#is like this sense of like. yearning. longing? maybe.

[onlyjjong]

엔하이픈 --- EMAILS I NEVER MEANT TO SEND (PART 1)

　　 박성훈　 x　 fem!reader　x 　심재윤 　　┊　　a very late and long birthday gift for jennifer!! :> 　　┊　　 wc 3.9k

GENERE　┊ 　!oneshot, !nonidol , !fluff , !hints of angst , !high school, !childhood best friends to lovers , !best friend's brother , !love triangle , !hockey player sunghoon , !basketball player jake , !academic weapon reader

DISCLAIMER 　┊ 　depictions may be inaccurate , contains swear words, y/n is lee heeseung's sister , sunghoon calls y/n 'princess' , y/n calls jake 'jaeyun' , mentions of ocs and random characters here and there.

⟡ 📩 𑁋 TAGGING : @a-dream-bookmark , @/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films

To: parksung.h0812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com

Dear Sunghoon,

I’m sorry. I’m sorry if this will clog up your inbox, but I heard from Jay that you don’t really use this email address anymore. So I’m going to send everything here. 

Sent 22:45 PM. 1st August. 

To: parksung.h0812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com

Dear Sunghoon, 

Today is our last first day of school. Ever. It’s insane, isn’t it? I’ve known you ever since we started school, which was 12 years ago. Absurd, is it not? 

I remember vividly how we met. Or, more correctly, how our friendship started. 

It was a cold December evening. I remembered walking home from the convenience store, carrying a plastic bag of ice creams and popsicles. I thought about how foolish I looked—a small and petite seven-year-old kid buying ice cream in the thick of winter—but how could I resist? My older brother, Heeseung, lost a bet against me and he said he’d buy me anything I wanted from the convenience store. 

And, of course, as a seven year-old, I chose to buy ice cream.

Anyway, as I was waddling home, I saw you. Sitting outside of what I didn’t know back then was your house. Your face was wet with tears, the tip of your ears red from the cold. I remember specifically the moment—I cheerfully said ‘hi’, pouted when you didn’t answer and simply stared deep into my eyes. I then handed you an ice cream—the one with lime jelly inside, my favourite one—to help brighten the grim look upon your face. 

And, of course, I remember so vividly, the smile that lit up your cute face. 

I didn’t even ask what went wrong. I don’t know why—maybe it was the instincts of a kindergartener. It’s as if the universe was telling me that the only thing you yearned for at that moment was something to simply rejoice your mood. 

For the first time, Sunghoon, I felt warm on a winter day. 

Sent 23:09 PM. 9th August. 

To: parksung.h0812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com

Hoon, 

I think Beomgyu likes me. This is weird. 

He’s the same age as Heeseung oppa. Isn’t that already weird? (I know my age difference with Heeseung is only two years)

I’ve practically grown up with Beomgyu—dinners on Thursday nights with him is now something my family does every week. I see him like family, Sunghoon. 

Like my own brother. 

He came to pick me up from school today, tagging along with Hee oppa. We rode home with his car, and I couldn’t help but feel that the constant eye contact in the car we made meant something. 

We hung out today, like we always do. I’m glad that I have a good relationship with Hee oppa, but I’m a bit sceptical of Beomgyu. He’s a little bit more… nicer in a sense. 

It may just be me overthinking things. 

Sent 20:54 PM. 13th August. 

To: parksung.h0812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com

Dear Sunghoon, 

Thank you for the chocolate moist cake, by the way! It’s really good—I love your mom’s cooking. 

Okay, before you scold me—yes, I’m going to go and get ready! You’re coming at 16:30, so technically I still have around 30 minutes to pick out an outfit—and it’s not like we’re going on a date. We’re going to a cafe to study. 

Why am I even thinking of going on a date with you?

Sent 16:07 PM. 14th August.

To: parksung.h0812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com

Dear Sunghoon, 

Why are you so good-looking? 

Oh and I want to thank Jaeyun for playing basketball in class and accidentally throwing the ball at my face—now I get to see you up close. 

Since when are you so… handsome, Hoon?

Thanks for saving me. I would’ve hit the floor and cracked my skull if it wasn’t for you. 

Sent 17:01 PM. 19th August.

To: parksung.h0812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com

Park Sunghoon!

I have a brilliant idea for Halloween!

Yes, I know it’s still very early and we have to focus on upcoming midterms (it’s in like five weeks or something, Hoon) but… I’ve just finished re-watching Kiki’s Delivery Service and we have to absolutely dress up as Kiki and her cat for Halloween. 

Who’s who, you’re asking?

I’m Kiki, of course, and you’re the cat. Because you look like one, and it’s cute. 

You’re… cute. (Why am I acting like I do not have a crush on you, that is growing bigger and bigger each day?)

Now I just have to find some kind of way to gather up courage and tell you. Actually, I have a question for myself. Am I insane? Why am I scared to suggest something so platonic to my childhood best friend?

Sent 12:00 PM, 31st August.

To: parksung.h0812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com

Dear Sunghoon,

I’m sure you know this by now, but hoco’s in a week. Do you have anyone to go with? 

Gosh, I feel so pathetic. I’m sitting in my room, like a complete idiot, typing away emails that convey my feelings. Emails, Hoon, that the person I like will most likely never read. 

I mean, I could’ve written letters… or confessed in person… or text you about this. But, yeah, despite holding the title of one of Decelis Academy’s best students for two years straight (I must get valedictorian this year), I’m sending emails to an unused email instead of confessing directly to the person I like.

Funny, ‘cause the person I’m referring to—the person I like, it’s you.

There’s a 99% chance you’ll never read these, since the email address I’m sending this to is your old one, the one you used in middle school—with a silly username that made people think your name is ‘Park Sungho’ instead of ‘Park Sunghoon’. 

Again, do you have anyone to go with?

I’m asking, ‘cause if you don’t, I’m here. I’ll go with you.

Actually, scrap that.

I want to go with you.

Sent 9:00 AM, 1st September. 

To: parksung.h0812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com

Sunghoon, Mom just asked if I got a date for homecoming. What should I say? I mean, it’s not like I don’t have any potential candidates—Jaeyun’s been hinting to go with me for a while. Poor him, honestly. I keep on ignoring him…

Also, Naeun told me that Huening Kai from 12-2 is planning to ask me if I want to go to homecoming with him tomorrow. 

Well, if you’re asking me, I could go with Jaeyun or Kai. It doesn’t really matter—Jaeyun’s really nice, he treats me well. He plays basketball too, and I’m sure he’ll show up with flowers or something (that’s what Danielle, his twin sister, said). Kai seems okay, too, I’ve heard rumours about him being ridiculously handsome if he wants to. I’m not entirely sure what that means.

But, deep inside my heart, I know just perfectly who I want to go with. 

You. 

Just… you.

Sent 13:43 PM, 1st September. 

To: parksung.h0812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com

Hoon!

30 minutes ago, I saw Heeseung come home with purple flowers and a bunch of chocolate. Something clicked inside my head as I knew something was up—something related to my friend, Jennie Danielle Sim, as her favourite colour is purple and she LOVES chocolate.

Okay, anyway, I rushed downstairs to ask him what that was all about. 

And guess what? Heeseung’s planning to ask her to homecoming! 

I’m kicking my feet in the air as I’m writing this. 

Though, you know, I wish I had someone like my brother. I mean, someone who’s going to love me like I’m the only woman in his mind. Like I’m the only one that matters, and that he loves me with his entire existence. 

Don’t ask me why I wish for that someone to be you. 

It’s weird. It’s bad. I’m not supposed to like my own best friend. 

Sent 17:55 PM, 1st September. 

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“Y/N!” 

You turn around, curious to see Jake running towards you from the school gate. You wait for him patiently—and unsurprisingly, he barely took a few seconds to catch up to you. 

“Hey,” he greets you tenderly, slightly out of breath. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you smile. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” the brunette replies, offering you the goofiest smile you’ve ever seen. “Just wanted to walk with you. Where’s Sunghoon?”

“He’s probably on his way, still,” you answer, glancing at the time on your smartphone. 

7:15 AM.

“Sunghoon should arrive soon. He usually comes to school exactly at twenty past seven,” you continue. “I honestly have no idea why. He wants to come to school earlier than half past seven, but not earlier than quarter past seven.”

Jake chuckles at your little rant about Sunghoon. “He’s one attentive person, I guess.”

“Surely,” you nod, mentally slapping yourself for smiling about such a small talk about Sunghoon. 

“Come on, let’s walk to class,” Jake says, “we’ll wait for Sunghoon there—do you want any drinks? You know, like coffee or tea. Banana milk, maybe?” 

You begin walking with Jake, footsteps in sync, to your homeroom. “Drinks? This early in the morning?”

“You look like you haven’t eaten anything for breakfast,” Jake replies. He grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the cafeteria—straying away from the path to your homeroom. His eyes quickly scan for any snacks or lightweight meals he could buy for you. 

“Jae,” you say, purposely using a nickname you never use (and probably will never do again) to grab his attention. “You don’t have to buy me anything, you know.”

Jake, who’s deep in engagement with the cashier, perks up at the nickname. He turns around and gives you a grin, “yeah, I know I don’t have to. I just want to.”

“Here,” he hands you a kimbap and a box of mango yoghurt drink, the silly grin still on his face. That grin you always see Jake offer you. “Eat up.”

“Thanks,” you reply with a smile, marvelling at how delicious the kimbap in your hand looks. 

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7:35 AM.

“Hoon!” you exclaim, jumping out of your seat so abruptly it startles Jake—who’s reading a comic book next to you. You race towards your best friend at the door. Sunghoon, despite his usual nonchalant demeanour, gives you a small and brief smile.

“Hi,” he utters in his customary tone—deep and quiet. “You’re early.”

“Not really,” you reply with a bubbly smile. 

“Have you eaten breakfast?” you ask as the two of you walk to your desks. “You’re 5 minutes late, by the way.”

Sunghoon lets out a chuckle, “I forgot you assume that I can teleport from the school gates right to the front of the class.”

Your cheeks flush warm, “no! I’m just saying… you usually come at half past seven. Like, exactly. Did something happen?”

Sunghoon pulls his chair out of his desk and sits down. Smirking, he comments, “Y/N, are you my girlfriend or something? You sound like it.”

His words make both you and Jake choke on thin air. 

I wish, you think to yourself.

“Hoon!” you stammer, “what the hell?”

“Sorry,” he says in between gasps of silent, ‘Sunghoon’-type laughter. “Couldn’t defeat my intrusive thoughts.”

“So,” you begin, changing the topic of the conversation so flawlessly. It’s always been that way—nothing is ever really complicated with Sunghoon. You could talk about ten different topics in under five minutes; and he’d listen to it all. “Have you thought about who you’re bringing to homecoming?”

Homecoming. A topic that makes your stomach turn upside down—knowing that, given the current situation, you’d be going with Jake instead of Sunghoon. 

And as expected, the two boys seated around you look up. 

“Nope,” Sunghoon’s reply is simple. 

“You? The golden hockey player of Decelis, haven’t thought about who to bring to homecoming?” Jake exclaims, with a touch of drama. 

Sunghoon chuckles. “It’s just homecoming. I could bring anyone.”

That ‘anyone’ broke your heart just a little bit. If he could bring anyone, that possibly meant he wouldn’t bring you—there are many other girls, much prettier and livelier than you, that he could bring. 

“You, Y/N?” Jake asks, “who are you going with?”

“I don’t know,” you reply after some time. 

You watch as Sunghoon opens his mouth to speak, yet is fiercely cut off by Jake’s relaxed comment. 

“You know, you could always go with me,” he says with a careless smile, leaning back into his chair. 

Sunghoon stiffens while you awkwardly smile. This was the first time Jake had directly brought it up—his requests and subtle hints of going to homecoming with you had always been through Danielle. “Actually, I’m probably not going to homecoming.”

“Why?” Jake asks. 

“Um…”

To be frank, despite being active in clubs, and being seemingly social, you dislike big social events. Especially the likes of homecoming or prom. There’s something about large crowds that makes you feel slightly out of place, and the fact that you’re surrounded by couples… just makes you a little sappy.

“Y/N doesn’t really like those kinds of events,” replies Sunghoon, his gaze directed to Jake a little too sharp than you’d like. 

“Hoon,” you lament, nudging him with your elbow. 

“If you’re asking her out,” Sunghoon continues, his nonchalant expression morphing onto his face, “you should know.”

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“OI! PRINCESS!” SUNGHOON CALLS FROM BEHIND YOU, OBLIVIOUS OF YOUR WIDENED EYES AND ACCELERATING HEARTBEAT DUE TO THE NICKNAME.

You turn around and stop in your tracks, letting him catch up. “Yeah?”

He adjusts the placement of his varsity jacket—his pride, earned by qualifying into the school’s varsity hockey team—before he speaks. “Are you really not going to homecoming?”

You purse your lips before nodding.

To me, there’s really no use of going to homecoming without you, Hoon, you think to yourself. 

“Yeah, no. I’m not. Why?”

Sunghoon shoves his hands into his pockets. “N-nothing, I was just curious.”

Embarrassed, you quickly nod. “Okay.”

“Yeah,” he gives you a smile, ruffling your hair. “Get back home safely. Text me when you’ve arrived home.”

“But you’ll be at practice–”

“It’s okay,” Sunghoon cuts you off, flashing you a soft, reassuring smile. One that makes your heart lap a million miles per hour. “I’ll read it anyway. They can’t get rid of me—I’m Decelis’ best bet at winning this season.”  

To: parksung.h0812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com

Hoon…

What was that? That was weird. Really weird. I don’t like it. 

Why did you ask me if I was really not going to hoco? Are you going to ask someone out, and not want them to think we’re friends? 

I… you know, what? I’m not going to think about it anymore. I don’t care. 

Just… ask out anyone you want to. Even if it’s not me. 

Even if it’s me. This possibility doesn’t quite make sense, as I don’t think you do see me the way I… see you. My saviour, the person who knows me best, the person I’ve developed feelings for. 

You know what, Hoon?

I’ll go with Jaeyun, if there are no signs of you asking me to go with you. By Wednesday.

Sent 18:01 PM. 2nd September.

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“HONESTLY, Y/N, I ADMIRE YOU,” DANIELLE SAYS SUDDENLY, CAUSING YOU TO ALMOST SPIT OUT YOUR LUNCH.

You’re sitting at the usual spot you usually do with your girlfriends—Danielle and Naeun—people-watching as each of you devour your lunches. Danielle sits in front of you while Naeun sits on your left side. Danielle, as usual, has her lunch of various goodies from the convenience store; and Naeun, like you, stick to what the school cafeteria serves.

“What? Why?”

“I admire the way you don’t even care if you have a hoco date,” she continues. 

“Oh, God,” you exhale shakily. “Dani, you scared me! And yes, I don’t care. If I don’t have a date, then I don’t have to go.”

Lie. 

Kind of.

Actually, a very small part of you wanted to go to homecoming—just for the experience. But again, you’re reminded by the fact that you do not have a date, or at least, the person that you want to go to isn’t your date. 

“Why do you not want to go?” Naeun, from your left, asks. She gulps down the last bit of her strawberry milkshake before continuing. “I mean, I know you’re the top student, and you don’t party ‘cause all you do is shove your nose into a book and study. But, Y/N, it’s your last homecoming.”

You dramatically groan, “you girls know why I hate hoco. Looking at all the couples around me makes me wanna barf.”

Naeun and Danielle burst into laughter, clutching their stomachs. Amused, you grin along.

“I can’t relate anymore,” Danielle giggles. “I’ve got–”

Naeun hits Danielle’s head lightly with her fork. “Okay, girl, we get it,” she turns to you, flipping hair off her shoulders. “Y/N, honestly, how does it feel when your best friend’s dating your brother?”

“We’re not dating!” Danielle shrieks. Naeun rolls her eyes.

You laugh, “honestly, it is kind of weird hearing someone talk so… fondly, I might say, of Hee oppa. Frankly, Dani, Hee oppa is not who you think he is.”

“He’s amazing,” gushes Danielle. One look at her face, and an exchanged glance between you and Naeun, was enough to tell that Danielle’s completely smitten. 

“For now,” Naeun quickly adds. “Though, if he starts treating you like trash, or making you shed a sad tear, I won’t hesitate to burn his house down.”

“Hey!” you exclaim, despite agreeing with Naeun. Your brother or not, you’d destroy his life if he made your best friend sad. “Where am I going to live if you burn our house down?”

“Sucks to be Heeseung’s sister, huh?” Naeun jests. 

“You can live with me,” Danielle adds on to the joke, “Jaeyun’s going to be delighted to have you live with us.”

“Mhm, that reminds me, are you finally going to go to hoco with Jake?” Naeun asks. 

“Yeah, are you?” Danielle urges. “I swear, it is so annoying hearing him talk about you. It’s weird—aren’t you guys friends?”

You shove another dumpling into your mouth. “Yeah, we are… hmm, it is weird, now that you say it.”

“Reject him if you don’t want to,” Naeun suggests. “Pity him. He’s been on your tail for like weeks now, trying to get you as his homecoming date.”

“He’s liked you for quite some time,” Danielle says softly. “Well, trust me, it’s weird—but I do want you to decide quickly. If you don’t want to go with him, just say so.”

“I’m not sure what to do,” you say. “I… don’t want to risk losing a friend by rejecting him.”

Honestly, that’s how you feel with Sunghoon, too. Your friendship, strong and unbreakable for more than a decade, was the sole reason you’re afraid to confess your true feelings to him. 

On the other hand, however, you feel extremely weirded out by Jake. You started befriending him in early sophomore year, when he was first assigned as your deskmate. You remember him being as bubbly and friendly as he is now, and you’re sure that the two of you became friends because of that.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Danielle pats your shoulder. “I know him best to assure you that he’s not the type to break off a friendship just because his feelings aren’t reciprocated.”

Now, you feel a little less bad to tell Jaeyun (or Jake, to most people) that you’re going to go as his date only if Sunghoon’s not asking you too.

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“SO, HOW WAS PRACTICE?” YOU ASK SUNGHOON, SLIGHTLY SMILING AT HOW THE THUNK OF YOUR FOOTSTEPS COINCIDE.

Sunghoon tilts his head for a moment, trying to form his words. He then looks at you before replying, “yeah, it was okay. Nothing really interesting.”

“What about that newbie—what’s his name again?” you ask, recalling about Sunghoon telling you that they were having a few new players.

“Riki? The freshie?”

“Yeah!” you nod, “that one!”

“He’s okay,” replies Sunghoon, “he’s good, actually, for a freshman. I heard he played in middle school, so I guess that’s where the skills come from.”

You nod again, and comfortable silence engulfs the two of you. The crunch of autumn leaves beneath your steps and the gentle breeze creates a fulfilling ambiance. 

“What about you?” he asks, after a few moments of silence—of you basking in his presence, enjoying the present of walking home with him. “I can’t imagine how hard it is to balance being our batch’s top scorer and orchestra at the same time.”

You chuckle. It had been hard on a few occasions; for example, if you had an orchestra concert to practise for, and around the same had tests to study for. But, generally, it’s quite simple. “Violin’s just a hobby of mine. I’m glad I have an orchestra club as a way to practise it.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “Don’t ever come to me and complain about it, then, if it’s ‘just a hobby’.”

You laugh, stealing a glance at Sunghoon. And, as always, it hits you. You dislike, probably just a little bit, how carefree and easy you become when you’re with Sunghoon; how he makes everything feel so simple; how he makes life less tiring, and how he makes you feel that you’re worth befriending. 

He’s handsome—his fair complexion looks soft and well taken care of, his nose bridge is sharp, his smile stunning yet delicate. 

“We’re here,” Sunghoon says, pushing you out of your train of thought. You stand, with him,  in front of your house. The smell of kimchi soup begins to attack your sensory buds. “Oh, that smells good…”

“I think mom’s making dinner already,” you point out. “Do you wanna stay over? I can go and ask.”

Sunghoon shakes his head, smiling lightly. “No, it’s okay. As much as I want to devour every last drop of your mom’s cooking, I have to get home. My mom’s bringing us to visit grandma, so I shouldn’t miss it.”

You mirror his smile. “Okay. Get home safely.”

Sunghoon nods, and after a few steps away, he turns around and waves. He smiles—the usual, soft and gentle grin he always offers you, yet… something just feels different. He lingers around longer than you expect him to, before finally turning on his heel and walking home. 

You watch him walk away, and it’s like a scene in melodramatic dramas: he strolls leisurely home, your eyes follow him from behind as golden brown leaves sway down from the trees. 

To: parksung.h0812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com

Dear Park Sunghoon,

It’s Wednesday now. Um, yeah, I know I shouldn’t be sleeping this late, but I just finished watching 20th Century Girl, and I took, like, 15 minutes to calm myself down from all the tears, hehe. 

Are you… going to ask me to go to homecoming with you? 

It’s getting more and more hopeless as every minute passes by. In 7 hours, I’m going to go to class and say yes to Jaeyun, you know? 

I hate it. I hate how I’m hoping you would stop me from saying yes to Jaeyun. I hate how I’m desperately wishing you’re preparing something to ask me to homecoming. 

You know, what? Forget it. I’m going with Jaeyun.

Sent 00:10 AM, 4th September. 

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[emilys-bangs]

the end of beginning | e.p

Tags: bau!reader, fluff, no use of yn, s2 baby emily, a whole lotta yearning

Summary: In which Emily is new to the team and finds a friend in you. Requested here.

Word count: 1.2k

Emily has always felt out of place. 

In high school, in her mother’s lavish gatherings, in the sprawling estate that she’d eventually learned to call home. It’s never something she can help, though with gritted teeth she developed the art of blending in with fake smiles and perfectly crafted words. It’s a habit that stuck with her, one she’s never quite learned how to shake off even after all these years.

So it makes sense that she doesn’t fit in at her new job.

It works just fine with her. Emily has had a lifetime to get used to it; isolation had become her friend, the liquid movement of her following shadow more than often her only, constant, companion. Despite that, she had a small, lingering hope. That maybe coming back to DC would mean making herself a home, finding—if not friends—companions that she could be casual with, invite out for a round of drinks when the thick silence of her apartment was too much.

Hope was quickly snuffed out. Her boss only thinly veils his distrust, and the youngest—Reid—stares at her with accusing eyes. The rest of her coworkers are lukewarm, not quite yet interested in getting to know her; their gazes are more often than not tinged with condescension, as if they’re not sure she’s earned her place. It seems like everyone���s waiting for her to slip up, for Hotch to chew her out and pluck her from the neatly rounded group they’ve found themselves being, a well oiled machine that works perfectly in order without her.

Everyone, apparently, except you.

You and Garcia, that is, but the tech analyst’s influence is a lot less reassuring given that it’s behind phone calls and computer screens most of the time. But with you there with her—in the field, at your joint desks in the bullpen—things are more bearable. 

“Hey.” 

You’re whispering slightly as you slip into the vacant seat in front of her, fingers wrapped around a steaming mug.

Emily looks up at you. The dimmed lights of the jet reflect in your eyes, painting you in softer edges as you sit down across from her without waiting for an invitation. There’s an easiness to your movements, one that she would say is out of place considering how long you’ve known her. Still, warmth spreads to her icy fingertips, and she can’t help the small smile that pulls at her lips.

“Hi,” she says back, matching your tone. Other than the hum of the jet itself—and the rumble of distant snores she’s too far away to be bothered by—a soothing silence has settled across the cabin, and her voice doesn’t carry much farther than your seat. The smile that you return is friendly, a sight that she’s been slowly getting accustomed to these past few weeks.

She’s a little surprised when you don’t offer anything more to say. You simply lean back in your seat and take a sip from your mug, her eyes tracing the bop of your throat as you swallow and look down at the sudoku in your hand. Emily’s finger is still slotted inside her book; she’d automatically marked the page and shut the cover closed when you appeared, some subconscious mechanism turning in her head so that you get her full attention.

The revelation that you might simply want her company comes too late. 

You’re looking back up at her, your eyes meeting hers as a slow warmth runs beneath her icy skin. Emily should look back down; she has nothing to say, other than the blunt but genuine question of why are you here, but you give a small shrug and she’s enraptured, tracing the sheepish line of your pressed lips.

“Gideon’s snores get a little loud.” You say.

Emily’s surprised to hear her own laugh. It seems you are, too. A small movement draws your brows upward, but the curve of your mouth is distinctly pleased, your eyes brightening beneath the dim lights of the jet. The sound doesn’t last long—it’s low, soft, joined by your own laugh for a few brief seconds—but its effect carries tension from Emily’s shoulders, makes her slip her finger out of her book with a genuine smile.

“That they do,” she murmurs back, already familiar with the loud rumbles that have made their way through thin motel walls, occasionally piercing her already irregular sleep. The sleeves of her cardigan are pulled over her knuckles; she tugs them higher, seeking to cover the ice in her fingertips. 

“Are you cold?”

Maybe she is. Maybe the sound of your voice spills warmth down her veins. Emily doesn’t like admitting things, but her smile gives her away. It borders on shy, barely wide enough for her dimples to curve in her cheeks; she wishes she had a mug of her own to hide behind, but she has an inkling that hiding from you would be pointless.

In the end she shrugs.

You set your mug and sudoku down. “I’ll be right back.” 

She’s left staring at your empty seat, brows furrowing slightly as goosebumps break out on her skin. The jet really is ridiculously cold. And yet when you come back less than a minute later holding out a fuzzy blanket for her to take, she shakes her head.

“Oh, I can’t—”

“Please,” you insist. “I remember I forgot to layer up the first few times on here and I was miserable. Makes you stiff,” your lips twist into a smile, and you’re looking at her so earnestly that she submits.

“It does,” Emily says, this time accepting the blanket. You beam at her and she goes warm, though it has nothing to do with the fuzzy, light gray wool now draping over her lap. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Emily places her book on the table before effectively burying herself in your blanket. It’s warm and soft; when she brings it up over her shoulders, a faint scent of perfume nuzzles against her nose. Yours. In seconds, her hands grow warm. She chances a glance at you, a thank you almost tipping from her lips again—just to continue the conversation, hear your voice, when you do it for her.

“What does that say?” You’re peering at the worn cover of her book. The edges are curled, the spine broken. The margins are full of her loopy scrawl and unsteady underlines, more than a few pages dog eared.

Emily bites back a smile at the curious draw of your brows. “Les Liaisons Dangereuses.” The French slips effortlessly from her lips, smooth and curling. “The Dangerous Liaisons. It’s a French classic, one of my favorites. I could tell you about it,” her hand peeks out from the edge of the blanket and she fidgets with her hair, tucks it behind her ear, “if you’d like.”

You lean your elbows on the table, sudoku very much ignored as you peer at her with something like astonishment. A grin pulls at your lips and she’s suddenly overheating.

“I very much would, Agent Prentiss.”

“Emily.” 

“Emily.” You agree, tilting your head in a nod. “Tell me about Les Liaisons Dangereuses.” You butcher the title beyond belief. The displeased wrinkle of your nose says you know it, and butterflies erupt along Emily’s lungs.

She laughs, the beginnings of a blush staining her cheeks.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @moonlight-simp 

[aritsukemo]

There goes my baaaabyyyy | Multiple Characters

Characters: Isagi Yoichi, Bachira Meguru, and Sae Itoshi

Summary: After seeing an abundance of tiktoks about the Usher trend, you decide to try it out on your unsuspecting boyfriend after a while of not seeing him

Warnings: This is the author's attempt at being funny so crack ahead. I apologize in advance.

A/N: Idk what came over me today, but I decided to waste my time writing this anyways after getting inspired by this amazing slideshow on tiktok talking about how each Haikyuu character would react to you doing the Usher trend. This is also my first time writing for Sae ( and I also know virtually nothing about him as I've only seen season 1 of Blue Lock ) so I'm sorry if he's ooc. I just realllyyy wanted to add him as I've been thirsting over edits of him ( and Reo ) for the past day or so.

A sigh of relief escapes through the chapped lips of the soon-to-be world cup competitor Isagi Yoichi. After hard fought battles during the preliminaries and all the stress and trials that come with it, it was finally the time for Isagi to return to his safe haven. He was hesitant for a time as he was still riding the adrenaline rush and wanted to stay back and train with some of the others, but since Bachira was returning to Japan to visit his mom and celebrate with her, it reminded him that he also had someone to return home to; you.

And so, after the longest thirteen hour flight of his life, he was now walking, suitcase in hand, alongside his best friend as the two of them exited the baggage claim and was nearing the lounge where you were allegedly waiting for him.

It had been so long since he's seen you, touched you—held you.. He finds himself wondering, how much has changed? Has your laugh changed at all? Have you switched up your sense of style? Maybe your hair? Do you still taste like the honeyed, buttered pancakes you used to make him every morning? Is your smile still so wide that it creases your cheeks and makes them pudge out more? Do your eyes still gaze at him as if he was made out of gold like they used to?

As he dwells on his thoughts, the yearning for you seeps in more and more like oil filling up a tank. It's heavy and it's only when he's just about to succumb to the weight of it all that he realizes just how much he's truly missed you.

And it seems that he wasn't alone in this feeling.

As he stepped into the lounge, he's met with his first and only warning. A warning that came in the familiar tune of the audio of a certain tiktok you had sent him a week prior before you came sliding his way on your knees. Your voice raised to match the exact pitch of the audio as you sung the infamous lyrics until you came to an abrupt halt when you collided with his stomach, nearly knocking him over with the force you hit him with.

And the only thing he could fathom to do was to stare like a deer in headlights and say, "Uh...what in the world?!"

Bachira couldn't possibly hope to contain his laughter any longer after that.

After seconds of Bachira's wheezing and airless chuckles, it was only when he was beginning to grip his stomach from the pain of his amusement that Isagi finally realized what just happened. And when he did, his entire face flushed a cherry red.

"What- Why are you doing this right now of all time?" He asked, semi-shouting as he grabbed the upper part of your arms—which were wrapped around his waist.

"I missed you, baby~!" You said in a sing-songy voice. And, as you looked up at him with your eyes shining with the familiar gleam he knew just as that same trophy-awarding smile stretched across your face, he found himself faltering for a moment. His shoulders slumping as he began mumbling shyly..

"I- I.. I missed you too.. But please, get up! People are starting to give us weird looks.."

Three months. That's how long it's been since you've last seen him.

Well, that's technically not true. If you wanted to be less dramatic, you could admit that you saw your boyfriend just last week on tv doing his signature dribbling moves and if you wanted to really be frank, you had seen his gorgeous face up close just the other day when he facetimed you and informed you that he'll be home that following afternoon. You could also make it sound much less extreme by simply confessing that you had regularly spoke to Bachira throughout these three months via text and that he'd facetime you at least one a week.

But you didn't want to count any of that.

I mean, sure you got to see him, but you didn't really get to see him. You weren't able to kiss his cheek whenever they perked up and flushed pink. You couldn't run your fingers through his layered hair and watch the satisfying transition of his brown strands turn yellow between your fingertips. You weren't able to hold his chin and watch in awe and fondness as he laughed toothily like a baby kitten..

You haven't seen him, not in all his glory which, to you, was like not seeing him at all. That said, three months of that torture was unbearable.

But all of that pain was forgotten in a matter of seconds at the odd sound of drums playing in the distance.

You didn't have any time to react to—or rather, process—what was happening or prepare yourself before Bachira got a running start towards you and soon dropped to his knees, sliding the rest of the way up to you with the biggest smile on his face—all while Usher's voice boomed behind him from his back pocket.

You had no choice but to accept fate and allow the love of your life to crash into you and completely knock you to the ground.

As the biting cold of the airport's tiles crept up your skin and all the air was just about knocked from your lungs from unexpectedly hitting the flat surface, Bachira stared down at you from above, cheeks dusted pink which made him look like an excited little kid.

"Hey, babe! It's been so long!" He chirped before coming down to press all his weight onto you as he caged your torso with his arms, his face immediately nearing yours to press a big, wet kiss to your cheek.

If it had been any other situation that he had done this in, you'd probably be annoyed from the embarrassment of having basically half the airport staring at the two of you like you were a bunch of buffoons or, at the very least, the fact that his team was laughing up a storm in the background...but having been as starved of him as you were, all you could do was laugh while relishing in the feeling of his warmth consuming every part of your body as he leaned down again to plant a feverish kiss to your lips.

Feet tapped against the small tile floors of the elevator, thumping against the marble in a rhythm that embodied the very dread of its owner.

After months of dreading this day, Sae had, once again, stepped foot in Japan; a notion he refused to even utter aloud from just how much he despised it.

For a man with such negative opinions about his homeland, his reasons for coming back were quite frivolous in comparison. Though if asked, he lie and say that his passport expired—which wasn't wrong—but deep down he knew the real reason for his return; his partner who he was too prideful to call the love of his life.

It had took some time, and for a while, Sae was forced to come back here every other year or so in secret to visit them per their request, but at last, they had decided that so much time waiting for his semi-yearly visits were too much for their poor heart and that they were ready to take the next step and leave with him to Spain.

Sae had pushed the thought to the very back of his mind, but he was more than glad—overjoyed, even—when you told him of your decision over the phone as he himself was starting to grow restless without you by his side at times.

He had already went through the process of renewing his passport so all that was left was to pick you up and drive to the airport—well, get driven to the airport—where he could finally leave this horrendous country, this time with you snuggled up by his side.

But he should've known that you wouldn't have let things be so simple.

As the doors to the elevator opened and allowed him to, at last, step foot into your lavish home, the symphony of his demise began to rang throughout it and bounce of the walls. Sae paused, face contorting into one of visible perplexment before his eyes widened at the sight of you sliding on your knees towards him, mouth opened as you sang to the beat of the music blasting throughout your home.

Your performance was short, glorious, and came to an end when your face was buried into the smooth fabric of your boyfriend's clothing and you smoothly wrapped your arms around your boyfriend's waist.

And it was only a full minute after such an amazing performance that it finally dawned on him what you were doing. And to that, he simply sighs disappointedly.

"I've changed my mind. You're not going anywhere with me," He said, and despite the blunt tone he douses his words in, it does little to your dazzling smile as you knew full well his words held little weight to them. You find yourself playing into your own bullshit anyways, though, as you begun to whine out in a high pitch you just knew he couldn't stand.

"Aww, but why? All I did was greet my pookie--" "Finish that sentence and I will actually leave you in Japan for another ten years."

You promptly shut your mouth after that, much to Sae's relief.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[babesway22]

Art the clown x femreader.

“Silence” chapter one

Several part slow burn with eventual copious amounts of smut. Mentions of sexual assault and gore in this chapter.

Will be posted shortly on a03 under same username 🫶

The wind nipped at your knees, its icy breath making you shiver as you instinctively tugged at the fabric of your Halloween costume, only to find it stubbornly uncooperative. The chill in the air felt like a mockery of your choice, a playful reminder that perhaps dressing as a slutty cat might not have been the best idea for October.

“Aren't you the most seductive cat I've ever seen,” she cooed, walking backward as she mocked you. “Oh my god, I can't wait to meet the man that steals your morbid dark heart,” she laughed breathlessly, arms jutting out above her head as she spun back around, making dramatic flair to sway her hips back and forth. “You need to get laid tonight, seriously,” she called over her shoulder. She was right, but you couldn’t shake the growing frustration of navigating the dating scene. In Miles County, it seemed like every man you encountered was nothing more than a superficial himbo, charming yet vacuous, leaving you yearning for a deeper connection. The few who seemed promising were often more interested in games than genuine relationships, making it feel nearly impossible to find someone who truly understood you.

“Right, but I don't want to fuck random guys like you do, Jen,” you murmured, remembering in high school when she would bring a new boy home every week.

“Maybe you'll meet your Romeo tonight, and fuck you; I'm a dick connoisseur, not a whore,” A light-hearted giggle escaped her lips, bubbling up with a sound that danced through the air.

As she pushed open the heavy metal door, an overwhelming rush of pungent odors assaulted her senses. The sharp, unmistakable scent of marijuana mingled with the acrid tang of spilled alcohol, creating a thick atmosphere that hung in the air. Inside, the room pulsed with the vibrant energy of dozens of voices, laughter and conversation intertwining in a chaotic symphony of sound. Dark indie grunge music thumped from hidden speakers, its deep bass resonating through the space and merging seamlessly with the animated chatter. Jen gestured to the bar, words useless in such a noisy room, and held her fingers up, making a Square, letting you know to grab your ID. At some point, someone had taken this worn-down warehouse and turned it into a bar, having to know someone who knew someone to get it. After showing the masked bartender, you ordered straight whiskey, earning a nod of appreciation. Jen noticed the subtle interaction, nudging your ribs, and leaned over, shouting over the music

“He's hot; you should fuck him.”

“He’s not really my type,” you shouted, your voice barely cutting through the pulsing beat of the music. She turned her head slightly, rolling her baby blue eyes in a dramatic fashion. While you didn’t despise overly muscular men, there was something about their chiseled physiques that struck you as off-putting. You'd noticed that many of them tended to carry an air of arrogance, their confidence spilling over into egotism, making it hard for you to feel attracted to them.

“"You’d probably find yourself drawn to a serial killer or something equally twisted, you freak,” she teased, laughter dancing in her eyes as she tugged you toward the crowded dance floor. The music thumped wildly around you, each beat pulsating with energy. Her gaze quickly shifted, locking onto her next target—a man clad in a striking Ghostface costume, the mask gleaming under the neon lights.

“They probably fuck good,” You shrugged off the dark thought that had briefly crossed your mind, letting it dissipate as you took a long swig of the amber liquid in your glass. The high-quality liquor burned delightfully as it slid down your throat, leaving a warm trail in its wake. Your gaze flickered over to Jen, who was ensconced in the man's embrace. She smiled up at him playfully, her thick lashes framing her eyes like the delicate petals of a flower. You scoffed, honestly, it was impressive how fast she moved, like some otherworldly sex fiend. You were jealous of her ability to Flirt, something you were never good at.

You called out her name uselessly and pointed toward the bar regardless of whether she saw you and began weaving through the sweaty crowd, occasionally bumping into inebriated, faceless bodies. You inhaled deeply, allowing the cool air of the dimly lit bar to fill your lungs. Leaning forward, you rested your elbows on the slick, damp wooden surface, feeling the chill of the bar top against your skin. You signaled to the bartender and ordered three more shots of house whiskey, the amber liquid gleaming enticingly in the low light. You figured if you weren't getting fucked tonight, you could at least get shit-faced. You downed the first two, watching a couple of people start fistfights before you began to feel the effects, becoming more carefree as you nursed your third. As the warm glow of the whiskey coursed through your veins, it enveloped your body like a comforting blanket, dulling the edges of reality. The room around you now felt stifling, the air thick with the mingled scents of smoke and spilled drinks. You needed to escape, to find a breath of coolness to soothe the rising heat.

With a sense of urgency propelling you forward, you weaved back through the crowd, brushing past oblivious patrons lost in their own revelries. Finally, you reached the back of the room and flung open the nearest door, hardly registering its appearance or what lay beyond.

The moment you stumbled outside, a rush of crisp, cold air washed over you, a stark contrast to the sweltering atmosphere indoors. It kissed your skin like a refreshing embrace, instantly easing the sweat that had begun to bead at your neck and exposed breasts. You stood there for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the sensation. You finished your third and looked up to the sky, the large air plume from your lungs materializing like a cloud, swirling hypnotically. Lost in a fog of thoughts, your mind drifted through a haze, blurring the sounds around you. Suddenly, the deep blare of a horn shattered the stillness, piercing through your reverie. The jarring noise felt like a cruel wake-up call, catching you off guard and eliciting a startled scream that echoed in the air.

“Fuck” You gasped sharply, feeling the adrenaline surge through your body as you stumbled backward, the cool, unforgiving wall pressing against your back. Your heart raced as you turned your gaze to the source.

Standing before you was a tall man, cloaked in a striking black and white clown costume that hung off his lean frame. The silk fabric shimmered slightly under the dim light, contrasting sharply against the shadows that danced around him. His face, disturbingly painted in a ghostly white, was adorned with intricate black accents that framed his large, expressive eyes, giving him an unsettling yet captivating appearance. Atop his head rested a small, perfectly arranged hat that added a touch of bizarre elegance to his ensemble, making him look both regal and menacing.

“You scared me,” you laughed breathlessly, taking in the fake blood that saturated his fingerless gloves and the top portion of his costume. He tilted his head to the side and grinned, showcasing black teeth, seemingly stained with old blood.

“Nice costume, I like the,” you circled him with your finger. “Blood,” you finished with a hiccup, cursing yourself for being a lightweight. He pointed to you and then held up his hands behind his head, making ears. Then he bent at the waist, clutching his stomach, his body shaking in strange silent laughter.

“Oh, yeah, I'm a cat,” you trailed off when he stood back up, towering over you by at least a full head or more. You suddenly felt uneasy under his unwavering stare. His black grin was plastered in place, and his eyes had an unsettling glimmer that your foggy mind couldn't place.

“Are you a…mime?” you asked, the silence uncomfortable. He shook his head, no, a frown marring his sharp features, and pointed to his unusually growing smile. “A clown then? Are you mute or something?”

he nodded excitedly.

“That's pretty cool, actually; I mean, I don't know why you're mute; maybe there's a reason, like trauma…or,” you shut your mouth and looked up to the sky again, sighing loudly. Why would you say that? The drinks were clearly sinking into your nearly empty stomach. “Do you want to come inside with me? Get a drink?” you couldn't believe the words as they left your mouth; he was creepy and didn't seem to reciprocate your flirting if you could even call it that. He bent over again in silent laughter, wiping an unseen tear from under his eye. Even scary men didn't want you, great. He saw your face contort and mocked your micro expression, pouting his lips and crossing his arms dramatically.

“Right,” you smiled weakly, “well, it was nice to meet you,” you said, breaking him out of his mock impression of you. He reached down and picked up a large black

Trash bag and threw it over his shoulder, making it seem weightless despite its bulging appearance. You hadn't even noticed it before and became curious about its contents but decided not to ask after embarrassing yourself enough for one night. He held his hand and waved his fingers under his chin, making you giggle. You threw up your hand in a wave and turned around, opening the door, the sound of chaos filling your ears again.

“Where the fuck have you been,” Jen shouted over the music, barging right into you, making you sway on unsteady feet.

“Jesus, Jen. I got some fresh air,” you said defensively.

“Well, tell me next time, I got worried. My

Pal here,” she gestured behind her to the man in the ghost face costume, “has a friend who wants to meet you,” she gave you a look as if to say, ‘I'm helping you get laid’. You cast a fleeting glance at the man standing behind her, offering a feeble smile that lacked any true warmth or sincerity. Then, you turned your attention back to her.

“Whatever. I'll need at least two more drinks,” you finished, irritation clear on your face, but Jen was oblivious, squealing loudly. She linked her arms with yours, pulling you along like a lost puppy.

“So, he's charming, and I think your type. I don't know, though; your taste in men is questionable,” her lips pulled up in disgust.

At the bar, she ordered you two more drinks, this time fruity, overly sweet ones with little colorful umbrellas in them.

“Cute,” you rolled your eyes, plucking one from the drink and tossing it onto the ground.

“So, this is Maverick, Maverick, this is my super hot friend,” you heard her say. Turning slowly to face them, you eyed him from the floor up. He possessed a certain rugged charm that could easily be considered attractive, with strong features and a confident posture. However, the moment he flashed his self-satisfied grin, an air of smugness enveloped him, casting a shadow over his appearance.

“A cat, huh? Cool,” he smirked, sipping his drink. You glared at Jen before looking back at him. “Wanna walk around and chat?” he asked. He seemed nice enough, and you can't remember the last time you didn't have a hollow orgasm, your fingers only doing so much.

“You know what, sure,” you smiled tightly and began walking away with him before Jen grabbed your wrist, “Hey, me and ghostly are gonna head to my place. Will you be okay for the rest of the night with maverick? Just make sure to call an uber. Don't. Drive.” her mothering tone back in place. You had a flare of anger for her ditching you, but it was nothing new. It created a rift in your friendship, nonetheless. “I'm fine,” your voice took on a harsher tone as you ripped your wrist out of her hand. You heard her mumbled something to her boy toy of the week about you being an insufferable bitch, making you wish you never met her, the state of drunkenness in you both drawing real feelings to the surface. You turned back to Maverick, letting him lead you.

“A little quieter back here,” he hummed, downing the rest of his drink. You smiled as way of answering and looked around, taking in your surroundings. You were in an unfinished area of the building, the music faint but still seeping through to where you were. You awkwardly sipped your drink while holding the other, the condensation threatening to take it from your hand. You were too drunk.

“So,” he stepped toward you, your feet clumsily shifting back, stirring up dust. “You look real slutty. I love Halloween.” he chuckled, proud of himself. You couldn't believe what he said at first. It was all too much, and you regretted following him immediately. He stepped forward again, your back bumping into a cool steel beam.

“What are you doing?” you questioned some ire in your tone.

“I mean, you're asking for it wearing that, right?” he scoffed, taking a drink from your hand and sipping it.

“Hey asshole-” you protested before being cut off as a sharp slap across your cheek stung your face, stunning you into silence.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, slapping you again, this time much harder. Making your face feel like pins and needles.

“Fuck you,” you yelled, voice taught with pain but cut off; again, as he put his hand over your mouth, you struggled against him, but he was too strong, and you were too intoxicated. He began pulling your costume up, exposing your thighs, stomach, and ass.

“Fuck yes,” he growled, tearing your underwear off with one hand and discarding it to the ground, his other hand moving to your throat, gripping firmly.

“Girls are so easy,” he said darkly, and it hit you that this wasn't the first time he's done this. He dipped his fingers in between your legs , only to be met with resistance and no lubrication, which seemed to anger him, another firm slap across your face, so hard it would bruise. Fat tears fell from your eyes dripping onto his hand as you shook your head no. You watched in fear as he pulled out his erection, stroking himself a few times before he let a despicable glob of saliva fall from his mouth onto his waiting erection. You struggled under him, but were held in place, your muffled screams reaching no one. He removed the hand around your neck and wet his fingertips, inserting them Into you, making you scream at the intrusion, your legs kicking out to land a blow, but it was useless.

“Fuck, yes,” he barked, flipping you around, your face slamming into the beam, nearly knocking you unconscious, a cruel, sinister thought crossing your mind that it would be better than being awake for the rape if you were just dead. He hiked up your dress again, pulling your waist so that your ass was presented to him, the head of his dick probing your entrance as another wracked sob left you, this time unhindered, as his hands were busy on your hips. You took it as an opportunity to yell for help and attempt to pull yourself free, hoarse screams leaving you.

“HELP…. Please, someone, HELP,” you begged to anyone who would hear.

Warm liquid spilled onto your back, making you flinch. You cried out, hoping he had finished already, meaning the worst would be over until you felt the warm fluid again and again. You turned your head, a guttural scream leaving you as you saw an old, rusted axe brought down onto his head repeatedly, the exposed bone of his skull and brain matter making you spill the contents of your stomach on the ground. You tripped over your feet and fell to the floor onto your knees, crawling on the dirty, unforgiving concrete. You turned in time and watched in horror as his body fell with a thud, splattering blood all over your face. Behind him, the monochromatic clown from earlier stood, chest rising and falling rapidly, a chaotic gleam to his black eyes, and wearing more blood than he was earlier. He looked at you then, sending adrenaline to your limbs, but you were frozen in place. He tilted his head, then smiled, his bloodied hand that was holding the axe raising in a seemingly harmless wave.

“Hi,” you said, your voice no more than a whisper. He seemed pleased you acknowledged him and turned back to the body. He pointed at the man's exposed genitals and raised his bloody pointer finger and thumb together, leaving little to no space between them, as if to say, ‘look how tiny’, throwing his head back in silent laughter, bloodied hand clutching his stomach.

“Please. Please don't kill me,” you began to cry again. He seemed annoyed at the sound and grimly looked at you with his chin pointed to the floor. Not seeing a smile on his face was most unsettling, making him look like a demon straight from the depths of hell. You scooted across the floor further away from him, watching as he took dramatic over, exaggerated steps toward you, smile back in place.

“Nononono,” you whimpered, looking up at him, shaking your head vehemently at his outstretched bloody hand. He offered it again, more persistent this time. You took

It but mostly out of fear of what would

happen if you didn't and allowed him to pull you up from the floor easily, quietly admiring his strength for only a moment. He motioned to your dress that was still hiked up around your waist, making you gasp at being so exposed in front of him. He laughed again, pointing at your face before mocking your expression like earlier.

“Stop, you're scaring me,” you told him, voice hoarse. He pouted and waved a hand at you dismissively as if to say, ‘no, I'm not.’ You watched as he crouched down and shuffled around the body, finger tapping his chin as if thinking what else to add. He dragged his black trash bag over and began to dig through it, ultimately settling on a dull, rusty butter knife, his mouth forming Into a perfect ‘O’ as he examined the dullness with his fingers. He smiled at you from the ground and began to hack away at the body's genitals. You gagged and turned just in time to spew the rest of your undigested drinks from your stomach. He stared at you, rolling his eyes before continuing. You began to feel dizzy, your brain spinning around in your head until you started to slump over. The last thing you saw was him waving to you, his dark smile lulling you away.

**********

The constant drip of water by your head startled you awake, your bare legs thrashing around on the ground until you sat up, your body buzzing. Your memories from last night came back at a neauseating speed. You were drunk, raped, and almost murdered in the span of several hours. You held your hand in front of you, willing it to stop shaking, although you weren't sure if it was from unanswered emotions bubbling over or the frigid temperatures you were currently exposed to. You stood, straining on your legs, remembering your badly scrapped knees. A clumsy hand reached out to support yourself on a nearby shelf. This wasn't the same warehouse from last night; you were moved. The room started to spin; next, muted browns and black from the room mixing together, disorienting you further. You reached a hand to your forehead and felt around until your fingers trembled over a large cut. That fucking clown, he saved you, but for how long you'd be spared, you didn't know, spurring you into action. You turned to leave the room but met a chest first, strong hands gripping your shoulders to keep you from falling. You opened your mouth to scream, but he clapped a hand over your mouth and turned you around so that your back was flush to his front. His body radiated cold, unmovable firmness that made you shiver. He stared down at you sternly, expression communicating, ‘Are you done.’ You nodded, eyes never leaving his. He released you and stepped back, his stare intense, making you shrink into yourself. He pointed to your head and held both hands, palm up. In your concussed mind, it took some time to realize he was asking about your head.

“Oh, um, it hurts still,” you spoke softly,

Your throat was sore. “I need to go home,” you were afraid to speak, but it seemed as though, for whatever reason, you were being left unharmed.

He shook his head no, pointed outside, then made his fingers walk on his palm, then put both of his hands together and held them to his cheek, his eyes closing before opening them again, nodding excitedly while pointing at himself.

“I don't understand,” you clutched your arms, a cold breeze ripping through the open window littering your skin with goosebumps. He stared at you exasperated and shook his head, jabbing a finger at his chest then pointed to you again, making walking fingers.

“You want to…walk me home?” the implication of that unsettling. “No, I, I'm cold and sore. I can just go,” you stumbled over your words, backing away without realizing it. He held up a finger telling you to wait and left the room. You shifted uncomfortably, looking for any potential exit if you needed to flee, jumping out of your skin when he returned with an old tattered blanket. He smiled, flashing black teeth, holding it out to you.

“Um, thanks,” you grabbed it from his hands, surprised at the cleanliness of the fabric. “Are you going to kill me? Why did you save me?” you asked, more urgently than you intended. You had to know; the feeling of the unknown was unsettling.

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. Your eyes widened, and you shuffled back, his nonchalant response making you tremble.

“I-I don't understand, you're just toying with me?” frustration evident in your tone; you wished he would just let you go; your body was overwhelmed with pain and fear, the muscles in your neck stiff from shaking. He walked over to you, his sadistic smile growing wide as he watched your back bump into the wall. Once he was in front of you his hand reached out and patted the top of your head; silent laughter ensued when you flinched violently. He pointed to you, then the floor, waiting.

“You want me to sit?” you asked, having difficulties communicating with his silent movements. He nodded eagerly, head lowering with your body as you squatted onto the floor, watching you cross your legs and pull the blanket around you in a cacoon. You relished in the small comfort of warmth.

He towered over you, eyes narrowed as he took you in. You wish you knew what he was thinking; if he could talk, maybe you could manipulate him into freeing you. He turned to leave the room but paused in the doorway when you shouted for him, “PLEASE,” you begged, his head turning slightly to let you know he heard you.

“I'm scared,” you said, voice coming out broken, mouth dry. You weren't sure he heard you, and you couldn't compartmentalize why you told him that; your thoughts scattered like marbles across the floor, slipping from your hands when you tried to pick them up.

That was hours ago, and the sun was starting to set, your breath making condensation in the air again. You heard him in the room adjacent to you, metal clinking and hammering. You stood on your feet, wincing when you took a step, your body sore and weak. You don't know why you didn't run or why you went to him, but you did, quietly following the noise and stepping into the room he was in. His back was to you as he sat bent over a decrepit desk, various pieces of metal strewn about, his hands stilling on a rusty pair of scissors.

His body turned in his chair until he faced you, legs spread open. You watched as he set the siccors down and placed both hands on his knees.

“What's your name?” you asked, taking another tentative step into the room.

He cocked his head, chin pointed down so he was staring at you through his brows, the black paint around his eyes casting his them in darkness. He waved his hand through the air as if to say, ‘come here’. You shuffled over, watching as his smile grew the closer you got. You stopped a few feet away, which seemed to annoy him, an overdramatic pout pulling his lips down. You smiled softly to appear submissive and stepped closer, eyeing the tools he no doubt has used on other poor souls. His eyes caught yours, and he turned to look at the table and looked back at you, shaking his head no.

“You won't hurt me. Is that what you're saying?”

He nodded excitedly, clapping his hands together, proud you understood him. Ironically the only sound you've ever heard him make. He stilled making an ‘O’ with his mouth, holding one finger in the air. You watched as he disappeared Into what appeared to be a bathroom conjoined to the room, returning a moment later with a tin can filled with strange liquid. He approached you, grabbing your shoulders and turning you to face a blank wall, parts of wallpaper peeling off, exposing mildew-soaked wood. You wrapped the blanket around yourself tighter and watched as he dipped a long finger into the can and began to draw on the wall, quickly realizing the liquid was old, coagulated blood. He stepped back, holding both arms out, clearly proud of his work.

“Art?” you asked, confused.

He nodded vigorously while jabbing a finger at his chest, saying, ‘That's me.’

“Your name is art? I like that,” you said, mulling it over, your lips pulling up in the corners. You looked up to see him already watching you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Art,” you said again, his face becoming dark at hearing you use his name, his lips pulled down slightly. “Thank you for saving me last night,” you clutched your arms under the blanket, becoming uncomfortable. His face was terrifying when a smile wasn't on it.

“Um, id really like to go home, art,” your voice coming out weak at the potential rejection. He spurred into action, grin back in place as he strode past you, patting your head several times.

You couldn't be sure of the time when you left, but it was late, the cold cutting through the thin fabric of the blanket, short Halloween dress underneath doing nothing to keep you warm. The warehouse he had set up in had been here for years; parts of the building had fallen apart, leaving gaping holes, allowing some nature to make itself home. You remember passing by it as a child on your way home from school; oddly enough, it only sat a few blocks from your house, the one you inherited when both of your parents died the year after you turned 18. You looked up at art; his stride had a playful, mischievous bounce, eyes scanning the darkness for his next victim if you had to guess.

You rounded the corner of your street, your pace picking up upon seeing your home.

“This is it,” you breathed, shuffling up the steps and turning over a potted plant, the house key cold in your hands as you unlocked the door, warm air greeting you when the door swung open. You turned to face him, offering a smile. You weren't really sure how you felt knowing a crazy clown knew where you lived, but it was a little late for late, so you did the unthinkable.

“Do you…want to come in?”

He sat there momentarily, staring before playfully shoving past you into your house.

It was small but suited you. The living room was to the right as soon as you walked in, soft throws and pillows scattered about your couch. The kitchen was straight back, and to the left, a small island littered with bills in the center. He picked up a few before tossing them down, opening a few drawers, and rummaging around. You disappeared into your bedroom a few feet to the right and slipped into the bathroom. You stared at your face for a few moments, blood, dirt, and mascara smudged across it, a

A reminder of what happened. You let out a frustrated whine and grabbed a rag, letting the water get to an unbearable temperature before you started to scrub, your face clean but numb when you were done. You stripped from your clothes and pulled on an oversized sweater and sleep shorts, not able to bear being in the clothes you were raped in any longer.

When you entered the kitchen, a frantic voicemail from Jen was filling the room; you didn't have the heart to get rid of the outdated home phone and machine after your parents died.

‘Look, I know I was a bitch and ditched you, but some guy was murdered there last night, they couldn't even identify him. It's all over the news. Some crazy guy they're calling the Miles County clown. Anyways, I just want to make sure you're alive. CALL ME BACK’

You stared up at him, your head having to crane back, your shoulder brushing his arm. He flipped off the machine as if to say, ‘fuck her’

“Yeah,” you said, finding it funny you were silently communicating with him. Your eyes fluttered closed momentarily, your body leaning onto his arm, admiring briefly how unmovable he was. He tapped your nose a couple of times, making you gasp, your bloodshot eyes shooting open. You were beyond tired with a killer standing in your kitchen, but you weren't scared; you almost felt safe near him. Something you weren't sure how to feel about. You wanted to ask him why he was sparing you, but you didn't want to remind him that he could or should.

He looked down at you, making the sleeping motion with his hands again like earlier. You nodded the affirmative and watched as he walked into your bedroom, turning in a comical circle and taking in your quaint space. He caught your eye, wagging his eyebrows at you, his eyes trailing leisurely up your bare legs to your face. Your cheeks heated, no doubt a deep red blush spreading across them. He bent over

In laughter, slapping his knee and pointing at you. You scoffed and shoved past him, pulling the blankets back on your bed, too tired to know what to do with him. He shuffled around, facing you, with dark eyes watching your movements, making you feel like prey.

“It was very nice to meet you, art, but I need sleep. I have work in the morning”

He nodded and turned to leave, making hardly any sound on the worn-out wood floors.

“Art?” you called, watching as he turned back to face you, eyebrows raised expectantly.

”Will I see you ever again?" your mind swirled, the comfort of your bed seeping into your bones making you say things you didn't mean. You watched him shrug and disappear, not even hearing him when he left and closed your door.

You jumped out of bed and peered through your front window, but no black and white clown was in sight. You threw the deadbolt, the loud metallic thunk reverberating in the room. Although you were sure if art wanted to get in he could.

[claudiafrankie]

Pick a Card: Why Can't You Get Them Out of Your Head? What is the Nature of This Connection?

DISCLAIMER: TAROT IS NOT AN EVIDENCE-BASED PRACTICE. YOU ARE IN CHARGE OF MAKING YOUR OWN DECISIONS.

Pile 1: The Ring

Pile one, there is a lot going on here!! Are you doing ok?? lol

There is a lot of confusion and fear on your side of this connection. I want you to know that you're not crazy, this person feels it too. The oracle card that came up for you to go with the Ring card was connection: "There is a wonderfully satisfying feeling in connecting with another being. Whether it be through a partnership, friendship, or collaboration within a community, find places of intersection among like-minded souls and meet them with your authenticity. Notice how they mirror your passions." (From the Illuminated Earth Oracle Deck by Claire Mack)

So yeah they feel some type of way about you too. The cards that came up representing your energy in the connection: The Moon and the Six of Cups. You feel very intuitively connected to this person, maybe even wondering if you knew them from a past life or something - if you believe in that. I think Childhood wounds are being triggered by this person and you are struggling to deal with that. You might feel like your sense of self worth lies in this person's hands - how they interact with you on a given day colors how that day goes for you.

There is a lot of heart-centered energy on your side. I think you really like this person. A lot. You feel a strong desired to merge with them, to be in their presence, to feel the exchange and experience the bond. Yeah there is just a deep yearning coming from your side. And I feel like I need to ask you - are your actions based in reality? How much do you daydream about this person? Are you comfortable with the amount of mental space they take up in your life? I think you love love and you love to love, just make sure your pointing it at the right person my love. You shouldn't have to feel like shit about yourself because this person signs a message with a period at the end when they normally don't use punctuation or finishes their messages to you with exclamation points. There is a danger of codependency here, but I think you already know that as well as how to protect yourself emotionally.

This person is showing up as the Eight of Swords and Death. They feel the changes they are being called to make by this connection and it freaks them the fuck out. They don't see how they have the ability to shape their own reality when it comes to this connection and could be feeling somewhat victimized and powerless. They could be going through an uncomfortable metamorphosis in their life due to external forces like stuff with their family or at work. I think they are changing, just slowly. I definitely wouldn't hang your hat on this person making an overnight 180. I don't think you are the type to expect that, but when you are experience such a deep longing to connect with someone it is easy to get frustrated with the pace things are moving at.

The shared energy between the two of you is the star. Yeah this connection is bringing in a healing crisis for both of you. There is hope for a positive future for this connection on both sides, and a sense that it could be mutually loving and again, deeply healing. I think they do think about you quite a bit too. I'm being drawn to how the woman on the star card is focused on the vase of water she is pouring into the pond, and looking away from the vase she empties onto the ground beside her. It's like the same vibe as when you're pouring a glass of water and space out and overfill it and it overflows onto the counter.

How they see you is the Seven of Wands. They see that you have your guard up and know how to defend yourself if need be. They see you as a fighter and someone who does not easily give up. Perhaps overly defensive at times. Flighty, touchy, they think you have been hurt before and are not fully healed from that and that that is affecting your relationship with them. Someone stubborn, for better or worse. How they feel for you is the Page of Pentacles. They feel curious about you and like they want to know more about you, but they are in control of their emotions when it comes to you and are staying realistic. I think they will continue to give to this relationship, just in small increments. They might offer you help soon, or give you a small gift, bring a positive message to you or an idea that the two of you can collaborate on. They feel like they can have fun with you, but there isn't really a serious vibe when it comes to their feelings tbh - this is a page. So either their feelings are light and realistic when it comes to you, or this is all they are allowing themselves to experience emotionally when it comes to you.

I think there could be a third party going on here. The Queen of Cups and the Queen of Swords kept showing up when I was shuffling and they were back to back on the bottom of the deck when I was done pulling your cards. If you know this person is already in a relationship that is definitely informing their behavior and actions when it comes to you. They aren't stupid, and aren't going to make any hasty decisions about their future because of this connection.

Take care pile 1, I know this wasn't the most positive message. Yeah just be discerning and make sure you aren't getting swept away with your fantasies. Unless you want to. It's your life.

Pile 2: The Letter

There is really strong collaborative energy between the two of you. I think the way you two communicate has a lot more going on under the surface than what is detectable on the outside. The connection is transforming you both. I think you want different things out of this connection and this causes some confusion between the two of you.

I think you are coming at this from an emotion-centered place. You are showing up as the King of Cups, them as the Queen of Swords. I like this for you because the kings in the tarot, for myself and many others, represent outer mastery of their element. They have surpassed the internal mastery of the queen and are now capable of guiding others, showing them how to conduct themselves honorably.

You are deeply emotional about this person but you are not letting it sway you. You have reached a point in your personal growth where you are able to recognize when the intense feelings that this connection brings up arise, and, more importantly, just let those feelings exist. I think you are just letting it all move through you, not getting attached to one feeling about this person or relationship because you have begun integrating the wisdom that emotions are fluid and change all the time. I think this is knowledge you have possessed for quite awhile, but you are now beyond just knowing this in your brain and you are now applying it to your actions.

I think you know that this person knows that you have deep feelings for them. I think you also have had experiences in the past where people have taken advantage of your deep feelings for them. And I think this is part of the reason why you are the master of your emotions now - no one gets to leech off of your love and affection anymore. No one gets to wield some sort of high ground over you because they know you're into them. You can be so super into someone and still see their human-ness. You can have the biggest crush on someone and still see their flaws. You have found a beautiful balance of respect for yourself and care for others.

You are seeing this person as the Six of Cups. I think you see who they really are and you view them fondly, you can sense their inner teenager and inner child, and you can kind of look at the different layers of their personality and how they fit together. Maybe you interact with this person in group settings or just with other people around. I think you get this person one-on-one and you also see how they vibe with other people. You see what they keep close to their chest and what they put on display. I think, even though you are in this emotional and somewhat vulnerable position when it comes to this person, you are still able to kind of have that "aw you're so cute" vibe towards them. Like even though they may be mostly a detached/logical person, you can see beyond that and know that to some degree they are probably just protecting themselves and a soft inner core.

Like I said, this person is the Queen of Swords. How they see you is the Ace of Swords. They think you're smart as shit, first of all. I'm not sure if this person is one to dish out compliments or is maybe on the proud side, but they think you're highly intelligent. They have genuine respect for you. I think they think that you could really cut them deeply if you wanted to.

Something I'm noticing is that they are represented by the Queen of Swords, who is holding an upright sword in her right hand with her left hand raised and extended outwards, as if instructing a class or relaying a complex, difficult, or maybe important message. They way they see you is the ace of swords. I feel like they feel powerful when you are around them and give them attention. I think too that they see that they have things to teach you, just like they have been learning from you.

There is an interesting balance between the two of you. You are showing up as a masculine figure in a feminine suit, while they show up as a feminine figure in a masculine suit. They could be somewhat aloof and cold, keeping you at a distance. I think you are really strong in yourself and they see that their distance does not threaten you. They see that you are happy to do your own thing and give them their space.

I think they're a little afraid of you lmao. Again the vibe that you could really rip them to shreds if you wanted too, but you're better than that.

I think this connection is very much in the process of unfolding. It could feel like the vibes are different each day with this person. The letter being the card you picked, I think there is news on the way regarding this person/your relationship with them. I think you will soon have a much better understanding of where you truly stand with them and how they feel about you. You also got the Death card representing the shared energy between you and this person. Things are definitely changing, so I would say keep doing what you're doing and stay in control of your emotional world. It seems like you might be in a little bit of 'growing up' process with this person, so give yourself grace and keep yourself accountable. Also it might be good to find solutions for your eating habits. Like if you struggle eating regular healthy meals, try some super easy recipes that taste good and make you feel good. With all this shifting and changing you are going through, your body needs to be looked after.

Take care pile 2, you're doing a great job :)

Pile 3: The Dog (18+)

Hmmmm pile number 3. Why can't you get this person off your mind... I am having a weird time getting into the vibe of this pile. I started and then felt like overtaken by someone else in my energetic field so I started over and moved to my bed to write this so I could be more comfortable. I've cleansed with palo santo like 3 times lol and I still feel weird and anxious.

I think this is someone that you had an argument with. Either that or you have to suppress parts of yourself to not argue with them. It could also be someone that has your back in a fight or is angry on your behalf? Idk I am really struggling to pick up the storyline here.

Ok. I think this is what it is. This is someone that you have friendzoned lmao. BUT you feel horny for them. Actually both of you guys want to get together... But I think from your perspective something about the situation is inappropriate? So you're being the level-headed one and being like... hm I do really want to jump into bed with you. But I also value peace and mental stability lol. I think you're being mature about this, and keeping this person's sexual energy at bay. I think you're being pretty grounded about the whole thing too, and not like thinking that you're a bad person for having sexual thoughts about this person. You can accept that you're experiencing this and that it's totally natural. But you also are logical and not letting your own physical desires steer your life. You have some solid impulse control, I'll give you that!

OMG yeah, how I was saying I had to restart because I kept feeling like someone was all in my business? That's this person. Like I think you are into them physically, but this person is like bombarding you with sexual energy. LMAO and youre just like:

Hahahahahaha you guys are funny. I think this person thinks you're crazy hot first and foremost but they do like your personality too. It feels so super sexual though that like yeah they like you but they wanna go at it like animals. I'm not getting a predatory vibe, but it does feel somewhat objectifying. If you are in the mood to have someone slobber all over you you have found your match. This would definitely be a FWB situation... I don't think this person really sees too far past your physicality. But damn. They like what they see. This person is a horn dog dude lol I think they could be placing you on a bit of a pedestal. Like 'this person is so hot that they are not human and therefore I can't interact with them/connect with them on a human level."

I think there is friendship between you two, you do get along pretty well. The tarot cards that came up for you guys are the Ace of Cups, Justice, and the Two of Swords. This person does have affection for you, but they are fickle. They keep going back and forth in their mind about what they want. I think there are other things going on in their life that are contributing to this, and they feel really frustrated that they can't swoop in and just do what they want with you (to you?? lol).

There's all this pent-up energy, and this person is driving themselves a little insane. I think the air between the two of you could be kind of stale or stagnant, with not much going on and nothing really changing. You're handling this fine and doing your own thing, pouring into yourself. You are trying to be amicable with this person but I think they make it difficult sometimes. Like they know how they are coming at you is a little much and they also can feel you saying in so many words that "IIIIII don't think this is a good idea, sorry... but we can be friends??" I think they could pretend to be surprised that you are treating them a little bit like an HR representative because maybe they aren't doing anything overt to warrant that response, but you feel their intentions and how one-track-minded they can be. I think sometimes it flatters you and you have a giggle enjoying a fantasy and then other times you're like "bro come on please can we just watch the show" and then other times you're like "honestly keep it in your pants (figuratively) and grow the fuck up."

So... why can't you get them off your mind? Because they can't get you off of theirs. I think this person is very intense and like gets fixated. So if you are looking for advice I would say to sure, enjoy the attention, but don't get too attached to it or let it get to your head (at least not so much that it's obvious lol) and definitely don't expect this person to take kindly to offers of friendship... they are probably the type to sulk when you maneuver around their sexual advances or sexual energy. So if you don't want to deal with that then don't haha be forewarned.

Take care pile 3, you got it going onnn lol

[yoomiwrites]

Missing Ghost²

Summary: After losing her memory in a storm, a young Marine remembers only the name “Mihawk” and sets out to find him, convinced he holds the key to her past. As she sharpens her skills and follows his trail across countless ports, Mihawk is always just out of reach. Finally, she arrives at a port where his ship waits, knowing her answers are close.

Note: Since a lot of you enjoyed the first part —or rather the Trailer???— of Missing Ghost, I'll give you the second, which explains a little more. However, this story here won't get a fixed update scedule. But I promise, whenever we hit the 30 reactions, the new chapter will follow soon. Anyways, we got some skips here and there in this chapter, which might confuse you (sorry for that) but the next ones have a smooth flow. Gotta explain her side as well before we jump into our dramatic slow-burn.

The scent of saltwater clung to the breeze as I awoke, the distant murmur of waves steady and comforting, yet unfamiliar. It felt as though I’d drifted through a dream, a long, unbroken night I couldn’t remember. The first thing I saw was the kind face of an old woman bending over me, her hand resting on my shoulder as she whispered to someone nearby, "Thank heavens, she's alive."

For a year, the faces of this little coastal town became my whole world. These people—strangers at first, though I’d come to see them as family—had found me washed up on their shore after a heavy storm. They cared for me, helped me heal. They told me I had come in on a rough tide, barely breathing. My past was blank, a black slate, as empty as the horizon.

Yet there was a restlessness within me, a flicker of something left undone. I would catch myself watching the ocean, feeling a pull toward its vastness, like an anchor somewhere deep within me, half-forgotten and buried in the depths.

I tried to ignore it, forcing myself into a routine, helping with the nets, mending sails, doing small, clumsy chores around town. The villagers laughed at my mishaps, good-natured and warm, and I laughed along with them, though a part of me always wondered why everything felt so… wrong, somehow. Like wearing clothes that didn’t fit.

And then, one evening, as I watched the sun dip below the horizon, something strange came over me—a memory, slipping into focus for just a heartbeat. It was of a man, standing tall, his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s gaze, cutting through everything they touched. His form was shrouded in darkness, yet I could sense the weight of his stare, the cool indifference he wore like a cloak.

Dracule Mihawk.

The name surged through me, as if pulled from the depths of the sea itself. It tasted familiar, filled with fear and awe, with a reverence that felt misplaced, yet urgent. His voice echoed in the back of my mind, words as cold and biting as steel: “You’re supposed to be watching me, not getting yourself killed.”

And then, like a fragile thread slipping through my fingers, the memory faded, leaving only the faintest trace, like footprints in the sand washed away by the tide.

Days passed, and I could think of little else. The name haunted me, a specter hovering at the edge of my consciousness, tugging at some long-buried duty. I tried to bury it, to shake off the strange yearning, yet each time, it returned stronger, more insistent.

Then, one night, as a storm rolled in, I felt a reckless determination rise within me. I had to know who I was—had to know why the name of a Warlord carried such weight within me, why it felt like my life had revolved around that solitary, distant figure.

As the storm thundered above, I knew what I had to do.

I packed what little I owned, slipping away before dawn. I didn’t know where I was going or if I’d even find what I sought, but I knew I couldn’t stay here, not anymore. I had to find Mihawk, to remember why he haunted my dreams. And maybe, just maybe, I’d find myself in the process.

In my heart, I could still hear the echoes of my own laugh, wild and breathless, lingering in the back of my mind like a fragment of the past I couldn’t quite grasp.

The small boat cut through the waves, though each crest grew higher and stronger, rocking the vessel with an intensity I hadn’t anticipated. For a while, I managed well enough, adjusting as the water slapped against the sides, my hands tight on the oars. I’d learned to fish out here, enough to know how to read the currents, to feel when the sea was ready to turn against you. But now, as I looked out at the dark, churning horizon, I felt a prickle of doubt.

My mind kept drifting back to him—this elusive figure who seemed to haunt my memory and my purpose. I couldn’t shake the feeling that finding him would somehow explain everything, that he held the key to the pieces I couldn’t remember. Mihawk. The name itself felt heavy, burdened with something I couldn’t name. And each time I tried to recall him, his face slipped away, features blurring into the shadows, like he was some phantom my mind had conjured.

But even though his image stayed frustratingly vague, the feeling was as sharp as ever. I knew it was real. And I knew I had to find him.

The waves rose higher, and I braced myself, leaning into each swell with a determination that was half instinct, half desperation. The salt stung my skin, the chill of the ocean seeping into my bones, but I pressed on. It had been around a year since I’d woken on that lonely shore with no memory, no past, nothing but the kindness of strangers who didn’t ask questions. And yet, beneath the surface, this pull toward something—someone—was always there, like a silent tide that had finally dragged me out to sea.

I tried to picture him again, forcing myself to concentrate. A flash of his eyes—piercing, unyielding—came to mind, and I felt my heartbeat quicken. I could almost hear his voice, cold and amused, saying once more: “You’re supposed to be watching me, not getting yourself killed.” There was no warmth in those words, yet something in them rang familiar, almost comforting, like I’d heard them countless times before.

A hard wave broke against the boat, yanking me from the memory. I gasped, feeling the boat tip precariously before I steadied it. Every time I focused on Mihawk, on those fractured glimpses of the past, the sea seemed to rise in response, as if testing my resolve. I wondered if he was as dangerous as the ocean itself, as indifferent to life and death, sweeping in and out of people’s lives without a trace. And yet, if he truly was that figure, why did I feel this pull to find him, this sense of trust mingled with wariness? It made no sense, but here I was, risking everything on a memory as thin as smoke.

Ahead, I could see the faint outline of an island, its shape barely visible against the steel-gray sky. Relief mixed with fear as I realized I was getting closer to my goal. If I could reach a port, I could ask around, maybe find someone who knew his name, or knew where he could be found. Mihawk was a Warlord; surely, someone, somewhere, would know something about him. At least that was what the kind people of my island had told me.

But as I rowed, a single question lingered, haunting me as much as his name did: If I found him, would he remember me?

I couldn’t shake the image of those intense, unreadable eyes watching me, studying me like I was some strange creature that had somehow stumbled into his world. And though the image was as unclear as the horizon in a storm, I felt a flash of defiance, of determination. If he didn’t remember me, I would make him. He was the only link to who I had been, to everything I had lost. And if I had to face the storm to get there, then so be it.

Another wave crashed against the boat, nearly knocking me back. My hands ached, but I held on, fighting the urge to look back at the safety of the shoreline far behind me. I kept my eyes forward, fixed on the island.

The dock was bustling as I arrived, my clothes soaked with sea spray, exhaustion settling into my bones. But my heart was pounding as I scanned the horizon, hoping, daring to believe that maybe, just maybe, this time he would actually be here.

I had been on his trail for what felt like forever. Each time I thought I’d caught up to him—whispers in taverns, rumors in passing, a hushed mention of “Hawk Eyes Mihawk”—I’d find nothing more than empty docks or vague traces of his presence. It was as though he was always one step ahead, a shadow slipping through my grasp. I grew used to the strange, half-maddening cycle of arriving somewhere, just a few hours too late. There’d be an empty mug in an inn, a murmur of a cloaked figure sighted in a nearby town. But never him.

At first, it had been simple enough to pick up his trail. I found myself listening intently to sailors’ tales and buying drinks for anyone with even the slightest hint of information. But as months turned into years, I learned quickly that mere words weren’t enough. I couldn’t rely on others. So, I fought. I survived, tracking down pirates and mercenaries who owed their lives to Mihawk—or feared him enough to give me scraps of knowledge, little more than breadcrumbs. With every fight, every encounter, I grew stronger, a clumsy, scattered style slowly becoming something sharper, something that could almost be called technique.

I could almost feel Mihawk’s ghostly disapproval as I fumbled my way through fights in the beginning, wielding a blade with a mixture of grit and inexperience. He was an image, a goal I couldn’t quite touch, and as time passed, I wondered if he’d simply vanish again like the dream I couldn’t remember. But something in me wouldn’t let go. He was out there. And the small memories I had of him felt realer, more vivid, as if he were watching, aware that I was on his trail, though always staying just out of reach.

Sometimes I wondered if he was avoiding me, if he had no intention of ever meeting me again. Perhaps, to him, I was nothing more than a ghost, something easily ignored and forgotten. The thought gnawed at me, but I kept going, surviving each storm and each struggle, clinging to the hope that I would find him, that I would finally learn who I was and why he haunted my memories.

And now, as I stood at the edge of this crowded port, I felt a surge of hope—and fear. His ship was docked here, the enormous black vessel unmistakable, casting a shadow over the water. People whispered in awe and fear, as if his mere presence filled the air with a kind of sharp, electric tension. There was no mistaking it; he had to be here.

I took a shaky breath, trying to ignore the thrill of adrenaline mixed with exhaustion. After all these months, all these years of following nothing but a rumor, I was finally close. Somewhere in this town, he was here. I could almost hear his voice again, cold and distant, watching me with that sharp, unreadable gaze, reminding me of how far I still had to go.

This time, I wouldn’t let him slip away.

[fetabathwater]

do you think you would ever replay fallen hero since its been quite some time since the server?

somehow this is quite a loaded question in one of the weirdest ways for me. fh rebirth was and still is one of the best written cogs ive ever played, and was so inspirational in what i was able to write. i wrote like half a million words alone in fanfic, most of which i never put up online or have finally relented and torn down over the years. i know it was very influential on many friends, and really did invoke that sense of community and creativity as well. i mean it was my first real introduction to cogs, and it kind of has been a continuing standard even to now - hell, i actually do still want to write one because of the way the story was woven with choices.

but. idk. its been 4 or 5 yrs? since what the actual issue i took with the people in the server occurred, which obv got muddied during the moment and after. ive only thought about what went down like once earlier this year in conversation with a friend when we went whoa that was like. such a strange time online. and a learning curve about servers and well... age and maturity and reading comprehension, but also the intersection of political movements, reality, and facts.

tldr; idk. i do think about it every so often, and i read my own work with logan, yknow.

[e77y]

The visceral and hungering loneliness is back. You know what that means! Bedtime

[remyfire]

You rotten scoundrel!!! I just read your fanfic “Like a Silent Song” and I LOVED IT SO MUCH!!! YOU SCOUNDREL!!! You write Radar so good, how DARE you!!!

I am attacked by insults and praise at every angle and do not know which to believe!!!! /j

I'm so glad you enjoyed it! ;v; I'm still not entirely confident in his voice, so hearing you say you thought it worked well means a lot to me. Thank you so much!!

[deadrlngers]

i was tagged by @shadowglens and @risingsh0t to make some ocs in this picrew. thank you so much besties, i loved this picrew so much!! <3

vesper moxley (cp2077) • victoria gray (cp2077) joelle knight (fo4) • nina bower (fo4) selene (oblivion) • hiraeth (skyrim)

tagging: @uldwynsovs @arklay @devilbrakers @nuclearstorms @morvaris @girlbosselrond @indorilnerevarine @moiragf @cultistbase @faarkas @steelport @nokstella @reaperkiller @malefiicarum @brujah @calenhads @lightwardens @aelyosos and whoever else wants to do this or that i missed bc i'm terribly forgetful sorry!!

[curly-cottage-girl]

///

[youremyonlyhope]

I really should know better than to watch dumb romcoms while I'm 90% sure I'm ovulating.

This time it was Netflix's Love in the Villa trying to make me cry.

[cosycafune]

MATING PRESS!

1.0k words. kento's a little tipsy, a pussy-strucken mess. all he wants is to divulge in his precious housewife's cunt, consistently engaging in a mating press. he's desperate, wanting all of you...entirely. maybe, just maybe, he'd stuff you enough to corrupt you.

acts: messy sex, nasty sex, unprotected sex, mating press, slight corruption kink, breeding kink, teasing, overstimulating, crying, submission, creampies, sloppy kissing, consensual intimacy. mdni. 18+. masterlist.

a/n: kento likes messy sex, when he's slightly drunk.

YOU'RE TREMBLING, faced with the sight of a partially drunk Kento – flaunting an intimidating manspread. Nothing within you could face his wrath, sensing the itching lust that captures his low eyes. Naturally, you knew what Kento longed for. It’s so obvious, the moment you’re settled between Kento’s thighs – shaking with yearning you can’t shed.

Intoxicated with your presence, Kento pushes himself into drawing you nearer – toying with the ends of your frilly summer dress. Hungrily, Kento’s gaze darts up to you – sporting an intimidating aura. Whenever Kento drank in tolerable amounts, he’d become pent up – tinted with an insatiable urge for you.

Gluttony adorns him. Kento wanted to consume you, filling you up endlessly with his fruitful seed. Just seeing you, nervous, unable to control your lust, in front of him, drove him crazy. Even with him warmed by the alcohol, he always longs to stuff his beautiful wife, no matter where he lingers.

Shit, he’d take you on the couch he’s sitting on, the table, the floor, on the wall. Kento just wanted to take you on any spot he could, he didn’t fucking care in the slightest. All he longed for was to stuff you with his heavenly cock, pounding and decimating your cunt with everything he had. Sexually, he longed to suffocate you — driving into you to listen to every squeamish sound you make.

“Kento?” Meekly, you speak – gasping at his burly fingers kneading your doughy bubble butt.

“Hm?” Consumed by longing, Kento lowly greets your eyes – barely muttering a fruitful sound.

“‘Sure you wanna do this?” Squeezing your eyes close, you question him, “You’ve been drinking.” Frowning, you warm at Kento drawing you nearer to you – sitting you upon his tender lap.

“I’ve only drank a little, my love.” Reassuring you, Kento removes his lime glasses – displaying the aged contours beneath his eyes.

“If you’re sure, Ken’,” Teasing him, you fall tender – smitten at Kento’s fingers roaming over the fabric against your hips.

—⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

You’re an unredeemable mess, your lips sloppily capturing Kento’s while his fat, angelic cock passionately pounded your plushy pussy. Gasps, desperate, dirty moans and pleasurable squelching sounds flooded the room. Unspoken tension riddled each one of Kento’s crazed thrusts, pooling into the subtle alcoholism that tints his breath. It’s so obvious, your decimated pussy tells its story – singing a sinful melody.

“Kento! Ngh! Warm!” Overstimulated, you frantically warm – enclosed by Kento’s physique in a mating press. 

“Love…when you’re like this,” Needy, Kento’s smooth tone adorns your ears – paring with his eager thrusts.

“‘Ts too…deep,” Mewling frantically, you feel Kento grab your jiggly ass cheek – gripping it to lodge his cock further into you. 

“You can…handle it,” Subtle aggressiveness tints Kento’s voice, leading him into softly kissing your lips.

“‘Can…Mhmm! Handle…it,” Cock-driven, your moans are breathless — consumed by Kento’s extreme neediness.

“That’s…my baby,” Hazy, Kento gently praises you — allowing his heavy balls to slap against your ass.

“So…warm,” Mewling, so, so, out of it, your eyes flutter — lifelessness tinting your battered eyes.

“Mhm, you ready… for my cum?” Kento’s tone holds a fragment of degradation. 

Instinctively, it causes him to pound into you with a might he knows you’re unable to handle. You’re barely able to breathe, your breasts perched up while his lips greedily meet your own. Ironically, your cognitive functions are limited — filled with the deepness and manhandled by Kento’s large cock. Every ounce of your physique is stuffed with Kento — intoxicated — tickled with the deepest elements of him.

“Baby, please!” Pleading, you tremble frantically — unable to function or breathe without Kento’s cum.

Within his presence, you always longed to be stuffed and decimated by him — every string of you wrapped around him. Your eyes were always flooded with love hearts, blooming further with the more cum Kento poured within you.

When it comes to hardcore intimacy, Kento’s extremely nasty — ruining you until you’re absolutely nothing. It’s a tad worse when he’s drunk and whiny, but able to consent enough to function. Hours would flow by, but Kento wouldn’t release you — honing his body with each thrust. None of him cared about drifting into overtime, he would simply expand on his nastiness.

Like, right now, the bedsheets are town, soaked with cum and squirt. The room’s thick with the blissful smell of sex, the sounds of inhumane struggling, cock handling and everything indecent. This imagery contrasted with Kento’s clean imagery, especially since he’s a man of hygiene. 

Yet, currently, he’s extraordinarily sweaty, his cock decorated with your dripping cum. Kento’s blonde locks stick to his forehead, his narrow eyes greeting yours as he bucked his deepest within you — feeling his previous rounds of cum clinging to his thighs. The whole room is extremely trashed, riddled with marks, and scattered furniture; everything’s clustered and unjust.

“Shit, I’ll give it to you,” Satisfied, watching you extensively beg for his cum, Kento responds — grinning.

“Please, I've… earnt it, Kento,” An external and internal mess, you plead heavily – your stomach churning at Kento fulfilling the mating press.

Mentally conquered, Kento tugs at your bubble butt – thrusting himself so deeply within you. So deeply, you’re unable to remember your name. You groan, thrash, basking within his company – eerily complete. Complete before he suffocates you beneath you, his diabolical cock pulsating deeply within you.

Wickedly, Kento glances down at you – his precious wife – enjoying the discipline he gifts you. When it comes to you, Kento’s unable to resist corrupting you – someone he’d spoil more than anything. Obviously, you loved it when Kento’s rough with you – pulverising you. Even with you as his precious housewife, Kento couldn’t help but gift you baby batter – so you can nurture a bun in your oven.

“Mhm, you…have,” Proud, Kento harshly finishes inside of you – filling you preciously with his manly spurts of cum. Every ounce of his cock was structured for you, no matter what moment remained. Shit, this moment compelled him frantically – toning him with love, devotion and solace.

Filled, Kento kisses your tender lips – observing the explicit mess he has made of you. Right now, you’re beautiful marked – submissive for him. Every crevice of you is structured for him, especially in this mating press.

He knew he would have to try this position again.

--

do not copy, modify or claim any of my works as your own. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024. banner by cafekitsune <3

[yzzart]

── ★｡𖦹°‧ KENJI SATO SEEING THE SCRATCHES ON HIS BACK .ᐟ

୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: mention of sex, oral, back scratching, sexual content.

⭑.ᐟ Everything happened, properly, while Kenji was getting ready to mark his presence, alongside the team, heading to the arena for the match later on. — Coach Shimura ordered him to appear early, something that bothered the player. — Sato didn't need this, it was something dispensable, and he was forced to agree.

⤷ Due to the fact that he was unfortunately removed from your side; unable to cling to your body, cling to your touch or worship, lasciviously. — Longing to feel you once again; even though he had done this moments ago, he was still insatiated by you. — God, just by clicking his tongue, your taste reached his palate.

⭑.ᐟ Getting up from the bed, half-heartedly and with little enthusiasm, and admiring your serene and moderate image as you rested, Kenji fought the urge to ignore the order and lie down next to you; unfortunately and evidently, the sense of responsibility spoke louder.

⤷ And, knowing you like the back of his hand, Kenji knew you would disapprove of him if he did that. — Like a good boyfriend, he wouldn't make you upset.

⭑.ᐟ On his walk to the bathroom, assuming that he could put an end to the indolence that coursed through his body, Sato did not fail to feel some burning pains, small discomforts in his back, awkwardly running his hand around the area. — Ignoring, for now, the mental questions and went to the mirror.

⭑.ᐟ Kenji could already imagine the coach's voice echoing, unbearably, in his ears, scolding him for arriving at least a few minutes later than expected; and he was already reasoning out the most understandable excuse in his mind. — Or he would just say "don't worry, it won't hinder our competence", no, better not; but deep down he would like to say that.

⭑.ᐟ In front of the mirror, which showed his hair, in pure disarray and mess and his discouraged face, feeling bored, but, enigmatically, seductive, Kenji is worried, once again, about the discomforts of his back. — While uttering incoherent mumbles and swear words and directing his hand towards his skin for the second time, Sato allowed himself to turn towards the reflective glass, wanting to know what was bothering him so much.

⤷ And that's how he came across your art.

⭑.ᐟ Kenji's eyes examined, in fact, venerated with prudence and eccentric attention the marks, made by your nails, prominent and so protruding and, at the same time, deliciously burning exposed on his back; expressing an exotic, inconceivable and voluptuous sexual countenance. — The red lines, which blended into the tone of his skin, burned him both physically and mentally.

⤷ He couldn't imagine — oh, this cynical, shameless man believed it — that there was a small, furtive possessive streak coursing through your blood as you yearned, longed, to mark him.

⭑.ᐟ His fingers moved, still in disbelief, over a part of the skin he could reach, and he felt the current protuberances there and Kenji's lips couldn't stop themselves from forming a slutty, depraved smile. — He fucking loved what he was seeing, maybe more than he should have.

⤷ The moans, whimpers, and murmurs, that begged with desire for more, that came out of your beautiful mouth cried out in Kenji's mind; remembering, again, them like a song lyric he had memorized. — Sato began to identify a pulse, a throbbing in his dick and a wave of excitement flood his chest.

⭑.ᐟ Your boyfriend didn't care how fast he had to get to the arena, he would miss the time anyway, and then he contemplated what was captivated about him. — Showing off his corpulent, athletic back, wanting to see the marks better and not wanting them to disappear from view. — Kenji would beg for more of them later, he was sure of it.

⤷ Well, you better pray your nails don't break.

[jingyi-ma-boi]

Meng Yao, the raging feral ball of issues that he is, reacts by panicking a lil bit cause FUCK. What do you mean these two now know he’s pregnant? This is exactly what people have always accused him of being —a whore whose achievements are dependent on opening his legs prettily. But also, he’s pregnant??? With Lan Xichen’s pup??? The man that made him feel like he was living in pure marital bliss in the middle of war???

He’s swooning because he knows that he can’t have that child if he wants his plans to go on, but the thought of erasing the only remaining proof of what he had during those days with that perfect, heavenly alpha that treated him as if Meng Yao was the one carved out from the purest jade makes him want to rip his own scent glands off and die choking on his own blood.

Nie Mingjue is frankly very confused about the look on Meng Yao’s face because he thinks he understands the distress that his deputy is feeling but he also knows that there must be a lot he’s missing on. And the souring of Meng Yao’s scent in that moment doesn’t help his confusion and maybe his hurt too, if you want to make this 3zun with a respectfully pining Nie Mingjue which yes, it definitely is like that, please and thank you. Confusion that stops Nie Mingjue from seeing the initial shock and elation that Lan Xichen seems to be feeling at first, after reuniting with the beautiful, strong, and incredibly smart omega that managed to make the best out of the worst moments of his life. And on top of that, it turns out that this precious man that got Lan Xichen’s heart soaring and singing at his every dimpled smile is bearing his child??? He wants to kiss him and scent him so badly and go run to wherever his uncle may be to tell him that he is marrying this man.

And then, he sees A-Yao’s face. And suddenly, he feels like all of the air has been punched out his lungs and he wants to throw up. What if Meng Yao hadn’t actually wanted to share his rut with him? What if it had all been a delusion concocted by his feverish lovesick head? He smells A-Yao’s distress and feels guilty, dirty and has the sudden urge of ripping his robes off, and letting Meng Yao claw at his chest and rip it open, so that he can yank his heart and guts out of Lan Xichen as punishment for his heinous crimes.

A/b/o au in which Nie Mingjue detects a drastic change in MY's scent during the Sunshot Campaign. Such great changes in the scent of an omega are often indicative of their condition: and Meng Yao is revealed to be pregnant.

Not knowing what to do, Nie Mingjue request Lan Xichen's assistance in broaching the subject to Meng Yao. However he fails to tell Lan Xichen exactly who his omegan deputy is.

So, when Lan Xichen realizes it is Meng Yao - the omega that shared his rut with whilst hiding from the Wen- who is pregnant, the only thing he can say is "A-Yao is carrying my child ⁉️"

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Feeding

Male Half-Demon Yandere x Gender Neutral Vampire Reader CW: Noncon, blood drinking, biting/cutting for blood, making out, drugged sex, drugged reader, forced addiction, overstimulation, reader fucked well and truly out of their mind whilst high on demon blood, aftercare, general yandere behavior Word count: 1.6k (Sorry this took forever. The image of reader sitting on dick while sucking blood from a wrist was living rent free in my head and I had to write this. Written on my phone, hopefully I fixed all the weird formatting and typos.)

The full moon shone brightly in the clear winter night. With each exhale, your breath plumed out visibly. The shadows of trees stretched long and spindly, grasping for a material world they were incapable of grabbing hold of. You hid amongst the bushes, silently watching the small bar in front of you. It was a secluded place. Quiet and down the road from anything else. Perfect for a person to grab a drink. Even a vampire like yourself. This was your first night in this town, but there were almost always places like this to slake your thirst. 

Wait for a drunk customer to come stumbling out and nab them to have a drink of your own. Then, if you needed to, use your hypnotic powers to make them think it was all a dream. 

That's what you had intended tonight. But then you caught a whiff of a human that smelled much more tempting than any other you had ever encountered. 

The bartender. Your sharp ears could pick up his name even from outside. Wade. Not that you needed to bother knowing it.

You decided to wait for the last lingering patron to leave the bar before sneaking in and making your move. It took a few hours, and your joints grew stiff in the cold, but finally, the bartender was alone, and you could make your move. You were practically salivating as you slipped into the bar, and his scent hit you more directly. You couldn't wait to taste what waited in his veins. Luckily, you didn't have to. 

"Sorry, we've just closed," he said as he heard you enter.

With superhuman speed, you rushed behind him, barely having time to note the surprised expression on his face. 

You wasted no time on pleasantries and sank your fangs into his neck.

Instantly, you were lost in his flavor. His blood was glorious. But after one drink, your eyes glazed and your thoughts were foggy. 

He plucked you off of him easily, and you fell to the floor, dizzy and confused but yearning for more of him. You were so thirsty. A mild sense of euphoria washed over you, but your body felt weak and wobbly. 

Wade stared down at you, smirking. His brown hair turned silver, small black horns sprouted from his forehead, and his hazel eyes glowed red.

"What's wrong? Bit off more than you could chew?"

Not much blood had been consumed, so you started to get to your feet, but Wade wanted you nice and helpless. He rubbed his fingers to the bite mark you had left and shoved his fingers into your mouth and smeared the drug on your tongue. You immediately slumped against the counter.

He went and locked up the bar before returning to your side and administering another hit of his blood. You eagerly drank it up. It was too irresistible. 

Then he gently led you downstairs where he apparently lived. 

"Didn't realize I was part demon or didn’t know demon blood was like a narcotic? Maybe you didn't know either of those..." 

He tossed you on the bed rather unceremoniously.

"Thought you were gonna get an easy meal, but you're gonna feed me too!"

Assuming that he ate beings with magic, you looked up at him with a horrified expression and scrambled to get off the bed. He stopped you and pushed you back.

"I'm nourished by intoxication and addiction the way sex and lust nourishes an incubus," he explained, having noted the fear on your face.

Though you still had a fierce thirst for his blood, you weren't addicted. Yet. Just significantly increased blood cravings. You had the presence of mind to know what he intended, and you didn't want to be a captive.

"You can't do this!"

The effects of his blood on your body were rapidly wearing off. It had only been a small amount. You could use your speed to zip awa-

"I can do whatever I want to a little leech like you~" 

Wade pinned you on the bed and used the sharp nail of his thumb to slice his wrist before shoving his wrist to your mouth. You tried to turn away and keep your mouth closed, but you could feel the warm blood tingle your lips, and the smell was all-encompassing. Tired of your struggles, he smacked you hard across the cheek. You could have shrugged off a strike from a normal human, but he had demonic strength. As he had anticipated, you cried out in pain. With your mouth open, he jammed his bloody wrist right into your mouth. 

Once a drop had touched your tongue for the third time that night, all your resolve melted away. You relaxed under him and greedily lapped at his wrist. Now that it was in you, you needed more.

As you gave into your dark desires and fed off Wade, he fed off the intoxication and the budding addiction growing inside you. 

But the whole situation had his cock straining painfully in his jeans. 

He maneuvered your clothes off as well as his, but your attention was focused on your meal. You whimpered and grabbed for his arm as he pulled it away to lube up his cock. Just because he was doing this for nourishment didn't mean he couldn't have some fun. Besides, being all cute and needy for his blood made you look far too tempting for the half-demon. 

He pulled you into his lap and slid his thick cock into you.

Wade put his arm up to you so you could suckle from his wrist as he slowly fucked into you. A large demonic cock like Wade's would have stretched and hurt the hole of any human, but you were far more durable. In fact, it felt quite nice. His blood seemed to heighten pleasurable sensations while reducing unpleasant ones.

You moaned softly as you fed.

"That's it, take alllll you want babe. I regenerate faster than you can drink."

It must have been true. His wound had healed and you had to bite his wrist to draw more blood. He didn't seem to mind. 

The demon kissed your neck and sucked it softly as he continued pumping into you. Never too hard to interrupt your meal. 

He kept the slow and considerate pace until you had finished. Blood was smeared all over the lower half of your face, your eyes glossy and half lidded. You were barely cognizant of your surroundings anymore. All you knew was that you felt warm, happy, relaxed and, for the first time since you had turned, alive.

Wade angled your face towards him and kissed you deeply from behind, enjoying the taste of blood from your lips and the rush of energy he got from getting you high. He brushed his tongue against your fangs to draw blood so you could suck it while the two of you made out sloppily. The half-demon broke the kiss, a sanguine string of saliva and blood connected your lips for a moment. Wade hastened the tempo of his thrusts into you as his mind raced over the implications of having you. 

A human would have died from just a drink of demon's blood. That's why he blended each bottle of booze in his bar with but a single drop. Just enough to subconsciously coax humans to crave coming back to his bar and give Wade a bit more intoxication to sustain himself. But he didn't have to hold back with you at all. 

Rapturous moans left your body as your pleasure reached its zenith. Your normally frighteningly pale face was actually flushed.

"You enjoying yourself?" Wade smirked and kept going.

You could only weep silently as the overwhelming sensations from the drug and sex mingled into an overwhelming wave of ecstasy bearing down brutally upon you. 

With supernatural stamina he kept going for hours, he readministered his blood as needed. Every time he made you cum you whimpered. Each orgasm seemed to hold within it a greater and greater threat of throwing you off the brink of sanity and shattering your mind. 

By the end of it, when he had finally had enough after filling you with cum over and over again, you were a shaky drooling mess. His demonic features faded away as he picked you up. Then he took you to the tub and bathed you gently, getting all the dried blood off your face and cleaning up all the semen leaking from your hole. 

"Sorry I had to give you so much. Have to get you hooked on it."

Wade picked you up and wrapped you in a soft towel. You were too out of it to respond.

"The crashes aren't bad though at least. Extreme cravings but no life threatening illness or anything."

He kissed your forehead and tucked you in before getting under the covers and spooning you. 

"You're gonna love it here I promise. All the blood you want. I'm not just keeping you here to feed me, I could see glimpses inside your mind when your inebriation nourished me."

The half-demon ran a hand soothingly up and down your side.

"I know we're compatible lovers. You'll see."

You could hear his words but could just barely process them. 

"B-but.." You protested weakly.

"Hush now. You need to rest."

He put his arm around your waist and held you protectively. It was so much easier to just let sleep claim you than it was to resist.

Wade stayed up far longer though. All the thoughts of the wonderful life you two would share together running through his head and keeping him awake. It would be amazing. He couldn't wait for tomorrow.

He'd treat you so well and make sure his little vampire was always happy. And he'd keep you hopelessly addicted to his blood. You'd be so helpless and dependent on him that you'd simply never be able to escape.