand splayed on your back, pressing you further into him, while the other played with the hem of your loose t-shirt. Your hands knotted into his hair as he kissed you slow, savoring you like a fine meal. And you simply let him. You were like molten lava, melting in the palm of his calloused hands. 

You felt his fingers prod at the waistband of your shorts, and it was game over. Slipping them under, he practically whined into your mouth when he realized you hadn’t put any panties on after the shower. His mouth disconnected from yours, fingers sliding between your slick folds. “Are you trying to kill me?” He breathed against your lips.

“In my defense,” you chuckled softly, “I forgot to bring them to the bathroom.”

He laughed with you, and you were debating on crying again because he was so kind and good and definitely just as obsessed with you as you were with him. No matter how many times you didn’t want to admit it, you had somehow fallen into Kim Mingyu’s trap once again. 

He kissed you again, hungrier this time, as he spread you open with his fingers. You whimpered, but he swallowed it with his tongue and began to rub tight circles on your clit. Your leg lifted, hooking onto his waist, and you bucked against his hand. Your body felt like it was on fire, but Mingyu was careful, plucking your strings like a guitar, and you needed moremoremore. Pushing two fingers inside of you, his kiss was like a sound barrier as he consumed all your sweet sounds, as if that would allow him to hear them forever. 

It was only when you came apart that he dragged his lips to your neck, wanting to focus on your moans as he fucked you with his fingers. He felt you shake, your pussy squeezing his thick fingers, and he kept rubbing your clit through it, wanting to prolong your orgasm as much as possible. If not for you, then for him, just so he could hear you. He would make you cum as many times as you wanted if it meant he could hear his name falling from your lips. 

Neither of you wanted to stop; all fumbling hands and shaky limbs as he finally tugged your shorts off. It was a lot more difficult to take off his boxers without separating from you, but you laughed and you were so pretty that he almost forgot what he was doing in the first place. Once he was situated, you rolled on top of him, straddling his lap. You held his face in your hands, and for a moment, you could almost see reflections of the dark ocean outside in his starry gaze. Your palms drifted down, fingertips tracing the hard panes of his chest. He was all muscle, sculpted like your very own David statue; his complexion so similar to golden hour personified.

You lifted your t-shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. Mingyu was already so hard that it hurt, but he took a few more seconds to stare at you. He wanted to remember this moment forever: the sight of you on top of him, naked and vulnerable, hair wet and a faint blush on your cheeks.

Sitting up on your knees, you positioned yourself right over his cock and gripped the shaft to get the perfect angle inside of you. You were looking at him and he was looking at you as you lowered yourself slightly, grazing his tip against your wet slit, still dripping from your previous orgasm. Mingyu groaned at the sensitivity, throwing his head back against the pillow and muttering, “This is so mean.”

“You like when I’m mean,” you giggled, repeating the same words you uttered that fateful night after Chan’s wedding, when Mingyu’s face was buried between your thighs.

And Mingyu recognized it too, a grin making it’s way to his lips. But that was soon replaced by look of complete bliss as you finally sunk down onto his cock. He was the perfect size, filling you just right but never uncomfortable. He gave you a moment to adjust, but you could tell from his white-knuckled grip on your hips that he was damn near fighting the urge to thrust up into you. He didn’t though. He was patient and perfect and all yours.

You anchored yourself to him with one hand on his shoulder, beginning to rock into him at a snail’s pace. Your eyes connected, and even as he moaned underneath you, he was unable to stop smiling. Mingyu let you set the pace, and you took your time, getting to know what speed had him pulling your hips harder. The angle had him buried so deep inside that you could practically feel him in your stomach, and you sighed each time as you moved against him. 

“Fuck,” he whined, shifting to sit up against the headboard. “I’ve needed you so bad.”

“I know, I know,” you confessed in a breathy whimper. “Me too.”

He was digging his fingers into your hips so hard that you were sure there’d be marks, but you didn’t care right now. You just wanted him, wanted this. Wanted to be this connected to him and feel him this deep and cum together as the waves crashed against the shore outside. He began to move you on his own accord, bouncing you on his cock as he leaned forward to nip and suck at your neck. “So pretty,” he mused against your skin, breath stuttering as your walls tightened. “So pretty sitting on my cock.”

You were the one whining now, raking your fingers into his dark strands as your thigh muscles burned. Your breasts jumped with each slam of his hips against yours, and he planted hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, dipping his tongue into your collarbone, before latching his mouth around one of your nipples.

Your hands pulled at his hair. “Mingyu, please,” you cooed, not exactly sure what you were begging for. Just moremoremore. 

His eyes lifted to yours and you watched him fucking smile while tugging at your nipple. You were melting like putty, and he was able to still move you with one hand, using his free one to cup your other breast and run his thumb over that nipple. Tears pricked at your eyes, feeling him pulse inside you with each pass. And when he started to thrust up into you, you were pretty sure that you were close to seeing stars.

“Wanna cum with you,” he rasped while switching breasts and flicking his tongue over your other nipple. “Please, wanna cum inside you.”

You nodded, too cock drunk to say anything besides, “Yesyesyes.”

He was rolling your hips now, practically rutting into you as he lifted his head from your chest, leaving a trail of spit. You leaned down and let his lips ghost over yours. Moans slipped from your mouth into his, and he was bouncing you on his cock so fast you almost couldn’t register to breathe. His breath was hot against your lips, so close he could feel his body shaking, but he needed you to be closer, needed to feel you tightened around him and milk him for everything he was worth.

Snaking a hand between your bodies, he found your clit easily, knowing your body better than anyone ever had. All you could hear in that moment was the sound of the ocean through your screen door and skin slapping against skin. You were so wet and warm and – shit, you were starting to clench around him. He rolled your clit between two fingers, and a whimper slipped out of his mouth when he felt your pussy clamp around his throbbing cock.

He needed to cum and so did you and – fuck, he could feel it, feel you, feel how deep he was inside.

He would do this forever if you asked.

“Fuck, Mingyu, oh my god, right there, right there –” You pleaded in his ear, feeling yourself tip right over that edge –

Then you were cumming.

And so was he.

You moaned his name like it was a prayer, shattering as you came undone. Your walls were squeezing him like a vice, and he was unable to hold himself back anymore, burying himself to the hilt before painting your insides white with his orgasm. Hips jerked, bodies went taunt. You felt your whole being dissolve into nothing but pleasure, molding yourself to him in his arms. When the rush of warmth started to fade and he felt your combined releases seep from between your thighs, he breathed out a sigh of relief, brushing kisses over your jaw.

You weren’t sure you were in your right mind. Everything was so hazy. But you didn’t want to move away just yet. Even when his cock started to go soft inside of you, you stayed connected to him, pushing his hair back from his forehead and whispering praises in his ear like, “You were so good … So good to me … My Mingyu … I’ve always been yours …” You could feel him smiling against your skin, his hands tracing circles on your lower back.

But as time seemed to stop and you felt peace for the first time in a while, you realized just how deep you had fallen. You were drowning in him.

Mingyu had wanted to tell you that it felt exactly like his dreams. If you were drowning in him, he had already sunk to the bottom a long time ago.

Save the Date for the wedding of Nathan Chaney and Your Mother: September 5th

Your mother was remarrying. Her and Nathan had been together since you went off to college, and then got engaged just a year after you graduated. They decided on a long engagement, choosing to plan out a destination wedding in the Caribbean. You thought it was crazy at first, but then your mother said, “If this is going to be my last wedding – and it is – I want to go out with a bang.” You couldn’t exactly blame her. After your dad had cheated and the divorce was finalized, you knew your mother deserved something like this. She deserved the world.

When she had called you just a week before the wedding, babbling on about who you were possibly bringing now that your ex was completely out of the picture, you paused. Holding the phone to your ear and watering one of your half-dead plants with the other, you said, “I’m … I’m going with Mingyu.”

“Vernon?” She asked, not believing what you said.

“Mingyu.”

“Like … the Mingyu from university? The football player?”

You sighed, playing with the dead leaves on the plant. “He was also – and still is – one of Vernon’s good friends.”

“Oh,” your mother said, more surprised than anything. “Well, you better watch for Nathan’s sister. If Mingyu looks anything like how I remember from Family Day, she will go buck wild over him.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” you chuckled.

The truth was … you weren’t exactly sure how this wedding was going to go. Ever since the last one, you had been progressively putting more distance between you and Mingyu. Once again. Your last night together had been so real … too real, and you wanted to save yourself from the heartbreak after this wedding when you never saw him again. As much as you hated to admit it, feelings were now involved, seeping into your bloodstream, until your heart thrummed like the sound of his name on your tongue. 

Slowly pushing him away … it hurt, but it was better this way. Pain was temporary and so was your arrangement. You knew that going into it, so how did you end up in this mess? You remembered what had happened after Chan’s wedding, the way Mingyu looked at you as he was shotgunning smoke into your mouth and – yeah, you knew exactly how you ended up here.

If you kept telling yourself this was for the better, maybe you’d start believing it. Maybe your feelings would drift like smoke and your mother’s wedding would be a final farewell before you two went your separate ways.

But you had been doing that for a month now.

And those feelings refused to fade.

You had an early morning flight the day of your mother’s wedding. Typically, you wouldn’t be getting to a destination wedding on such short notice, but the ceremony was small. So small your mother refused to have a rehearsal dinner and no bridal party. It was about her and Nathan, and you had to respect that she was doing things her way this time around.

You had waited at your gate right before doors closed for Mingyu, since you were on the same flight. But he was clearly running late and you were much too awkward around him now to text him. So you finally got on the plane and found your seat, noticing the one seat in the back still left unoccupied. Once you had landed five hours later, you quickly headed to the hotel that Nathan had booked for the ceremony and reception. Your phone lit up as you hailed a ride.

Mingyu: I’m sorry, I got a new flight 

Mingyu: I’ll be there just 2 hours after you land

Mingyu: I’ll make it for the ceremony. I promise

Feeling his anxiety radiate through your phone, you believed him, and then wondered if maybe this was a blessing in disguise. You were rewarded a few more hours of alone time before you had your last hurrah with Mingyu. Maybe if you buried your feelings deep enough, you wouldn’t tense up the second you saw his face. Maybe if you didn’t look into his eyes, you wouldn’t have the urge to kiss him. Or let him hold your hand. Or spread your legs to welcome him inside –

You dropped your lipgloss onto the bathroom counter, sick of your own thoughts. Your  square-neck, baby blue dress was clinging to every curve, but you felt like you were being suffocated by the fabric. You had just finished doing your hair and makeup, but you couldn’t quite keep your thoughts at bay. Nerves batted against your skull, making your hands shake slightly. What would you do once Mingyu walked in? Would you avoid his stare? Would you tell him immediately how much you liked him and how this wouldn’t work out and you knew you set yourself up for heartbreak –

Maybe you needed a walk.

Grabbing a spare pair of sandals, you headed outside to walk the beach just along the grounds of the hotel. There was still an hour before the ceremony, and you could just see the planners putting finishing touches on the decorations laid out on the shore, where your mother wanted it to take place. Couples were still walking through the water. Kids were making sand castles. The sun was slowly beginning to set and the breeze was whipping your hair off your shoulders.

And you smiled, despite everything you were feeling. Because where there was an end, there would always be a new beginning.

“HEY!”

You spun around, your sandals sinking into the sand. Although you recognized his voice, the last thing you expected to see was Kim Mingyu running towards you in his pristine black tux, his tie loose around his neck and blowing in the breeze. It was like something out of a movie, the kind of movie where there was supposed to be a happy ending, but you knew you weren’t afforded luck like that in real life.

He stopped in front of you, running a hand through his hair. Sand sprinkled down the tops of his shoes.

“When did you get here?” You raised a brow.

“About twenty minutes ago. I flew in my tux because I figured I wouldn’t have enough time to change. But now it just kind of smells like …” He lifted the sleeve to his nose and inhaled. “Like peanuts and old plastic.”

You giggled, holding a hand to your mouth and just … staring at him. He was smiling at you, fangs poking out from under his top lip. His skin was even prettier in the sunset. His hair, despite the messy texture, was effortless and perfect. He embodied sunshine in its purest form.

“Well, you …” You looked to the water, your hands flexing at your sides. “You didn’t need to come find me out here.”

His voice was sweet, soft, like fresh sheets, when he replied, “Yes, I did.” His hand reached out a little, attempting to lace your fingers together, but he stuffed them in his pockets instead. “When I was wondering where you’d be, I remembered something you said to me in college … Do you remember Move-In Day of junior year when we had that bonfire with Vernon and a few other people? You really didn’t enjoy my company back then, but I sat next to you because you agreed to sharing that god awful cheap vodka we used to like.” He laughed when you grimaced. “We got to talking and I asked you, ‘If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?’ And you said something like, ‘I want to be walking on a beach. I’ve always felt the most calm with my toes in wet sand.’”

You blinked, wondering if you had heard him right. He … how did he … “You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things.”

And there he was, reaching out again and brave enough to brush his fingers over your knuckles. You looked down, watching his hand interlock with yours, and his palms were balmy and calloused. They felt familiar, like home. And you simply couldn’t believe that you had deprived yourself of this.

“Did you mean it when you said, ‘I’ve always been yours?’”

Your head snapped up, tsking under your breath. Hand still intertwined with his, you pushed a lock of hair behind your ear. “You came all the way out here to ask me that?” You asked, flustered and agitated.

His brow shot up. “So that’s a yes then?” 

Your mouth opened, but then closed when you realized that he caught you. 

He added, his voice like velvet again, “Then why are you avoiding me? I can sense it.”

“Well, if you’re that sensitive to other people’s feelings than I guess that –” You paused, taking a deep breath as you gathered yourself. Your ears reddened. “Look, I think it’s pretty obvious that I’ve … I like you. A lot. But having feelings for you would be so messy. The last time I went through this, we hooked up and you hardly spoke to me after.”

Mingyu’s brow furrowed. “That was years ago.”

“You know how uncommitted you’ve always been,” you quickly remarked, even though you didn’t fully believe those words anymore. “Weren’t you the one that told me at the start of this that men never really grow up?”

His eyes narrowed a little. “Are you playing psychological warfare with me right now?”

Slipping your fingers away from his, you shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I’ve been your date to five weddings this year. It wasn’t just about losing some bet. I did it for you.” He stared at you incredulously. “Are you really going to hold me to a mistake I made six years ago? When I was a shitty 22-year-old that was terrified to tell the girl I liked for years that I was interested in her?”

“I never … I never thought you liked me back then.”

Mingyu’s gaze softened, and he tucked another curl behind your ear that blew in the wind. “I made you believe that I didn’t because it was easier than admitting my feelings. I was terrified of rejection. And an idiot.”

You couldn’t help but snort at his comment, but you knew this conversation was far from over. “Well, I …” You rubbed at your nose and turned away from him, facing the water that looked almost sapphire in color. The waves sparkled under the setting sun. “Wedding season is over after this and we can both go back to our normal lives. Vernon won’t flip a lid when he sees me texting you all the time and everything will be back to the way it was. I always prepared for you to just forget about me after this anyway.”

“I love Vernon, but this isn’t about him.” Mingyu stepped forward into your line of vision. “What if I don’t want to go back to the way things were?”

Your eyes flickered to his, and it was his turn to step closer again. His large palm cupped your cheek, his skin always so cozy and inviting that you just had to lean into him. Fingertips traced your brow bone as his gaze lingered on your lips.

“I don’t want to forget about you or never see you again. I want to be around you,” he confessed. “I … want to go on more dates with you. I want to be your date to more than just weddings.”

You hesitated, unraveling and dissecting each word in your head, before you came to the conclusion that … oh, my god, he had feelings for you too. Had you always been this much of an absolute moron?

Getting on your tiptoes, you closed the distance between you two, your lips crashing onto his like the water against the shoreline. Your body almost suctioned to his, bringing him even closer when your arms wound around his neck. He kept that one hand on your cheek, the other splaying on your lower back, like how he always did when he was nervous. But he had nothing to be nervous about, because you liked him and he liked you. The world felt like it was spinning, but also just right, and his tongue was licking into your mouth enough to make you feel breathless. You could do this forever, be this relaxed in his arms, kiss him as if it was only you two in your own world. And as he tugged on your bottom lip to make your breathing heavy, you decided that your dream had become a reality.

When you broke the kiss, your cheeks were definitely flushed, even under the layer of blush you put on. Mingyu grinned, tilting his head as he whispered, “So you have always been mine then?”

“Such a tease sometimes,” you repeated his fateful words from June. 

You turned, tugging on his hand playfully as the waves begin to lick at the sand near your feet. “C’mon,” you chuckled. “If we’re late to this wedding, my mom will kill me before I can even think about calling you my boyfriend.”

Mingyu had wanted to ask you to marry him only two years later, and thank god, he finally found the words.

tag list: @syluslittlecrows @yeosayang @eisaspresso @healingmv @nightshadeblooming @dmstoyangyang @amaraeofsunshine @thepoopdokyeomtouched @reiofsuns2001 @tigerhoshii @yoongznme @nerdycheol @gyuguys @ninixgyu4eva @tokitosun @wooyugta @dawn-iscozy @thecowboy7 @wonu-won @whoisbaek15 @alexie-blog

[berrryparfait]

my online pervert ₊˚⊹♡

♥︎ featuring: zayne, xavier, sylus, rafayel, caleb x fem!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: his secret obsession. his private fantasy. when he needs a little release, he knows exactly where to go... 「it's like i can feel your eyes on me...」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] pure smut, LI spies on reader by hacking into her laptop camera, voyeurism, masturbation (m&f), dubcon / cnc, squirting, messy ejaculation

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: art deco – lana del rey

✧ a/n: please please PLEASE don't judge me for this i'm sane i swear

You know it’s wrong.

But you get so wet knowing he can see you—your anonymous, faceless stalker. A thrill so exhilarating your heart beats out of your chest. Is it really a crime if you’re begging to be his prey? And though you may never know him, a part of you has already devoted itself to him.

So, mystery man…

Are you watching?

ZAYNE has had his fair share of long days at the hospital, but today was exceptionally dreadful. Everywhere he went, coworkers hounded him and patients complained to him and higher-ups micromanaged him—it was exhausting. Never has he felt so strong an urge to indulge in his private fantasy, the dirty little secret he keeps stowed away for times like these…

Fumbling with anticipation, he locks the door to his office and closes the blinds. The lights are switched off, not one else in the silent room save for him, his computer, and… A few clicks of his mouse later, and he’s accessed the Gateway. Your room flashes onto his screen, dark and empty. But it isn’t long before you appear in frame, your face flushed and fingers itching. He watches with rapt attention as you climb onto your bed, already rock hard for you. He unzips his pants, pulls his boxers down. Meanwhile, you lift your skirt up to expose your soiled panties, wet with arousal, and take them off. He exhales, feverish, like he’s just won the lottery. “There you are, beautiful.” Your fingers begin to massage your puffy clit as breathy moans escape your lips, rubbing in circles, side to side, up and down, increasing in speed; and slick drips down your folds as if welcoming your incognito visitor. Overcome, he pumps his cock to the livestream, imagining plunging himself into your tight cunt and leaving his long list of responsibilities behind. “Fuck, ughhh…” he groans as his strokes quicken, needy for your lovely warmth and delicious touch. You rub your pussy so fast and hard the pleasure blinds you, your mouth hanging wide open as you squirt all over your bed and shake uncontrollably, explosively. Zayne’s eyes remain on your perfect, spasming pussy as he cums on his desk, white ropes of his seed landing in places he’s not looking forward to cleaning later. “What’s wrong with me…?” he whispers between pants, hot shame flooding his cheeks. “I fucking need you…”

XAVIER is a man starved. It’s pathetic, how desperate for physical touch he is. He isn’t short of options, obviously, but being a Deepspace Hunter is no joke, not to mention one who takes his job as seriously as he does. But despite the other Hunters practically throwing themselves at him every chance they get, none of them get him off the way you do. When it comes to you, his dire need for intimacy multiplies…

It’s late, and the hallway is empty. Everyone’s probably gone to sleep by now. He gets comfortable in his chair as he opens the Gateway, nothing but shadows in his bedchamber to haunt him. What a degenerate he is—crawling through the dark web for a glimpse of the one girl who fulfills his carnal needs. The intangible object of his most sinful desires. You come into view then, wearing only a bra and panties—both pastel blue. His breath catches in his throat as you lower yourself onto the mattress, a dim, unnatural glow illuminating your curves. “God, you’re perfect.” His dick is out within seconds, all prior admonitions (self-targeted) forgotten. A squelching noise echoes through his speakers as you begin to finger your sopping cunt, two fingers thrusting in and out as you whimper softly. He’s palming his cock now, slow and steady, relishing in your gentle sounds and the imaginary feeling of your heat wrapped around his length. “So tight…” You squeeze a third finger into your pussy, pushing your panties further to the side and crying out in pure ecstasy. His strokes match yours, eliciting groans from deep in his throat. In his head, you’re on his lap, bouncing like your life depends on it and forcing his mind off of those aggravating space missions. Do you know he’s watching your every move? The thought exhilarates him, invigorates him—and he pumps himself impossibility faster before bursting all over his keyboard, the orgasm too intense to hold back. As you squirt onto the camera and draw your climax out, he slumps down in his seat, relaxed, spent, and…mildly ashamed. “Fuck. I’m a creep… But you’re so fucking good…”

SYLUS remains composed on the surface, but deep down, god he’s a mess. Sure, he’s the all-powerful boss of an underground crime syndicate, but he’s also incredibly weak. He’d never bow to anyone, but for you, he’d get on his knees and beg like a sinner addicted to both evil and repentance. He can bark orders all he wants—at the end of the day, he’s a measly slave…

It’s hard to tell when or where the urges hit. Well, the urge is always there; it’s more of a matter of him succumbing to them. Today, he’s feeling extra greedy, extra hungry for that sweet release, and where else is he going to get it besides watching you cum? He wishes he wasn’t so malleable, so easily swayed by these worldly desires. He wishes he wasn’t such a horny bastard. But alas, here he is, ready to breach the Gateway. You’re already spread out on your bed, thighs stretched apart and pussy leaking onto the pillow beneath your ass. “Fuck, Kitten… You’ll be the death of me.” It seems he’s late. No time is wasted as he yanks his pants down and his swollen, erect cock springs out, precum already dribbling down its length. You sit upright and begin to ride the pillow like it’s a fucking bull, rolling your hips and grinding your clit against the fabric with so much force it burns. His eyes are fixated on your lips as they whine and whisper, his right hand pumping his cock to a steady rhythm. He’s captivated. Possessed. “Mmmh… Ride it, baby…” Your languid rolls turn into desperate humps, jerks against the pillow like you’re a rodeo queen and the saddle is his lap. Once again, he’s losing control. His strokes are uneven, hurried, as he chases his release, picturing you around his cock, hot and sticky and— Streaks of hot cum erupt from his cock as you squirt all over the pillow, soiling everything underneath you. His seed is everywhere; on his lap, on the screen—it’s godawful. It’s so, so hot. “I’m going to find you, Kitten… And when that day comes, we’ll see who begs…”

RAFAYEL has a disgustingly large cock. What a shame the only time it’s put to good use is when he’s jerking off in front of his computer, letting his thoughts wander as he edges himself to tears. What a waste, truly—his main source of artistic inspiration stems from a very different kind of passion, one he’s grown accustomed to. Nothing else works for him anymore. It’s you or nothing…

Artist’s block is a pain in the ass. He’s been sitting in front of an empty canvas for hours, trying to exhaust all other options before resorting to…that. Naturally, his paintings are most emotionally potent when they’re born from the ache of wanting, those elegant strokes of his paintbrush concealing an inhuman lust. A savage, thinly-veiled obsession. He finally decides he needs to reference a different kind of model today, one that can only be gazed upon through the Gateway. Wide-eyed, he watches like a puppet on a string as you part your thighs on the mattress, a purple vibrator in hand. “Fuck, I needed this.” Soft curses leave his lips as you bring the device to your throbbing pussy, squirming and writhing at the euphoric feeling of your pelvic muscles tightening in response. He squeezes his cock with surprising force, reeling it in as best as he can. You’re a marvel like this; all eager and doe-eyed for a little dirty relief. “Yeah… Just like that, sweetie…” His wrist has begun to hurt from the ceaseless pumping, but he can’t bring himself to stop. You’re leaking by now, a stream of cloudy fluids spilling onto your pink patterned bed sheet. Every inch of his body tenses as your eyes meet his for a moment, and he subconsciously begins to thrust his hips upwards into his fist, unintelligible moans punctuating the tiny painting room. Paralyzed, you press the head of the vibrator to your clit so hard your pussy starts to shake, and squirt flies out in every direction as you cum hard. He unravels at the sight of you, blowing his load onto the canvas before him and letting his “creative” juices flow. “You’re a fucking masterpiece, you know that?”

CALEB is a man of honor. His shining sense of duty is almost as bright as his smile, and most of his coworkers would label him the most capable man they’ve ever met. But there’s a certain something to him—a hidden edge that he refuses to let slip. Maybe he gets off on the fact that the real him is off-limits, reserved only to feed his one, insuppressible desire…

Many unspeakable acts have been carried out in this cockpit. It’s cozy, that’s for sure. But he isn’t here to get cozy tonight. He needs to both clear his head and cloud it at once before tomorrow’s mission, and there’s only one way for him to achieve that. He pries his laptop open and taps into the Gateway, his breaths slowing as you climb into frame. God, he’s so hard right now it hurts. It’s a chore, putting on a collected, sane front all day, unable to act on his cardinal instincts until he’s locked himself away. But this… This is his favorite part of the day. “I’ve waited all day for you, Pipsqueak…” Sweet sighs float from your pouty lips as your fingers begin to massage your clit, and he finally allows himself some much-needed pleasure. His forearm muscles flex impatiently as he soothes his twitching cock, swearing at the sight of your cream coating your fingers. Your toes curl at the pressure, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you rub yourself senseless. “Ughhh… Ugh—” His heartbeat quickens as he fists his cock so furiously his vision blurs, groping and fumbling like his dick is a steering wheel and he’s diving straight into the valley of your thighs. (***my most poetic sentence yet) Suddenly, abruptly, your body trembles and you burst all over the bedroom floor, mirroring his own messy climax. Thick, warm cum soils the control panel, but he’s too satisfied, too spent to care. “Watch out, Pips… You’re on borrowed time…”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[reignpage]

Gotta Give To Take

Synopsis: in which roommate!choso hides himself away and you have to coax him out Warnings: smut, a little angsty, plot is just an excuse to be horny I won't lie, no penetrative sex, edging, femdom, manipulation, not proofread Word Count: 4.8k

You’ve fucked up. 

Really fucked up. 

But it wasn’t your fault. Choso, your roommate, wasn’t supposed to be home. He wasn’t supposed to be in your bedroom, hiding in your closet when your friends piled in, drunk and laughing about the pair of panties they found in the living room after the party had moved from the bar to your place. 

Having asked him if there would be any surprises waiting for you, you relied on his promise that the apartment was spotless. 

So, really, it was his fault that he heard them mock his weird, emo disposition. That he heard them call him your ‘creepy, pervy roommate’ who’s ‘probably been sniffing your panties behind your back.’ What he hadn’t heard, however, was your defence of him. Your lack of a monologue about how he’s more than just your roommate apparently hurt him. 

Now, he isn’t speaking to you. 

“Choso, you can’t starve yourself,” you warn, trying to reach him through his locked door. “Just take the fucking food and quit moping.”

There’s no response — no, scratch that, there is a response and it takes form, not in words but, in heavy rock metal blasted on concert-grade speakers. 

“Ugh, fuck you, asshole.”

It’s been days since. You haven’t seen him. Not a glimpse of him heading to the bathroom or to the kitchen. The trays of food you’ve been leaving by his door remain untouched after hours and your nails have been dulled by your constant biting. Even the carpet’s grown worn down by your incessant pacing.

You’ve tried baiting him by leaving his favourite pairs of your panties on top of the laundry basket but they lay there just as you left them when you come back. His own brother hasn’t heard from him. Awkward as hell in the apartment, you don’t dare leave your room anymore either. Perhaps he’ll feel more comfortable coming out to eat if he knew for sure he wouldn’t run into you. 

This has never happened. Sure, there have been times where it’s been frosty between you but that was usually from your end. You’d tell him off for one thing or the other and he’d follow you around, hair all droopy and with a rain cloud over his head as he pouts and begs for forgiveness. 

Impossible to know how to deal with him like this, you just leave him be. Or at least you were planning to. 

Because, at two am, you hear his door click open. The padding of socked feet heading down the hallway and into the kitchen reaches your ears. To hell with boundaries — he never respected yours to begin with. It’s that exact thinking that prompts you to sneak, in the dark, from your room to his. 

The place looks just as it usually does: messy black sheets that are deceptively soft to the touch, big ass speakers in the corner, bass guitar propped up by a wall, and clothes thrown all over the place. Bouncing on the bed, you fiddle with the hem of your shirt, the only thing you’re wearing, as you anticipate his reaction. 

Truthfully, you have no plan; this is impulsive as hell. But waiting for Choso to grow a pair and use his words might be as fruitful as bottling the sun. 

He’s coming back. You can hear the footfall getting louder. Heart beating faster in time with the sense of pending doom screaming that things are going to shit, you clear your throat just as he steps back in. With the moonlight streaming from the window, you hear, rather than see, his surprise — sharp intake of air, clumsy shut of the door, and the clinking of his rings as he wrings his hands together. 

“Choso,” you say.

There’s no response.

He’s unsure of what to say, how to approach you, probably doesn’t even know what’s going on. Shuffling on the cold, wooden floors, he holds his breath.

“Sit.”

Your roommate carefully slides into the desk chair right opposite the bed where you are. At your command, he also turns the lamp on, a warm glow bathes you both and from your place, you see his permanent dark circles have grown darker, his hands shake as they dangle over the armrests, and his hair is flat, they’ve lost their shine. 

Sighing, you ask, “What’s happened to you? Why did you disappear?”

“I was upset,” he begins, hesitantly, like he’s approaching a bear. “Your friends called me all sorts of names and you didn’t defend me.”

“What does it matter what they think? You’ve quite literally never cared about other people’s opinions.”

The man dresses like a rock and roll star, picks his brother up from school paying no mind to the stares he gets from all the parents and teachers alike. He doesn’t smile back at polite servers, gives out cold rejections to blushing girls, and sprints through supermarket aisles, mowing down innocent shoppers, to find you. And considering his own group of friends, a ragtag collection of delinquents, social rejects, and morally dubious individuals, he hardly seems in a position to judge your friends back.

Slumped in his chair, he fiddles with a paperweight. “I don’t care about them and what they think. They don’t know anything.”

“Right, so then what’s the fucking problem? Why haven’t you been picking up my calls, replying to my messages, or answering the door when I knock?”

“No reason,” he mutters.

You groan. You’re fed up. It’s all complete and utter bullshit. Angry, your feet carry you over to him in a blink of an eye. His chin is gripped in your hand and you force him to look at you. He’s tired. Besides the dark circles, there’s redness in his eyes, a tightness to his lips and dullness in his skin. Clearly he hasn’t been eating properly and who knows when the last time he’s had a drop of sunlight was. “Choso…talk to me.”

A pinching echoes in your chest when he shakes out of your grip. 

“I don’t care what they think. But you…” He sucks in a breath, flexing his jaw. “You’re different. You’re supposed to be different, supposed to understand, to be on my side. I felt alone that day and I don’t know what to say to you because I’m not mad. I can't be mad ‘cause I know I’m a little weird. I’m just…hurt, I guess.”

Gulping, you try to defend yourself. “I didn’t know what to say to them. We have a complicated relationship, Choso, and you know it. They wouldn’t understand. Hell, I don’t understand.”

“I think maybe we should uncomplicate it.”

You gasp.

This can’t be the end. He can’t have switched it off, that thing that tethers him to you, that makes him wholly yours in a way that would baffle others. Just the thought is making you nauseous — you don’t know what he’s done to you to send your blood pressure skyrocketing, your palms clammy and breath short at the prospect.

You have to do something. 

You can't let him win, can't let things unfold like this.

He's your roommate, your weirdo, your Choso.

Confused, he watches you walk back to the bed, keeping your eye on him. 

Decisively, you declare, “You don’t get to decide when this is over, Choso. I do. And I say, we’ve barely begun. So, don’t look away. Don’t you dare.”

Somewhere, deep inside you, you know you’re doing something stupid, something crazy, something you’ll completely regret later but in the blanket of the night, with this growing distance between you, you can’t seem to care about words of wisdom, about sanity, or the future. You exist in the now and damn it all if he gets his way. 

Laid back, you spread your legs, the cool air tickling your bare skin. His sheets feel good under you and when you inhale, you’re overwhelmed with his masculine smell, musky yet sweet.

Not even wearing cute panties, you make a show of running your hands up and down your thighs, feeling your slit through the material.

Slightly panicked, perhaps worried this is a test and he’s failing, he hurriedly asks, “W-what’re you doing?” 

There isn’t a hint of insecurity in your voice when you casually reply, sing-songy tone piercing through him, an arrow finding its way home. “Oh, you know…just reminding you why exactly it’s my panties you jerk off with.”

Wasting no more time, you pull said cloth off and circle your clit. The flimsy material stays with you; he’s not quite deserving of it yet. You’re already a little wet and you cling onto that shred of desire, desperate to lose yourself in utter insanity if that’s what it’ll take. 

“I’m getting wetter, Choso. I’m spreading it onto my clit so I can rub at it.”

He clears his throat. “This isn’t right, Y/n. W-we shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.”

Working two fingers in immediately, you’re growing breathless. The ceiling is all you can look at, maybe because you don’t know how you’ll fare if you dare sneak a glance and he’s not looking at you. “You can go, Choso. You can walk away. I won’t get in the way. But nothing you can do will make me stop until I’ve soaked y-your sheets.”

You’re working your tentative digits in, smothering it in your warm wetness, hoping the minimal light from his desk lap does the job in showing him just how wet you are. 

“What have you even been doing in h-here?” Without sensing it, you know the conversational tone of your voice is baffling to him; who finger fucks themselves and asks about things on the same subject line as the weather?

A conflicted noise comes from your roommate. He’s torn between leaving for everyone’s sake and staying to see this through. “Sleeping.”

The man has a talent of hibernating at will – his younger brother boasted, when you used to babysit him, how he can sleep anywhere, no matter how uncomfortable the environment. And since he’s moved in, you’ve been able to verify, on numerous occasions, that talent. So you believe the bastard when he effectively says he’s been weaponising said talent against you.

Keen to not dry up from your annoyance, you ask, with a slightly pornographic voice, “Are you looking, Cho? Can you see my pussy? Is she pretty?”

Raspy, he replies, “Yeah…she’s pretty.”

Voice much closer than before, you have no idea where exactly he is and you can’t look. You’re not brave enough to find out, so instead, you slide a hand up your shirt, nails teasing your skin which rise with the cool air that you welcome in. Groping a tit, you realise he’s never seen your body in great detail, not even now that you’re laid out like a buffet he won’t touch. 

Sure, he’s seen glimpses of your bare body – he saw a lot after a nude was mistakenly sent to the wrong person, or the right, depending on who you ask. Not to mention all other ‘accidental’ run-ins you’ve had in the bathroom before and don’t talk about, not even when you can hear low grunts and wet sounds coming from his room shortly after.

It’s clear Choso is no stranger to your body, how could he be when he routinely gets off on the scent of your panties, sucking the gusset into his mouth like it’s his last meal?

But this is different: those other times had been mere peeks, slivers of parts of your body then hastily covered. Now, he’s seeing the direct source of all those panties he covets so much and he’s seeing it wet and swollen, hearing the growing squelches, can watch exactly how you like to be touched, what makes you moan the loudest, your back arch up suddenly, and can note just how many circles he’d need to rub on your clit to have your legs shaking. This has to be enough to get your way and if it isn’t, you don’t know what you’ll do. 

“She’s upset with you, Cho…”

A pained noise escapes his lips. “She is?”

“Uhuh. You’ve been neglecting her, ignoring the -ah- panties she’s left for you. Do you h-have any idea how much work she’s put into them, getting them real wet after she got all messy for you?”

You gasp, eyes flying open.

He’s there.

He’s standing at the foot of the bed, towering over you.

Almost as if you can sense him on a deeper level than visual or auditory, you, or rather, your body, knew he’s come closer, unable to stay too far away. Only appearing as a shadow, you can’t quite see his exact expression; the desk lamp is behind him, casting you in a barely-there warm glow whilst leaving him void of any light. Suddenly too aware of the absurdity of it all, your legs quiver, pulling shut like a reflex. 

Arms dart out.

Prying them open, his cold hands grip your knees. “Don’t close them. I can’t tell her I’m sorry if you hide her away, right?”

“You w-want to see?” Collecting your wetness with wobbly fingers, you lift them up to show him, parting your digits to display the translucent stringiness of your juices.

Something heavy thumps to the ground. 

Choso’s on his knees, ring-clad hands sliding down your thighs, so close to where you’re hottest. Much closer to you now, literally within a hair's breadth away, you can see him better; eyes glazed over and mouth parting, you recognise that look. It’s the look he gets when he’s deep in pleasure, reason and rationality no longer orbiting his world.

No, you’re not dealing with normal Choso right now — the Choso that picks you up from wherever you are, no matter the time, that brings home plushies he won for you, who won’t eat dinner unless it’s with you, who can’t seem to fucking sleep unless he hears a goodnight from you. 

The one between your legs is an animal, driven completely by instincts, chasing a predator he wants as prey. His fingers, much longer than yours, dig into the plush of your thighs, squeezing to feel the smooth flesh welcome him. He can break your bones, can pin you to the bed, against the wall, can smother your face in the pillow, ignore your begging, and sink his cock in mercilessly if he deigned, if he thought you’d want him to. 

“You wanna say sorry, Cho? To her? To me?” He nods with no hesitation, loose locks of hair flying with the movement. “Then, tell her how good she tastes. Tell her how much you missed her. Plead your case.”

Diving in, your fingers are swallowed into his mouth, tongue parting them so he can get in the nooks and crevices, suckling all of your essence and being sure not to taste a drop. His eyes roll back just as vibrations tickle your skin; he’s groaning, sucking hard, clutching your wrist in an iron-clad hold in case you tease him by pulling away. “S-sweet. She tastes sweet. Missed her….missed you. So much. Ah, fuck…she tastes so much better like this –fresh a-and warm. I c-can’t think, can’t –hah, I need to taste from the source, need more, p-please.”

You snatch your fingers away, smearing his own saliva all over his face when you grip his chin to stop him from face-planting into your cunt. “No, Choso. That’s too nice for someone who mopes instead of talking through his problems. You’ll stay there and watch me touch myself. You won’t get to feel how hot and tight I am inside, not with your tongue, your fingers, and certainly not with your cock.”

“I just watch?” He scoffs, downright offended. 

Playing with your clit again, you work yourself back up. “If you’re a well-behaved puppy, then maybe I’ll let you clean my fingers.”

“Yes,” he promises, scooting closer and keeping his eyes trained on the way your slender fingers rub in tight circles. “I’ll be good.”

“Prove it.”

Choso knows what you mean and his audible gulp brings a smile out of you. What you’re asking is cruel, mean, and possibly beyond evil but you know he’ll do it. He’s proven time and time again that there are no limits to the lengths he’ll go to to satisfy his depravity, nothing is too shameful, too humiliating when it comes to you. Even when he’s supposed to be mad at you, he can’t take his eyes off your body, can’t resist thumbing the drop of sweat running down your thigh and drinking the taste of you, and he won’t leave, though the door’s unlocked, not when you’re here, finally in his bed. 

He barks. 

Once. 

Twice. 

It’s enough. Your back arches off the bed, fingers sliding down to curl inside you once more, pressing up, hard, against your gooey walls.

Sniffing your hand, he sure does act like a dog. He’s chasing your scent, drooling over it actually, and you can tell by his grunts, and the sounds of violent shuffling, that he’s fisting his cock, timing it to your thrusting. “When I take my fingers out to rub my clit, are you rubbing your slit, Choso? Hmm? Are we in sync? Are you imagining it’s my hand, my tongue on your dick?”

“Yes,” he confesses. “Your hand’s too small for me, you’ll probably -hah- struggle to wrap it around my cock, but it’s okay, you can use your other hand a-and your mouth.”

“Do you -ngh!- think about that often? Do you imagine f-fucking my throat when you use my panties to jerk off?

His face falls on your thigh, cheek smushed against your flesh. You can feel his warm breath fanning over your sloppy cunt. Long lashes graze your skin, and when he turns ever so slightly to place a kiss there, you feel your walls squeeze around your fingers. “S-sometimes. The other times I imagine you riding my face — oh, you sound so pretty. I’ve heard you before, y’know? You touch yourself most right before your period. I-I listen outside the door.”

Laughing, you say, “You’re not exactly very quiet when you jerk off, Choso.”

“Hmm, you sound much better up close. Smell and taste better too.”

“You should remember that next time you decide to lock yourself away.”

Sneakily, he licks a stripe up your thigh, and when you don’t say a thing, focusing instead on the rhythm you’ve set inside yourself, he sucks up the droplet of pussy juice threatening to disappear between the cleft of your ass, groaning. “There won’t be a next time. Days without you felt like hell. I can’t do it again.”

“Hah, good,” you tease, unable to help yourself, “‘cause I. Missed. You. Too.”

Choso growls and, with your revelation, casts all niceties away.

Oh shit.

Brutal hands spread your legs far, suddenly bending you in half and baring you to his gluttonous gaze. Rings dig into your flesh, warming up. He’s eyeing your pussy, not with adoration and worship any longer, but with a voracious appetite – you’ve laid out a feast for him and he won’t deny himself any longer, not when you practically offered yourself on a silver platter.

A most welcome sacrificial lamb.

 “So fucking pretty.”

Fingers still inside, you’re frozen with shock and fear at the sharp glint in his dark eyes. That’s all the warning he gives you before he begins lapping at your covered pussy, tongue delving wherever it can reach, seeking whatever you can’t hide. Wet appendage slithers in gaps you can't cover fast enough. The tip of his tongue grazes your clit, your fluttering hole, your fucking ass until you hurriedly obscure every inch he manages to reach.

It’s forceful, feral, and there’s not a hint of humanity left in the man you see. Clamping your hand down onto your cunt, you attempt to do damage control. “No! Stop! I take it back.”

“Move your hand," he growls.

You don’t. 

Can’t.

“Move, please. I want to -hngh- taste you, want to f-feel you on my tongue.” He’s manically licking and sucking with no thought, face pressed as tightly between your legs as he can, like if he could burrow himself inside your pussy, he would. “Let me make you feel good. Let me make you cum, baby.” 

Your other hand flies down, desperately pushing his head away but he shakes you off. “Choso! Stop! This isn’t what we -ngh! oh fuck!- a-agreed on.”

Wrenching your arms away, he’s just about to smash his face into your sloppy pussy when you resort to using your feet, kicking him away by the shoulder. 

“No. Bad, Choso!" Legs pressed tight together, huddled by the headboard, you hold a pillow between him and yourself, hiding your body from his lustful glare. "You can’t just be a prick, ignoring me, starving yourself and then try to eat me out. That’s not how this works.”

His knee falls on the bed, then the other, and soon he’s crawling over to you, muscles on show rippling with barely restrained desire. Silky, black hair messy, out from their usual pigtails, contrasts with the shiny silver of his piercings. God, if he wasn’t baring his teeth at you like some kind of wolf on the prowl, you’d be knuckles deep in your cunt, intent on cumming to the sight…maybe you still can. 

“I want to taste you. Let me and I’ll forgive you.”

You smack him in the face with the pillow. “We’re way past that, asshole. Back up, you’re scaring me.”

Squealing, you’re dragged down the bed into a starfish position by the ankle. Choso slots himself between your legs, hands sliding underneath your thighs and bending them back so he can clearly see everything. His touch is firm, unyielding, but his thumb is rubbing soothing shapes into your skin. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know.” Growing breathless again, you watch him lie down on his stomach, hand coming down to, where you can only guess to be, his cock, hidden under his boxers. “But I can’t trust that you won’t get all scary again and try and fuck me.”

He smiles. “I won’t, not until you beg me.”

“Hey, fuck you, asshole. That’ll never ha–”

Interrupting you, he gets back into serious mode and says, almost cooing, “You didn’t get to cum, right? I’m sorry. I won’t get in the way anymore. Touch yourself. Cum on my sheets. I want to sleep with the scent of you around me."

When did the loser get so bossy?

Rolling your eyes, you do as he says but only because you were going to anyway. Fingers swirling in your essence, you focus on your swollen pussy, clit hard and throbbing. 

The bed is shaking a little; he’s rutting his cock into the mattress, eyes rolling back a little every time he takes a good inhale of your tangy scent. 

Still wet, getting back into the rhythm isn’t hard, not when he’s keeping his promise and you’re given the space to work yourself back up again. 

“Why didn’t you -hah- use the panties I left for you?” Embarrassed that your bribes hadn’t been accepted, your question comes out meek, shy, and totally pathetic. Choso doesn’t notice. 

He grunts, bed rocking a little faster when you rub at your clit with one hand and thrust inside with the other. “I did. I’d come out w-when you’re in your room or you’re out and -oh, God you’re so wet- smell them. They were the only things keeping me sane. K-knowing that you’re missing me too made me so happy.”

“H-how much longer were you even planning on going without seeing me?”

Sheepish, he answers, “I was seeing you. Just when you were sleeping. You snore a little. It��s cute. I like it when you sleep in those tank tops – it’s easy to pull it down and see your tits. They’re so pretty, by the way. So soft and heavy.”

Pussy pulsing, you know he can see the cream overflowing out of you at his confession. You’re already close, driven further and further by every word he uttered, by every reluctant flutter of his lashes, like he doesn’t want to miss a thing.

You need more.

Just a little more and you’ll both get what you want.

“Eat me out.”

“But you said I can’t.”

Back arching, you whine. “I know what I said but if you want me to -ngh!- cum all over your sheets then lick me. Suck on my clit. Fuck! I need it.”

Choso doesn’t need to be told again. He circles his arms around your thighs and wraps his lips around your bundle of nerves, making a nasty slurrrrrp! sound. You both roll your eyes at the same time. The vibrations his satisfied groans make sends lightning bolts up your spine. Oozing more wetness, his mouth descends down to lap up your juices, using his tongue to spread it around. It’s nasty, messy, and so so so good. 

A gasp is pulled out of you when his fingers worm their way inside your pussy at the same time he hollows his cheek to suck hard at your clit. 

“Fuck, you’re so -hngh!- tight inside. I’m too -slurrrrp!- big for you b-but you’ll let me fit it in anyways, right?”

You’ve seen his dick before – he’s big. Huge. Even soft, fresh from the shower, from having jerked off to your dirty clothes, it was still impressive. You’ve also seen his sinful grasp on his hard and leaking cock, albeit just a quick glimpse, when he had purposefully left the door open for you. The dangerous sight had been the subject of many of your self-care sessions; you’ve thought about how hard it’ll be to fit him in your mouth and especially in your pussy, how good all those veins would feel rubbing your walls, how many orgasms that pretty cockhead would pull after kissing your g-spot again and again and again. 

“Tastes so good, you’re -fuck, fuck, I’m close- amazing,” he rambles. Your essence is like a drug, forcing him deeper into madness, until he can no longer tell what he’s even saying. “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou!”

“FUCK!”

You cum hard. All over his face. All over the sheets. Your legs squeeze his head tight, threatening to suffocate him. He doesn’t mind. He’s still sucking at your clit, pistoning his fingers inside of you, grinding it inside so he can bask in the gooey feel of your gummy walls. “Delicious…could d-die like this…”

A long groan trembles against you. The bed is rocking like crazy and when it stops, so does the spasming of your body. Through his orgasm, he elongates yours, pulling you to the very peak of pleasure. You both come down from your highs, panting desperately. 

"Oh, shit, that was good..." You're delirious, limbs beyond limp.

Shivering, you smack him on the head.

“Choso! S-stop!” He’s still sucking at your clit, making loud squelches. “Enough!”

When you pull him off by the hair, the sight has you clamping down on his fingers; his face is soaked, glistening with your pussy juices, his lips are swollen, cheeks flushed, and his eyes are completely glazed over. Shuddering, he doesn’t fight when you pull away and clamber off the bed. 

The man shakes, hips still humping the bed, driving himself into overstimulation as if on autopilot. His head falls onto the wet puddle, which he mouths at like a fish out of water. “Hmm, more…more…”

Tingling hard, you cup your poor pussy and wince at the soreness you don’t usually get when it’s just you. The asshole really did a number on you. He was lapping up your wetness for his own pleasure, drinking like you're the only thing that sustains him, like an addict finally getting their fill, like life is only now worth living because he had you in his arms, in his bed, held up to his face.

With a sigh, you retreat into your bedroom, leaving him in your combined mess. Emo can clean it up himself.

In the morning, he greets you with a full breakfast spread on the kitchen counter and a beaming smile. Gone are his dark circles, his hair’s tied up neatly, and he rambles about plans for the week like nothing had happened. "We should totally go watch that horror movie on Friday! And then we can have dinner after."

"Sure, but it's on you."

He pouts. "It's always on me."

"Are you complaining?"

Choso grumbles, "No..."

You eat like normal, joking and teasing.

And you think everything’s fine now, that you’ve gone back to the days before, and the depravity you two got up to last night can be stored away along with all the other shameful things that have gone on in the apartment that neither your friends and family, nor his, will ever come to find out. 

But, then he gets up, gathers the plates, gives you a peck on the cheek and asks:

“Same time tonight?”

[minothtime]

I'm a translator, which is sort of linguist-adjacent, so let me try to shed some light onto this! Lengthy sort-of-explanation under the cut

(Disclaimer: English is my second language, so please forgive me for any mistakes, oddities or typos ^^;)

first of all, the whole "referencing posts or known sentences to evoke feelings" is what linguistic in-groups are like! Tumblr has its own set of specific words and references that are constantly being flung around. This exact thing happens in other circles -4chan boards, kpop stan twitter, tiktok comments- or even smaller groups like fandoms! References are what separates the in-group from the out-group, as Etymology Nerd explains in this tangentially-related short.

But... Tumblr feels different, somehow, right? Because it's not just very specific references made in a relatively close-knit fandom. We're not talking about the Zohar or about Hyunjin actually being part of Odd Eye Circle. These references are SITE-WIDE! They're extremely easy to come across and you can find an explanation by asking literally anyone! How come?

Well, I'd wager this has to do with two things: Tumblr's unique features and the Tumblr userbase itself.

Tumblr is unique among other social media for many reasons. One of them is the interaction with old posts: there's no stigma surrounding it, unlike other social media, and there is no deterrents put in place by the website itself either. This way, posts can live in the common consciousness for much, much longer, cementing them in people's minds and becoming part of the website's zeitgeist.

To be fair, I personally believe that this is the case thanks to those "popular" or "iconic" posts being spread across the internet, giving new users the chance to look for them and reblog or interact with something they are familiar with. This naturally extends the lifespan of such posts. This is also why humorous posts like "the tubby custard machine", "tea tastes different in hot water" or "children's hospital", among a slew of others, have an easier time surviving the passing of time than more serious or niche posts.

Tumblr's userbase, on the other hand, is also quite... unique. This section will all be from my point of view and from observations I've made myself, so do not take my word for it. Or do. Don't hesitate to chip in about this part yourself!

Anyways. The Tumblr userbase - or "ecosystem", as it has been called. There's a staggering amount of variety in this webbed site, and many others before me will probably explain it better than I ever will (Strange Aeons, for example). Since the so-called 2018 "exodus" (when nsfw was banned from the platform and many users left for greener pastures), Tumblr has been considered a "dead" site, when it couldn't be further from the truth. Somehow, by virtue of not shooting themselves in the foot like literally every single other social media, Tumblr has survived. Even if its behavior towards trans people (mostly women) is still very suspect. But I digress.

Basically, I think Tumblr users like to feel included. Because so many of us have struggled socially, we suddenly find ourselves in a site filled to the brim with people similar to us. A site with accessible inside jokes that are funny, easily understandable, and easy to use. A site with the bare minimum rule of "don't be a fucking jerk but otherwise go nuts". These references make people feel good when they see them, when they understand them, and when they use them themselves. "Oh, I know what you're talking about! I get it!". Also personally as an autistic person i like knowing what something means. And I love making references other people get. It's something I struggled to do before and now I can do it!!

That's the socio-linguistic explanation for the iconic post references. But, really, I think that also affects the whole typing and rethorical-question side of things!

This very clear distinction between a question that requires an answer (usually marked with question marks) and rethorical questions (no question marks whatsoever) helps a lot! Neurodivergent people who struggle with tone suddenly have a clear-cut indicator that helps make them more comfortable, which perpetuates the system. Because it's great!!

The hyper-exaggerated compliments might come from a place of necessity, tho. Language has evolved to a point where non-ironic/common sentiments like "oh i rlly like ur art!" or "wow, what a cool use of space!" feel lackluster and barebones. The way the internet requires exaggeration for anything to be taken seriously, because of the flashiness or the so-called "algorithm speak", has bled into everyday speech patterns. If I'm talking about a painting i saw and I say "god it makes me wanna claw my eyes out. it makes me wanna scream and yell and grab the artist by the lapel and shake them like a maraca" my mother will look at me and go "what the fuck". My friends will just smile and nod in agreement.

Now that I stop to think about it, this obsession with hyperbole probably comes from a place of desperation - we want to be perfectly understood and leave no doubt about our stance. This, of course, is the natural consequence of those many years the internet at large spent obsessed with so-called "irony". Being earnest wasn't "cool", so you had to appear unaffected by everything and behave as unimpressed as possible to be taken seriously at all. Nowadays, you can't say you like something without having to preemptively write seven paragraphs defending your stance. And this sucks.

I'm a staunch supporter of the bring-back-earnestness movement. While saying things like "i'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure" is funny and all, sometimes just commenting a heartfelt "i really loved this piece. I think about it a lot!" feels mor efreeing than having to think a funny, quirky way of saying the same thing you've been adding to the tags of your reblogs for five years.

TLDR tumblr is how it is bc neurodivergent people. my advice: be yourselves, don't be malicious, be earnest, be curious, never be afraid to learn.

do feel free to correct me on anything i've said if necessary! i might be linguist-adjacent and very interested in sociolinguistics and neurodivergent behavior online but i'm not omniscient and i love to learn.

(play xenoblade chronicles x it's a very good game)

when did tumblr collectively decide not to use punctuation like when did this happen why is this a thing

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update 09/May/2025

So, guess who put in another scene to the chapter that was supposed to be finished?

That’d be me…Probably not a shock to anyone at this point, hehe! ;D

But, in fairness, it really needed it! After going through the current chapter, I realised it didn’t feel balanced. There was this quite emotional moment with the love interest after another emotional scene had happened, and I realised there was nothing for Li-Sar.

And although Li-Sar’s major romance stuff only happens in Book Four, it still needs to feel weighty and as deep as the others—quicker in progress but still as deep.

So, I went in an added a big section where the MC ends going somewhere else and having that moment with Li-Sar if they want it, depending on how they feel about the romance.

And guys, I LOVE it! Things feel like they’re building more naturally with Li-Sar now. Like the two of them really just can’t help but be drawn to each other, as much the MC is trying not to be for very good and valid reasons, lol! :D

That took some time to figure out and add in the best place to feel natural, but after that I jumped back into the editing, which I’m still currently on but is going pretty smoothly.

And in good timing, the editor is starting to send her edits back for the previous-previous chapter, so I’m going to add them in too seeing as I’m in the editing zone!

So next week is more editing, social media days (because I totally forgot it was May already!), and then hopefully getting onto the next chapter! A busy one, but hopefully another week I can check off a lot of tasks!

Hope you all have the most amazing weekend! We’ll be off as usual, so I’ll update you all again next week <3

[javiersvest]

breathe, hold, release (pt. 1)

joel miller x f!pilates instructor reader 

summary: when sarah forces joel to drive her to a new pilates studio downtown, he finds a new favorite way to spend saturday mornings. 

tags: mdni (18+ only), no outbreak au, no use of y/n, reader is afab/able bodied, has long hair, no other physical descriptors, meet cute vibes, no smut (yet! part 2 pending) but joel is having thoughts so, slightly pervy!joel, age gap (joel is 40, reader is 28), mention of a breeding kink if you really squint, joel is an angsty horny mess, if i forgot anything please lmk!

word count: 6.8k

a/n: this is my first published fic on here after bowing out of writing for a while, so i hope whoever stumbles across this enjoys. my user is misleading but i will be writing for pedro's other characters as well :) ty to my besties for beta'ing this for me ♡ pls be gentle.. alright goodbye!

——————————————————————————————————

“Pill what now?”

Joel’s headache throbbed in time with the sound of Sarah thundering down the stairs, nearly colliding with him as he stepped in from the backyard. It was only May, and already an unbearable heat had settled over Austin – eighty degrees before noon, causing sweat to plaster his shirt to his back. He’d spent the morning in a losing battle with a rotted fence post, back aching as he tried to dig it out of the ground. Stubborn bastard that it was, it wasn’t giving up easy.

“Pilates,” Sarah repeated, breezing past him with a blue tote bag slung over her shoulder. “There’s a new studio downtown and Vic’s mom got us a free class. Can you drive me?”

Joel bit back a groan, swiping the sweat from his brow with the heel of his hand. “Downtown?” he echoed, already dreading the traffic. Saturdays downtown were a nightmare; the farmer’s market turning a ten minute drive into half an hour, easily. Joel had unfortunately gotten stuck in the rush each time he had to make a supply run. He glanced toward the oven clock, the dimming light blinking 10:43 a.m. He needed to fix that, too. 

Sarah had begun filling her water bottle – the matching one he’d bought her two birthdays ago.

“You need to shower before you take me, you’re gonna get me kicked out.” Sarah remarks, her finger pointing at him and motioning to all of the grime and dirt that clung to him like a second skin. “Class is at 11:30, we have time right?” 

Joel ignored the question, sliding the back door’s lock into place. “What the hell is it anyway?” He rarely said no to her, despite his perpetual bearish nature and overall aversion for people. Too many times had Sarah dragged him out of the house just for him to get stuck somewhere that only reminded him of how lonely he was. 

“It’s like yoga but with machines,” Sarah’s words are muffled in between her bites of an apple. 

Joel’s brow raises. “Thought you said yoga was boring?” 

She rolled her eyes and dropped onto the couch, already absorbed in her phone. “Go shower. If we’re late, they’ll charge Vic’s mom.”

He sighed, deep and through his nose. Muttering something about who in their right mind pays to do yoga on machines, he trudged up the stairs.

The truck rumbled down South Congress, Joel’s elbow propped against the window, one finger pressed to his temple in an effort to soothe the persistent ache pulsing behind his eye. A silver sedan cut him off with zero hesitation, and he bit back the curse rising to his lips.

“I told you we should’ve left earlier,” Sarah said from the passenger seat, craning her neck toward the window in search of the new studio.

Joel huffed, his tone dry. “I was covered in dirt, you said I had to shower.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were a walking health code violation.” She laughs at her own joke and Joel’s expression remains in a comfortable scowl. Such a smartass. As he made a sharp right turn into the plaza, Sarah perked up and let her arm stretch out of the open window. “Right there! That’s it.”

Joel gave the building a once over. It was new, pristine, and pretentious. Probably owned by some well-to-do Texan socialite who spent more on coffee in a week than he did on power tools in a month. He parked with a heavy exhale and cut the engine. Sarah had one foot out the door, stressed about missing a second of class, when she paused. “Oh – you have to come in and sign a waiver.”

Joel paused, fingers still on the keys. “Thought the whole point of this was me sittin’ in the truck.” Driving back home and turning around to pick her up again would be a waste of time; and gas. But lingering outside in a baking metal box didn’t sound much better.

“It’s five minutes,” Sarah assured him, then smirked. “Unless being surrounded by chicks in leggings is too overwhelming for you.” Joel shot her a long, withering look in response.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shoving the door open with a little more force than necessary.

The parking lot shimmered in the sun as Joel stepped out of the truck, the soles of his boots crunching against the asphalt. Sarah was already halfway to the entrance, her tote bag bouncing against her side, curls swaying. Joel followed at a slower pace, dragging a hand through his hair. The studio came fully into view. Floor-to-ceiling glass, a glowing sign that read MOTIV in green serif, flanked by potted olive trees and dangling strings of fairy lights. 

Inside, everything looked soft, curated, and suspiciously spotless. He walked through the front door and was hit with a cool rush of air and the sharp scent of lavender and orange; his headache vibrates in his skull. A display shelf of similar cups to Sarah’s and matching workout sets sat to the right. A neon pink sign above a brushed gold water dispenser glowing Hydrate + Radiate. He hovered near the entrance while Sarah went to check in, arms crossed with a faint scowl. The chalkboard on the wall read “Today’s intention: be here now.” The hell does that even mean? 

Joel felt like a sore thumb with a heartbeat.

“Wow,” Sarah murmured, her voice echoing against the sleek linoleum floors as she looked around. “This place is so nice.”

Joel made a low sound in his throat, eyes narrowing at the bright lighting. The walls were all soft blush tones and polished wood, greenery hung in just the right places. Overhead a top fifty playlist sounded through the speakers, Joel recognized the current song from Sarah’s collection. 

A woman steps out from around the corner, clipboard in hand, smiling bright and open. Your hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, loose strands of it catching the morning light and framing your face. If he looked close enough he could see the flush over your skin, probably due to the heat. You wore a soft pink sports bra and black leggings, a matching sheer wrap tied around your waist in a loose knot that somehow made the whole ensemble seem less like activewear and more like intention. Not flashy, not performative. Just… natural. Must be what that stupid chalkboard was talking about. 

“Hi there!” you greet warmly, approaching with the kind of ease that could only come from liking the act of getting to know people. “Checking in?” 

Your eyes meet Joel’s and he feels something stutter in his chest. He might’ve managed a proper introduction if every part of his body hadn’t suddenly forgotten how to function. He’d expected your voice to be sharp and high-pitched, but it was lower than he thought, and warm. 

“I’m Sarah,” she answers, and Joel is grateful for it. “This is my dad. He’s just here to drop me off and sign the waiver thing?” 

“Got it!” you beamed at her, then turned your attention back to Joel, your smile undimmed. “We ask all guardians to fill one out - liability stuff, just in case. These machines are a little weird for people at first.” 

Joel feels like you’re overexplaining, his expression flat as you extend the clipboard to him. Behind him, Sarah coughed pointedly, silently telling him to stop being such an ass. When he glanced at her, she was already watching him with narrowed eyes. The pen attached had a small, fake sunflower affixed to the top. Joel stared at it like it was a trap. “...Really?”

You laugh, light and unbothered. “I know, but everyone seems to like them.” 

Joel doesn’t do the polite thing – a laugh, a nod, that reflexive smile people give each other when they lock eyes in a grocery store. Instead, he exhales slowly through his nose and squints at the waiver, pen scratching across the lines with a kind of grim determination. His handwriting is slanted and a little sloppy, like he’s trying to get it over with as fast as possible.

You turn your attention to Sarah, your voice softening. “We’ve got a few machines open, most people like being up front their first time so they can see what’s happening.”

Sarah perks up. “Cool. Is my friend Vic here already?”

You glance over your shoulder, smile brightening when you spot her. Now you remembered checking her in ten minutes ago, she’d mentioned she was saving a place for a friend. “Yep! She checked in earlier, I think she snagged the one in the middle for you. You two are doing this together?”

“First timers,” Sarah grins, adjusting the strap of her tote bag. “Her mom booked us the free class.”

“Trying new things, I love it!” you say, giving her a high-five. “She asked me earlier if it was normal to feel like Bambi on ice during the first class. I told her that’s half the fun.” Sarah laughs and heads toward Vic, who greets her with a dramatic stretch.

Joel is still standing at the counter, hunched slightly over the clipboard. He scrawls his signature on the last line, clearing his throat as he hands the clipboard back to you. Your eyes scan the page, and you find his messy handwriting endearing.

“Thanks… Joel,” you say, softly - not like you were spitting it out. Maybe he imagines that part. Joel gives a grunt that might be a thank you. You don’t seem to mind either way. You tuck the form under your arm and check your watch. 

“You’re welcome to wait inside if you’d like - there’s cold towels and water in that fridge over there.” You motion to the bench in the corner with your chin. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He can’t formulate a response, can’t even mumble a simple token of gratitude. You gave another breezy smile and turned to greet a pair of women walking in behind him, slipping easily into conversation. Across the room, Sarah and Vic are giggling over their machines, pointing at the foot straps like they’re some kind of amusement park ride.

Joel lingers for a beat too long with the clipboard no longer in his hands, as if waiting for something else to anchor him. He wondered if you were pretending, if you ever talked to people the way he did; uninterested, rushed. 

He sighs and moves toward the bench in the corner. The cushions are softer than expected. They remind him that he doesn’t belong here. He pretends not to notice the way each woman looks him up and down, probably wondering why the hell he was there. Still, Joel sits. Just a few minutes, he tells himself. Long enough to cool off. Long enough for his pulse to stop kicking at his throat. But as your voice drifts through the room - steady and laced with quiet command, he decides to stay.

——————————————————————————————————

Joel hadn’t meant to stare.

He really hadn’t.

But somehow, he found himself still on the bench fifteen minutes into the class, a cold towel slack in his hand, no longer pressed to the back of his neck. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, as if that’d make him less conspicuous. As if anyone in this goddamn studio even noticed he was still sitting there – except maybe Sarah, who'd sent him a single, suspicious look before disappearing into your instructions.

But Joel couldn’t look away. Not from you.

You’d claimed the reformer at the front of the class, surrounded by the ten students. Joel watched, rooted, as you’d settled onto it, feet covered with pink socks on the bar. You were fucking adorable. Every movement was fluid – graceful in a way that made his jaw clench. You moved through the class with quiet precision, your legs extending in a slow push that brought your hips off the carriage, then back down with a faint hiss of the springs. Your body stretched; long, flexed, contracted, then stilled. And then again. Again. Again.

It was obscene how hypnotic it was.

"Place your heels on the foot bar, toes flexed toward the ceiling. Keep your spine neutral and engage through that core,” your voice cutting through the lowered music like warm honey. You spoke like you trusted everyone in the room would follow you – even Joel, even though he wasn’t on a machine, even though he hadn’t moved an inch. 

“Good. Now press through the heels, extend the legs. Slow tempo. Four counts to extend, four to return. Feel the hamstrings fire up.” And God help him, he did. Watching your body glide slowly along that strange looking machine, smooth and controlled, everything tight and drawn in. You continue until the class is warmed up, then step off your machine to observe. 

“Now that we’ve got our legs warmed up, we’ll go ahead and move into foot loops,” you said. You’d taken the pink wrap from around your waist and tossed it onto the wall hooks, leaving only the curve of your hips in black leggings, your baby-pink sports bra clinging to your skin. Joel’s eyes followed you as you walked between the machines, stopping next to Sarah to help her get the foot straps on. Your voice lowers to guide her on where to place the straps, but he can’t hear you over the buzzing in his ears. 

You moved down the row, adjusting tension springs on Vic’s machine. “We’re going to start with some wide leg circles. Let the loops pull your legs back as far as they can go, feel that stretch through the backs of the legs and then pull down through the middle.” Your arms lift and mimic the gesture, feet padding along the floor as you inspect each student to check for anyone needing guidance. When you’re satisfied with everyone’s form, you return to your machine and slip your own feet into the loops. 

His breath caught when your legs started moving outward in slow splits, carving invisible circles in the air. Joel pressed the towel to his mouth. Not to cool off – just to keep from making a fucking sound. The straps catch in the pulleys above you, like silk thread tugging you from some invisible point in the ceiling.

“Keep your spine anchored, core doing the work. Focus on your breathing, that’s where the strength is.” 

Joel feels his breathing switch up to match your pace, and it felt good. The straps kept tension in your limbs, your legs moving in wide circles, gliding just inches above the mat before rising again. The control it took – not just to move like that, but to make it look so easy – tightened something deep in Joel’s gut.

Joel could feel the resistance just from watching. The subtle burn in your thighs. The strain in your lower belly when you drew your legs tighter. The slight tremble in your inner muscles that showed, just for a second, before you steadied again. And Jesus, the way your stomach drew in when your legs came together, toes pointed, straps pulled taut… Joel shifts on the bench, one hand pressing into his thigh. He blinked, trying to scrub the image from behind his eyes. But it was seared there now – your legs in those slow, perfect arcs, hips pinned down, your voice soothing and low.

Then came bridges, and his jaw ticks.

You guide the class through the setup with that same calm cadence that had been slowly wrecking him all morning. “Alright, this one is going to burn after the first few, but I promise it’s worth it.” You joke and earn laughter from the room. “Pull the carriage in with your feet, arms straight and long on the carriage.”

And when you demonstrated the motion yourself – feet on the bar and your hips rising until you were up in the air – Joel’s brain completely derailed.

From the bench, he could see it all: your knees bent, heels digging into the foot bar, the slow articulation of your spine as it peeled away from the mat. Shoulders down. Hips up. The curve of your back forming a line he had absolutely no business thinking about.

“Feel the glutes working here, not the low back. Squeeze and hover, then we’ll pulse for ten and roll down,” you said, calm as ever, like you weren’t using all of your strength. You rolled down slowly, vertebra by vertebra, until your spine was flat again. 

“Keep it steady. Don’t let the carriage slam. There’s strength in control.”

His jeans tighten further, jaw going slack. 

He could see every line of your body through those leggings – the way your hips rose and fell in rhythm, the tight pull of muscle around your thighs, your stomach flexing, ribs shifting beneath your skin. That pink sports bra rose with each inhale, clung tighter with every breath you blew out.

Joel couldn’t stop imagining your breath against his throat, hot and shallow. Couldn’t stop picturing what it’d be like to have those thighs wrap around him in the air, hips shaking as he traces his name with his tongue in your sweetest spot. To feel the strength of you – the steadiness, the ease, the command. Would you still talk him through it? Patient, encouraging, eager to watch him fall apart?

His jeans were fucking unbearable now. 

The machine creaks beneath you, slow and steady as you release and tell the class to catch their breath. Your palms flatten beside your hips, body curling as your knees drew in and your stomach hollowed. You begin rocking side to side to stretch through your lower back, instructing the class to do the same. His mind flashes with the image of you doing it in his bed, exhausted from him spending the night buried deep inside you, knees in the air to make it stick. 

Joel dropped his gaze to the floor, pushing a sharp breath through his lips. What the fuck was wrong with him? His daughter was here, just a feet away, laughing quietly with you, following your cues without hesitation. And him? He was on a bench with a hard-on, staring at you like some fucking creep. Arousal simmering under denim like he was seventeen again. He scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to will the tension out of his shoulders.

This wasn’t who he was. He was a father. He should’ve been paying attention to Sarah, making sure she felt supported, safe. But his mind had gone somewhere dark and hot and selfish – and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t drag it back.

All because of the way your voice wrapped around the room. Because of the curve of your back, the power in your legs, the way you didn’t even seem to know what you were doing to him.

And that was the worst part, this wasn’t a fantasy. It was real, you were real. 

You sit up on your machine momentarily, one knee bent on top as you face the class. 

“To cool down we’re going to do the same thing, but with our legs this time. What I mean by that is,” you pause and lie back down, everyone in the class sat up to watch your demonstration.

“Feet into the loops, your shoulders should stay grounded. With bridges we roll the back down one vertebrae at a time, this time think of lifting up with your spine instead.” Your legs rise up towards the ceiling, your toes pointed. Voice steady, you say something about keeping your tailbone tucked in, but Joel isn’t hearing you. 

His eyes follow your body like he’s a snake charmed, lips parting in awe. He’s watching so closely he can see your abdomen flex just slightly as you lift up through your hips, practically suspended in midair if not for your shoulders staying down. And your face – focused, serene, utterly unbothered by both the difficult maneuver and the effect you were having on him just feet away. 

You were so strong, so beautiful. Hell, he was old; probably didn’t know much about what people could do with their bodies outside of hard labor. 

He bet you’d teach him a lot of things. 

The best his imagination could do still had all his blood pumping to his cock. 

If he had you under him, legs hooked over his shoulders, spine arched, stretched and slack like that for him… christ he wouldn’t be able to stop. Guiding your breathing as he turns you into a soft puddle of skin in his grip, fingertips pressing into your knee as he holds you still. He’d do it all night if you would let him. Now that he’d seen you like this, strong and sweet and sexy without even trying, he had to show you how good you were. 

You held the pose for a few more seconds, some polite applause sounding from a few of the women. A bashful smile appears as you set your feet down, motioning for everyone to try. You start moving slowly, taking the time to correct each person’s form if necessary. The way you instructed was never malicious, no undercurrent of judgement if someone wasn’t at your level. Joel half expected every girl in here aside from his daughter to have that catty personality that made people feel bad about themselves just for saying hello. 

He follows you as you get to Sarah’s machine, the teenager’s brow furrowed as she tried to lift her hips in the air how you did. Her legs were shaky, unsure. Joel almost stood up in case the machine did something wonky and hurt her. Soon there’s a pair of hands on Sarah’s calves, supporting her legs while you talk to her. 

“Breathe into it, Sarah,” you say softly. “Imagine there’s a string pulling you right up, like you’re nothin’ but a feather.” You laugh airly at your own comment, Sarah’s eyes scrunching as she giggles back. Then your fingers are wrapped around her ankles, shoulder blades flexing under that baby pink sports bra as you guide her legs up.

She tries again – and this time, her body rises just like you’d said, wobbly, but right. You nod excitedly, a beaming smile on your face as you encourage her to hold the post without your support. Your fingers release and Sarah cranes her neck towards the bench. 

She was checking; checking to see if her dad was watching. Just like at every soccer game, every choir show, Joel was. He sees her trying something new and succeeding, and sees you helping her get there. Joel’s smile is soft and immediate. Pride floods his chest as he gives her a small nod, then his eyes carry back to you. 

You’re already looking at him, and Joel’s breathing nearly freezes. 

There’s a look written across your face that he can’t decipher. A flicker of curiosity, maybe? The way you’re looking at him now, head tilted, lips parted, chest rising slow; it tells Joel you know. You know what he’s been thinking. Know he’s been watching you, wanting you, sinking teeth into every soft command and slow stretch like a starving man. And worse than that: you’re not stopping it. You’re not asking him to leave, or giving him dirty looks. 

Joel swallows hard, jaw flexing as he drags his gaze down your throat, your shoulders, the curve of your waist. Lets you watch him imagine your thighs hooked over his shoulders, his hands keeping you steady, taking what he’s been aching for since the first breath you took in that room. 

You blink slowly.

And just like that, it’s over. You turn back to the class, guiding and praising like you didn’t just fucking unravel him from across the room. His hands curl into fists on his knees when he realizes this isn’t just some fleeting crush. Not anymore. 

The room settles, your voice softer but clear as you lead the class through a final cooldown. Your chin is tilted up towards the ceiling, shoulders rolling back. Then your hands come together in a gesture of appreciation. You thank everyone for coming, a few women already reaching for towels and water bottles. Sarah steps off the reformer and starts tugging her shoes back on, you coming over to adjust something with the machine Joel can’t see. She says something, he can’t hear it, but you both laugh, and Joel feels his chest crack open with something warm. Something more pure. But it’s not enough to smother the want.

Sarah joins Vic by the water refill station, the girls chatting excitedly and sharing their surprise for how fun it was. You’re kneeling by the machine she’d used, a bottle of disinfectant spraying onto the leather as you wipe it down with a rag. You do it to each machine, diligently moving through the motions like you’d done it a million times. 

Everything is back to normal except him.

His body is still too wired, every nerve still lit up from watching you teach. And now he has to walk over, play it cool, and be a good dad. Ask Sarah if she had fun and tell her how proud he is – without letting a single thing on his face give him away.

God help him.

Sarah bounds towards him, some of her curls stuck to her forehead with sweat. “Who’s the walking health hazard now?” Joel teases, bumping his fist into her shoulder gently. 

“It’s way harder than it looks,” she says with a tired smile, ignoring his banter. She must really be burnt out then. 

Joel chuckles and looks at the reformers with a dramatic puff of air. “Those look like hell.” 

“They are,” her grin grows, proud now. “But it was fun! Like, weirdly fun.”

He hums and lets her take a drink of water before asking, “You wanna come back then?” 

Sarah doesn’t think anything of his question, but shakes her head. “No way, I just wanted to try it. Pilates is expensive,” she answers. Joel’s heart clenches a little, a flicker of insecurity on his face with the knowledge that his daughter was aware of their financial situation. They were comfortable, but things were definitely tight most of the time. Joel did what he needed to do. 

“I’m sure they’ve got a payment plan or somethin’, c’mon let’s ask.” Joel jerks his chin towards the front desk. You’re sitting there now, sipping from a water bottle. Sarah looks at her dad in confusion, surprised that he was even entertaining the idea. 

When they approach the desk you set the bottle down, smiling at Sarah. “Hey! How’d you like it? You did an amazing job for it being your first time.” 

Her face lights up, and she can’t help but beam under the praise. “It was awesome, I didn’t think I’d be able to do half of that.”

“You’re always stronger than you think you are, at least that’s what I’ve learned doing this,” you offer kindly. Always affirming and attentive. 

Joel clears his throat, voice steadier than he feels. “We were just wonderin’ about the membership. If there’s uh, a rate or somethin’ like that.”

Reaching under the desk you grab a piece of paper, placing it on the counter. You turn it so they can read it, your pointer finger tracing the rates as you explain each one. “Since we just opened we have a 25% off discount if you buy three months of classes.” 

Joel and Sarah share a look, but they don’t say anything, silently communicating. Joel’s hand moves to his back pocket, digging out his wallet and sliding one of his cards out. 

“You better become star pupil, how much this is runnin’ me,” he jokes with her, handing the card to you. You laugh at the exchange, not impolitely. Joel feels a sense of accomplishment that he’d made you laugh. 

“She’s already on her way, don’t worry.” You hand over his receipt with a smile, that same pen from earlier nestled between your thumb and the thin paper. The pen clicks against the counter as he hunches over to sign; sign himself away to you, it felt like. This time when the fake flower taped to the top grazes his knuckles, he just smiles to himself. Welcomes it, like that little flower was the closest he’d ever get to you. 

——————————————————————————————————

It had become routine, sacred in its quiet regularity.

Every Saturday morning, he’d watch her fill up her water bottle, tousle her hair, then watch her sling that tote bag over her shoulder like she’d been doing pilates her whole life. Then Joel drove Sarah downtown, pretending to dread the drive a little less each week that passed. The first time back, he’d tried to leave after dropping her off. Using coffee as an excuse only worked that first time, though, Sarah knowing there was no way in hell Joel was going to drop $9 on a latte three buildings down. At least not on a coffee for himself. 

It’d been about a month now; four Saturdays. Maybe five, he couldn’t remember. It was long enough that the receptionist knew him by name, long enough that Sarah had a favorite reformer, right next to yours, and a pre-class stretching routine. You had grown roots in his mind, but not just his – in Sarah’s too. Every afternoon after class she’d rave about your teaching, how funny you were, how she thought you were “just the coolest.” 

Aside from the fact he already thought you were beautiful, the way his daughter spoke about you made appreciation bloom in his chest. You really saw her. You never shrunk her, always met her teenage uncertainty with warmth and ease, matched her sense of humor. In a room of older women, toned and polished, you treated Sarah like she belonged. The studio, with its sun-warmed floors and pop music, had become a place they both looked forward to. 

And so, Joel would sit on that bench in the corner for an hour every weekend, watching you stretch and manipulate your body in ways he didn’t know were possible. 

He told himself it was purely for Sarah. That it was about her confidence, her joy. And it was. The way she’d fallen in sync with you each class, it was worth every penny. He’d picked up some night jobs on the weekends Sarah was at a friend’s house just to make up for the splurge, his back aching in places it hadn’t before. He bet you’d be able to soothe that ache in his back, your hands gently nudging him over the line of satisfaction, voice gentle as you guide his breathing. 

He couldn’t tell if you were aware of how much you fed his delusions. It was the way you smiled each time the pair walked in, the way you warmed up any conversation. The small talk had started slowly. Mundane things, safe things, like how long have you been doing this? 3 years. It’s really heating up out there isn’t it? I love the sun, it’s not so bad. Then it turned into questions about his week, how Sarah was doing, how he was doing. 

You never seemed rushed, never distracted. Even when students would trickle in, you never ended your conversation with him. Some mornings, your eyes would focus on him in a way he had deemed unnecessary, eyes searching for something in his face while he talked. 

Then you would laugh, quiet and low, when he said something he hadn’t intended to be funny. He wasn’t sure when you started touching his arm when you said goodbye, but he noticed now. The warmth of it. The quick, electric trail it left behind. You never lingered long enough for him to know for sure. Never stepped out of line. But you didn’t avoid him, either. 

You followed him home every weekend, embedded in his mind’s eye. Your smile, your body, your voice. Dancing around in his head like the ballerina in a musicbox. One absolutely insignificant detail he’d latched onto was your backpack hanging up behind the desk. Specifically, the pink and silver bow chain dangling from one of the zippers. He’d watch it clink against the fabric each time you took a step, or watch it catch the light when you went to grab something from the small pocket in the front. 

She’s got a bow on her keys, he’d think to himself, laying in bed with an arm behind his head. 

Of course she does.

You become Joel's little secret, the adoringly kind pilates instructor downtown who always wore matching sets and had a bow keychain hanging on her bag. 

Another class had concluded, women passing Joel as he leaned on the front desk, elbows starting to ache a little from pressing into the hard surface. Sarah started helping you around the studio a couple of weeks ago, wiping down machines and mindless tasks, anything to talk to you. This meant he got the hang around a bit longer, watch you. Talk to you. Sarah’s laughter echoes behind him; she offers to fold the towels, her good deed for the day, he hears her say. 

You stood behind the desk, shoulders relaxed now that the class ended, a faint sheen still clinging to your skin. There was a different ease to you in the emptiness. The professional brightness dimmed, leaving something quieter in its place – closer to the woman he imagined when he was lying awake at night, chasing the sound of your laugh in his memory while he stared at the ceiling.

“Got anything fun planned for the rest of the day?” you ask him coolly, head tilted in curiosity. You lean into the counter just a little, eyes catching his in that way that knocks the wind out of him.

“Mm,” he hums. “Laundry, dishes. Fix this drawer in the kitchen that never shuts right.”

You lift a brow, smile pulling slowly. “Wow, that does sound fun,” you tease, but not unkindly. 

He huffs a dry laugh, lets his gaze drag down the line of your arm and back up again. “Yeah, well. Sittin’ here in the air conditioning beats fixin’ drawers, but it’s gotta get done. Sarah’s been complainin’ about it for days.” 

You smile knowingly, a clever glint in your eye. “And here I thought you were sitting in here cause you liked the view.” 

He feels himself shift as he straightens up, like he’s been caught red-handed. His lips part as though he’s about to say something else, defend himself, put your suspicions to rest or apologize for being perverted. But nothing comes out. He could try to laugh, make a joke, say he’s just here for Sarah. Hell, maybe he could’ve done that a few Saturdays ago, but not now.

Not with the way you’re looking at him.

Like you already know.

Joel swallows thickly, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he might say something slick, something brave. But it falters, and he comes clean. “Would be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.”

Your brow arches, just barely. You don’t retreat, don’t fill the silence with something easier. You just hold his gaze, head tilted like you’re wondering how honest he’ll let himself be. He lets out a breath through his nose. “”M real sorry, I didn’t mean to..” he trails off, redness creeping up his tanned neck and peeking through the collar of his t-shirt. 

Then you laugh; not loud or cruel, just amused. “Relax, Joel,” you say easily. “Be lying if I said I minded,” you copy his words and they land right in his chest. 

He glances down at the counter. “Thought maybe you were just bein’ polite, or I read things wrong,” he shakes his head, brows knitted together.

“I was being polite,” you confirm with a nod. “But no, you didn’t read it wrong.”

Joel scratches the back of his neck, the shift in his stance subtle but telling. There’s still heat in the air between you, but now he’s glancing toward the hallway like he’s trying to redirect it, tuck it somewhere safer.

“By the way,” he says, clearing his throat, “Noticed one of the sinks in the men’s room’s got a slow drain,” he said, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. “These new buildings they rush the plumbing.”

You blink, then your brows lift in amusement. “Oh does it?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, earnest as ever. “Probably just a loose fitting or the trap’s clogged, but,” he shrugs, hands sliding into his pockets, “I could take a look if you want.”

It’s so innocent on the surface. Almost too innocent. You tilt your head, watching him land waiting for a punchline. “Is this a ploy for something?”

His head jerks back slightly, as if the thought scandalized him. “What? No –” he rubs a palm over his beard, then exhales a quiet laugh. “I mean… no. Just hate bad handiwork, drives me crazy.” 

You’re smiling now, arms crossed, leaning just a little into the counter. “So you’re not trying to impress me with your plumbing skills.”

He gives a low chuckle, something sheepish flickering in his expression. “God, no. Just wanna help you out, ‘fore it gets too bad.” 

You purse your lips, fighting off an even wider smile. There’s something magnetic about his awkwardness. The way he tries so hard not to overstep, even as his interest leaks out bit by bit.

You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to show you're considering him. “Does Monday work? That’s our upkeep day.” 

“Monday’s great.” Joel nods once, his eyes meeting yours with a tender expression in them. 

Sarah steps into the room and squints at the freshly printed class schedule taped to the wall, her gaze quickly moving between it and you.

“Monday?” she asks, her brows furrowing. “Did the class get switched?”

The words hang in the air, and the shared look between you and Joel is one of fondness, like you’re sharing an inside joke. 

“Your dad offered to fix a sink for me, what do you think it’s gonna run me?” you say, sliding a small pin across the counter toward Sarah.

You had a matching one affixed to your backpack, the studio’s name printed on it, and Sarah’s eyes light up. The beginning of a smirk starts to appear as she turns the pin over once. She doesn’t miss a thing. 

“Hard to say,” she says, she muses, exaggeratedly thoughtful. “He’s not cheap. You might end up owing him dinner.”

You stifle a laugh, trying not to look too pleased as you lean on the counter. “You go around fixing every girl’s sink in exchange for food?”

Joel opens his mouth, but Sarah cuts in before he has the chance. “Just the girls he has crushes on.”

Joel groans low under his breath, head tipping back like he’s asking the ceiling for mercy. “Jesus, Sarah.”

Sarah taps the pin once against the edge of the counter, then pins it to her bag. “Well,” she says with a shrug, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Guess I’ll see you next Saturday, and he will see you on Monday.”

“Looking forward to it,” you say, eyes lingering on Joel just a moment longer, catching the way he shifts under the weight of all Sarah’s teasing.

Sarah leads him to the door and he hesitates, his hand grazing the back of his neck like he’s not quite ready to go, like there’s something else he wants to say but won’t.

“See you Monday,” he says at last, voice low, sincere.

You smile, warm and easy. “I’ll be here.”

Joel nods once, then turns to follow Sarah, who’s already halfway out the door. Just before it swings closed behind him, he glances back over his shoulder – there’s a quiet hopefulness in his eyes, an understanding that the feelings are mutual. That you saw him and his inner turmoil weeks ago, and you didn’t shy away.

You lift your hand in a quiet wave, no teasing this time. 

Sarah is saying something about getting food on the way home, but Joel’s mind is still inside, with you. The way you’d smiled at him like you meant it. The way you leaned on the counter, eyes full of mischief, sweet as sin. He hadn’t expected any of this, and was getting more than he bargained for. As he gets into his truck, something settles in his chest – something heavier. 

He’d looked too long. Thought too much. You didn’t even know what you were doing to him, and that made it worse. You were so good, so damn sweet, and he’d sat there every week with his head full of things he hadn’t let himself want in years. Things he wasn’t sure he had the right to want now. He told himself it was harmless. Just a little crush, something to think about at night to help him fall asleep.

But he was already thinking about Monday. The sink, sure, but mostly the quiet. Just the two of you. No class in session, no students to pretend around, no reason to keep his distance.

And that scared him more than anything.

[dark-fanfics-moon]

THE PET Remmick X Reader

WARNING: POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOUR AND DEATH OF MINOR CHARACTERS IN THIS CHAPTER ! BLOOD ! NOT FOR MINORS OR SENSITIVE SOULS ! Synopsis: You let him in ? Now, face the consequences.

(This is my first Sinners fanfic. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Also, you have French ancestry here.)

The scent of roasted meat and sweet cinnamon filled the air, wrapping itself around laughter and the lively sound of fiddles. The neighboring village’s festival was in full swing, spilling over with cheer. String lights crisscrossed above, glowing amber against the twilight sky. People danced in pairs, whirling and stomping to the beat, while children darted between tables with sticky fingers and half-eaten pies.

You were seated on a bench near the firepit, a flaky pastry cradled in your hand. It was warm and sweet, filled with something jammy that stuck to your lips. You had just taken a bite when the knock came.

Knock-knock.

You blinked, brushing crumbs from your mouth as you rose. You made your way towards the wooden gate that separated the garden from the winding road, the music slightly muffled behind you.

When you opened it, you saw him.

A man with bright eyes and windswept dark hair grinned at you. A banjo was strapped across his back, and his shirt was rolled to the elbows, streaked faintly with road dust. He stood with the ease of someone who traveled often, who’d seen a dozen roads and made friends in every town he passed. Behind him stood two others—one, a quiet woman with dark hair, a blue dress and a tambourine at her hip, the other a man holding a lantern and wearing a wary sort of smile.

“Hey there !” the first man greeted, his voice thick with a warm Irish lilt. “Me name is Remmick. These two next to me are called Bert and Joan. And me friends and I are travelin’ musicians. We heard music and thought we could maybe join ye happy bunch ?”

His smile was so bright, so full of good cheer, you couldn’t help but mirror it.

“Where are you all from, friends ?” you asked, tilting your head.

Remmick chuckled, eyes dancing. “Ah, here and there. Wherever the music leads, really. But most recently ? A little place past the Ridgefolk Hills—though I reckon that name means nothin’ unless you’ve lost a boot in its bog.”

You laughed softly.

The woman beside him added, “We’ve played in towns where the lanterns don’t go out ‘til dawn. Thought we’d see if this one keeps the same rhythm.”

Remmick tilted his head, still grinning. “Ah, we’re from all over, really. Bits o’ the Isles, some time in the south…but right now ?” He winked at you. “We’re from wherever the road takes us—and tonight, I’m hopin’ that’s here.”

You glanced back at the flickering lights, the sounds of joy and clinking glasses behind you, and then to the trio at your gate.

“Well,” you said, stepping aside with a smile, “no reason to keep music waiting. Come on in.”

Remmick’s grin stretched even wider—wolfish and warm all at once—as he tipped an invisible hat. “Much obliged.”

The woman beside him gave you a grateful nod, her long fingers tightening on the neck of her instrument. She had sharp eyes that missed nothing, and you got the sense she was the one who made sure the group didn’t starve or freeze when the road got cruel. The tall man murmured a thank you under his breath as he stepped inside, looking a little like he’d never seen so many lights in one place.

The moment their boots hit the flagstone courtyard, the party seemed to notice them—people turned, curious, expectant, drawn by the presence of strangers like moths to a new flame. A hush fell, not of suspicion, but of curiosity. Somewhere, the fiddle player slowed, notes trailing into the night like a question waiting to be answered.

Remmick cleared his throat, lifting a banjo hidden behind his back. “Evenin’ folks,” he called out cheerfully, “I hope ye don’t mind us joinin’. We come bearing songs and no shortage of cheer.”

Someone—probably Maris, already flushed with too much elderflower wine—clapped and shouted, “Only if ya play somethin’ worth dancin’ to !”

That seemed to relax the atmosphere as some people started laughing around the garden.

Remmick gave a mock bow. “Challenge accepted, milady.”

Then the music began—low and playful at first, the woman’s strange instrument thrumming like the heartbeat of the earth itself. Remmick’s banjo played wonderfully, light and bright, and the tall man took out a pair of small drums, tapping out a rhythm that felt like feet hitting the road.

It was a sound that didn’t ask to be heard—it insisted.

And just like that, the courtyard was alight again, laughter rising like sparks from a fire, the party folding them into its rhythm as though they’d always been meant to arrive at your little party tonight.

And you—well, you stood at the edge, pastry forgotten, watching Remmick play and sing, wondering just how far these travelers had come from and how long they were planning to stay. His eyes met yours at times and you couldn’t deny that his smile did make your heart skip a beat. He seemed to be around your age. Perhaps a few years older—but attractive nonetheless.

As the final twang of Remmick’s banjo danced into the air, the crowd erupted into cheers and clapping, the kind that rattled tankards and lifted spirits higher than the smoke curling into the stars. You found yourself smiling without even meaning to, hands coming together in a steady, appreciative rhythm.

Remmick caught your eye once more and gave you a sly wink, still catching his breath, curls damp at the edges from the firelight’s heat. You were about to turn and fetch him something to drink when your father’s booming voice cut through the air like a blade through butter.

“Well now,” he said, too loudly and a little too proud. “That was fine, lad, real fine—but it’s my daughter who’s got the voice that’ll stop a room dead.”

Your heart stopped right along with the hum of the party.

“Pa,” you hissed under your breath, stepping towards him with your cheeks burning. “Manners. They’re guests.”

But he was already clapping a firm hand on Remmick’s shoulder, all hearty laughter and puffed-up pride. “You wouldn’t believe the songs she can sing. Clear as a bell, that one. Got it from her mother. Girl’s too shy to show off, but get her goin’ and you’ll swear the gods themselves hush just to listen.”

Remmick turned to you slowly, that grin of his curling again—but now with something softer at the edges. “Is that so, lassie ? Ye can sing ?”

You blinked, trying not to glare at your father, who now looked immensely pleased with himself and entirely unaware of the way your stomach had dropped.

“Well, sometimes,” you murmured, suddenly very interested in your shoes.

But Remmick only stepped forward, banjo cradled in one arm like a sleeping child. “Well, if ya ever feel like sharin’, I’d count meself lucky to hear it,” he encouraged you gently. “But only if it’s your idea, not yer Pa’s. I wouldn’t want to sound too pushy now…a’right ?”

He glanced at your father with a crooked grin. “Though I do appreciate a proud father. That’s a rare sort of music, too.”

The party had fallen into a hush again, but this time it was not out of curiosity—it was anticipation. You hadn’t stood in the middle of a crowd like this in years, not since you were a child humming lullabies in your mother’s sun-drenched kitchen, her flour-dusted hands clapping quietly along. But now, under the heavy dusk sky and the golden festival lights strung like constellations, you took a breath and let it catch deep in your chest.

Then you began to sing.

Soft at first, almost trembling, the words laced in French. But as the melody poured out—dark, rich, and aching with something deeper than memory—your voice steadied, growing bolder.

“J’avais un amant

Depuis quelques mois

Je l’aimais de toute mon âme

Mais il m'a quitté

Sans savoir pourquoi Il a brisé mon cœur de femme…”

People began to stop where they stood. The clinking of mugs faded, the footsteps slowed. Even the children paused their games. The music of the words—foreign to many—was understood nonetheless. A woman scorned. Champagne-laced laughter masking the ache of a broken heart. Madness blooming like roses from betrayal.

“Et moi sur la table, j’ai pris un couteau

Et ma vengeance fut cruelle…”

Your voice rose, fearless now, resonating with the power of grief turned to fury, sweetness turned to steel. Some stared. Others closed their eyes, swaying. Your father had gone still, his pride now touched with something more reverent.

Remmick didn’t take his eyes off you. Not once. A smile graced his features as he heard your voice and his eyes glistening slightly. You thought it was because the song was rather melancholic, but his smile made you understand that he was admiring you and it made your heart race in your chest. Your voice became louder and trembling slightly under such a heavy look. It made your cheeks burn with heat—not only because of the effort.

“Oui, j'étais grise

J'ai fais une bêtise

J'ai tué mon gigolo !”

When you reached the final note, your voice trembling on the edge of that last, heart-wrenched word—

“Mon amant d’coeur

M’a rendu folle…”

—there was a moment of utter stillness following your performance.

Then came the applause.

It started slow, as if people were unsure if they’d been witness to art or a confession. But then it built, wave upon wave of clapping, cheering, even whistling from the back of the courtyard. People stomped their feet, raised their drinks, and called your name with giddy disbelief.

Remmick stepped forward, banjo hanging forgotten at his side. He looked at you with something unreadable in his eyes. His unmistakable smile making your brain forget all caution as he bowed slightly.

“Christ above,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear. “And here I thought I knew how to tell a story. Your Pa was right. Such a beautiful voice is meant to be heard.”

You looked at him and smiled, breath still coming in soft waves from the song, your voice quiet but steady.

“You are just as impressive, sir.”

Remmick blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to say that. Then that boyish grin returned—slower this time, softer around the edges.

“Careful,” he murmured, with a playful tilt of his head. “Flatterin’ a musician’s a dangerous game. We’re known t’follow compliments like hounds on a scent.”

He stepped a little closer, not enough to make it obvious, but just enough that you could smell the road-dust and campfire smoke clinging to his shirt. “But I mean it, lass,” he added, voice lowering a touch. “That wasn’t just singin’. That was…somethin’ else. Like ya sang straight through the air and stitched it shut behind ye.”

Before you could answer, a loud cheer broke out to your left.

“Oi !” shouted Maris again, already climbing up onto a barrel. “Someone get this lass a drink—and this poor fella too, he looks like he’s been struck dumb !”

More laughter followed. You felt so embarrassed at Maris’ words, the moment scattering like sparks in the wind.

Remmick chuckled, shaking his head. “Your people are wild.”

You raised a brow, lifting your skirt slightly in mock formality. “You’re not goin’ to run away now, are you sir ?”

“Not a chance.” He offered you his arm like a gentleman—albeit one with dusty sleeves and banjo-calloused fingers. “Now come on. I believe we’ve both earned a drink. And maybe, if I’m lucky, another song ?”

You stepped away with the Irish musician and smiled at your father who gave you a supportive thumbs up. He still hoped for grandchildren and he wouldn’t get mad if you married as soon as possible. You had tried to approach men before, but it was the first time you had felt such a connection with one of them. You liked him and he seemed to like you.

Once far away enough, Remmick stepped a little closer, still giving you that look—not of a man who saw a pretty girl, but of someone who had just stumbled across a secret, a buried treasure sung into the open. “That song…I’ve never heard anything like it. Who taught you that ?”

You glanced toward the edge of the festival, where the shadows had softened into the dark, and the music had shifted to something lighter now—something meant for dancing again. “My mother,” you admitted softly. “She used to sing it when she’d had a little too much wine. Always said French songs were the best for heartbreak. And she had had her fair share before meeting my father.”

Remmick nodded slowly, the corner of his mouth still curved. “Then I owe her a great deal…for passin’ that down.”

You smiled before you heard your father shout from behind you: “Young lad ! How about you invite my daughter for a dance before you both take roots, yeah ?!"

You shot a warning glance at your father who seemed unable to hold his tongue after the number of shots in his bloodstream.

Remmick chuckled awkwardly and hesitated, then offered his hand, with that charming, exaggerated flourish of a troubadour in a tale. “Would the lady do me the honor of a dance ?”

You looked at him for a moment—really looked.

In the golden spill of lantern-light, Remmick didn’t seem like the sort of man who belonged to one place. He looked like the wind—here for a moment, then off to some far corner of the world where the roads were still dirt and the stars still sang. And yet, right now, he stood still. Waiting. Just for you.

With a smile you couldn’t quite hide, you slid your hand into the crook of his arm.

“I suppose the lady would.”

His grin could’ve lit the road back to the mountains. “Careful,” he said, leading you gently back toward the music. “You keep sayin’ yes to me, and I’ll start thinkin’ I’ve got a chance with such a sweet girl.”

You laughed, low and warm. “I think you already do.”

He seemed surprised for a moment before smiling brightly at you. The music picked up—fiddles and tambourines and clapping hands—and the people had started to twirl again, skirts brushing the cobblestones, boots thudding to the beat. No one stared now; the spotlight had moved, the night embracing you like just another part of the song.

Remmick took your hand, one at your waist, light as a secret.

“A’right now,” he murmured, his Irish lilt softening with the moment, “don’t worry if you’re not good at dancin’. Just follow me.”

You did. And the night carried on—spinning, laughing, warm as firelight on your skin—and for just a little while, you forgot the difference between music and magic. The world around you blurred into rhythm and laughter—faces twirling, skirts flaring, the scent of honeyed pastries and woodsmoke curling through the air. Remmick guided you gently, never pulling, just offering. His hand was secure at your waist, fingers light on your skin, like he’d learned to hold fragile things without breaking them.

…You should have probably seen that something was not exactly normal with that man at that moment. But you were dancing and having fun. He was charming and you had had quite the exciting night. So you didn’t notice anything wrong with your dancing companion.

As the music slowed—just a little, just enough to let hearts breathe—he leaned in close, breath brushing the shell of your ear.

“I always wanted to dance with a pretty lady under the moonlight,” he whispered.

The words weren’t rehearsed. They didn’t tumble out with the smoothness of a practiced charmer. No, they were quiet, like something he’d kept tucked deep in his chest for a long, long time. You turned your face just slightly, close enough to catch the earnest gleam in his eyes—lit not by the lanterns but by the silver light drifting down from the night sky.

“And now ?” you asked, voice soft as lace.

He smiled, a little crooked, a little shy.

“Now I don’t know if I’m dreamin’…or just lucky as sin.”

The last note of the dance faded, swallowed into the soft hum of crickets and the murmur of full-bellied laughter. As people began to break off in pairs and groups, drifting back towards food and drinks, your father clapped his hands together with a booming cheer.

“Well now ! No one’s travelin’ tonight, that’s certain !” he declared, lifting a mug high. “We’ve got room in the village—and hearts enough to share it. These fine travelers stay the night, aye ?”

A chorus of agreement answered him. A few of the younger villagers, wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked from drink and music, eagerly stepped forward.

“They can stay at mine !”

“No, no—my place, I’ve got room by the fire !”

Remmick chuckled beside you, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly flattered but looking a little overwhelmed. “Saints, you lot are generous.”

Before any more offers could pile on, you moved without thinking—wrapping your arm around his. You felt him go still, just for a moment. His arm, solid beneath yours, warmed under your touch.

“Father,” you said, your voice clear, though not loud. “Would it be alright if Remmick stayed at our home tonight ?”

The words fell like a stone into the center of the crowd. Your father blinked, brows lifting high. Then slowly—so slowly—you saw the corner of his mouth tug upward.

“Is that so ?” he asked you, eyeing the two of you with the careful amusement only a father could muster. “Well, if that’s what you want, daughter.”

He glanced at Remmick, narrowing his eyes just slightly. “You’re under my roof, boy. Not just hers. You understand ?”

Remmick, to his credit, nodded solemnly—even as his eyes danced with that same crooked smile. “Aye, sir. Wouldn’t dream of disrespectin’ your hospitality.”

Your father huffed and turned away, but not before you saw the rare ghost of a grin flicker beneath his mustache. Still holding Remmick’s arm, you felt him lean a little closer, his voice warm by your ear.

“Didn’t realize I’d wandered into heaven,” he murmured and lifted a hand above his heart with a smile. “And right into an angel’s kind arms…I am deeply grateful.”

You tried not to smile too wide. It was foolish to feel so warm so quickly—but god, it was hard not to.

That night:

The table was lit by the soft golden glow of oil lamps, flickering shadows dancing across the worn wood and the carved plates. Your father ate with gusto, exchanging the occasional gruff comment with Remmick, while your younger cousin babbled sleepily about his favorite song of the night.

You had spent the better part of an hour preparing the meal—stew with root vegetables, herb butter on dark bread, and a honey pastry just like the ones your mother used to make. A small way to say thank you, maybe. Or maybe just a quiet offering, hoping he’d stay longer than a single night.

But now…Now your eyes flicked to the spot in front of Remmick. The food sat there, barely touched. His spoon stirred idly, but never lifted. The bread remained untouched on the edge of the plate. He’d taken one bite, maybe two—and then nothing.

A pang bloomed in your chest.

You looked away quickly, busying your hands with clearing crumbs, adjusting a napkin that didn’t need fixing. Maybe it wasn’t to his taste. Maybe travelers had finer food on the road. Or maybe…maybe you’d tried too hard. You bit your lip, forcing a smile when your father laughed at something Remmick said.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw him glance down at the untouched food again—then at you.

His smile faltered. And he leaned in, voice pitched low enough only for you to hear.

“Lass,” he whispered softly, “I need you to know… your cookin’ smells like a blessing. Truly.”

You blinked, surprised.

He gave a sheepish, almost guilty smile. “It’s not the food. It’s…me. I get…nervous, when I’m somewhere new. Stomach tightens up like a drumskin.” He looked away for a beat. “It’s stupid, I know. But I didn’t want ye to think I didn’t notice the care ye put in. Or that I am bein’ rude on purpose.”

He looked at you again, earnest and apologetic.

“Wouldn’t trade this meal for all the gold in the west.”

You smiled and nodded.

“Of course. No worries.”

Later, when the dishes were washed and the house had fallen quiet—save for the distant murmur of your father’s voice in the next room—you picked up the lantern and motioned for Remmick to follow.

“This way,” you said gently, your voice softer now in the hush of the hour.

He walked behind you through the narrow hallway, his boots light on the old wooden floor. You paused at a small door near the end, nudging it open. The room inside was simple—just a bed with a woolen blanket, a small washbasin, and a shuttered window that let in a sliver of moonlight.

“I hope it’s alright,” you said, setting the lantern down. “This was my brother’s room before he married and moved out. It’s not much, but it’s warm. And quiet.”

Remmick stepped in slowly, his eyes scanning the space, taking in the old books still stacked on the shelf, the carved initials in the wooden bedframe, the lopsided rug by the hearth. He smiled.

“It’s perfect,” he assured you, with that same soft sincerity he’d spoken with at dinner. “Better than a hundred inns with feather beds.”

You nodded, lingering for a moment, unsure whether to say goodnight or just walk away. There was something weighty in the stillness—like the hush after a song, when no one quite knew if it was truly over.

Remmick looked at you, one hand still resting lightly on the doorframe.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “Fer the song. Fer the food. Fer…all o’ this.”

You looked down, trying to keep your excuses from showing too obviously, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“I should thank you,” you replied, fingers brushing the edge of your sleeve. “For sharing your music…and your charming company.”

He let out a quiet breath of a laugh, one hand settling on the back of his neck as though unsure what to do with such a compliment. “Ah, now you’ve gone and made me blush,” he murmured, and his voice had that low, rough Irish accent that wrapped around the quiet like a blanket. “That’s not fair.”

You met his eyes again, and something warm passed between you—unspoken, still new, still fragile.

“I’ll let you rest,” you announced, stepping back just slightly. “It’s been a long day.”

Remmick nodded, though he didn’t move to close the door right away. “Sleep well, lass.”

And just before the door shut, barely a breath between it and the frame, he added, soft as a hum: “I hope I get to see you in my dreams tonight.”

You smiled happily at his words. You looked at Remmick as he stood there, the door now half-closed between you. But something caught your eye—something small, a glimmer in the soft light of the room. A simple band around his ring finger. Silver, unadorned, but it was enough to make your smile falter just slightly, just for a moment.

Your heart skipped. A wedding ring. Of course. You hadn’t thought about it before. You hadn’t even considered it. A band on his finger. A reminder that, despite the charm in his words and the way his laughter made the air around you feel lighter, he belonged to someone else.

“R-Right,” you stammered, feeling a strange warmth in your chest, trying to swallow the feeling that seemed to come from nowhere. “Goodnight then.”

Your voice wasn’t as steady as it had been moments before. You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, not now. And before he could notice the flicker of hesitation, you stepped back, retreating into the hallway.

The door of your bedroom clicked softly behind you, and you leaned against the cool wall of the corridor, taking a breath that didn’t quite settle.

…Right. He was too good to be true anyway.

You went to bed.

A few hours later:

The moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting long shadows on the floor as you awoke in the dead silence of the night. The weight of sleep still clung to your eyelids, but a dry thirst tugged at your throat, urging you out of bed. You moved quietly, the cool wooden floor creaking underfoot as you tiptoed to the door. The house was still—too still. You padded softly down the dark hall, a faint shiver crawling up your spine as you neared the kitchen. Perhaps it was nothing. Just the wind, or the house settling. But when you reached the door, something—a noise—caught your attention. It was faint at first, like the scuff of shoes against the floor, and then a low, disturbing sound.

Curiosity got the better of you, and with a deep breath, you slowly opened the door.

What you saw made your breath catch, your heart slamming against your ribcage in a panic-stricken beat.

There, in the dim light of the kitchen, Remmick was hovering over your father. His hands were pressing down on your father’s shoulders with unnatural force, his face—his eyes—were different. Yellow. Glowing with an eerie, otherworldly hue. His chin was smeared in blood, and your father’s body lay limp beneath him, lifeless or unconscious—there was no telling which.

A guttural sound escaped your father’s throat, a noise that wasn’t quite a scream, but something worse, something terrible. You couldn’t even move. The sight of him like this—of Remmick—made your blood freeze in your veins.

Then, just as quickly as the horror settled in, a scream echoed from a neighboring house. It was loud, panicked, and unmistakably human. Remmick looked up sharply, his eyes flashing toward the source of the noise. The blood on his chin gleamed in the dim light, and he screeched.

In that instant, you locked eyes with him. And what you saw in his gaze was nothing short of predatory, feral even. His smile twisted, a dark amusement in the curve of his lips, and he wiped his chin with the back of his hand, as if it were nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

Tears blurred your vision, but you couldn’t stop them. You didn’t understand—how could you understand ? Remmick wasn’t who he had seemed. He wasn’t the charming troubadour or the gentleman who had danced with you in the moonlight. He was something else entirely.

With your heart pounding in your throat, you turned and ran. You didn’t think—just instinct. You bolted back to your room, the door slamming behind you as you locked it, every nerve on edge. You sank against the door, gasping for air, tears streaming down your face. What was happening ? What was Remmick ? Who was he really ?

You had seen the horror with your own eyes, but it didn’t make sense. It couldn’t.

The sound of the knock at your bedroom door sliced through the heavy silence that had enveloped you. Your pulse raced in your ears, your breath shallow and panicked. You pressed your back against the door, as though trying to melt into the wood, to make yourself invisible to whatever nightmare lurked outside.

Then, the voice. A soft chuckle, too familiar, too unsettling.

“Lil’ lassie. Open this door. I promise not to hurt ye.”

Remmick. The warmth, the charm, the music—it all felt like a lie now. His voice, once smooth and comforting, now held a twisted edge, like the calm before a storm. His words were like honey, but they dripped with something darker beneath. Your fingers trembled on the edge of the door, heart pounding in your chest as your thoughts spiraled. What was he ? What had happened to him ? What had you just witnessed ?

You wanted to scream, to yell at him to leave, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you held your breath, hoping the silence would swallow his presence whole. You locked the door and took a few steps back. However, the sound of the door splintering under the force of Remmick’s strength made your heart stop. You barely had time to react before he was in the room, his smirk dark and unnerving, like a predator who had caught sight of its prey.

“Dolly now…Don’t worry. Me thinks your voice’s simply beautiful. So, no harm will come to ye.”

His words dripped with a twisted calmness, but the underlying menace was unmistakable. He wasn’t here to comfort or protect; he was here to toy with you, to watch as you squirmed under his gaze.

Before you could even think to protest, Remmick casually walked over to one of your chairs, picked up one of your old teddy bears, and held it in his hands with an eerie fondness. He chuckled lowly, his eyes glowing a dark red, and you felt the hairs on your neck stand up in terror.

“He’s a cutie. Just like his missy…”

His gaze lingered on you, a cold smile spreading across his face, and you felt the overwhelming weight of his presence in the room. The teddy bear seemed so out of place in his hands, the innocence of it clashing with the dark intensity of his eyes and the blood still on his chin.

Tears stung the back of your throat, but you forced yourself to stay still. Fear gnawed at you, but you refused to show it. Not now. Not to him.

“Wh-What are you ?” you managed, voice trembling despite yourself.

He leaned back in the chair, his smile widening as he casually twirled the bear in his fingers, almost as if he were savoring your terror.

“Ahh, the questions you’re askin’,” he mused, his voice still that smooth Irish drawl. “I’m just a man, dolly. But sometimes…a man needs to be more than that, don’t ye think ?”

His words hung in the air like a promise—or a threat. You didn’t know which was worse.

Your voice cracked as you spoke, barely above a whisper, and yet it carried through the heavy silence of the room like thunder.

“My father…Is he dead ?”

Remmick’s fingers paused their idle play with the teddy bear. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. His red eyes studied you, as if weighing the cost of a truth—or the benefit of a lie. The smile faded from his face, replaced with something else…something that almost resembled regret.

He leaned forward slightly in the chair, elbows on his knees, his voice softer now.

“He…put up a good fight. Brave man. Loved his little girl sooo fiercely—he truly did. I did like him—a lot. But…the hunger was just too strong. Haven’t eaten in quite some time…It was almost a miracle me and me friends found yer village when we did—or else we would have starved to death.”

That was all he said.

But he didn’t need to say more.

Your breath hitched, your knees buckling slightly beneath the weight of his answer. You brought a hand to your mouth again, as though you could push back the sob clawing its way up your throat.

“I’m sorry, lassie,” he said quietly, but it didn’t sound quite like he meant it.

Your sobs broke free, trembling and quiet at first, then louder—like something in you had finally cracked. The room spun with the weight of it all: the music, the dancing, the charm in his voice, your father’s proud smile just hours ago. Gone. All gone.

Remmick giggled softly. That same sweet, lyrical sound he’d given you at the door, when he was just a traveling musician with a banjo and a charming grin.

But now—now it sent chills down your spine.

He leaned forward, still cradling the teddy bear with gentle care, and slowly reached towards you. With a strange, almost playful tenderness, he brought the soft arm of the bear to your cheek and dabbed away a few tears with the fabric.

“Now now, shhh…Dolly. No cryin’. Please. I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, almost singsong, like a lullaby meant to soothe a child. Then his gaze sharpened. His eyes glowed again—deep, hellish red—and the corner of his mouth twitched as he tilted his head slightly.

“But remember…” he whispered, voice curling into your ear like smoke, “you invited me in.”

The truth of it made your stomach twist. You had. You’d opened the door with a smile and let the devil step through.

And now ?

Now the devil was in your room…your home.

Your tears burned hot as they rolled down your cheeks, but you didn’t let them fall quietly anymore. You locked eyes with him—those glowing, inhuman eyes—and your trembling hand balled into a fist at your side.

You glared, voice tight and low, laced with grief and fury.

“Demon.”

The word hung in the air like smoke after a fire, and for a moment, Remmick said nothing. His smirk faded.

Then—he laughed.

Not loud. Not mad. Just a quiet, knowing chuckle, like you’d finally solved the riddle he’d been waiting for.

“Aye,” he said, setting the bear gently down on your bed. “That’s one word for it.”

He rose to his feet slowly, every movement deliberate, graceful—inhuman. His eyes never left yours. “But I’ve been called many things over the centuries, dolly. Demon’s just…one of the more honest ones.”

He took a step forward. Then another.

“But you—ah, you,” he said with a curl of his tongue, “you called me in with a smile. Sang your pain like a siren. And god forgive me—I listened.”

You stood your ground, though your legs trembled and your breath shook. Gritting your teeth, you summoned every last thread of strength left in your aching chest and hissed:

“Get out of my house, demon.”

Remmick stilled. The playful glint in his eye dulled. The smile slipped from his face, replaced with something cold—ancient. His head tilted back slightly, as if tasting your defiance in the air. The room felt colder now. As though your words had summoned something deeper from within him.

He stepped closer—just once. Just enough for his shadow to brush your feet. Then, in a voice far older than his grin, far darker than his song, he murmured,

“This house…was so full of light. Music, love, laughter. But now it’s soaked in blood.” He leaned in just slightly, eyes burning into yours. “You made it mine the moment you let me cross your threshold.”

And then—he stepped back. Just a bit.

His smirk returned, gentler this time, but mocking all the same.

“But if the lady insists…” he said with a low bow, like a twisted gentleman from a ballroom long buried. “I’ll go. For now.”

He turned toward the shattered door.

“But don’t forget, dolly…” he called to you, glancing back over his shoulder with one last flicker of red, “…I never leave without takin’ something with me. And if ye find yerself in trouble ? Call me.”

And with that—he disappeared into the dark.

With shaky legs, you stood up and ran into your cousin’s room and let out a sigh of relief as you found his asleep in his bed. You stepped closer and held him in your arms. He woke up and blinked several times before looking up at you with curiosity.

“Y/N ? Why are you crying ?”

You didn’t answer. You just held him closer and kissed his forehead.

“Nothing, little one. Just…return to sleep. I will be bringing you to the train station tomorrow to return to your Ma and Pa, okay ?”

He frowned in confusion. “What ?! No ! But I just arrived ! I don’t wanna go !”

He then stood up and ran. You ran after him. “No ! Come back !”

He went into the kitchen and slipped on something warm and liquid. He lifted a trembling hand and stared at the red substance and his eyes glassed over.

“W-What ?”

Suddenly, he heard a low growl and slowly turned around to find your father standing there. You stopped dead in your tracks and as your father lunged at the boy, you had no other choice but to grab your father’s pistol and shoot your own father in the head. Your little cousin was frozen in shock and fear and you quickly grabbed him before running outside to the shelter. You held the child against your bosom all night as you heard your own father growl and call for you outside. But you knew. This wasn’t your father anymore. He clawed and roared as you started praying and rocking your cousin back and forth to soothe him as he burst into tears.

The sun barely broke through the clouds the next morning, casting a dim, pale light over the village that your father started screeching in pain. You took a look outside and saw him burst into flames. He tried to get back in the house, but wasn’t fast enough. He dropped to the ground in a pile of rotten flesh and bones. You stayed immobile for a moment before slowly and carefully stepping out. You then gestured for your cousin to follow. He took your hand and once you were sure that danger had passed, you ran to the car and drove away.

You stopped at the train station and took two tickets. You gave one to your little cousin and he quickly got onboard…but you hesitated. You hadn’t buried your father, and who would protect the village once that your father was gone ? Your little cousin begged you to stay with him, but you only kissed his forehead and promised you would take the next one. The train left and you took a few steps back from the window. You followed the train with your eyes until it was out of sight and returned home.

…

The scent of damp earth filled the air as you stood alone, the weight of the shovel in your hand a stark reminder of the hollow emptiness that now defined your life.

Your father’s body lay beneath the earth, buried with the dignity he had deserved. But the ground felt so much heavier than it had the night before. You could still hear the faint echo of your father’s voice, feel his arms around you, the comfort of home—now shattered beyond repair.

But as you buried him, the village began to notice the emptiness of the houses nearby. The once-lively homes that had welcomed the travelers—now cold and silent. A dark curiosity swept through the air, a sick sense of unease that soon turned to whispers. It didn’t take long for those whispers to swell into something darker.

They came for you, as expected.

Whispers of witches and curses circled the village like a ravenous flock. Those who had once welcomed you with smiles now looked upon you with suspicion, their eyes narrowed, as if the very air you breathed was tainted. A man from the town square approached, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Demon’s daughter,” he muttered under his breath. “Witch…”

The rumors spread quickly. It wasn’t long before you heard them say you had brought this horror upon them, that your strange songs and otherworldly visitors were the cause of the deaths. They even claimed you had some unholy connection to the darkness that had claimed the others.

You tried to explain—tried to tell them that it wasn’t you, that it was him. But they didn’t believe you. To them, your grief, your silence, your sorrow—it all seemed like a cover. They looked at you like you had something to hide, like your very existence was cursed.

A few of the braver villagers called for you to be driven out. Others, more cautious, said you should be locked away. The older women whispered in hushed tones about curses passed down through bloodlines.

And through it all, you heard nothing but the distant, haunting echo of Remmick’s words:

“I never leave without takin’ something with me.”

And as much as you wanted to scream, to deny it, a part of you knew. You weren’t just a survivor. You were a target. Your father was dead and no doubt he had been meant to survive and join his legion of doom. But you had killed him…Remmick would come back to collect his due.

You were alone in the world now. Even your own people had turned against you.

The village had descended into madness. Your name, once uttered with kindness, had become a curse on their lips. You no longer had any allies—just a sea of fearful faces staring at you from every corner. Every day had been a battle to keep the worst of it at bay. But tonight…tonight it seemed as if the shadows had finally caught up with you.

The air outside was thick with the weight of impending violence, and you could feel it. It had started with murmurs at the market, then stares of contempt as you walked past the villagers. Now, as the moon rose high in the sky, the line between the world you knew and the nightmare you had tried to escape had blurred completely.

The door to your house—once a place of warmth—was torn open, splintering as angry hands and vengeful fists battered it down. Your heart raced as you stumbled backward, desperate, trembling. They were coming for you. The weight of their fear, their hatred, the burning need for retribution pressed in from all sides.

With nowhere else to turn, panic rose in your chest, squeezing the breath from your lungs. You ran to the small room that had once been a place of comfort. The walls felt like they were closing in, suffocating you. You were cornered. There was no escape.

And then, through the fog of terror, one name surged: Remmick. You didn’t think. You didn’t question. You just needed to survive.

You sank to your knees, the cold stone of the floor pressing into your palms as you whispered the words that had haunted you for so long—words of desperation, words you never thought you would say.

“Remmick…please…help me.”

A chill filled the air, so intense that it felt as though the very bones of your house had frozen over. The shadows in the room deepened, stretching unnaturally as the sound of the world outside—the pounding at the door, the shouts of the villagers—faded into a muted silence.

And then, with a slow, deliberate step, he appeared.

Remmick.

His presence flooded the room like a storm as he strutted in with a happy grin. His red eyes glowed in the darkness, his smile stretched wide across his face, sharp and knowing.

“Well, dolly…” His voice was a low, dark purr, full of amusement. “Seems ye’ve finally decided to call me.”

His eyes flicked toward the door, which rattled under the force of the villagers’ assault, then back to you.

“They’ll be at yer door any minute now… Would ye like me to let them in first, or shall I deal with ‘em right away ?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you looked at him. Your heart ached—not just from fear, but from the twisted mix of relief and terror that filled you. You had no choice. You had summoned him.

“Please…just stop them,” you whispered, barely able to breathe, still kneeling before him.

Remmick chuckled, the sound like the crackling of fire, dark and dangerous. “Stop them ? Oh, me dolly…” He crouched down to your level, his fingers brushing against your cheek with unsettling tenderness. “You called me, didn’t ye ? And I’m always here when someone needs me. Don’t ye worry. Nothin’ will happen to yer pretty face.”

He stood, moving to the door. With a flick of his wrist, the wood splintered. The villagers froze, their eyes wide with terror as they looked into the room.

“Now,” Remmick said with a grin, “Who dares to harm me sweet lil’ doll ?”

The room darkened further as he stepped into the doorway, his presence swallowing up the light. A low, guttural growl escaped him, vibrating the very air. The villagers stammered, fear clawing at their throats.

“W-Who…are you ?” one of them stuttered, backing away.

Remmick laughed darkly, his voice dripping with venom. “I’m the one who’ll be leaving with what’s mine…and trust me, nothing is more mine than this one right there.” He pointed a finger at you.

A wave of energy rippled outward from him, and you felt it wash over you—cold, powerful, as though his very presence was reshaping the room, reshaping the world. The villagers were frozen, paralyzed by fear, unable to move.

“Now,” Remmick said, his tone suddenly cold but his smile was still on his face, “Who’s gonna be first ? And please. Make it interestin’.”

The villagers stood frozen, terror paralyzing them as Remmick’s grin spread wider. The air was thick with the stench of fear, the kind that clung to the skin and made the heart race with helplessness. But a few of them, their desperation pushing them beyond reason, tried to fight. They lunged forward, weapons in hand—wooden clubs, pitchforks, anything they could grab in their panic.

One man, his face twisted with rage, swung a rusty iron rod at Remmick’s head. But the moment the rod touched the air near him, it was as if the world itself slowed down. Remmick didn’t even flinch. His eyes, glowing bright like two burning embers in the night, never left the man.

“Is that all ye’ve got, lad ?” Remmick purred, his voice dripping with amusement. Before the man could take another swing, Remmick moved, faster than a blink. With a sharp crack, he twisted the man’s arm, pulling him in close until their faces were mere inches apart. The man’s breath hitched in terror, and the scent of his sweat and panic flooded the room.

“Ye should’ve stayed away, boy,” Remmick whispered, his voice sweet like poison. His smile widened even further, his teeth glinting in the dim light. Then, with a swift motion, he wrenched the man’s arm completely from its socket, the sound of bone snapping echoing through the air like thunder.

The man screamed, a blood-curdling shriek that sent a jolt through the others, but Remmick didn’t let him suffer long. With a cruel laugh, he plunged his other hand deep into the man’s chest, tearing through skin, flesh, and bone as though it were paper. The villagers watched in stunned silence, unable to comprehend the brutality of it. The man’s blood sprayed out, staining the floor and walls as Remmick threw his lifeless body aside like a ragdoll. The body hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling around it.

“Who’s next ?” Remmick’s voice was low, dark, and thick with pleasure, like a predator toying with its prey. He wiped his hand on the man’s clothing, dragging the blood over his fingers with a languid motion. “Come on then, let’s see who’s brave enough to join him.”

The villagers recoiled, their faces a mixture of disbelief, horror, and abject terror. But one woman, a brave fool, stepped forward. Her hands trembled, her voice cracked as she shouted, “Die ! Demon !”

Remmick turned his gaze toward her, his eyes gleaming. “Is that so ?”

Before she could even react, he was upon her.

With a flick of his wrist, he grabbed her by the throat, lifting her off the ground with one hand. She kicked and struggled, her legs flailing uselessly as she gasped for air, but it was no use. His grip was unyielding, cold as ice, and she couldn’t escape.

The other villagers screamed in terror, trying to run, but they were trapped. The door had been shattered, and the windows were too far away to escape through. It was too late.

Remmick slowly squeezed the woman’s throat, his grin widening with sadistic glee. Her eyes bulged, desperate for air, and her hands clawed at his wrist, but he didn’t let go. His eyes never left hers, savoring every moment of her struggle. With one final, brutal motion, he snapped her neck, the sickening crack of bone filling the room. Her body went limp, and he let her fall, her blood splattering on the floor with a wet thud.

“Not much of a challenge, were they ?” Remmick chuckled darkly, before licking and drinking from the blood that had escaped from the broken woman’s neck on his arm. He then took a slow, deliberate step forward, eyes never leaving the remaining villagers. The fear in their eyes was palpable, suffocating, and he reveled in it.

One by one, they tried to flee, but Remmick was faster, always faster. A man attempted to run for the door, but Remmick grabbed him by the back of the neck, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man’s spine cracked, his body going limp as he slid to the floor, a pool of blood quickly spreading around him. Once he was dead, Remmick drank straight from his shattered neck.

Another villager tried to tackle him, but Remmick effortlessly sidestepped the attack, kicking the man in the chest so hard that the air whooshed out of his lungs. The man crumpled to the ground, gasping, unable to breathe as Remmick loomed over him.

“Is this all ye’ve got, then ? A few desperate fools ?” Remmick purred, clearly enjoying the terror in their eyes. “Pathetic.”

The remaining villagers were paralyzed with fear, unable to make a sound. They had seen what he could do, and there was nothing left for them but to wait for their inevitable end.

“Now,” Remmick said, his tone casual as he wiped his hands on his bloody clothes. “Ye’ve all had a front-row seat. Time to meet yer maker.”

Without warning, he moved again, faster than the eye could follow. His hands flashed out, and the final villagers were torn apart in a flurry of blood and gore, their bodies falling to the floor in lifeless heaps.

…

The room was silent now, save for the heavy, uneven breathing of the demon. The stench of blood and death hung thick in the air, and the once-strong walls now felt like a tomb, closing in with the weight of what had just transpired.

Remmick turned to you, his red eyes gleaming in the dark. His smile was wide, almost too wide, as if the act of violence had only made him hungrier.

“Well,” he finally said, his voice filled with satisfaction, “That was fun, wasn’t it ?”

You could barely move, the shock of the scene still coursing through your veins. Your body trembled, but you weren’t sure if it was from fear or something else—something darker that you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You stood, staring at Remmick, your body trembling, heart still racing.

“You saved me,” you whispered, the words barely leaving your mouth.

Remmick chuckled.

“I always keep my promises, dolly,” he said softly, his voice smooth as velvet, but laced with something darker. “But remember…” He leaned in close, his breath warm on your skin, “I always get meself somethin’ fer everythin’ I do. And the cost fer yer life will be mighty expensive.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

His eyes lit up in the dark.

“Now, c’mere.” He swept you up in one smooth motion, arms like iron under your back and knees, and before you could even gasp, you felt the world tilt beneath you. His grin was wide, predatory—and for a breathless moment you wondered if you’d fallen into some nightmare you couldn’t wake from.

“Let’s fly, lassie,” he murmured, voice low and daydream-soft, though every word tasted like brimstone.

You felt the cool night air rush in as he burst through the window and out into the courtyard. One powerful leap, and the ground fell away beneath you both. Your heart slammed against your ribs as the wind tore at your hair and clothes; moonlight skittered across Remmick’s twisted smile, his eyes shining like polished amber.

Below, the village was a scattering of torches and panicked figures—tiny, scrambling things you could barely make out. Their screams rose to you in a distant chorus, but the air around you was so thin, so cold, that it almost felt peaceful.

Remmick’s grip never wavered. You pressed yourself against him, trying to anchor yourself to something real. Was he though ? You weren’t sure anymore…

Higher and higher you flew, the thatch-roofed houses shrinking, the forests beyond the fields dark and endless. He flew with a grace that mocked gravity itself, as though the stars were his to command. Every so often he glanced back at you, that same chilling smirk on his lips.

“Quite the view, innit lassie ?” he asked with a smirk on his face that made you want to fall and hopefully—the fall would be lethal. Yet even as your mind screamed to fight, a strange awe filled your chest: this creature had saved you and now carried you beyond the only home you’d ever known.

Soon, you reached a clearing, and what you saw made your breath catch in your throat. A ring of carriages stood like silent sentinels around a roaring bonfire that reached toward the sky, flickering with eerie red and gold flames. Figures danced in the firelight—figures who moved with an unsettling grace, their eyes glowing with hunger, their movements fluid and predatory. Vampires.

They twirled and spun in the heat of the blaze, their laughter high-pitched, echoing through the woods like the sound of birds in an endless night. The fire crackled and popped, sending embers spiraling into the dark sky, where the moon was nothing but a distant, cold witness to this dance of the damned.

Remmick led you into the center, where the vampires paused their dancing and turned their predatory eyes on you. Their gazes flickered between curiosity and hunger, but Remmick raised his hand, his grin wide and confident.

“Lads and lasses,” he called, his voice booming in the night, “this here’s our newest lil’ treasure. Meet her properly, eh ?”

A low murmur spread through the group, and several of them stepped closer, their eyes scanning you with hunger and amusement. They weren’t human, not by a long shot. But they looked…beautiful, in an eerie, dangerous way. Their skin shimmered under the firelight, and their lips curled into smiles that promised either death or delight—depending on their whims.

You felt a cold shiver run down your spine as their gazes focused on you, but Remmick’s hand was still firm on yours. You didn’t know what this place was, or what they expected of you, but you felt an undeniable pull to the night, to the fire, to Remmick. He chuckled and rested both hands on your shoulders and nuzzled the back of your ear playfully.

“Aww…see ? Ye already adopted. I was sure they’d love ye,” he whispered with that same wicked grin. “Welcome to yer new home, me pet.”

You closed your eyes as one of his hands wrapped itself around your throat from behind and you felt his already long fingers stretch into sharp claws.

…Christ. What had you done ?

[fredswrite]

A/N: IT’S MY BIRTHDAY YAYAYA. So, as a special occasion, here are little drabbles of a few of Hayden’s characters' love languages (but more about how they treat you than how they want to be treated) and what they would get for your birthday.

WARNING: No warning, just fluff :)

ANAKIN SKYWALKER

words of affirmation

Anakin’s love language is definitely words of affirmation, so when it’s your birthday, be ready for a lot of "I love you, darling." "You look so pretty tonight." "Happy birthday, baby." He would never stop talking about the deepest feeling of his heart.

He’s the type of guy that’s so good with words he can recite you poem without hesitation. He can easily write you hundreds of letters to explain how 'I love you' isn’t enough to describe those feelings.

From the start and to your future together, you will always feel loved by his mouth.

Anakin is most likely to hand-make you a gift, not just a card you’ll throw away in a few years, but a really precious gift. Droids, mechanics, a personal speeder…

And being a Jedi didn’t bring him a lot of currency, so seeing his love through a poem was the best thing that could ever happen to you.

STEPHEN GLASS

receiving gifs

Stephen’s love language is giving gifts, he would buy you hundreds of presents if that meant earning your love. He always thought that love was partly materialistic, so if he had that on his side, maybe you wouldn’t leave him like the others.

On the other side, he was making sure you wouldn’t be mad over one gift he got wrong. Expensive jewelry, makeup, books, flowers, clothing, shoes, and it goes on with everything you ever said you liked.

He put all the chances on his side to get you to stay with him, although that’s not why you stayed with him. You loved him for his personality, his looks and his kindness. As much as you told him, he never truly believed you as he cried into your makeout session how he didn’t want you to leave.

SAM MONROE

physical touch

Sam would probably murder anyone who said his love language was physical touch. He hated, no despaired, contacts. He hasn’t let anyone touch him in ages, only because it wasn’t you.

The only reason he loved being physical in secret was that he didn’t have to prove anything to you. You loved him and he loved you.

Hugging, kissing, playing in your hair… Sam did it all in the comfort of his room, hidden from judging looks of the outside. You were somehow an exception to his coldness.

What he’d buy you? Man, he’d probably forget and procrastinate until it's the morning of your birthday. He’d rush to the dollar store, buy a few candies and snacks you liked and cigarettes on the way.

Then he’d show up to your house and drive you two to your favourite places until you could call it a day. He’d then crash out in your house, making out until he fell asleep in the cocoon of your arms.

JAMES KELLY

Acts of service

Repairing your car, fixing electronics in your house, getting you a glass of water whenever you asked him, anything. James would do every service you’d ask him, his way of showing he cared deeply about you.

"Let me get this for you baby." He’s said when you just got out of bed, yarning as he walked up the stairs with breakfast.

And that didn’t change at all when it was your birthday, it only developed. You wanted to go out? He’d call the restaurant prior, drive you there, and pay for both of your meals. A man.

With his criminal record, he knew better than to risk losing you over a small argument. May as well do anything to please you.

SCOTT BARRINGER

words of affirmation / quality time

Scott was never someone who cared about words. Stupid and meaningless, he thought. He knew how it felt and he had a reason. So having you say you loved him, not to get something out of it, just because you felt it was overwhelming.

The first time you told him those three exquisite words it was on a picnic date, both of you only caring for the presence of one another. He knew then that he just discovered the perfect combination; words of affirmation and quality time began his go-to.

For your birthday, he’d get you both a Jellycat. A matching one without really any meaning behind the choice, just cute enough for you to smile and think of him.

Then he would spend the day cuddling and watching movies in the comfort of your room. He never showed his room to you, but from what he told you, you had no intention to observe it. Most of the time, he would just end up crashing qt your house or seeking in your cabin at Horizon.

CLAYTON BERESFORD

receiving gifts

Everyone know Clayton Beresford is a rich man. This man would be a fool to not spend some of this money on his gorgeous partner.

He didn’t brought those things to prove anything, he brought them because you liked it, because they were meant for you.

"Honey just take it alright, it’s not much." He whispered into your ear when he attached the hundred-dollar gold necklace he brought for this special occasion.

He took his time, kissing your neck in a loving pattern, before turning you around and moving his fingertip to your cheek. "You look so beautiful, Mrs. Beresford…"

WILL BEEMAN

quality time

Will solution for any little fights was to spend time together to work it out. And that didn’t change when you were pregnant with your hormones, and neither would it now that you had your child.

He didn’t care if you forgot to cook dinner, he’ll do it with you. If you didn’t buy him anything for his birthday, it’s okay; he gets to cuddle with you. Laughing and talking were your love languages.

For your birthday, he’d get you a trip somewhere only the two of you, or a spa and massage day. Even though he hated those things, he knew you, on the other hand, loved relaxing in the warm pools.

AJ

receiving gifts

The money AJ owns is a secret to no one, the way he gets his money through… With all the dangerous missions he went on, it would be a waste not to have a girl to please with all the money.

When he first started robbing, he would rather One-Night stand, no strings attached. But when he laid eyes on you, talking with Rachel, he had a prey. You weren’t sure of his career at first, but with the many luxurious gifts he’d given you, you were sold.

For your birthday, he would get you everything you ask for, hell, he’d even plan the mission himself to go robbing that one place you like.

KURT

Physical touch

When the apocalypse first happened, the first thing he had to do was hide. He was all alone, and it showed. When he met you, he knew he had to do something, he couldn’t stay alone another second.

One thing led to another, and you stayed with him in his bunker. He could finally hold someone—hold you. He desperately needed those physical touch to feel less alone in this fucked up world.

For your birthday, he would probably get you something he found in the antique store or something he made himself.

But he’ll always end up cuddling with you.

JACOB

acts of service

Jacob was willing to do anything for you, you just had to ask. Protecting you at all costs, even if his life was at stake, you mattered most.

But he knew he wouldn't always be there to protect you, so he showed you how to use a bow and arrow, how to fight with a sword and most importantly how to flee.

It didn't matter what he would get you for your birthday, you ended up liking it anyway.

DON PIPER

words of affirmation

For Don, communication is key so if you’re quiet it’s obvious to him that he has done something to upset you, or simply you’re in a mood. He loves to whisper compliments in your ear whenever he get the chance to see that cute blush on your face.

He loves it even more when you are the one who starts it. A man also love to be told his hair are beautiful and that he owns a beautiful pornstache…

For your birthday, he would get you a typical celebration with all your family members. He thinks the most important thing is to be reunited with the ones we love.

But behind the eyes of the public, he hides a very cute and meaningful gift.

LEO

quality time

Leo loves to spend time with the one he loves. He even has a jar of cute date ideas he keeps in the pizzeria and lets customers put in their own ideas. Once in a while, he gets a paper out, and you two go do the activity requested.

Showing you care about him by spending your precious time together means a lot to him. Even more when you agree to taste his latest creation.

He loves to get you flowers for your birthday, it may be typical, but he loves to see your face smell the scent of fresh roses.

BILLY QUINN

words of affirmation

Most of the songs he wrote show that Billy is heavy on words of affirmation. He loves to write you songs for any occasion, publishing them or not, most of the time he keeps them in his notebook and you end up finding his sweet words.

He loves it even more to see your reaction to those. He would lie if he said he didn’t like your hundreds of kisses between I love you. It was rare for him to settle with only one person.

He would get for your birthday a cute night date, writing and singing songs with a good champagne bottle.

DAVID RICE

I’d say similar to AJ and Clay + physical touch

I’m not doing Lorenzo because I really don’t know IMAO

[girliism]

50s greaser!patrick x good girl!reader hear my prayers.

-

what you guys did in his car behind the diner last week was supposed to be a one time thing. your parents would kill you if they knew you were hanging out with someone like him.

-

“get the flavored peanuts. spicy not barbecue.” your friend shouted at you through the car window. it was saturday so the drive-in was packed, everyone dying to see a screening of an old horror film the mummy’s hand.

patrick is sitting with his friends. clouds of cigarette smoke coving them. one of said friends hits his chest pointing him to where you stood in line.

“doll.” you hear patrick calling and whistling at you. “come smoke with me.” he’s pulling your arm leading you back behind the building before you could even respond. his hands cages you against the side of the wall.

patrick’s cigarette hangs from his lip. “you’ve been avoiding me.” you hold eye contact with him to show how unbothered you were pretending to be. “to avoid you i’d have to be thinking about you, and trust me i haven’t been.” patrick pulls his cigarette out of his mouth stomping on it while laughing.

“so you haven’t been thinking about how i took you in the back of my car like you were some common whore?” he bends his neck down to be face to face. “you don’t touch yourself at night thinking of me, hm?”

“no.” you whisper scared that if you talk any louder he’d hear the lie in your voice. patrick hums, dragging his finger tips along your exposed collarbone playing with your silver cross necklace that rest in your cleavage. “i don’t believe you.” he pulled on the neckline of your button up taking a peek down your shirt. “you’re probably wet right now.”

your breath got heavier when patrick slide his hand under your skirt tracing his fingertips up your inner thigh, stopping at where your panties covered your sex.

“you can tell me to stop.”

you just barely held eye contact with him, and shook your head no. that had him smirking as his fingers made their way past your panties and straight into your wet core.

“a-ah”

“you’re such a bad liar.” your eyes rolled from both the pleasure and your annoyance. “s-shut up.” you raised one of your legs to rest on his hip giving patrick a better angle to push his two fingers deeper.

the knowledge of someone walking by and see you with someone like patrick defiling you in public shouldn’t have been enough to get you to push him away, but you lost all self respect when you were with patrick. and the way he was pumping his fingers in and out of you wasn’t helping to sway you in the right decision.

your hips moved along with his movements, trying to more out of what he was giving you.

“i know you’re needing more, baby. just say it, say you want my cock.” you really did need it, so badly, but instead you gritted your teeth and shook your head settling on trying to grind your hip down onto his fingers. patrick pinned your hips in place against the wall, and slowed down the pace of his fingers.

“patrick!” you annoyingly huffed. he just shrugged, going even slower than before. “come on, just say it.” he kissed being your ear. you bit your lip and held off for as long as you could but….

“w-want your cock, patrick. need it.” you let out strained.

“well why didn’t you say something earlier.” he smiled, freeing his fingers to unbutton his jeans and pull them down enough to free his dick.

of course he wasn’t wearing underwear.

“i think our interactions would go so much smoother if you stopped being so stubborn.” patrick said, spitting on his hand and stroked his dick to full hardness. “i think you should get on with it- u-nghh”

he pushed in with no warning and a long groan falling from his lips. “shit, you’re just as tight as last time.” he grabbed your other leg up around his waist. his fingertips gripped your ass hard, holding you up against the wall.

the drag of his cock along your inner walls had your nails digging into the leather of his jacket.

“feel so good around my dick.” patrick muttered in your neck. he took one of your hands off his shoulders to hold up the front your skirt. he now had the view his cock sliding in and out of your cunt coming out wetter each time. “fuck.”

your moans got louder the harder he fucked you, and you could only feel grateful for how loud the movie was playing. “god, faster patrick. please.” you whined. patrick paused to hoist you up better in his arms, before thrusting back into you how you wanted.

“you’re always pretending not to give a fuck about me, yet you’re here falling apart on my cock…again.” you whined even more at his words, your head knocking back against the wall. you tucked your face into the crook of his neck breathing in the smell of his natural cologne of leather and smoke.

a silent scream broke from your throat when patrick finally started hitting against your g spot. “oh fuck, r-right there, so good.” you squeaked in his ear. low curses came from patrick as you got tighter on dick.

“gonna cum!” your loud moan got covered up by a scream coming from the movie playing as you orgasm rushed over you fast.

you barely had time to catch your breath before patrick was pulling out of you and pushing you to your knees by your hair. “wha-” patrick sliding his dick into your mouth cut off your confusion. he jerked himself twice before throwing his head back in a husky moan, the hand in your hair tightening while he came down your throat.

“fuuuuck!”

you swallowed it down not knowing what to do with it.

“asshole.” you pushed at his chest when got up from your knees.

“what, you expected me to just cum on the floor.” he shrugged. the response had you rolling your eyes. you fixed up your appearance the best you could then turn back to look at him just as he was tucking himself back into his pants.

“never again.” you said. which had patrick laughing. “that’s what you said last time by the way.” he says around an unlit cigarette.

-

“what took you so long?” was the first thing your friend said when you entered the car.

“oh, uh there was a line.”

“and my peanuts?”

shit. “they were out.” you lied.

“damn.”

-

[litsenn]

Astarion craves connection

Lately, I've been thinking an awful lot about Astarion's desperate need to bond with others, especially in Act 1. Not just to seduce you and have sex with you, not just because he wants to secure his place in the party, but because he wants - and surely needs - to connect with people after two centuries of loneliness.

I’m talking about genuine interactions with other people, without the pressure of Cazador’s will, and with interlocutors who are neither targets nor threats. Of course, sometimes it’s difficult to say if he’s only pretending or if he’s genuinely trying to bond with you, but the more I think about it, the more I see it. Just think about all the discussions you can have with him in Act 1. He's certainly the companion with the most evening interactions, and I think there's a reason for it, especially when you know that he's been so lonely for so long. And it's also quite striking given the fact that one could expect him to be much more wary, maybe even paranoid somehow (like Shadowheart), but on the contrary, he shows a real capacity to open up, to share and to relate. It's awkward sometimes, but he's trying, even if he doesn't really understand it himself.

So I wanted to look back at some interactions in act 1 and to have a closer look at them (in no particular order). And it's going to be long. And chaotic.

Take the first night in camp for instance; he opens up about not feeling comfortable sleeping in the woods. Yes, he remains quite cryptic, he doesn't tell you how terrified he is (you can't expect him to at this point), but still... he doesn't know you and yet tells you he's not feeling comfortable here. You don't even have to ask him.

He could have kept it to himself, he could have preferred to let you believe that he's fine.

Nothing forces him to tell you about it. And yet he decides, against all odds, to let you know that he's not so fine. It's implicit and subtle, yes, but it's there. He tries to reach out to someone. He's not good at it, but that's a meaningful step.

And take the stargazing scene, which, to me, is when he really decides to go for his “nice little plan”. But whether this is it or not, he is lying down and stargazing in the middle of camp, and I can't stress this enough: in the middle of camp. He’s not sitting apart, seeking calm and solitude. He obviously expects someone (you) to come and talk to him.

Another meaningful example is his confession if you go to the Underdark before the bite night. In this case, he will decide to tell you he’s a vampire. Nothing forces him to tell you. He admits it simply because he wants to be honest about it – he feels that, at this point, you won’t let him down. He wants to connect with you, despite the risks of such a revelation.

And look at his face when you say it's alright: he’s so relieved! Because you don't drive a stake through his heart, yes, but also because he knows now that you trust him. That he is ok. That he can count on you.

As for the bite scene, it's a little more complicated: He's famished and he wants to know if he can bite a sentient being now that Cazador can't control him. Of course, doing it without your consent is a terrible move (I tend to believe his idea of personal boundaries is quite fucked up at this point, but that's a topic for a another post).

But if you accept him as a vampire, he trusts you to trust him enough to ask for a snack. Which, to me, is not only related to his burning hunger. This mutual trust, again, is something he desperately craves. Because it means your partnership is not superficial. And when you let him bite you, you prove him that trust can exist between the two of you (even if he's already planning to manipulate you, because people are complicated and full of contradictions).

Then you have the scene when he asks you who you'd like to bite. IMO, it's one of the most relevant scenes concerning his need for connection. Of course he’s flirting a little, he probably has already been scheming his nice little plan. But come on, if it was only about seducing you, I think he would have chosen another topic for the conversation… I mean, honestly, you don’t usually flirt by speaking about other people’s blood (except for all the Durges around, but he doesn’t really now about that yet). 

No, beyond the flirting bits, this man is desperate to talk about his newfound freedom! for the first time in two hundred years, he can feed on all kind of beasts, whenever he wants! Of course he's excited and want to ramble about it! Imagine you've been feeding on rotten and unseasoned garbage for weeks and suddenly you can taste all kind of different spicy food, wouldn't you want to share that experience with someone? To ask them what kind of food they prefer? To imagine how this or that would taste?

Astarion is curious, he says it himself, and he wants to share his curiosity with you. Because he appreciates your company. Because he wants to share something with you, the open-minded companion who accepts him as he is. Astarion is not just teasing you, he's enjoying speaking to you "in the spirit of theoretical questions".

By the way, if you refuse to have this talk, he disapproves. Understandably!

You just turned down his first attempt to connect, to have a playful conversation, without any pressure. Of course he is disappointed! He thought you'd understand after you let him dine on you.

But if you play along, he approves whoever you pick, and gives a little comment of his own according to the companion you choose. And each answer reveals an attempt at bonding, it's always positive, even when he wouldn't have picked the same companion.

Even if you choose him.

And even if he’s already performing for his nice little plan, don't forget that it’s the first time he can really choose and decide to flirt and seduce. He feels somehow that he has to seduce you, because that's how he learned to survive, but nobody is actually forcing him to, for the first time in 200 years. So many reasons which make me believe that this discussion isn’t a performance, not completely at least, and that it's not just about his plan. It's about bonding and having a little fun.

By the way, during that scene, he calls you a friend. Is it genuine? Maybe not at this point, but I take it as wishful thinking. Whether he acknowledges it or not, he wants friends, or at least a friendly interaction.

He used the words 'friends' before, in an even more sarcastic way: The morning after the bite night, when you decide to keep him in the party after the revelation. Here, he’s not talking about you in particular, but about the whole group, and half of them are particularly wary of him, some of them are lowkey threatening him (and right before this, he told you he was scared anyone would turn against him - he still is). Without you, they would have at best kicked him out of camp.

This "friend" is ironical because none of them is seeing Astarion as a friend right now. So he deflates it with irony. Likewise, when he asks you to sleep with him the first time before the party, the “trusting friends” is ironical since you just called him out on his potential bullshit - and he knows it. It's a defence mechanism he uses each time someone sees him as a threat.

There's another "friend" in Act 1. During the "drunk scene".

This part sounds much more genuine to me. He's intoxicated, and he greets you with a "my friend" and a little laugh that makes him sound very giddy about it. If you listen to it, it doesn’t sound like he’s bitter, or manipulating.

Even the dev notes indicate that he must look “very happy".

At this point he really begins to trust you. It seems to make him happy to believe that you could really become friends. And being intoxicated helps him drop the mask a little, he's more himself: Playful, silly, displaying a sheer need to talk with someone. (look at this silly goose)

But being intoxicated also helps him open up about his past, about the torments. About his bitterness and his belief that power is the only way to be safe. About his biased vision of the world, of heroes, of power structures and responsibilities.

IMO he really needs someone he can talk to, someone who would listen and understand, if he's not sure how to do it, if he can do it, if you can be that person. He's "drunk", he needs to vent, and he vents to you.

This need to communicate, to connect with someone is even clearer when you play Durge, since he seems to relate a little more to your character. First things he tells you after you recruited him shows that he observes you and notices something is off, but it seems to be comforting to him.

As if he was thinking "thank goodness I'm not the only one who's a mess. Maybe they'll understand." And a few days letter, he comments on your state.

Not only he worries about you, but he also wants to understand what's happening to you. And if that's not a proof that this man wants to connect with others, I don't know what you need.

He has a hard time acknowledging it himself, with that little "do take care of yourself" which sounds a little awkward. And it makes sense, that must not be the kind of things he's used to say to anyone. Hence the silly little bow.

According to your answer, he can also appear to be very supportive, telling you to not fear who you are, accepting your quirks just (like you accepted his). Partners in crime. He's not alone in this.

And don't get me started on the fact that he doesn't refuse to tell you about his past. Despite his little remark on you insisting “about exhuming the past”, you don’t actually have to insist to make him talk about it. Comparing to Shadowheart, he willingly tells you about Cazador, about him being slave and very soon after you learned he's a vampire. You just have to ask, he opens up. He complains a little but he talks, for the first time in so long he's found someone he can talk to, someone who's willing to listen. And the more he trusts you, the more he tells you, without you having to insist.

I could go on for ages with examples: How he approves if you decide to tell Eithel about the tadpole in the grove. He doesn’t trust the old lady, but he clearly wants the two of you to have fun.  

How he confesses that you are "his first". I don't think he's lying about it. After all, being completely unexperimented in term of biting people, it's not exactly the image of "the sexy vampire" that he usually tries to display.

Not to mention that he seems quite embarrassed about it. His body language gives him away. He's looking away, clearing his throat.

And why would he tell you if not to bond with you?

It's not about seducing you, it's about opening up a little and talk about his experience. He's already trying to be honest with you, because it's the first time in so long that he can allow himself to be honest. His face is particularly vulnerable when he admits it after he killed you during that first snack.

Should I also mention the fact that he never installs his tent in a lonely corner like Shadowheart or Lae'zel or even Wyll sometimes do? He's always, at least, close to another companion, if not in the middle of camp. Of course, it could be a question of feeling safer if the others are around, but I nonetheless think it's quite telling about his need to belong within this little group of weirdos. Likewise, a certain number of banters in Act 1 indicate that he does want to have innocent interactions with the group.

And finally, let's go back to the beginning, when you first meet him. As soon as he realises you're not an enemy, he drops his guard, relieved to have found another survivor. He obviously didn't expect you to invite him to join - it didn't even cross his mind because who would want him as part of a group? - but he quickly accepts to join "the herd". Not being alone anymore could be a good idea, right?

You could expect that after two hundred years of slavery and torment, one would be much more wary, keeping to oneself, keeping their distance with the others. But not Astarion, no. Because whether he admits it or not, he craves companionship. He craves attention - not for his looks, but for his individuality. He craves acceptance.

He joins you, first installs his tent in the centre of camp, he makes himself useful for the group, he wants to talk to you almost every night, he tries to bond with you in the most awkward ways and shares his enthusiasm for his newfound freedom. Yes, he wants to seduce you to make sure you won't let him down, but beyond that, there's a deep need for bonding, and to feel like he belongs somewhere. And if at first he probably thinks he only belongs in your bed as a good fuck, through all your interactions he begins to understand that he belongs beside you as a partner, as a friend and simply, as a person. He needs emotional support, he finds it in you, and even finds himself capable of giving emotional support. You trust him, and this trust is precious because it means you see him as a valuable person, not just a Swiss knife or a pretty thing. And it means he can trust you too. And it also means that, maybe, the world isn't as cruel as he was made to believe.

[ghostgirl-22]

art fucking/getting fucked by a random dude and patrick finds out and gets jealous so he also sleeps with the dude as revenge or smth. they both pretend the dude is the other one.

hope you get what i’m trying to say :3

Yes i get it—im with you anon!! They’re so silly. Using this poor guy as a proxy for each other. This is a little bit of a post break up au for you anonnie— hehe.

CW: NSFW MDNI

___

Patrick shows up because of course he does. 

He wouldn’t answer a 3 am call for his own siblings but for Art Donaldson apparently he’d still do anything. He rolls down the window to wake himself up but also some part of him hopes the crisp air of the early spring night will bring him to his senses. That he’ll make a u-turn and go back to his apartment and pretend none of this happened. It’s not his fucking problem anymore. He scrolls his phone at the red light. Texts starting around midnight and getting more and more incoherent. Starting with: 

Hey you're in Boston right? I’m in town for this wedding thing— my cousins wedding. 

My aunt was asking about you. 

Remember that bar O’malleys we snuck into when we were 19? I’m here if you wanna stop by.

He’d stared at the messages mildly confused. Unsure of how to feel. All of it so out of the blue. Part of him would believe Art’s phone was stolen if he hadn’t mentioned O’Malley’s. The memories of that place clear as if it was yesterday sneaking in when Art’s cousin worked on shift. Summer nights with live music, dancing with hot 21 year olds, and way too much to drink. The thought of it making him nostalgic. Nostalgia laced with bitterness. After years of no contact then it’s just… hey I’m in your city at a family wedding you weren’t invited to want to get drunk?  

He ignores the texts. And every text that follows but as a true masochist he stays up late to watch them come in. Each one drunker and more desperate than the last. They stop around two in the morning and distantly Patrick wonders if he should be worried.  He had to shake himself out of that mindset. Art is a big boy. Art is and adult. Art didn’t choose you. No one did. He’d fallen into a fitful sleep when his phone started buzzing non stop. A call. He almost didn’t pick up, but part of him was so surprised that Art actually had the balls to call him. 

“It’s three in the fucking morning,” he says coolly. 

“Please, Patrick please ‘m at this bar. ‘m really drunk. ‘m sorry to bother you. I just can’t—I can’t— i cant drive— i think I’m gonna be sick.”

Patrick doesn’t realize he’s grinding his teeth until he opens his mouth to take a breath. He can tell that Art’s probably been crying  just from the way he’s breathing. “Stay there. I’ll come get you.”   

He still hates himself as he pulls up to O’Malleys. This Irish pub not far from his sometimes girlfriends place. He and Art had taken the train here plenty of times all those summers they’d spent roaming around downtown Boston when Art would come stay with his Aunt and Patrick would come down from his parents estate on Martha’s Vineyard and stay with him in the city. It feels like it was a different life now. One he can’t believe was his.

The bar is clearly closed, though some patrons are still lingering. Art’s on the outdoor patio furniture talking to some guy. Tall, lanky, bent over… he’s rubbing circles along Art’s back as he takes a sip of whatever clear liquid is in the glass. If he’s smart… its water. 

Patrick actually realizes he’s grinding his teeth this time. “Hey!” He calls out the window. 

Art recognizes his voice but he’s not the only one that looks over to Patrick. Tall and lanky and (somewhat handsome apparently) is staring too, along with a couple of older women sitting on a planter having a cigarette. 

Art makes his apologies to tall and lanky and stumbles towards Patrick’s car. He’s sloppy, messy drunk. Clothes all wrinkled. Hair disheveled. His jacket open, fly half zipped. He gets in and shuts the door weakly behind him. Patrick leans over him and pulls it shut properly before peeling off without a word. 

“‘m sorry,” Art says. “‘m sorry Patrick.” He says again when Patrick doesn’t respond.  And Patrick gets the sense he’s apologizing for more than just tonight. “Thank you for coming. ‘m sorry. ‘Mm so embarassed.” 

“what street does she live off of again?” Patrick asks about his aunt. 

“Please i— i can’t go there. Not like this.”  

Patrick huffs a laugh, incredulous. “well where the fuck do you want me to take you?” 

Art starts to take little shaky breaths like he’s gonna cry. Patrick hates himself. Hates that those sniffles still make him care. Make him feel responsible. “I did something bad. I— i did something really bad.” 

“What did you do, Art? Kill someone?” Patrick mutters dryly.  

“No,” he exclaims quickly. “I uh… well… i had sex.” 

Patrick grips the steering wheel tighter. “Who fucking cares? You’re a grown up. You’ve had sex before.”

“No… i mean…” he sniffles. “Not… it was sex with… I can’t face her like this… my aunt…s-she wouldn’t understand. God.” He pulls a few condoms from his pocket and drops them into Patricks empty cup holder. “This was a mistake.”

“You think she’s gonna smell it on you and kick you out?”  Patrick glances at Art and he looks miserable. Patrick feels a small twist of sadistic satisfaction somewhere deep down. Maybe he’s not the only one struggling. Then he remembers the way Arts career is taking off and his impotent frustration with him returns even stronger.

“It’s…you know how my aunt is. Really religious. And i let the bartender… i let him fuck me. I let him… god just a fucking stranger he was so nice and funny and his accent was cute and i was really drunk so… i let him…” he’s wiping his nose on his wrists. Eyes all wet. 

“Oh.” Patrick feels this tight bitter lump growing in his throat. His heart rate picking up. He doesn’t say anything for a while. Doesn’t really trust himself to say anything that isn’t gonna come out bitter and desperate. 

His mind returning to the moment he’d pulled up in front of the bar. Art on the patio furniture. The tall lanky somewhat handsome guy massaging his back. Feeding him water. Taking care of him. That stupid guy. That fucking random stranger. Taking it just like that. After years and years of… of what…

Is Patrick admitting it? Admitting it even to himself what he desires. It makes him feel weak. Makes him hate himself even more. Art can push him out. Push him away. Take Tashi’s side. So easy and so cold. Knowing how much Patrick loved liked her. Knowing how much Patrick loved him. No words. No apologies. Just this out of the fucking blue. And now he’s fucked some guy. Giving a stranger what should have been Patrick’s. Giving him what Patrick fucking deserves especially after all Art has put him through.

“I’m so fucking embarrassing. I know its… I’m not even into guys I just. I’m so… i don’t know why i did it… ” Art sniffles quietly. “Can you stop, please? I think I’m really gonna be sick.”

Patrick pulls over on the side of the road. Watching Art bend over a public trash can. He should be glad Arts having this reaction to it but his own stomach is twisting into knots. His chest aches and the lump in his throat is so large it's difficult to swallow.

All those touches between them that lingered too long… all the times Art would self consciously push Patrick away whenever other people were around. The lie he told Tashi.  “No, no, nothing… is that surprising?” 

And Patrick let him lie. Even backed him up. Because sharing clothes, crawling into the same bed, sleeping tangled up with each other, wet dreams. Touching themselves in the same bed, sitting too close together, hearts racing when they finish, filling the awkward space with heightened giggles. Dumb secrets. It was all just nothing.

And yet even now, Patrick knows he’s gonna cave. That he’ll bring Art back to his shitty one bedroom. Let him sleep it off.

“I don’t know why i did it…” is all Art can say. Head resting on the car window, street lights flash across his body, illuminating his tear streaked face as they drive home. “You’re not gonna say anything?”

Patrick is burning up inside. More than usual. Teeth grinding in a way that kinda hurts. This hurts but he’s not going to admit that. “Was it the guy giving you water?”

Art sniffles. “Um… yeah. Justin um… Fuck.” He laughs but theres no mirth in it. “I don’t even know his last name.”   

Patrick bites his tongue to stop himself from saying what he wants to say. Things that will make Art hurt as much as him. Maybe more. “So you dont like guys… but you like Justin no last name?” Patrick says quietly. He hopes he sounds as even and uncaring to Art as he’s trying to be.

”I know you don’t believe me.” He lifts his head and rolls the window down. “It was a mistake. I’ve never— I swear I’ve never done that before. I had too much to drink.” 

They get home and Patrick lets him upstairs. The place is bland, undecorated. Patrick’s barely affording the $900 a month as is. His furniture all comes from ikea or its makeshift. Art doesn’t ask any questions, he just uses the bathroom and plops down on Patrick’s sofa. Thankfully before Patrick says anything because Patrick is pathetic enough he probably would have let him have the bed. 

“I can be out of your hair in the morning,” He promises when Patrick comes back with a flimsy blanket. He curls up and Patrick hears him snoring not too long later. Patrick’s in his bedroom looking at the blank wall. at the blinking red dots in the center of his digital clock radio. Almost 5 in the morning. He can’t stop thinking about it. 

I let him fuck me. I let him fuck me.

Patrick can see the guys face so clearly in his head and he’s furious. He’s been to O’malleys enough times. He’s been served by Justin. Never bothered to learn his fucking name. 

He eases his hand into his sweats. He’s so hard it’s embarrassing. He jerks himself off. Cursing Justin. Cursing Art. Cursing the idea of them pressed up against each other in a messy bar bathroom. Justin fucking into him— his dumb voice getting pitchy. Maybe he’s whining asking Justin to take it slow cause he’s never had sex with a man before. Patrick would’ve taken it slow. Patrick would’ve kissed his throat, nibbled hickies so everyone at the wedding would know what Art did last night. So he’d have to tell his aunt some kinda lie. Patrick squeezes a little tighter. So horny he doesn’t even have the patience to spit in his hand to help the chafing.

Maybe Justins big. Maybe he’s huge. Maybe he’s got a bigger fucking dick than Patrick does. Maybe he made Art moan for it. Act like a slut for it. Blue eyes rolling back because of how good it feels. Then all at once Patrick’s coming. Its been less than a minute and he’s breathless against his blanket. After all this fucking time.

Fuck this. Fuck him. 

Art does leave the next morning (closer to afternoon) as he promised. Makes it to the wedding on time.

*

Justin is working again tonight at O’Malleys. Hes a real friendly guy. Tall, handsome and flirtatious. Patrick’s been flirting with him for an hour now. Justin seems to like his company. Eyes lingering on his smile, his body.

“That one’s on the house,” he says, in his regrettably sexy Irish lilt.

“Oh thats nice of you, how will i ever repay the favor,” Patrick says, raising his shotglass with a smirk before swallowing it down.

Justin grins, “I can think of a few ways.” 

Patrick leans forward on the bar. “What times your break?”

*

The drinks are stronger than he anticipated. He feels it all when they’re in the small space of the backseat of Patrick’s jeep and he’s fumbling with a lubricated condom. 

He’s trying to be cool and sexy and just like the hottest fuck of this guys life. Wants to make himself forget all about Art but hes so buzzed he feels a little dizzy. 

“Those shots taste delicious, huh?” Justin teases. Patrick wonders if the accent is what made Art fall for him. Or is it his hair? (Full head of thick dark hair). Or his hands? he’s got big hands but Patrick thinks his are bigger. Maybe it was the kiss?  (It was… fine… he’s fine… but Patrick still doesn’t understand what makes him so fucking special). 

He manages to roll the condom on before he grabs at Justin's jeans and makes quick work of getting them down so he can see what he’s working with. Boxer briefs, like what Art started to wear shortly before he left for Stanford. 

Of course. Of course. 

Patrick can see Art in briefs just like this. 

Rolling in dizziness of the alcohol, his heart pounding in his ears Patrick bends him over. He’s imagining Art doing this. On his hands and knees in the backseat, sliding the briefs down. Imagining Art wiggling for him as he grabs him by the waist… slides his dick between the crevice of his ass cheeks. 

“Mm your so ready for me, aren't you?” Patrick sighs and there's a soft answering moan.

God. Art was just like this. Slutty waist bent in half. Perfect little ass. Presenting for him. For him. Patrick can’t wait another minute, he grabs him by the waist and presses himself inside. 

Oh. Oh god.

It’s so tight.

So virgin fucking tight, the heated ring of muscles practically choking his dick. “Fuck yes, oh so tight for me Art. I can barely fit… fuck.” He hums. “Gonna open you up… make it easier to take. I promise.”

“Mm it’s cause I don’t usually bottom… but you’re so hot I couldn’t resist… should’ve known you’d be massive.” The voice shocks Patrick back to reality. He’s not Art. But Art did this. Art bent over like this. His Art. Just like this.

Patrick takes his time rocking into him. Heartbeat in his ears, sliding in and out. His body starts to relax… accommodating the size. The whole time Patrick’s brain keeps imagining that Art felt this tight. That Art moaned just like this. That Art began to push back as he got used to it… just like this and before long Patrick isn’t sure what’s in his head and what’s real… but he knows the word mine keeps slipping from his mouth. Distantly Patrick is aware but he can’t stop. Can’t slow down. Art beneath him. Art whining and moaning like a…

“That’s right… take it you fucking slut.” Patrick hisses. “On top of everything else who knew you were a slut? Taking anything, anyone. Fuck you. You don’t even fucking deserve this.” He’s grunting, the pace of his hips rapid as he chases his own pleasure. Fingers gripping tight enough to bruise. The car rocking gently with the force of it.  Patrick feels it… slowly building and then its all of a sudden. “Oh shit,” he grabs hold of Art’s cock and starts to jerk him. “Fuck… oh fuck, Art… I’m gonna—“  He cuts himself off with a loud groan, filling the condom up. He keeps jerking him off… a few more rough strokes and he’s shocked back into reality again when Justin grunts out his own orgasm and Patrick sits back feeling dizzy and mildly unsettled. 

”Fuck,” Justin gasps. As they both breathlessly try to put themselves back together. “You can’t possibly be the Patrick.” 

“What’s that mean?” Patrick squints, tying off the condom and shoving it into an old grocery bag that’s become his makeshift trash bag. 

“Last night I met this guy, a blond, who claimed he was waiting on his friend, Patrick. Except he never showed up… and I felt a little bad cause he seemed lonely.” (Patrick almost feels bad for that… almost). Justin wiggles his hips, lifting his jeans up over his ass. “I thought he was really cute… so I might have made a few too many mixed drinks for him, on the house. I thought I was cheering him up… getting him to smile. Long story short we ended up going outside for a cigarette and that turned into sex up against the wall of the alleyway, with one of these that I’d grabbed from the bowl behind the till…” he picks up the condom wrapper and tosses it into the makeshift trash bag.  “and the whole time he’s calling me Patrick. Telling me how much he thought about me. How sorry he is. How bad he wanted me to fuck him. How much he just needed to feel it.” 

Patrick’s eyebrows fly up towards his hairline. 

“So I just go with it… I’m thinking who fucking cares… let the poor cute guy call me by his exes name. But then the next night here you come…  calling me by one of the most unique names I’ve ever heard and it just so happens to be… last nights boy toys name. Art. He’s a tennis player, ring a bell?”

Patrick can’t help smirking. “What else did he say about me?”

”Well afterwards he broke down in tears and I was trying to calm him down and… did you… it was you… last night in the car.”

“I did pick him up.” Patrick admits.

“Oh fuck, I’m… did he tell you about me?”

Patrick shrugs and Justin grins. “He told you and you came to find me. Well don’t I feel fuckin special.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Patrick says, lightly. 

“No I’m sure it has nothing to do with me… but do you need a third? Cause, holy fuck I’ll be honest, after being dicked down like that by an ex… I’d sit in a bar by myself and get drunk enough to cry too.” 

That actually makes Patrick laugh. 

Justin leaves shortly after to finish his shift. “I wouldn’t drive tonight if I were you, maybe call your ex,” he smirks before getting out and leaving Patrick alone.  

It’s perfect actually. Patrick texts Art, time for you to return the favor.

*

It’s after Art’s snuck him into his aunts house at 1 in the morning that Patrick explains himself (“By the way I fucked that bar tender… the one you let fuck you last night. he told me all about what you really wanted.”) And Art, who’s gone all cherry red and incredulous, doesn’t protest for very long after Patrick gets his mouth on him. And in the familiar room they shared during high school summers, with Art’s religious aunt just a few bedrooms away, they’re all over each other in the race to each make the other forget all about Justin.

[swiftiesdestiel]

byler fic recommendations because why not:

— i know the end by bookinit • stranger things retelling

my favourite byler fic ever. So beautifully written and idk i feel like it made me understand the show more as well

— some sort of ripple effect by sylvianightshade • “Mike & Will have a long overdue conversation on the way back to Hawkins— by, in, and around a random motel pool.”

takes place in the two-day timeskip between Mike’s monologue and the Cali gang arriving in Hawkins. Sooo amazingly written and one of my faves, idk this fic is so *chef’s kiss*

— touch like velvet by ciders • “It was easy for Will Byers to fall in love with Mike Wheeler.

The trouble came when he had to pretend it wasn't real.”

pretty sure almost the entire byler fandom has already read this one but oh well, normally i’m not the biggest AU fic-fan but this one was AMAZING. Again — so beautifully written, and the story was so good

— he likes it scalding by CastleByersAfterDark • mike and will take a bath together

this one was sooo cute & (i’ll keep on saying it) very well-written😛

— (give me a second to) forget i ever really meant it by delusionaltogether (Whyyyyy) • “Practice makes perfect, especially when the person you're practicing with is your best friend.” (aka byler kissing practice fic)

kissing practice fics can NEVER go wrong honestly, this was such a sweet little fanfic and i had so much fun reading it

— It will always be you. by peachluv • “After a thoughtful talk and subsequent breakup with El, Mike has to renavigate his friendship with Will and the overwhelming feelings that come with it.”

a new favourite of mine!! it’s such a comfort fic even tho it’s a little angsty at one point. kind of felt like a breath of fresh air cause it doesn’t really focus on the upside down stuff that much, it was incredibly well-written aswell !!!

——> (a slight warning for emetophobes tho cause there is some v*miting in there, however as an emetophobe myself i could just skip over the more graphic stuff and it was completely fine 🫶)

— To Hell and Back Again by perexcri • “Mike and Will's Apocalypse Romcom Spectacular” - Mike follows Will into the upside down because he’s set on finding out what that painting meant, and why Will lied about it.

another fanfic that probably the entire fandom has already read, but whatever. I’m always down for a byler upside down fic and that’s exactly what that is + it’s a slow burn, so what else do we want??

— said that i was fine, said it from my coffin by ruetistic • byler wound cleaning fic

cute & kind of sad but also just…… cute☺️ honestly can never go wrong with a wound cleaning fic!!

— Mike Wheeler and the G-Word by lunii_vii • “Everyone realizes at their own times that Mike Wheeler is queer, but leave him to figure it out himself.”

Really fun and lighthearted fic, enjoyed reading this a lot!!

— and the shame was on the other side by andiewriteordie • “a character study on Mike Wheeler, his feelings of fear, shame, and inadequacy, and how he finds freedom from that.” - a flickergate fic

Nice little flickergate fanfic, honestly one of my favourite byler theories so this was fun to read :)

— ౨ৎ —

happy reading 💌

[kitkatscabinet]

MID DAY MADNESS

pairing: platonic batfam x batsis, kyle rayner x batsis! reader

summary: Turns out you are worth the burden of putting up with your family, you're so worth it he'll even put a ring on it.

word count: 2k

a/n: part 2 of early morning meetings but can be read standalone

Cassandra’s stare is heavy on your back as you pace, but you don’t dare to turn and meet her gaze head-on; you can’t handle the judgment or the pity.

What if you tripped? What if you ugly cried and it ruined all the photos? What if Bruce makes that constipated face during the vows again, like he did at Tim’s graduation? What if you forget your vows, or you stutter? What if you forgot how to breathe?

You grab the vanity for balance and take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. Your lungs feel empty, the soft material of the dress you’d fallen in love with suddenly clinging to you like a vice. The exorbitantly expensive heels have long since been kicked off, even as Babs tries to coax them back on your feet as Steph finishes pinning your veil in place. 

Your heart is pounding like a drumbeat in your chest, and every minute sound feels as loud as a gunshot. The mirror displays a goddess, radiant and elegant. But you don’t feel like her. Not right now.

“You're not panicking,” you whisper to yourself, trying to manifest some sort of mind over matter response. “You’re not panicking. You’ve fought assassins. You’ve faced alien invasions. You’ve dealt with Damian. You’ve—”

“Oh wow, she is really freaking out.” Steph murmurs to Cass, which you barely hear over your mad ramblings. 

“This is insane,” you mutter to no one. “I can’t do this. This is insane. God, what if I throw up? That would be poetic. Gotham’s sweetheart and a Wayne at that, vomiting on the groom before saying I do. Great headline, excellent optics.”

Cassandra interrupts by taking your hands in hers, forcing your attention on her. “You're okay,” she signs "You're just in your head.”

“But what if—”

It’s Barbara’s turn to interrupt your spiral next. “Then you breathe. And you keep going.”

Her voice is far away. Distant. As if someone pressed cotton into your ears. 

You love him. You love Kyle more than anything. He’s waiting for you. He’s probably grinning like an idiot, fixing his tie wrong, because he always does. Because he wants to look good for you. Because he loves you too.

The door bursts open without warning, ricocheting off the wall with a bang. You’re so keyed up on nerves that you let out a screech, nearly throwing your bouquet at Dick’s face. 

“YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE IN HERE!” Barbara shrieks from the corner, but it’s too late. Dick, Jason, and Tim fall into the room like a chaotic hurricane.

Jason has two champagne flutes in one hand, fending off Tim’s fussing with his other as the younger boy attempts to fix Jason’s tie. The two squabbling loudly, Tim looking as if he’s about to sit on Jason just to get his way. Dick is… well, he looks more liable to burst into tears than you do. 

Dick’s crossing the room with a sniffle, looking like he wants to cup your face but knows better than to ruin your makeup. “You’re so beautiful.” He gasps, voice wobbling, “Kyle’s the luckiest man in the galaxy. He’s definitely gonna pass out when he sees you, little bat.”

Tim snorts. “I give him ten seconds. Tops.” But you’re too keyed up to find any humour in the situation. 

“Damn. You look like you’re about to be sick,” Jason comments, handing you one of the champagne glasses before Dick punches him in the arm. 

“I am going to be sick.” You collapse into the nearest chair.

“Relax,” Tim says. “It’s Kyle. He’d literally marry you in a dive bar if he could.”

“Yeah, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.” Jason pauses, “Or you could just take off, Bat plane’s fueled up.” The hope in his voice lets you know exactly how much he's not joking.

“You are so not helping,” you hiss, trying not to laugh, because it’s either that or burst into hysterical tears, and Steph will kill you if you smudge your makeup. 

Damian steps in after them, a scowl marring his face, “sister, I attempted to stop them, but these imbeciles were intent on harassing you.”

You audibly coo then, nerves momentarily forgotten as you take in how adorable your baby brother is. “Oh, you look so handsome, Dami.” (You suspect it’s only the fact that it's your wedding day that stops him from kicking up a fuss when you lean down to place a kiss on his forehead.)

A guilty-looking Duke pokes his head in from behind the doorframe, and you motion for him to come in with a soft smile, pulling him into your side for a hug.

“You look really pretty.” He hugs you back before pulling away, studying your face with a look of concern. “Are you ok?” The question is quiet, a private conversation just for you, as the rest of your siblings squabble in the background. Affection swells in your being, momentarily overcoming your nerves.

“Just… nerves. Everyone will be staring; it’s just a lot. And what if I trip? Or say something stupid? Or I ugly cry so hard I throw up?” As the what-if scenarios spiral out of control again, so too does your anxiety. 

“Hey, hey, hey, breathe,” Dick steps forward, taking your hands in his. “Deep breaths. C’mon, do it with me.” You glare at him, thoroughly unimpressed with the patronising tone. “Come on,” he urges again, over-enunciating like you’re five. “In through the nose… out through the mouth…”

“I hate you.”

“That’s fair,” he says. “But breathe anyway.” You do. Slowly. “You’re just nervous because, for once, it’s not a mission,” he says, gently now. “It’s not a rescue. It’s not a strategy. This is for you. You deserve this. Kyle loves you more than anything in the world.”

“I know, he’s the only thing I’m not nervous about.” You admit, “Everyone’s expecting something perfect. It’s like I’m supposed to be a fairytale princess and a Wayne but also myself—”

“You don’t have to be anything but you,” Damian scoffs. “That’s who Rayner fell in love with. That’s who we all love. You’ve already won. The rest is just a show.”

“When did you get so eloquent and wise?” You reach for Damian again, his unexpected words of support nearly being the thing that finally gets the waterworks going. 

“Who are you and what have you done with the demon brat?” Tim eyes him warily, and you nearly smack him for it, but Cass beats you to it. 

Bruce appears in the doorway, knocking to gather the attention of his rowdy children. The furrow in his brow eases the second he lays eyes on you. For a few moments, he just stares at you, drinking you in. Then, in a soft, reverent voice, he says, “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Dad—” you croak, lower lip wobbling dangerously as he opens his arms. You cross the room before you even realise you’re moving, hugging him tight. He’s warm and solid, a steady, comforting presence that never fails to make you feel like a little girl again. 

“Ready?” he asks as your siblings finally filter out of the room, and all you can manage is a nod. 

“You’re going to be alright,” he murmurs, his voice rough in that emotionally constipated tone. “And Kyle is one lucky son of a bitch to get to do this with you.”

You laugh a little, then nod as you take his hand. His grip is steady and grounding, just like it was when you were little and scared of the dark. Just like it always is. “Thanks, Daddy.”

His expression softens. “Always.”

“I love you,” you whisper, curling your hand into the crook of his elbow and leaning against his bicep.

“I love you too, sweetheart, and I’m so, so proud of you.” You very kindly don’t point out the way his eyes mist up a little. Until he decides to tack on quietly "even if you picked a Lantern."

“You had to ruin it.” You glared, making the normally stoic man pout. Your adult father, pouting. 

“Just making sure that you’re sure, darling. You deserve to be happy.”

“I am happy dad, Kyle makes me the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“He better keep it that way, or they’ll never find his body,” Bruce mumbled petulantly, and you can't help but giggle, feeling more loved than you ever have despite the threat on Kyle's life.

The gardens of Wayne’s manor have always been extravagant, but Stephanie and Damian have transformed them into something out of a fairytale. White chairs line the self-constructed aisle, flower petals strewn about from an enthusiastic Dick littering the soft grass that you prepare to walk over. 

“Would you all stand for the bride.” The officiant proclaims, the music swells, and heads turn to you and Bruce as your heart pounds in your ears. 

Bruce stands with you on his arm, suited to perfection, expression unreadable but eyes glassy with emotion. However, Kyle pays little attention to his father-in-law because the second he lays eyes upon his bride, everything else disappears. 

You’re smiling, looking at him like he hung the stars. But Kyle knows the truth. You hung the stars in his sky. You are the stars, you’re everything that’s brilliant and bright and beautiful in this galaxy and the next. 

Hal leans over, whispering in his ear, sounding amused, “Don’t cry, man. You’ll ruin the whole ‘cool Lantern’ thing.” It’s far too late for that, the tears already sliding down his cheeks silently. Not that Kyle even hears him, his entire focus devoted to the love of his life walking toward him.

“Hi,” you mouthed, smiling giddily at Kyle as you watched him sniffle. 

“Hi,” he whispers back, voice cracking a little as you take your place across from him, and you reach to grab his slightly trembling hands in yours. 

“You look so handsome.” You can’t take your eyes off him, and neither does he seem very inclined to look away from you. It’s like he doesn’t even want to blink for fear of missing even a second. The officiant starts to speak, welcoming the guests, but you hardly pay him any attention. How could you when Kyle was staring at you like that?

You’d both decided to save your personal vows for each other in private, not wanting your personal feelings and lives plastered all over some tabloid. You both repeat the vows after the officiant quickly, still never looking away from each other.

“You may now kiss —” The officiant doesn’t even finish the sentence before Kyle is surging forward, one hand cupping your jaw and the other wrapping around your waist as he kisses you deeply. Hal and Guy let out jeering whoops, and only the presence of Gotham’s high society and paparazzi prevents you from flipping them off. 

Kyle can practically feel the daggers Jason’s glaring at him from his place behind you, but for once, he doesn’t care. You’re his wife now and he’s going to kiss you goddamnit. 

“Ok, that’s enough,” Jason grumbled beneath his breath. 

You sigh against Kyle’s mouth, pulling back a little, just enough to rest your forehead against his before Jason has a meltdown. He’s staring at you desperately, like he’s trying to sear this moment into memory. 

Behind you, Dick lets out a loud sniff, pretending not to wipe at his eyes while Steph not-so-subtly fans her face. Damian mutters something about “unnecessary public displays of affection”, but even he can’t entirely suppress the soft smile tugging at the edge of his mouth when you turn to look at him with the happiest smile of your life. 

Jason, meanwhile, is still scowling. “Seriously, Kyle, if you don’t stop touching my sister, I will ruin your honeymoon.”

Kyle doesn’t even glance at him. “Worth it.” Because you were worth it, you were worth everything, even putting up with your batshit insane family.

[lieslab]

The ache comes and goes like stars with the weather

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Hyunjin X gn reader

Summary: After finding out a friend tried to take their own life, you fall apart in front of your boyfriend.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.6k

Trigger warning: Suicide and guilt for being unable to stop a suicide.

Suicide, depression, and anxiety resources

A/N: This request was devastating, so requestee, I tried to insert some light into it. Hopefully, light comes your way soon. In the meantime, Hyunjin is Hyunjin <3

_ _ _

“Alright, which cereal do you want?” Hyunjin stopped the grocery cart in front of the wall of cereal. 

You glanced at all the boxes, trying to decide which one. After a few moments, you pointed to one of the brighter boxes. His eyes narrowed and he reached over, slowly pulling it off the shelf. “You want the one with the most sugar possible in it?” 

“Oh, like you don’t eat fruit like a starved man.” 

“Hey!” His hand flew to his chest, where he clutched his t-shirt in agony. “This isn’t like that and you know it! There’s nothing wrong with my fruit.” 

“If fruit has sugar in it, then my cereal can have sugar in it, too.” 

“But fruit sugar is natural.” 

“My foot up your ass is going to be natural. Food is food. Let me enjoy my sugar-filled cereal. Don’t make me lecture you on the two packs of ramen you had for dinner last night. If my sugar intake is an issue-” You reached out and pointed at him, “then so is your sodium intake.” 

His hands went up and he sighed. “Damn, you got me there. You win this one, but just for today.” 

Your tongue stuck out at him. He rolled his eyes and dropped the box into the grocery cart. “You’re such a brat.” He huffed, unlocked his phone, and deleted the item from his notes app. 

The two of you started to grocery shop twenty minutes ago. You stood with your feet on the end of the cart. Hyunjin pushed and you held on tight. On the way here, you tried to come up with somewhat of a grocery list. 

It was all odd and end stuff. You didn’t know exactly what you were getting and not getting. Some stuff, you picked out randomly while going through the aisles. That happened to be the worst part of your grocery shopping experiences. Both of you were so busy and easily distracted, coming up with a detailed grocery list felt difficult. You winged every grocery trip every time you walked into the store. 

“What do you think we should have for dinner tonight?” 

“Uh,” you shrugged. “I don’t know. Does anything sound good to you?” 

“Not really, no. Maybe pork belly and some grilled vegetables? Simple and filling stuff.” 

“With a side of rice?” 

He glanced over with a scowl. “Duh! Who do you think I am? Even if I didn’t want the rice, you do. You always want rice. You’re going to turn into a bag of rice.” 

Your laughter cut off when you felt a buzz in your phone pocket. You pulled it out and glanced down with a frown. Your playful mood diminished as anxiety lined your stomach. You couldn’t explain it and you didn’t know why, but dread lingered. 

“Who is that?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Probably a stupid spam caller wanting to tell you about your car’s extended warranty.” He reached out to grab another item off the shelf and deleted it off the list with his other hand. 

You swiped the phone and placed it against your ear. “Hello?” A feminine voice you didn’t recognize responded. Your eyebrows furrowed and Hyunjin glanced up, but he didn’t say anything. 

When you didn’t speak, he slowly inched the cart forward. You continued to grip the metal basket with one hand. He took another look at the list in his notes app and slowly turned the cart around the aisle. 

“If I was peanut butter, where would I be?” He whispered beneath his breath. He scanned the shelves and looked over his shoulder toward you again. 

Your face lost its color and you gripped the phone tighter. “Yeah, um…” You trailed off, trying to find the right words. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you for letting me know.” 

His heart fell to his stomach. When you hung up your phone, you sucked in a deep breath. You shoved your phone in your pocket.

“Babe? Is everything okay?” 

Your head shook and you blinked rapidly. You stepped down from the cart. “I’ve gotta get to the hospital. It’s my friend, t-they’ve-” You cut off again, unable to utter the words. “I’ve gotta go. I have to get to the hospital. I’m sorry, I-I just-” 

“Do you want me to drive you? I can leave the cart up front.” He reached out and gently grabbed your hand. “If it’s an emergency, I’m not sure you should be driving in this condition.” 

Your head shook. “I’ll be okay. I’m sorry. Can you have one of the guys pick you up? I think Jeongin said he was free for the next few days.” 

“Of course. If you need me, call me and I’ll be there in a heartbeat. Drive carefully and remember I’m just a phone call away.” 

You sniffled and nodded. He tugged you closer, gently cupped your face, and placed a soft kiss to the center of your forehead. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

He watched as you hurried out of the aisle and rushed to the front of the store. The entire time, his heart fractured. He didn’t know the situation, but he knew how much you cared for your friends. If something drastic happened, you’d crumble. 

All he could do was hope everything worked out and you’d come home safe and sound when you were ready. 

~ ~ ~ 

By the time you came home, Hyunjin paced the living room. The moment the front door knob jiggled and the door creaked open, he was right there waiting for you. Your puffy and glossy eyes met his. He scanned your body, making sure you weren’t injured. When everything seemed in check, he sighed in relief. 

His long arms stretched out, desperate to give you the safety he couldn’t provide while you were away. You didn’t bother to kick off your shoes. Instead, you stumbled forward and collapsed into his arms. Your arms wrapped around his back and you squeezed tight. 

You buried your face in his chest, not bothering to explain the situation. The weight of everything nearly stoned you to death. Emotionally, you were fried. Everything was your fault. All of it. Every little piece. You did this. 

He rubbed your back softly, not wanting to discomfort you. For quite a while, your soft breaths filled the room. Too distraught, you didn’t speak. You didn’t move. You didn’t know how. You couldn’t. Your lungs collapsed from the weight of your own self-guilt. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

His words were warm honey. They always had been and they always would be. Warm enough to soothe your soul and ease the burden of your heart. You didn’t know how to start. What if he blamed you, too? 

Your eyes squeezed shut and you hugged him tighter. He reached down and pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

You didn’t plan to speak, but the words came out in faint mumbles. His cotton t-shirt swallowed your truths. “Baby, I can’t hear you when you’re hiding in my shirt.” 

Your head shifted. An ear pressed against the wallop of his heart. His soul glowed with gold. Oxygen vacuumed through his nose and air fell from his lips. Each inhale and exhale, a reminder that he was alive. 

“My best friend tried to commit suicide tonight.” You blinked rapidly, trying to ignore the sting. “It’s all my fault. Everything is my fault. They kept saying they couldn’t be alone. I-I didn’t think they would actually try to-” 

Your bottom lip trembled. The lump in your throat grew and smothered your words. Your knees buckled and Hyunjin quickly scooped you up bridal style. “Woah, easy there. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” 

“I’m such a horrible person,” you croaked. “What kind of friend doesn’t realize someone is hurting like that? They nearly d-died and I-” 

His heart burst into a thousand tiny pieces. He spun around and walked you into the living room. Your shoes still sat on your feet, but he didn’t care. He sat on the end of the couch with you in his lap. “Sweetheart, look at me.” 

More tears covered your bright eyes. The light died out at the hospital. Your emotions went numb and you detached from your body. Nurses monitored your best friend, making sure they remained stable. Hooked up to an IV drip and surrounded by a swarm of scrubs, a piece of you died. 

You couldn’t look at Hyunjin. You didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes. The idea of letting anyone else down, it stuck another dart in your heart. You couldn’t stand it. 

When you didn’t glance over, he reached up and gently grabbed your chin. “Baby, it’s not your fault.” Your bottom lip trembled harder. A gentle thumb wiped away a fallen tear. “I mean it, it’s not.” 

“But it is,” you whispered. “It’s all my fault and I failed at being a good friend.” 

“Sometimes things happen that aren’t in our grasp. You can’t control the actions of your friend.” 

“They almost died.” 

“And you didn’t put them there, baby. You’re not in their head. I know you. I know how you interact with your friends. I know how much you care for the people you love. You can’t always save people from their thoughts.” 

“I could have tried,” you said. “I-I could have shown up and been there for them. I thought about them so much for the past week. I think I knew deep down, but I just ignored it b-because I-” 

You ripped up pieces of your own heart with each word. He hated it. He hated the way you spoke so lowly of yourself that he reached up with a finger and pressed it against your lips to silence you. 

“Stop that,” he whispered. “You’re only hurting yourself with these thoughts. I know it’s how you feel, but please believe me when I say it’s not your fault. If you start thinking like this, you’ll never escape these thoughts and you’ll trap yourself.” 

Your nose twitched with a sniffle. His hand shifted and he gently cupped your face. “Are they still at the hospital?” 

You weakly nodded. “They’re being monitored to make sure they’re stable. Once they’re stable, they’ll be moved to an inpatient mental health facility. I-I don’t know what happens after that, not really. Suicide watch, I think. Therapy session and probably medication, maybe.” 

He nodded and wiped away more tears from your face with his sleeve. “Sometimes, people need a little extra help in healing their hurts and there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Life can be difficult and I think we both know that.” 

It took a few seconds before you sucked in a deep breath. “I feel horrible. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s my fault. If I would have known, I would have…” You trailed off, trying to stop the thoughts. “I can’t believe they almost died.” 

Hyunjin shifted, leaning back and sprawling out his legs. Your body moved with him. Your own legs stretched on top of his and your head leaned back against his chest. His arms wrapped around your torso and your hands grabbed his. 

“I think when we’re in low spots, sometimes we say things that are cries for help, but we’re not always honest about how we really feel. It can be difficult asking for help. I don’t think your friend wants you to blame yourself. In fact, I bet that’s probably the last thing they want.” 

The point of his chin laid on your head. You sat tucked beneath him, breathing softly. Some of the stress and dysfunction fell away from your body. Just being close to someone you loved made you feel a lot better. 

“I still feel awful.” 

“I know, sweetheart. I know you do, but I also want you to know that I don’t think you played a role in this. Mental health can be hard and it takes a lot for your mindset to shift to suicide. Let’s try to focus on something else for right now, yeah?” 

You hummed softly. 

“Are they stable?” 

“Yeah. The nurses said they’d be okay. They caught things in time before their system… um-” 

“Good. You’re they’re emergency contact?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Which means if anything else happens, you’ll be contacted?” 

“I guess so.” Your eyes shut and you sighed. “I still worry. I’m sorry for putting all of this on you. I should have called you at the hospital, but I was freaking out and I couldn’t sit still and-” 

He chuckled and gently pulled your hair back. “You don’t have to apologize. If I was in your shoes, I’d be freaking out as well. I’m just trying to remind you that this probably feels horrible, but maybe your best friend can get the help they need.” 

“You think so?” You uttered. Your head shifted back, so you could look at him from his chest. 

“I believe it, yeah. Inpatient isn’t fun, but most staff members pick those careers because they want to help people feel better. I have to believe that your friend will find something there that helps, even if it’s just a little.” 

“Thank you.” 

He smiled and let go of your torso. His hands cupped your cheeks. Right as he was about to kiss your forehead, your stomach growled, causing you to blush. “Sorry, I haven’t had food since lunch.” 

“Are you up for eating something?” 

“Like?” 

“Well, I could make you something savory, but you were so worried about my sodium intake earlier. How about you even out my sodium intake with a bowl of your favorite sugary cereal? It’s out and waiting for you on the kitchen counter.” 

Your eyes narrowed. You sat up and spun around to face him. “That cereal is supposed to be on top of the fridge with the other cereal.” 

“Hmm? Is it?” He glanced away and refused to meet your eyes. “I must have left it out.” 

“Hwang Hyunjin, did you steal a bowl full of my cereal?” 

“Who wants to know?” 

You huffed and pushed yourself up. “That was mine!” You stumbled, nearly hitting the ground, and rushed into the kitchen. 

“Uh-oh,” he whispered. He swung to his feet and tip-toed closer to the door. You grabbed the box and gasped. His eyes widened and he turned the front door’s knob.

“YOU ATE HALF THE BOX OF MY FAVORITE CEREAL?” 

He screeched and threw open the door. Bursting through the screen door, he rushed outside while you yelled his full name. You grabbed the box and hurried after him, shaking it like a mad man. 

In the blanket of darkness, he shrieked. His feet flew over the strands of green grass. You followed his tall silhouette, dubbing him of treason and yelling that he was a traitor. It was probably for the best that the two of you lived out in the barren countryside. 

Despite life’s downfalls, sometimes you need a little someone to remind you of the happier moments and bring the joy back. You can’t control everyone around you, but you certainly can do things to make life a little easier for everyone. 

Along the way, you might find your own sugary-thief, one that speaks honey-glazed words and slips a soothing beeswax over the aching holes in your heart; if you’re unlucky, they might steal your favorite cereal, too.

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[whereispearlescentmoon]

Hermit-A-Day Day 9: Outfit Swap

A reminder that these are both individual bits of writing that can be read on their own and supplemental material for my fic Glitch .

This one is going to be a little different due to the nature of the prompt! It is, however, something I may make into a longer fic soon because I’m graduating and I’ll have a couple months of doing nothing.

@hermitadaymay

Investigative notes on repeated incidents of clothing theft around the server, taken by the Admin.

Season: 10

Victims: ZombieCleo, ImpulseSV, Skizzleman, JoeHills, CubFan135, Tangotek, Ethoslab, and Geminitay

Initial Incident Report: A number of Hermits around the server have reported articles of clothing have gone missing. The missing items are as follows-

ZombieCleo- One cropped blue t-shirt

ImpulseSV- Three black t-shirts with an i symbol

Skizzleman- One sleeveless white undershirt

JoeHills- One green cardigan

CubFan135- Two black t-shirts, plain

TangoTek- One white t-shirt and one red hoodie

Ethoslab- Two long-sleeve black t-shirts, both with Canada patches

Geminitay- Three green sweaters

Were this only one Hermit, I might think they were just being forgetful. But with this many reports over a couple of months, I can’t help but think someone is pulling a prank. Or clothing hoarding which is an issue we’ve had before. Doc has apparently heard about what is going on and has asked that I investigate because whoever it is may also be the “ore snatcher” whatever that means. Bdubs has offered to take the case to court when I find out who it is.

Update: I’ve compiled a list of Hermits who are possible suspects. The most likely thieves are Grian, Pearl, False, and Ren. Everyone else either lives too far away from most of the victims or is too particular about their clothes to be stealing any. I feel I can probably cross Grian and False off the list, though. All of what was stolen would have to be modified for them to wear it with their wings. Grian has also been lectured about clothing theft before. Multiple times. Maybe I should keep him on the list actually. Anyways, that leaves just Pearl and Ren. I might have to do a snoop around their bases. Or talk to them like a normal person but that’s less fun.

Case Resolution: Well, the suspect ended up showing herself without any further prodding. Namely, Pearl showed up to our last Hermit meeting clearly half asleep (we can only accommodate our nocturnal members so much and today was an unfortunate afternoon meeting) and wearing what is evidently her pajamas. Which is to say, she was wearing Impulse’s clearly branded shirt underneath Joe’s cardigan. Both were too short on her, though the t-shirt was baggy.

She wasn’t even trying to hide it, just arrived in other Hermit’s clothes. Impulse and Joe clearly did not know she had these items as they asked about them after the meeting and she said she thought they “wouldn’t mind them being gone”. The other Hermits with missing clothes then inquired about their own and, yeah, Pearl has them all. None of us noticed because she wears her Postal uniform normally but apparently all of her pajama tops are the missing items. She showed her “stash” to the group after the meeting.

While normally this case would be resolved by the returning of the items, multiple of the victims have deemed Pearl’s behavior “adorable” and have chosen to not prosecute her further.

Impulse told Pearl that she’s always welcome to his things, which apparently they spoke about last season. Skizz hugged her so hard I worried he might break a rib. JoeHills… well he didn’t really seem bothered in the first place, more curious. Cub said Pearl could always “pop across [their] bridge” if she needed more. Tango and Etho insisted to her that it’s part of her payment for being such a good postmaster. Gem said she could keep the sweaters “forever” so long as she promised to wear them to sleepovers. Even Cleo seemed only mildly annoyed and said Pearl could keep her shirt because “it’s not that big a deal anyways, I’m sure you look great it in”. I am utterly baffled.

There seems to be absolutely no discussion of retribution among the group, as this seems to have not been a prank but Pearl swiping articles of clothes when she was at their bases earlier in the season.

Note to self: Investigate whether Pearl might have some supernatural powers of suggestion? If any other Hermit did this I think they would be brought to court.

[axxxx13]

Theo is Liam's anchor, okay? It's basically canon, right? But can we talk about how absurd the reason is?

I mean what happens is literally this: Theo, after basing his entire life plan on triggering Liam's rage, comes back from hell, looks at Liam, looks at his IED, looks at the pack having trouble controlling him and is like "well maybe continuing to push violence on a kid who's been abused his whole life isn't the way to control his violence" and surprise, surprise, HE'S RIGHT.

Like, that's pretty much Liam's story.

1. We don't know much about his childhood but it's likely that he was abused by his biological father (seriously how often do we see Liam interact peacefully with a grown man? Maybe Coach and partly David but nothing more).

2. There are several things that suggest that Liam has always had social/relationship issues: it is clear that he had behavioral issues well before the diagnosis (the fight with Hayden) and that he was often excluded (his only friend is Mason) and maybe even bullied (his comfort zone is literally a team sport made to vent aggression in a healthy way and at the same time bond with other people).

3. Brett. Briam or not, whatever happened between them is as toxic as Chernobyl: can we talk about how tragic the zoo scene is? It is literally physical, psychological and emotional violence all together in the only space that Liam considered safe, which was lacrosse.

4. The management of his IED. This is probably a detail but I have always found the risperidone thing absurd because usually this kind of disorder is treated with a lot of psychotherapy (especially in young subjects) and drugs are a kind of safety/stabilization net. From the way it is told in the series instead it seems that Liam went to a psychiatrist who gave him a sheet with a diagnosis and a blister of pills and Liam spent weeks (the time of transfer from one school to another) like a zombie. They really literally inactivated him as if he were a bomb.

5. Liam's transformation was perhaps one of the most traumatic (of those we see). When he tells David that it was his fault that Scott broke his ankle? The scene on the roof? When they trick him into going to the "party" at the lake house? When he says that his parents will see him as a monster? When Mason tells him that he is ignoring him and Liam can't tell him why? It is so heartbreaking that I could cry.

6. After the transformation Liam doesn't have a second to rest or understand what he has become and how to deal with it: first he literally develops a form of PTSD because of the Berserkers with nightmares and hallucinations (AT 14 YEARS OLD) then he is put on a list where his death is worth 8 million dollars (the printer scene is horrifying) and finally he is thrown into a well by one of his teammates (another crack in his "safe place") with the knowledge that he has a wound that will kill him. ALL THIS WITHOUT HE BEING ABLE TO TALK ABOUT IT TO ANYONE BECAUSE MASON DIDN'T KNOW ANYTHING.

7. Theo (and yes, unfortunately we can't rule it out). Theo turns Liam into the monster he's afraid of being, literally, and if Liam doesn't kill Scott it's just for a series of completely random circumstances. And obviously the consequences of this are devastating both for the treatment he receives from others (justifiable of course) and for his own mind which obviously doesn't help him process what happened.

8. In all of this what everyone does to block his fits of rage is using further violence (which could be linked to having actually suffered physical abuse). Scott and Stiles push him into the shower multiple times (and we clearly see him hit his head), Derek picks him up by the neck in the locker room, Brett tackles him on the field, Theo knocks him out at the zoo (5 times), etc...

Liam has lived in a spiral of endless violence practically his entire life and Theo after TWO times of seeing him have one of his outbursts (the Brett shirt scene and the scene with Nolan at the zoo) understands that violence does not calm him down or help him but is only a temporary defuse that actually adds to the spiral. Theo watches Liam TWICE have a tantrum and then manages to calm him down only by talking to him about how to cover up a murder.

Theo literally knows nothing about the world except death and fear and violence and yet he goes to Liam and manages to give him an ALTERNATIVE. Theo goes to Liam and is like "just because violence is what you're used to doesn't mean it's your only option". Theo is the only one who somehow manages to find a flaw in Liam's system that pulls him out of that spiral of violence instead of pushing him into it. Theo who is literally the apotheosis of violence in all its forms is the only one who manages to treat Liam with kindness.

Theo is the only one who can always treat Liam as if he were someone fragile instead of something unstable.