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agustdiv1ne · 1 year ago

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telepathy (m) — cbg

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to ???, mind reader/telepathist!beomgyu, funeral home employee!beomgyu (it's for the plot ok???)

wc: 11.7k

synopsis: most people would abhor a packed subway car — but beomgyu, telepathist extraordinaire, relishes in it. with a career in the funeral business, he finds his morning commute to be the only thing that keeps him relatively sane. reading the mundane thoughts of mundane people maintains his tether to his humanity, but when he goes to read your mind...oh, things get a whole lot more interesting.

warnings: mdni!! 18+ only, ageless blogs dni!!!, mentions of dead bodies, embalming, and funerals (though not very descriptive — it's only bc of gyu's profession), reader is a freak that listens to nsfw audios on her way to work!, gyu is a perv so it's a match made in heaven (hell?), gyu's honestly a little strange + obsessive in this...anyways, dom!gyu, sub!mc, solo male masturbation, on my big cock beomgyu agenda, very brief mentions of daddy/sir/master kinks, explicit consent is given before anything happens bc consent is sexy <3, mind manipulation (he makes it feel like he's touching her), exhibitionism in a way (it will all make sense, trust 🙏), degradation, praise, pseudo-fingering (idk how to explain it, f receiving), gyu calls mc: pretty girl, sweetheart, slut, whore, princess, mc calls gyu sir like once...whew! that was a lot, lmk if i should add anything!

note: you know i have a terrible bout of brainrot when the warnings are all nsfw related...yeah. Yeah. *presses post and runs away*

☆ playlist ☆

masterlist

beomgyu’s commute to work is, by all means, uneventful.

the train is packed as per usual, filled to the brim with businessmen and office workers and other miscellaneous passengers on their way to whatever the hell their destination is. like most days, he finds himself towards the middle of the passenger car, snatching a rare open seat between a stone-faced man adorned in a suit — his head buried in a newspaper — and a slumped over college student nursing a cup of coffee. the poor kid almost looks like death itself, sporting dark under eyes, rumpled clothes, and a prominent slouch to his spine. not that beomgyu could really blame him; he remembers how easily college living (if you could call it living) can chip away at a person’s mental well-being.

people-watching like this is what keeps him sane, he thinks. being surrounded by corpses all day, every day is more than draining — it sucks the soul out of him, really, being the only person on shift most of the time that he’s working, having to embalm and clean and pretty up all those cold, gray bodies so that their loved ones can say one last goodbye. it’s quiet in their minds and it’s all too quiet in the funeral home, the only sounds being the clanking of the embalming tools he’s been trained to use, his footsteps echoing down the tiled halls, his sighs of contempt when something small goes wrong — yet the living, breathing, warm people on the train provide a sense of normalcy, something to look forward to every day. to hear their thoughts, as prosaic as they are, has become a sort of saving grace from the lifeless, cold building that he finds himself in five out of the seven days of the week. honestly, if he can maintain a little bit of his humanity via strangers among the subway, even if it’s just by hearing their thoughts, then he’ll take what he can get.

yeah, that’s the thing: beomgyu is a mind-reader, a pretty talented one at that. not that anyone knew, of course — he wouldn’t risk the government finding out. beomgyu is not usually one for promises, but he has promised himself one thing: there’s no way in hell that he will ever become one of the government’s sick little science experiments, even if his life ever hits rock bottom. he has no idea how his powers work — just that they do, and he would like to keep it that way. it’s bad enough that he doesn’t know where he got such abilities; his parents never mentioned anything about it and only ever grew worried whenever he read back their thoughts to them, so obviously the existence of his powers is some statistical anomaly in the universe. normal people can’t read others’ minds. he was forced to learn that at a very young age in order to keep himself safe.

“how do you know that?” he remembers his mother’s alarmed tone when he first did it unknowingly, repeating back her own thoughts to her without realizing that’s what he had done. he was maybe six at the time — innocent, curious, plagued by voices in his head that he didn’t quite understand. those voices weren’t his. rather, they were his friends’, his family’s, his dentist’s and his doctor’s and his soccer coach’s voices that ricocheted about his mind uncontrollably;it was overwhelming for the young boy’s mind. the day he first admitted that he could hear them was the first day he heard his parents argue, their yelling from downstairs colliding with their internal voices in beomgyu’s mind, their terribly poignant concern for him and this development louder than any of the venomous words that they spat at each other in the living room. all he remembers from that day was himself crying, unable to block out anything that they thought, let alone his own thoughts. too much for his young mind to handle.

he heard their fear when they took him to the doctor for the first time of many, their heartache when the doctor came back and said that he might have psychosis, but more testing was needed. he heard how they started to deny it — their little boy couldn’t have that, could he? no, no he couldn’t. there’s no way he could.

although beomgyu was young at the time, guilt ate at him. he was the one hurting his parents, he was the one making them worry. despite his official diagnosis when he was seven, something inside him knew that the doctors were wrong. those voices weren’t just the result of the machinations of his mind at work — they were voices of the people he knew, strangers who passed him on the street. what they said wasn’t evil, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. usually, it was quite mundane. at some point, he started to practice with it, trying focus on one certain voice out of the buzzing hive in his mind, blocking out the others, switching and focusing and blocking out until the action was as natural as breathing. it took him about five years before he reached that point, and after nearly two decades of living with his abilities, he’s gotten quite used to it. his mind is usually quiet — besides his own stream of consciousness — unless he allows others in. or, rather, they allow him in, which they always do. he sees it like a set of doors; open one, and you can hear that one person’s thoughts. close it, and he no longer hears them. and none of them are ever locked since no one expects to their thoughts to be read, which simply makes his life that much easier.

if he’s being honest, he didn’t used to read minds as often as he does now, but there isn’t much he can do about that now lest he go insane. beomgyu could admit that his habit was a little creepy…okay scratch that, extremely fucking creepy. these people had no idea that their minds were being infiltrated, their mental walls bypassed and their privacy violated like a computer infected with a malicious virus. it’s borderline depraved, how nonchalantly he robs these strangers of their utmost privacy, sometimes of their deepest, darkest secrets that they would never want anyone to find out about. he could sequester quite a bit of money out of some of these people, now that he thinks about it.

and sure, that may sound immoral, but beomgyu has never considered himself to be of particularly virtuous character.

without a second thought, beomgyu taps into the mind of the kid next to him. he’s thinking about how he’s failing his statistics class because he just bombed his midterm. no, now his mind is full of what he’s going to eat after his 8 a.m. class. he shifts his focus on the businessman to his right. stocks, his cheating wife, how he’s considering leaving with his mistress in the coming days…

”what a prick,” beomgyu thinks to himself, smirking a bit. just a few more stops until he gets off, now.

he pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, scrolling aimlessly just to keep his eyes busy. sitting on the opposite side of the college student, an elderly lady walks herself through the stew that she’s going to make for her grandchildren tonight, excitement coloring her words. it’s cute — he loves hearing things like that. wholesome thoughts are not easy to come by nowadays, given the state of the world. exhibit a: a teenager standing on the other side of the train car worries himself into a frenzy over whether the girl that he has a crush on likes him back. exhibit b: a middle aged man contemplates if he should quit his job. for a second, beomgyu thinks that he might be in the same boat as him, before realizing that he has nothing else to fall back on — exhibit c. he could keep going.

a clear, robotic voice overhead announces the subway’s arrival to the next station — his station. sighing, he sits up a little taller, slipping his phone into the pocket of his slacks. a vague sense of dread weighs down his shoulders, knowing that he has a service to set up for the moment he clocks in.

he’s not looking forward to today, and yet the train still slows to a stop, the doors still slide open, and he still grabs his work briefcase from the spot between his feet. like clockwork, beomgyu maneuvers through the crowd, out the doors, and climbs the stairs up to the chilly streets of seoul.

decompressing after a slow-moving shift can take beomgyu’s night in many directions. sometimes, he simply returns home and hops into bed after a long, scalding hot shower that removes the invisible layer of grime that lays heavy on his skin. other times — typically on fridays — he’ll stop by a bar and catch up with his friends, occasionally leaving with a woman hanging off of his arm if he drinks enough to lower his inhibitions. more often than not, however, his excursions at the underground bar that taehyun is partial to end in him stumbling home alone and waking up the next morning with a raging headache. nursing a hangover alone, eating breakfast alone, bathing alone…he has never really become acclimated to it. the monster that festers inside beomgyu’s chest craves for love, for connection, for somebody to hold when the nights are too dark and his thoughts match the shade of the sky. the lack of connection is slowly getting to him. is this what insanity feels like? he wouldn’t know, nor would he like to find out. he’s sane. he’s perfectly sane.

beomgyu understands that his profession can be off-putting to potential lovers, but it’s not as if he had much of a choice in the matter — not when his one shot at the career of his dreams crumbled below his feet when the company filed bankruptcy, sending him tumbling back down to earth, to the reality that his college degree meant little to nothing to the vast majority of employers nowadays. though he applied to dozens of jobs, the only one he ever heard back from was from the listing titled “mortuary assistant,” and in desperation, he accepted the position without much thought. maybe if he had tried a little harder to find a different company where he could apply his skills, maybe if he had pushed himself to make connections in the industry when he had the resources to do so, maybe if he had pursued music production a little harder, had not given up so readily when things grew difficult…maybe things would be different.

beomgyu often thinks about the maybes.

this particular night, he finds himself leaned over a bar counter, a glass of amber-hued beer in hand. he half-listens to yeonjun’s slurred account of his dance crew’s latest win while he stares down at the mahogany tabletop. some condensation has gathered on the wood, and he swipes a finger through it. a slap to his shoulder brings his focus back to his surroundings.

“gyu, dude, y’should totally try out,’’ yeonjun pitches as he sloppily swings an arm over beomgyu’s shoulders. “get out of that. that—” he stumbles over his words for a moment, expression warping into a confused grimace. “that gross ass dead people building.”

beomgyu exhales a laugh as yeonjun’s head lolls against his shoulder, quietly whining about how his head hurts. while yeonjun is substantially gone already, beomgyu is only on his second beer. scanning the spacious, dim-lit room, he shakes his head. it’s times like these where he does not feel the need to slip into people’s minds — being surrounded by his friends is enough. “nah, man. i don’t think i could keep up. it’s been a while.”

“sure y’could! you’re like th’second best dancer here!” yeonjun says as his torso slumps down against the table. the bartender eyes him from further down the bar top with concern, but beomgyu sates the employee with an apologetic smile, ensuring that he turns away before setting his attention back on his friend.

beomgyu scoffs. “and i’m assuming you’re the first best?”

“uh, obviously. i literally run th’thing,” yeonjun retorts as he glares at him with a single eye open, an ear now resting on top of his crossed arms on the counter.

“yeonjun’s right,” taehyun butts in from the other side of yeonjun’s collapsed body. though his glazed over eyes give away his inebriated state, taehyun’s tolerance tends to lean much higher than yeonjun’s; this fact is confirmed by the crystal clear enunciation of his words as he continues, “you’ve been acting differently ever since you started working there. it wouldn’t hurt to try something new.”

great, even his friends have noticed. exhaling deeply, beomgyu nods.

“yeah, i’ll think about it.”

as the conversation meanders off into other topics, beomgyu sinks back into his own little world. curse taehyun and his acute perceptiveness. he knows that he’s been acting off, but maybe his friends are right; he once dreamed of being a choreographer, back when he was a teen, before he discovered his love for music production. perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to try.

unintentionally, he meets the gaze of a girl sitting at a booth with her friends. he quickly averts his gaze, and by the time he looks back up, she has been roped into what seems like a shot-taking contest. six other girls circle the table, one joining the first girl in taking rapid-fire shots, four others egging them on, and one laser-focused on her phone, occasionally sipping water through a straw. from what he can gather, she’s likely the group’s designated driver — though it seems her role has morphed into more of a babysitter. she’s pretty, he’ll admit. just his type. if he was on his third or fourth beer, he’d probably be over there trying to strike up a conversation with her, rather than any of her drunk friends.

as she looks up and throws a cursory glance around the bar, she catches him staring, her kohl-lined eyes meeting his own. an eyebrow raises as her gloss-coated lips twist, as if to say “don’t even try it.”

oh, how terribly he wishes to slip into her mind and let her know that he has no intention to.

the ear-piercing screech of yeonjun’s barstool to his right tears his gaze away from her. yeonjun now stands, one arm around taehyun and the other around soobin, the latter sporting a borderline disgusted grimace directed at the older boy hanging off of him while kai simply stands behind the trio of men. yeonjun’s head hangs low below his shoulders, chin nearly touching his chest, as he emits a pathetic groan. at least he’s not puking this time.

“we’re about to go grab some food. this one,” taehyun’s head nods to yeonjun’s sagging frame. “definitely needs it. you coming?”

unwilling to allow the night to end quite yet, beomgyu hums, quickly pays his tab, and allows the brief, silent encounter with the woman to fade away into the back of his mind.

the rest of the weekend passes without fanfare, and monday returns to rear its ugly head once again. monday is beomgyu’s least favorite day of the week; it brings a raging headache from his 5 a.m. alarm, a bone-deep fatigue that lingers for the rest of the day. it brings grumpy commuters whose knees and elbows uncomfortably bump against his own. it brings people who think that he should give up his seat, and silently tell him so with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. how selfish, they all think whenever he actually bothers to read their thoughts. what a fucking dick, some of them even snarl within the so-called impenetrable walls of their minds, walls he so easily breaks down. he levels those ones with a half-awake glare, pupils gloomy and lifeless. internally, their uneasy reactions make him want to laugh, hysterically cackle in their faces because wow, is he really that scary? he shouldn’t be, but maybe the dark under eyes are doing something for him.

surprisingly, the subway car he frequents is less crowded than usual. not as many people stand in front of him, and he’s actually able to see directly across the car for the first time in a while. doors shut, and he’s left to look around at the regulars and the new patrons that often don’t show up again. they’re easily less interesting than the regulars. really, what can he say? the daily life updates satisfy his nosy tendencies.

still, he hates mondays. mondays suck. mondays make him want to crawl into a hole and eventually join the bodies at his workplace. they bring out the worst in his mind. all they do is remind him of the neverending cycle that he has trapped himself in — wake up, work, go to sleep, and do it all over again the next day.

mondays bring a lot of things he fundamentally dislikes, but this particular monday also brings you.

it’s split-second eye contact. nothing more, nothing less. your eyes grow wide, your lips parting just the slightest bit in surprise. though he has not invaded your mind (yet), he can already tell what you are thinking. fuck, he isn’t blind — he knows that he is handsome.

your eyes shoot downward, your head hanging low with your phone clenched between your fingers. one of his eyebrows raises while a small smirk plays on his lips — you’re new, and even better, you’re cute. his dark, seemingly bored gaze trails over to the earbuds nestled in your ears, then to your crossed legs. you glance up at him again, eyes blowing wide again as your thighs press together just enough for him to notice the movement. his own eyes narrow slightly, evaluating the sight.

you seem...interesting. prim, proper, sitting in a modest-length skirt and a plain blouse and coat that paint you as an unassuming character, just another random person in this sardine can of a train car. yet there’s this glint in your eyes that tells him there is so, so much more to you than what meets the eye — that the innocent, put-together little front that you display to the world is a complete and utter lie. it’s intriguing. new patrons come and go from this particular subway car every day, but you and your fresh face have caught his interest — and so has your odd behavior.

then, without warning, realization punches him square in the gut.

you were there the other night, with those girls at the bar. the one sitting at the end of the table with the small glass of water as you scrolled through your phone. the one who shot a piercing glare at him as you looked out for your inebriated friends. your current behavior is a far cry from the strong front he first encountered that night, small and oh-so meek and lacking the sharp, piercing edge to your gaze that initially piqued his interest in you. the change, for some reason, intrigues him more. what happened to that feisty glare, that confident air to your posture? he wants to know why you seem so meek, so he taps in to your mind and—

“you’re my dumb little slut, aren’t you? fuckin’ say it—”

beomgyu flinches in his seat, the door to your mind slamming shut as he sits there in shock. did he really just hear that? are you listening to fucking porn on the subway? what the fuck?

he’s never had this happen to him before. he’s accidentally stumbled upon the occasional horny thought before, sure, but listening to porn on the subway? that’s a new one. he decides to give you another glance; your lips are pressed together now, eyes pointed towards the floor as you further shrink into yourself. fuck, you’re so cute, but now he knows you’re also awfully perverted — and for some reason, he feels himself getting hard in his trousers at the thought of entering your mind again.

he should do something about this little development, shouldn’t he?

yeah, he thinks that he should. a sick sort of curiosity wins over the more logical side of his brain, the side that tells him that he should feel guilty for even thinking about what he’s about to do. he can’t, can he? no, he can — he wants to, he really fucking wants to. opportunities like this don’t just present themselves on a silver platter like this on the regular. if he doesn’t take this chance, then he’d be an absolute fool.

the subway slows to a stop, the weirdly cheery, robotic voice calling out another stop. not his, thank god. he takes this opportunity to open that pesky little door to your mind again, now fully expecting the depravity echoing in your brain — and rather than do anything drastic too quickly, he simply sits there and listens. he listens through an entire audio alongside you, ignoring the twitch of his cock as he listens to the woman be degraded and praised, in missionary and in doggy, her moans mixing with the man's in a cacophony of pleasure — he loves the way you jump when the sound of a hand striking flesh sounds through your mind. your fleeting sigh of “god, i wish that were me,” causes him to bite his lip. you like being treated like a slut, huh? like a stupid little whore only made to take cock? that’s music to his ears, really — because he likes treating girls like that too.

as sick and disgusting as it is, he continues to listen as if mindlessly tuning in to a podcast, subtly adjusting himself in his pants as he fights off a raging boner. he wants to be the one to do those things to you. he wants to make you scream and sob and beg for mercy as he completely ravages your body, fuck you until you’re brainless, perfect little slut for him. you’d love that, according to the audios you consume for the remainder of his commute — to be fucked so hard you legs give out from under you, to be owned, fully and completely. he likes that sound of that as well.

a few minutes into the second audio, you take another glance at him, eyes squeezing shut right away once you catch his gaze — and suddenly, your thoughts are full of him. he’s encountered countless strangers who can perfectly visualize their streams of consciousness, and you seem to be yet another one of them. images of you on your knees between his thighs and sucking his cock in the middle of this subway car flood his own mind, switching to one of him fucking you from behind against the wall while everyone else watches, then to him finger fucking you with a hand around your throat…what the fuck. what the fuck? how do you just do that? how do you think of such terribly shameless things while looking so pretty and demure, as if you’re a shy little thing rather than some fucking whore? he shifts his briefcase over his lap again. fuck, he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt. shit, fuck.

he should be appalled by you, but fiery, ardent lust is the sole emotion that floods his veins. would it be a bad idea to talk to you? no, you want it. you want it so fucking bad. just look at your mind — and he can make all your dirty little fantasies come true, if you would let him.

just as he’s about to actually do something about you, the subway slows to a stop once again, the same cheery voice announcing his stop. god dammit. pushing himself up to his feet, he finds that you’re doing the same, wide eyes flitting around nervously as you move towards the door and stop nearly right next to him, those earbuds that hide your biggest secret in plain sight still stuck in your ears. he can still hear those degrading words and moans and slapping sounds that still echo through your mind, loud and clear as if those white earbuds are sitting snug in his own ears.

the doors slide open, and soon enough, he loses sight of you in the surging crowd. stepping out of the subway, he looks around once, twice. you have completely disappeared; nowhere to be found, your mind has grown too far from his own for him to locate nor access, the tether between the two of you frayed to the point of snapping in half. with a brief purse of his lips, he sets off up the stairs. it’s fine, there’s always another day. it’s fine, he tells himself over and over again. there’s nothing he could have done in such a short time, anyway.

the sun sits high in the sky today, but the bone-chilling air cuts through his puffy coat like tiny needles puncturing his skin, or millions of scalpels slicing open flesh nearly to the bone, cold and sterile and far from comforting. autumn shouldn’t be this cold, and his slightly soured mood isn’t helping his case right now. he should have done something back there, he should’ve opened up the channel between the two of you and taken the plunge. it wouldn’t have hurt to try, but no. no, he let that opportunity go like every other one he’s had in his life. with his jaw set, he promises himself that it won’t happen again. it won’t, because if he keeps living like this — allowing all these opportunities slip through his fingers like grains of sand — he’ll never be able to forgive himself.

and honestly, beomgyu is no clairvoyant, and he should brush off the tickle in his brain as a stupid, naive hunch…but he has a compelling feeling that he’ll be seeing you again tomorrow.

when beomgyu returns home, the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon, he doesn’t unwind like he usually does. today’s shift was a slow one, with no bodies to preen and primp and no services to set up for, so most of his time was taken up with cleaning, filing documents, and sitting around aimlessly. no matter how much he tried to fend them off, thoughts of you bounced around in his brain for the entire eight hours he was on shift. fuck, he doesn’t even know your name, much less anything else about you, yet he wishes he could travel back in time and redo this morning all over again. he’s not sure how it would have panned out, exactly, but he has a few tricks up his sleeve that would’ve made it exciting.

he shakes his head. the current moment presents much more pressing matters than ruminating on this morning’s terrible decisions; the strain in his trousers proves to be a pertinent issue, a tent formed in the black fabric and aching to be touched. now that the public eye no longer holds his gaze, his apartment door locked shut behind him, he allows himself to give in to his most base instincts. a hand comes down to cup his hardness as he imagines his fingers as yours, you on your knees below him, those adorably wide eyes staring up at him in desperation. you’d wait for permission, right? you’d beg so prettily like a good little slut should? fuck yeah, you would. you’d be good, you’d take what he would give you — and you would love it.

groaning, he crashes onto his couch, head throwing back against the back cushion as he gropes his cock harder. he’s forgone slipping off his dress shoes and has barely even slipped his coat off before he’s giving in to the pulsing ache in his groin that’s nearly unbearable, the white hot need swirling in his stomach that demands his immediate attention. his belt quickly unbuckled and his trousers pulled halfway down his thighs, he slips his cock from his boxers, gasping at how sensitive he has become.

“oh fuck,” he breathes out into the quiet air, a shuddered sigh following when his thumb swipes over the angry red head, the bead of precum that has gathered there spreading across his skin. he brings his hand up to his lips, gathering some spit beneath his tongue before letting in loll into his palm. bringing it back down, he drags his hand up and down his shaft, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as pleasure rushes through his veins. he pumps his cock steadily, hips rolling up into his hand as if fucking your throat. eyes fluttering closed, his free hand grips the couch, fingernails digging into the worn leather and leaving half-moon indents in their wake. “fuck. god, fuck.”

would you be able to take him? he’s been told he’s big, most women barely able to take him even after extensive prep. he imagines how you’d keen as he enters you, your back arching so prettily and your walls stretching to their limits to accommodate his size. how you’d choke and gag on his cock if he decided to use your throat, tears streaming down your cheeks as you peer up at him pathetically, fingers digging into your thighs as you resist the urge to touch yourself. would you like to be slapped around a little, punished with spankings and little taps to your cheek?

“focus,” he mumbles to no one. to you. “focus, slut. be good for me.”

he’s delirious at this point, has dived so deep into his fantasies that he barely registers that he’s fucking his fist and not your mouth or sweet little cunt. that doesn’t stop his fingers from tightening their grip, squeezing the head before gliding back down again, then back up, the rhythm of his hips growing frenzied as his high inches closer. his free hand smooths up his stomach, taking his button-up with it as he clenches it with desperate fingers. he bites down on the fabric, pumping himself once, twice, three times before his high hits him, his cum spurting out in staccato ribbons. he’s making a mess, but he can’t bring himself to care when this is the best orgasm he’s had in months. the shirt falls from his mouth as he moans unabashedly.

“take it,” he groans, his hips canting upward. “fuckin’— fuckin’ take it. shit. such a perfect little whore for me.”

he cums and he cums, spilling all over himself until he’s milked dry. eyes closed, his contracted muscles melt into the couch, hot pants replacing his moans and groans. a few minutes pass before he fully comes down from his headspace and returns back to earth, only for him to realize just how much he came, staining his clothes and coating his skin in creamy white. he blinks.

reality crashes down on his head.

he just…jerked off to you. he just came so hard he saw stars just from the mere thought of you. oh, he’s in deeper than he first thought. too deep, too quickly, he can barely breathe.

“fuck,” beomgyu murmurs as he stares down at his cum-covered abdomen, his sticky hand. “fuck.”

beomgyu was right: you do come back the next day. and the next. and the next.

over the remainder of the work week, he watches you — well, more so listens to you, but he can’t deny himself the little glimpses he allows himself to take, drinking in how you worry your bottom lip, how the muscles in your throat contract each time you gulp. the poker face that you don crumbles oh so easily whenever he meets your stray gaze. it’s exhilarating, knowing the power he, a complete stranger, has over you. your microscopic slips in expression remain undetected to the rest of the passengers, but he sees every single one. they’re a perfectly entertaining backdrop for your explicit musings.

he knows he could approach you like a normal human being would, but where’s the fun in that? he’s not quite a normal person in his own right, anyway. instead, he’s decided to keep you in his sights, learning what exactly you enjoy, what you like to hear, preparing for the day where he again gathers the courage to toy with you within the walls of your mind. he’s in deep, and at this point, he’s accepted it if only to justify his sadistic obsession with you. actually, on second thought, he wouldn’t quite call it an obsession, perhaps a morbid curiosity more than anything. yeah, that’s all it can be.

it’s almost as if the universe has sent him a little present in the form of you, an apology for the trials and tribulations that whatever is above has rained down on him this past year or so. of course he’s going to savor it. who wouldn’t? so he sticks to his plan, and keeps watching you, listening to you, observing you, identifying your little quirks and deepest, darkest desires. they’ll be quite useful later, he’s sure.

over his…research period, he’s found out a lot about you. you like to be bullied, to be called a slut, a whore, but you also enjoy a little praise mixed in: good slut, good whore, pretty girl is so obedient for sir, for daddy, for master. you’re also not too picky in what you listen to, as long as it contains a male dominant in some capacity. couple’s content, threesomes, gangbangs are all on the table, as are solo audios that usually have some sort of plot to them — coworkers to lovers' first date that ends in sex? check. hot librarian who fucks over a table you after closing? that too. he could go on about what he’s heard in just the solo audios you consume, but even that list would be exhaustive.

by the time friday rolls around, he doesn’t even have to try to search for your mind; call him crazy, but it’s almost as if you, on some subconscious level, know that he wants in and are more than willing to let him. as if you keep the door cracked open just for him.

at least, he likes to think that you do.

staying close, but not too close, to you proves to be difficult today. fridays bring with them a surge of new faces that crowd the subway car, which is generally quite annoying, but at the moment, he also finds it to be frustrating. no seats are open when he boards, he can’t even see you through the dense crowd, but you’re there. your mind is there, open and waiting for him to enter.

though he won’t be able to see your cute little reactions, he steps through that mental threshold.

“it’s okay, baby. shh, don’t cry, you can cum. cum for me, just let go,” a gentle voice coos. aw, you must be having a rough morning, how sad. the only other day you listened to these kinds of audios, you looked absolutely miserable, the corners of your lips pulled down and a deep, pathetic furrow to your brows — it was wednesday, that’s right. two days ago, when you seemed frazzled and completely out of it. a little digging resulted in him learning that you had spilled your coffee all over the concrete on the way here, you thought your hair didn’t look right (even though, to him, it did, it looked perfect — he wished he could’ve told you that), and worst of all, your boss emailed you late the previous night to admonish you for your performance, demanding a meeting first thing that morning.

still, he wishes he could take care of your boss, eliminate that weight off of your shoulders. if it were up to him, your boss would be sitting in the morgue at his place of work, gray and comatose and unable to admonish you for things that beomgyu is sure you had no control over. because that’s how offices work, right? sink or swim, big fish eat the little ones, blaming those below them for everything they should be taking responsibility for. your boss has to be one of those. he was pig-nosed and donning a constant sneer when you pictured the verbal berating you’d be getting once you got to your workplace.

that day, he found himself thinking about how he’s become pretty talented with a scalpel.

“good girl. doing so well for me, pretty girl,” the same voice soothes, soft cries and sniffles from the submissive mixing with the gentle words. he could treat you all sweet too. he could be anything you want, if only you knew him.

he wants you to know him — needs you to, really.

there’s no clear cut reason for your current sour mood, your thoughts too jumbled together for him to properly decipher. are you picking apart your appearance? did you wake up late? is this all because of your boss again? he might just kill the bastard if that’s the case…if only he could approach you, tell you that everything will be okay, but he doesn’t want to knock down the house of cards he’s spent such precious time building over the course of the week. you’re too special for that. it’s the very reason why he tries to blend into the crowd, why he tries to keep eye contact to a minimum. the last thing he needs is for you to run away from him when you’re one of the only things holding him together.

when the car slows to his and your stop, disappointment nips at the space between his eyebrows. he didn’t even get to see you today, and the end of the work week means that he won’t be seeing you for two entire days. sighing, he falls into his typical routine: move towards the doors, wait for them to open, and follow the other exiting passengers out. where could you be? you’re still here, he knows that much since he’s still connected to you, still hears those soft words and moans, but where the fuck are you? you, as in your body. that you.

with a single cursory glance around, he swears he catches a glimpse of your figure before the crowd swallows you whole. as he’s shoved towards the stairs by the crowd, his chest grows heavy.

friday has just begun, but monday couldn’t come any faster.

“so, are you gonna try out?”

yeonjun is far more sober compared to last friday night, his eyes lacking that fatigued droop they always get whenever he’s had too much. beomgyu tears his glazed-over gaze away from the television screen to look at the yeonjun, sinking further into the couch below him. he points to himself. “me?”

yeonjun rolls his eyes, a knee swinging over the arm of the armchair he sits in. “who the fuck else would i be talking to?”

scoffing, beomgyu shoots him a glare. “i don’t know, man. y’don’t have to be a dick about it.”

the open bottle of beer in beomgyu’s hand chills his fingertips, so he switches it to his other hand before taking another sip. meanwhile, soobin plops down next to him with an already open bag of chips, offering some to him. he shakes his head, and soobin shrugs, beginning to munch on them by himself.

“i’m serious though,” yeonjun continues. “you should really try out. there’s not much to it, just dance to one song and you’re done. i’d probably pass you even if you sucked.”

“that’s nepotism,” taehyun chimes in from the floor, eyes trained on the screen as he shoots a player down in the game him and kai are currently obsessed with. the sound of gunfire fills the living room of soobin and yeonjun’s apartment, the murmurs of the two boys a low drone beneath it as they figure out their best strategy to win.

he almost wishes he lived here with soobin and yeonjun, or with the other two. yeonjun and soobin, taehyun and kai — only beomgyu lives alone. alone doesn’t necessarily mean lonely, but in beomgyu’s case, it does. maybe that’s why he’s latched onto you so hard: to cure his loneliness. he swats that thought away like one would a pesky mosquito. he hasn’t latched onto you, he admonishes himself, he’s simply curious. yeah, curious.

just a little innocent curiosity.

disregarding taehyun’s comment, yeonjun raises an eyebrow towards beomgyu. “i know i was drunk when i said that shit last week, but you really have been acting weird since you started at that job. we’ve all noticed.”

“yeah, it’s like you’ve gotten more reserved, or something,” soobin says, words muffled by his chewing. beomgyu grimaces, shifting closer to the arm of the couch.

“you’re the most introverted one here, you can’t say shit,” kai snorts. soobin throws a chip at his head.

“anyway,” yeonjun butts in with a scalding glare before an argument can begin. soobin and kai blanch, mouths closing. “we’re just…concerned about you.”

“is this some kind of intervention?” beomgyu laughs, disbelief apparent in his tone. he’s fine. he has you now.

“no, we just want you to know that there’s other things you could do that would make you happier than work at a fucking funeral home,” taehyun says, eyes still not straying from the tv.

“like joining my dance crew,” yeonjun tacks on.

beomgyu sighs. they’re kind of right, if he’s being honest with himself, but is he ready to put himself out there again? is he ready to face the potential of rejection, of failure? he’s had his life fall apart in front of his eyes once already, what if it happens again?

“...i guess.”

“c’mon.” yeonjun shifts around until he’s leaning on his elbows, focus solely on beomgyu. “tryouts are next saturday. i know how fast you can learn choreography. hell, you could probably learn something in a couple hours and be fine.”

“honestly, you’ll never know if you don’t try,” soobin chimes in. “it might end in something good.”

“yeah,” beomgyu says before taking another large swig of beer. “yeah, i know.”

and so another weekend passes, and monday returns once again.

soobin’s brief, sage advice plays through his mind again and again. although he understands that soobin meant for it to apply to his current career situation, beomgyu has adopted it for his situation with you instead. he should try, he’s going to try, eventually.

it might end in something good, he tells himself over and over again. he has to try.

mondays are a bit less excruciating now that you’re around. he has only known you for a week, but it’s been long enough to know that you make his day-to-day routine bearable — hell, he’ll stay at his terrible job as long as you keep showing up each morning. the day that you don’t will be the nail in his coffin — he chuckles at his stupid joke. yeonjun is rubbing off on him too much.

the sky is overcast today, and endless expanse of gray that contrasts the warmth of the changing leaves that line the sidewalk. it might rain soon, he surmises, but he hopes that it won’t. he’s forgone an umbrella today. digging his hands further into his coat pockets, he ducks into the subway station, descending the stairs and weaving through the crowd until he finds his usual platform. when he gets there, you’ve already arrived, ears vacant of those white earbuds, but it’s not a foreign sight to him. you typically put them in once you sit down. the fact that you get on and get off at the same stop as him…he almost likes to think of all of this as fate.

maybe the universe really is trying to apologize.

the subway arrives at the platform a few minutes later — minutes in which he tries not to stare at you. he’s not a creep, he swears that he’s not. he’s not a creep, he’s not a creep — he repeats this to himself as he follows behind you into the subway car the two of you frequent, he finds a seat across from you a few feet to your left. he can’t be too obvious.

and most importantly, he’s not a creep.

you dig around in your bag. ah, here come those infamous earbuds, he’s sure of it — but then they don’t, and then the digging through your bag grows a degree more frantic, your lips parting as you continue shoving whatever is in there aside in search of your most precious possession.

you feel like crying as panic surges through your veins. oh god, you forgot them. how could you have forgotten them? what are you going to do now?

beomgyu decides to tap into your mind in that moment, finding you in an unbelievably frazzled state. his heart clenches in his chest, he wishes he could help somehow…

wait. he could…oh my god, he could. no, that’s sick, he’s not a creep — well, no, he could. he definitely fucking could, and you’d probably end up liking it…

he could be your temporary replacement for today — no, he could become your constant source, the one you need to get through the day. he could become your audios. he wants to. they’d be far more…interactive, if he did, after all. you’d love what he could do to your pretty fucking body just with access to your mind. reading thoughts isn’t the only thing he can do — and soobin’s right: he’ll never know if he doesn’t try. how could he sit here any longer and not give in to his burning desire to ravage you? you know what? fuck it. this is the perfect opportunity, served up once again on a silver platter, waiting for him to take. he’s not going to let it slip away again — and oh, you just look so devastated right now, how terrible would he be if he didn’t help you?

in a split-second moment, beomgyu decides that today is the day. deep breath. focus. okay, he can do this. one, two, three…

“hello, pretty girl.”

you flinch before you look up and around, only to find no one is looking at you — well, he is, but through his peripherals. wouldn’t want to get caught, would he? suppressing a smirk at your reaction, he shifts in his seat.

“was someone just talking to me?” you ask yourself, brows furrowing as your eyes continue to dart around. your hand comes up to your ear to see if you accidentally remembered your earbuds, your frown deepening when you register that they are, indeed, not in your ears. glancing around again, your eyes skirt over his form. he shivers at the thought of what’s to come, biting his lip as he avoids your gaze. “is this some sort of prank?”

“calm down, sweetheart, this isn’t a prank. now, stop looking around, you’re the only one who heard me.”

your brain flits from thought to thought so quick he can barely keep up, the volume of them rising as you panic. your fingers clench the strap of your purse as if to ground yourself. “am i hallucinating right now? what the fuck? this has to be a prank. should i go to the doctor’s? no, my boss would kill me if i called out, but fuck, i should really go if i’m hearing things—”

beomgyu chuckles, the sound echoing through your mind as well. freezing, your muscles lock up as you look around again. your distressed stream of consciousness stops for a moment, before resuming at a much more rapid pace. “what the fuck, i need to call out right now, where’s my phone—”

sighing, he leans back into his seat and closes his eyes. so cute, how easily you spiral. “quiet that pretty little head of yours, pretty girl. you’re not hallucinating, this is all real. very real.”

a few moments pass before your internal freakout quiets down. for once, silence fills your mind…and rather than him break it, it’s you: “someone’s…talking to me through my mind? this is real?”

“such a smart girl. you figured it out so quickly,” beomgyu taunts, resisting the urge to coo again. adrenaline rushes through his veins, urging him to continue. you need him. he can make you happy. he just needs to hear you say it.

your thighs press together at the praise, fingers digging into the trousers you had chosen to wear. you shouldn’t be feeling like this. this is strange, terribly strange, and even a little frightening, now that you are aware that someone — that a complete stranger, at that — has full reign over your conscious. yet, at the same time, you’re curious to see how this will play out.

“and you can speak to me, too, if you focus hard enough…” his voice trails off. okay, you can do that. allowing your eyelids to flutter shut, you begin to breathe deeply until even the mechanical noises of the subway and the murmurs of passengers vacate your senses. mind empty, you exhale a shaky breath. focus. stay focused.

“hmm, impressive. you’re a natural at this.” god, he needs to quit praising you like that with his deep voice. by the way he laughs, you know he heard that too. fuck.

“who are you and why the fuck are you in my brain?” you decide to ask. straight to the point, no fluff to it, it’s reminiscent of your attitude at the bar where he first laid eyes upon you. this is the wall you put up towards strangers and any other threat to your life, but little do you know, beomgyu’s breached that wall already. this is just a little front. “answer me, you fucking asshole—”

“woah, woah, watch the language. why would i tell you who i am? it’s much more exciting this way, don’t you think?” the smile in his voice is unmistakable, but he purses his lips to keep them from curling upward.

you start to gnaw on your bottom lip, biting hard enough for pain to bloom across your nerve endings. this is stranger you’re talking to right now, a stranger who you’re talking to through your fucking thoughts. this is weird. you never signed up for this. “get the hell out of my mind before— before i—”

“before you what? can’t kick me out, you don’t know how to do that, pretty girl.”

fuck, he’s right — wait, if he’s in your mind right now, can he also control it? is he going to hurt you? is he going to make you his puppet and go on a murder spree? is he in this car with you, or somewhere else? what if…what if…

beomgyu can almost feel your panic swelling in his own chest. fuck, he needs to put a stop to your spiraling before it gets out of control. if you freak out now, then all of his work over the past week will be for naught. after all, he’s not going to do anything without your permission. the last thing he wishes to do is scare you off completely before he can have his fun. with great urgency, he cuts off your ramblings, “hey, now, relax for me, princess. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m as human as you are, just a bit…different, i guess. and i am in the same car as you right now.”

rather than respond, you look around again, eyeing every single man around you with suspicion, even him. he stares at the floor, maintaining what he hopes to be a neutral, borderline bored, expression. he needs to keep it together. he’s gotten this far, he can’t ruin this. “looking around again, huh? if i were that easy to spot, then this game wouldn’t be very fun, would it?”

“game? fucking with my mind is a game to you?”

the corners of his lips twitch up before he’s forcing them back down. this is it, the moment he has been waiting oh so patiently for. keep it together.

“well, not really — i actually have a proposition for you, if you’d hear me out.”

scoffing, you urge him along. “just get on with it.”

“so impatient. that’s okay. i can work with that,” he smirks. “i know what you listen to every morning, you know.”

your heart drops to your stomach. he what? oh god, you think you’re going to be sick. your arms wrap around your stomach, squeezing hard. this is bad, this is really fucking bad. “do you want money, or something? are— are you trying to blackmail me right now? i’ll have you know, i’m actually kinda broke right now. i really don’t wanna end up homeless, can you just. pick someone else to fuck with? there’s like twelve different businessmen in this car, i’m sure they’re rich and corrupt—”

beomgyu’s brows raise imperceptibly. jesus, are you always this flighty? “woah, chill. i’m not here to judge you — or blackmail you, for that matter. i’m not evil. aw, don’t look all shameful now. i told you i’m not here to judge — i actually wanna help you, if you’d let me.”

“help me?” you dumbly echo. “help me how?”

“well,” he starts. “i noticed you forgot your earbuds today, and you just looked so sad and lost without them. how else are you going to get through your commute? and then i thought maybe i could do something about that. y’know, help you out, get you through the morning.”

“so you invaded my privacy just to tell me that you wanna dirty talk to me for the rest of my commute? is that what you mean? ‘cause if so, that’s pretty weird,” you reply, though your stray thoughts that dart around tell him that you’re actually considering his offer — it’s tempting, isn’t it? to give in, to let his deep voice get you all squirmy and needy, knowing he could be anyone in this subway car. still, your words make him laugh, because of course you’re deflecting right now. it’s okay, he hasn’t given you the full story quite yet.

“that’s only part of my offer, princess,” he starts. “i can read minds, yes, but i can also do…other things.”

oh, you’re really considering it now. maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let him. his voice is nice, and maybe, just maybe, it’s kind of making you horny. after a deep, long breath, you gulp once, then, with curiosity dripping from your tone, you ask, “...like what?”

jackpot.

beomgyu’s high on a mix of adrenaline and dopamine, utterly giddy because he’s got you right where he wants you, where he needs you. he’s played his cards just right, shoved your worries to the side and drew out your curiosity enough that you’ve taken his bait. perfect, oh, this is perfect. he knew you’d be good for him.

“it would be much easier for me to show you.”

“then show me,” you immediately reply, heat flooding your cheeks at the sheer desperation in your voice. god, calm down. he hasn’t even done anything yet.

chuckling at your internal conflict, he decides not to comment. “tell me if you don’t like something. i’ll stop.” he watches as you slightly nod to yourself, a soft “okay,” echoing through your head and into his — thus, he sets his plan into action.

something warm caresses your calf, but when you look down, there’s nothing there. your eyes widen — was that a hand? it definitely felt like one, the way it creeped up the back of your leg, calloused fingertips pressing into your skin. a shiver races down your spine. that had to have been him.

“it was,” he confirms, then his voice is growing impossibly deeper, adopting that gruff edge that you love so much. “you want more, princess? i can give you more.”

another phantom hand skirts over your waist, dragging down over your hips to your right thigh, just to stop there. biting your bottom lip, you nod, hoping that whoever is in your head right now sees it, wherever he is. the hand moves to your inner thigh; despite how tightly pressed together they are, it skirts over your skin with ease, seemingly beneath your trousers. “i need words, pretty girl, or i might just stop right now. and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

no, you wouldn’t, not at this point. the unbearable ache currently building in your core makes you want to cry; you haven’t felt this level of desperation in a while, and you need to be touched. you need it so fucking bad.

“please.” the single word comes out meek, quiet. shame flushes your face, a fiery heat that spreads up to your ears and down your neck.

you hear the way his breath shudders, causing your own hitch. “fuck, you’re so cute, but i need more than that. beg. beg for me to touch you.”

his voice — fuck, his voice is so deep, so dark and wanton. you wonder what he sounds like when he’s moaning, how he would sound if he fucked you, pounded you into the mattress so hard you saw stars. the image of a faceless stranger fucking you from behind, your back arched behind you and your face buried in the sheets, as he holds your wrists behind your back flits across the big screen of your mind. you shake it away, but the man in your head is already tutting. “use your words, sweetheart, not pictures — though i’d love to do that to you too. you’ve got quite the imagination on you.”

beomgyu’s cock twitches in his boxers as you whine, frantic pleas bubbling up from the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind once he takes the sensation of his hand away from your thigh. you sound halfway dumb already, begging for his hands, his cock, his tongue — anything. you’ll take anything just, “please, sir. please touch me. need you to touch me so bad.”

you don’t even know who he is, yet you’re being so obedient, calling him sir, begging so sweetly for him — it’s like you’re begging straight into his ear. his heart swells at the thought, as does his cock. you sound so pretty, but he finds himself wishing he could hear these words come from your lips instead.

“yeah? my little slut needs more?” he prods, laughing meanly when you whimper out a yes. “aw, ‘course she does. desperate whores always need more, don’t they? so greedy.”

you have to swallow down a whimper at that, focusing so intently on keeping quiet that your nails have dug into your palms deep enough to almost break skin. the pain seems to help keep you grounded — that is, until you feel the sting of a palm against your backside. you flinch in your seat, gasping sharply. the man sitting next to you glances over, but you only hang your head and shrink into yourself. he looks away.

“focus, whore. you’re drawing too much attention to yourself.”

two hands are touching you now. one cupping your pussy, the other wrapped around your throat, pressing into the sides of your neck so you start to grow dizzy. the hand on your throat releases its grip to slide down to your chest, circling around one of your nipples before a thumb swipes over the pebbled flesh. your back arches off of your seat when the sensation morphs into that of lips, plush warmth enveloping your tit before the sharp bite of teeth interrupts. you inhale a shaky breath from your nose as lips return to soothe the sting. despite the hard press of your thighs, the hand on your pussy drags up and down your folds, dipping down to your entrance before dragging up to your clit. a tiny squeak sneaks up your throat before you’re masking it with a cough.

“aren’t you just a sensitive little thing? so wet too,” he coos, shifting his briefcase over his lap to gain some semblance of friction. his fingertips tingle as if your wetness coats them right now. fuck, he’s hard. if it were up to him, you’d be taking his cock right now, moaning so prettily as he presses you up against the wall and fucks up into you, your legs giving out from under you because he’s just making you feel so good, isn’t he? never mind that, he has a job to do. “how about i just…”

two lithe fingers breach your walls while a thumb continues to slowly circle your clit, barely brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves. you feel like you’re going insane, trying your best to hold still as his fingers begin to move inside you, curling up into your walls. searching, he’s searching for that spot inside you that will get you crying—

then he finds it.

your knee jerks up, your legs falling open slightly before you’re pressing them closed again as he abuses it over and over again, crooking his fingers just right to find it with each thrust. your hips roll up into the sensation, stilling as soon as you realize that you’re squirming too much, being too obvious. people are starting to stare, calm down. calm the fuck down.

god, you don’t think you can. it’s too difficult to keep still with the way he’s finger-fucking you right now. with the way there’s lips suddenly circling your clit, sucking the pearl in so that his tongue can play with it. little kitten licks that make you want to scream and cry and beg for mercy because you don’t know if you can keep up this front of normalcy with the way he’s touching you.

it’s like he’s speaking directly into your ear right now, warm breath fanning over your earlobe, your cheek. “wanna see you fall apart, wanna see you lose it in front of all of these people, baby. bet you wanna cum right now, yeah? just wanna feel good, don’t even care if you quake and cry in public? you’re that fucking desperate for it?”

you nod to yourself, eyes squeezing shut. you’re so close. oh god, you’re going to cum. you’re going to cum like a brainless whore in the middle of a fucking subway car. you’re sick. you’re fucking sick for enjoying this.

you’re just as bad as him, beomgyu decides. he knew you’d like what he could give you, he knew you needed him. it was just a matter of time before you realized that fact. that’s okay, because he needs you just as badly. it’s a carnal need, white hot in the center of his stomach — fuck, he’s obsessed with you. he wants you to be his forever.

and beomgyu knows you’re close, but he’s not quite ready to give you what you want.

“please, oh god. please let me cum. fuckfuckfuck— no, please don’t stop!” you cry as he slows the pace of his fingers. “please no, ‘m so close! no no no—”

“you drive me crazy, it’s only fair if i return the favor. makes it more fun.” ripping the sensation away from you completely, he watches you bottom lip tremble as you blink back tears, your body melting into your seat as the pleasure fades away. “now, now, don’t cry, sweetheart. i have something even better for you.”

a few seconds pass before something breaches your entrance, your walls stretching to their limit, yet the sting of pain never arrives. filled to the brim, you throw your head back against the window behind you. to others, you seem to just be resting your eyes, but the way your mouth falls open is not lost on beomgyu. he knows you can feel him everywhere, knows you can feel the way the head of his cock nearly touches your cervix, how it presses into every single sensitive spot inside you. he knows he’s big, but you take it like a champ, your hips grinding down into the seat, as if to bring him deeper inside you. what a little whore, his little whore.

“y’feel that, pretty girl? feel my big fucking cock inside you?” he asks as your chest heaves, a feeble attempt in holding yourself together. “calm down, now. i’m gonna start moving, okay?”

he doesn’t wait for your response before he’s spoon-feeding you the sensation of his cock pulling out until nothing but his cockhead remains within your walls. a few seconds pass, then your begging returns. tearful, this time, fucking pathetic. he basks in the power that rushes through his entire being. you need him. you need him in order to feel good, and he loves that you do. he brings a hand down to adjust himself in his pants, hissing quietly at the ache that the action brings. he needs to fuck you right now. physically fuck you, none of this thought manipulation bullshit — but no, he has to be patient. he can be patient as long as it’s you.

the subway is slowing down again, and he comes to the gross realization that he only has a few minutes before both of you must depart. dammit, he has to make this quick.

meanwhile, you’re already halfway to your high just at the mere feeling of him inside you. as soon as his cock begins to move again, you’re choking back moans, head hanging low as your muscles tense and your hands press into your lap. you can feel him in your throat each time he thrusts back in, his thrusts growing faster and faster until he’s pounding into you.

“fuck fuck fuckkkkk!” you wail, encouraging him to continue. in reality, your walls clench around nothing, but your mind paints a different picture. you almost beg for him to cum inside, but you cant find the words, too fucked out to think about anything else but the knot in your stomach that grows tighter with each passing second. “fuck, please. please, fuck i’m, nghh—”

imaginary fingers swipe across your clit, and you’re a goner.

thighs quaking, your release coats your panties, walls fluttering, but the movement of his cock doesn’t stop until you’re begging for mercy. beomgyu almost cums in his pants at the depraved wails you emit, half-baked sentences pleading for him to “s-slow down, please. i can’t, no, i can’t — shit!”

finally — finally — he grants you reprieve from the onslaught of pleasure. your body slumps into your seat, your eyes shut as you begin to float back down to earth. the clack-clack-clack of the subway slows until it stops completely. the usual robotic voice announces his stop, but you seem so out of it that you don’t even register that you need to get off.

“good job, baby. you put on quite the show for me,” he praises as he rises to his feet. luckily, he decided on wearing a longer coat today which he uses to cover up his raging hard-on. this has to be fate.

no response. with an excited gleam in his eye, he disconnects from your mind and moves towards you. looming above you, he drinks in the beads of sweat that have formed along your hairline, the wrinkles in your trousers where you gripped the fabric a wee bit too hard, your dreamy eyes and how they blink down at his black loafers before raising to meet his own. concern has painted itself across his features, his head tilting as he holds your bleary gaze.

“are you alright, miss? you look a bit ill.”

you blink once. twice. god, how are you so cute even after getting fucked so hard? he can barely control himself from blurting out who he is.

“what—what stop is this?” you ask him, eyes wide and red-rimmed from your earlier tears. he tells you, and he watches those same eyes widen. “oh shit, this is my stop!”

attempting to stand, you stumble straight into his chest. he catches you with gentle hands before he’s helping you steady yourself. your legs tremble like those of a newborn fawn, sexy yet terribly adorable. he gulps at the image of you unable to walk, legs so sore that you’re forced to let him dote on you, that forms inside his mind. later. that can come later, don’t get too hasty.

“oh, you’re a bit shaky there,” he murmurs, a hand curling around you elbow when you stumble again. “are you sure you’re alright?”

“i’m f-fine, sorry for the trouble,” you reply with a polite, yet jittery, smile, stepping away from him. he wants to tell you to come closer again, he wants to smell your sweet perfume again, feel your warm skin beneath his fingertips.

but good things come to those who wait.

“no worries.” with a charming smile, he shuffles beside you, until the two of you have exited with the rest of the crowd. he catches your wrist before you can get too far, and you turn to face him once more. afterglow looks wonderful on you. “it looks like we’re getting off at the same stop today, so would you like me to walk with you until you’re feeling a bit better? i’m sure some fresh air will do you good.”

you pause for a moment, hesitating. have you seen him somewhere before? you feel like you have. “i…that would be great, actually. thank you.”

“of course,” he nods, holding back a smirk. he can’t help the words that escape him next.

“lead the way, then…pretty girl.”

the way you look back at him with alarmed realization — even a hint of fear — causes a grin to split open his lips. you begin to sputter as you back away, but he merely follows with light, casual steps. “w-what, who—who are you—”

his smile grows knife-sharp. the door opens — it always does.

“aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he coos inside your mind, biting his lip as he watches your knees buckle. “who else could it be?”

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt imagines #beomgyu imagines #txt x you #txt x y/n #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu x you #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #💌 — gyu #agust.nsfw

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threeacttragedy · 12 days ago

Text

Entry 2 – The One About the Likes

As you will soon figure out, I will be bouncing around from topic to topic. It will all be Lukola-related, of course, but the information and speculation I discuss may not be in any particular order. However, I will add in dates of reference to help organize your thoughts.

In my first post, I mentioned our three fan-types. Because this is only my second entry, I will touch on them again.

The Sincerely Ignorant are those that follow blindly. We all know a Sincerely Ignorant. If you’re the type of person who spirals uncontrollably at the hint of bad news, I’m sorry to tell you this, you’re likely a Sincerely Ignorant. But, don’t run! I want to help calm you the fuck down.

The Conscientiously Stupid are the people who push a narrative without considering other evidence being provided to them. We’re all Conscientiously Stupid from time to time, but this category – at least in my blog – is typically reserved for the Jakholes, the A-Holes, the Anti-Lukes, and now apparently the Anti-Nics. That’s not to say Lukolas are not also Conscientiously Stupid. We are human after all.

The Fact Finders are those that collect information and share it. They may speculate on it, but they do not manipulate it. We simply argue our case and provide the evidence in support of our arguments.

Now jumping into what I wanted to discuss today –

The likes.

The motherfucking likes on Instagram.

My disclaimer today: I am only discussing the likes between Nicola and Luke in this post; however, I will use a third party to put things into perspective. This is intentional. The “adjacent” (I hate that word, by the way) likes are a separate post all on their own – but I’ll summarize it for you because, on the surface (speculation aside), it’s quite black and white. Jake likes Nicola’s posts; Nicola likes Jake’s posts; Antonia likes Luke’s posts; Luke likes Antonia’s posts. Let the meltdowns begin.

Done?

Okay. Back to the likes between Nicola and Luke…

It’s the same old song and dance.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Nicola post to her grid.

Jake likes it within a small timeframe.

Luke – maybe he likes it, maybe he doesn’t.

The Conscientiously Stupid attack and the Sincerely Ignorant spiral. And the Fact Finders take a deep breath and prepare themselves to walk the Sincerely Ignorant back on board the USS Lukola. I’m mean, it’s exhausting for everyone.

Do Luke’s likes really matter? No, in most instances, they don’t.

Do Jake’s likes really matter? Same as above! No, in most instances, they don’t.

Let’s take Nicola’s BFF JVN for example. He usually likes Nicola’s posts, right? In fact, some days, he’s just as fast as Jake. And, what about Dylan Brady? Talk about a friend who puts an instant-like on Nicola’s posts! And, another thing – both JVN and Dylan have been known to repost Nicola’s stuff to their own stories. However, no one cares about that or considers any of these “side characters” because they’re not Luke or Jake. I get it. But, let’s consider a few things.

First, JVN has liked most of Nicola’s posts except for the “NY Rats” one [which I will not speculate about right now]. But, let’s use the “NY Rats” post as a reference point. Nicola posted that October 17. Did you know that JVN has posted 14 times on his own grid since then? And, did you know that Nicola has only liked two of those 14? Holy shit, they must despise each other, right? Or, is it more likely that (a) Nicola is busy or (b) so close to JVN she doesn’t feel the need to like every single one of his posts? Now, I want you to answer this question with all honesty: Based on this information, do you have any concerns about Nicola’s relationship with JVN? If you answered yes, why?

Now let’s consider this next part, which is in the same vein as the above. Did you know that Nicola has liked most of Luke’s grid posts? Did you know that out of the last 14 posts made by Nicola to her grid, Luke has only liked eight? That’s barely over half (but, hey, better than Nicola’s average with JVN!). If you go back even further, you’ll find this is Luke’s modus operandi. He doesn’t like every goddamn post Nicola throws up. Even throughout the World Tour, he wasn’t liking all of Nicola’s posts. Did this bother you then? Is it possible Luke is (a) not that into social media, (b) busy, or (c) so close to Nicola he doesn’t feel the need to like every single one of her posts? Let me ask you the same question I asked above: Based on this information, do you have any concerns about Luke’s relationship with Nicola? If you answered yes, why?

Okay, I’m going to assume some people are bothered by this Luke-Like bit so let’s keep discussing it for a moment.

Did you know that since January 1, 2024, Nicola has made nine IG grid posts that relate to a political viewpoint? Did you know that Luke has only liked one of those nine posts? In fact, I was quite shocked that Luke liked Nicola’s October 15 post of her Time100 speech (if you haven’t watched her speech, it’s on her IG grid). In my opinion, Luke liking this post is far more significant than Luke liking, say, her third grid post about her Time cover. He’s seemingly agreeing with her political stance.

This was a change in modus operandi. A small change, indeed, but interesting.

#lukola #nicola coughlan #luke newton #my opinion #my thoughts #speculation only #those fucking likes

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bonedo-enthusiast · 3 months ago

Text

bnd's kinks 𐂐◯𓇋

A/N: i haven't written smut in years but i like how this turned out! :D i am canonically a sapphic, so idk what possessed me to write this but here we are. 😔 lowercase is intended as always, enjoy. :)

genre: smut

tws: kinks!, explicit sexual content, bdsm themes

pairing: legal!bnd x afab!reader (but i tried to make it gn!reader mostly)

wc: 2,188

MDNI!! (i have three other pg imagines on my blog, read those instead :p)

Sungho

praise, service top/bottom, foreplay, teasing (sort of), begging

i think he just really wants to make you feel good, by any means necessary, although he prefers to be gentle.

he kind of strikes me as more vanilla than anything else, but he would love telling you how much he’s enjoying things.

you’re on the bed, legs spread, with sungho slowly running his fingers across your skin.

he looks down at you lovingly. “you’re so beautiful.” and you know he means it, with the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only other person in the world.

he’s very slow, very deliberate because why would he rush things when he has all the time in the world?

if he could, he would spend hours with you underneath him like this, your little whimpers like music to his ears.

but sungho would feel bad making you wait oh so patiently for him, so he’d do exactly what you want.

first, he’d trail soft kisses down your skin, making sure to suck and nip as he went.

he’d attach himself to your nipple, swirling his tongue around it slowly while bringing his hand down to your inner thighs.

your gasps and moans would only fuel his hard-on, its presence evident underneath his boxers.

he liked it when you were completely naked and when he still had an article or two of clothing on because sungho knew you would often beg so sweetly, something he found so endearing.

you begging for him… the love of his life needing him in a way that only he could satisfy.

sungho was always good at drawing orgasms out of you, making you have at least two before he’d even consider orgasming himself.

but when it comes to that point, he’d become a bit feverish. his grip on your hips would be almost tight enough to bruise as he pounded into you with vigor.

he’d continue kissing you sloppily, praises leaving his mouth one after the other.

“you feel so good… so pretty. shit, you’re so fucking hot…”

Riwoo

mommy kink, praise, humiliation, dick slapping, hints of dacryphilia

i think riwoo’s usually pretty innocent-minded, and too shy to initiate anything even if he is having impure thoughts.

so riwoo would just be minding his business, maybe playing league of legends on his pc. then you’d hug his neck from behind, resting your chin on his head. “how’s my baby doing?”

he would blush at the use of ownership, but not take his eyes off of the screen. “good. my team’s winning.”

“oh, that’s great! i’m so proud of you, sweetheart.” you run your fingers through his hair, causing a chill to go down riwoo’s spine. “can i join you? i’d like to watch.”

he nods and you pull up a chair next to his, resting your head against his shoulder but not in a way that would hinder his gaming.

he’d feel more nervous now, having an audience. he wants to make you proud, wants to hear you praise him again, so he locks in all of his attention to the screen in front of him.

which is why he doesn’t at first notice your hand on his thigh, until your fingers crest against the edge of his waistband.

he lets out a gasp and breaks his eye contact with the screen to glance at you. “wh…what are you doing?”

“what do you mean? i’m not doing anything, sweetheart. just keep playing your game.” your voice comes out innocent, but riwoo’s been dating you long enough to know that you in fact know exactly what you’re doing.

but he also knows better than to protest, especially since he’s already a bit turned on from you just complimenting him.

you notice that fact with the way his dick is already semi-hard. you let out a laugh and lightly slap his dick, making him let out a whine. “you’re already turned on and i haven’t even done anything. how pathetic…”

riwoo inhales a shaky breath and blinks several times, trying his best to focus.

when you undo his pants and pull down his boxers, he tries not to squirm even as the cool air in the room hits his fully erect dick.

you wrap a hand around it, gently running your thumb up and down the shaft.

he starts bucking his hips, so you remove your hand and slap his dick again.

riwoo whines and tears start to rim his eyes. “p-please…”

“hmm? please what, baby?”

“please touch me… more… i need more.”

“you need more, huh? so the slut isn’t appreciating what i’m giving him? it’s not enough?”

he gulps. “n-no, it’s good. i-i just–” he’s cut off when you lick the tip of his dick, a strangled moan escaping his lips.

“oh? did you like that? does that make my slut’s pretty dick feel good?”

“yes… more please…”

“please what?”

“mommy. please, mommy…”

and how could you say no to that?

Jaehyun

praise, humiliation, choking, masochism, bondage

i think jaehyun just gives me major “i need to be punished” vibes ??

he’s a very hyper man, and i imagine he’d probably get on your nerves fairly easily.

“jaehyun, can you stop running around like that? i’m trying to watch this lecture.”

“i’m not running around.” he pouts. “i’m just having fun.”

“can you have fun more quietly?”

“it’s not my fault my partner cares more about their grades than their sweet, loving boyfriend.”

“is that what this is about? you just want attention?” you scoff.

“maybe… i just miss you.” jaehyun frowns.

“so your plan is to piss me off? you never learn, do you? how many times do i have to punish you before you actually start to learn? you’re just a dumb slut, aren’t you?”

jaehyun’s jaw would go slack, both surprised and turned on all in one.

“i asked you a question.”

“uh. y-yes…”

“you’re gonna have to beg for it. convince me that you’re worth my time.”

“please…” he got down on his knees in front of you, resting his head on your thighs. “i want you so bad…”

“do you now? well, why don’t you make yourself useful and go get the box?”

jaehyun bites his lip and nods before racing into your shared bedroom to grab the box full of sex toys that you own. when he gets back, your laptop is no longer on your lap and your eyes are fully on him. just what he wanted.

he instinctively reaches down and palms himself through his shorts, until your voice breaks him out of his haze. “and what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“s-sorry, i really didn’t mean to.” jaehyun says quickly, placing the box in front of you. “really… it was an accident.”

“accident or not, you’re testing my patience. looks like what i originally had in mind won’t be enough. i’m going to have to fuck some sense into you.”

he doesn’t even protest, the arousal swirling within him. it’s almost too much, with the way that his dick strains against the only barrier between you and him.

“lay down on the couch.” you say, opening the box and pulling out a pair of fuzzy handcuffs.

jaehyun’s eyes widen. “w-wait! i wanna touch you!”

“too bad. if you’re going to act like a slut, i’m going to treat you like one.” you put the handcuffs on him before attacking his lips with your own. you press his hands down over his head and straddle his legs, your clothed heat brushing against his erection.

“f-fuck…” jaehyun groans in between your kisses.

you pull away only to wrap a hand around his soft neck, squeezing gently as you rub yourself against him. “do you like that, slut?”

“yes, i like it so m-much…”

“mm, good boy.”

Taesan

dom/sub, humiliation, edging, sadism, teasing

i love taesan as much as the next onedoor, but this man can be mean 😭 like he’s a sweetheart don’t get me wrong but he really has his moments where i’m like damn dude.

so i think that this could easily be applied to his sexual preferences.

being a songwriter of boynextdoor does not come without its challenges, so he’s often stressed and worn out from the sheer amount of responsibilities he has placed on him. so of course he needs an outlet for all that stress… cue you, his wonderful loving partner.

you’d hear the front door to the apartment close all the way from your shared bedroom, a huge smile on your face knowing that it was taesan coming home after a long day.

you race into the living room to greet him, finding him standing there oddly still with a dark look in his eyes.

you immediately freeze, mouth slightly agape as he slowly trails his eyes up your body. when they meet your own, you can see the desire within them. “go back to the bedroom. when i come back there, i expect you to be fully naked.”

you stand there for a few more seconds, taking in his words before nodding and hurriedly rushing back to the bedroom.

you’ve barely taken off your underwear, which was your last article of clothing, when taesan bursts into the room.

you could practically feel the heat of his eyes as he approaches you, not bothering to close the door. “fuck, i’ve been waiting all day for this…”

he immediately wraps you up in his arms and kisses you passionately before (gently) throwing you on the bed and crawling on top of you.

he makes haste with discarding his own clothing before attaching his lips to your neck, you writhing below him with soft whimpers.

if you’d squirm too much, he’d hold your hips as a warning.

but if you squirmed again regardless, he would slap your inner thigh and grab your jaw, making eye contact with you. “don’t fucking move.”

which is easier said than done, and he knows that but doesn’t care because he loves being mean. <3

so he just watches as you helplessly try to stay still, even as he brings his fingers dangerously close to your sensitive areas.

“aww, poor baby… you want to move so bad, don’t you?”

“taesan, please just fuck me.”

“tsk… you should know better than to ask for that so early on. what would be the fun in that? i think i’d much rather watch you come undone with just my fingers alone. wouldn’t you like that too, baby?”

you nod feverishly, choking out a moan when his finger circles your hole.

and when he’s fingering you with intensity, you know you’re about to come undone exactly as he wanted.

your moans increase and get higher in pitch, your orgasm right there.

you feel it building up, just about to come when taesan suddenly pulls his fingers away, leaving you clenching around nothing.

“n-no! taesan, please! please, please…”

“shhh…” he places a finger against your lips. “just relax. you’ll get what you want, baby… just let me have some fun first, yeah?” and then he’s back to attacking your neck.

Leehan

switch, role play, power dynamics

idk why but i just think leehan would find the idea of role play funny, something he’d want to try out as a joke… but seeing you in that sexy nurse outfit has his head spinning in a way he didn’t plan on.

the way the tight uniform shows off every one of your curves has leehan immediately wanting to pounce on you like he’s some animal.

but he’d restrain himself, because he’s curious where this will go.

and you being the fantastic nurse that you are means that you have to give him a well-rounded checkup.

so of course you have to test every nerve to make sure that his motor functions are working properly.

you start with the usual, gently tapping your rubber mallet against his knee before working your way up.

he responds well to your touch, his breath hitching when you brush against his dick, it already being hard.

which is convenient because you need to make sure that was in working order, too.

“do you regularly engage in sexual intercourse, mr. kim?”

leehan is taken aback by your question, blushing a little. “yes…”

“and do you use protection, sir?”

he gulps, liking the way you were referring to him. it became physically evident in the way that his dick twitched ever so slightly, begging for friction. “yes.”

“good. very, very good.” you make a show of writing on a blank notepad. “i’m going to need to further examine you, especially because it’s been a while since you’ve been to get a checkup.”

you scoot closer to him on the stool and gesture at his pants. “would you mind taking these off, mr. kim?”

leehan nods and quickly unbuttons and unzips his pants, pulling them down to around his ankles. the tent in his boxers stand proud, a small patch of wetness on the cotton fabric.

you reach out and palm him through the fabric, achingly slow, earning a hiss from leehan.

“just relax, alright? this examination might take a while…”

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ilythena · 9 months ago

Note

Hi lovie! Your writing and blog aesthetics are incredible! I visit every morning to get some motivating energy. May I please make a request for Jack Hughes? May it please be with a girl who is quiet/introverted but not a pushover. She doesn't start conversations/speak much in public, but is chill with herself and doesn't waste her social battery with those she doesn't vibe with. If that makes sense so sorry! The plot can be anything you wish! Please change or ignore this I know it's odd and choppy.

𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 || 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

★SUM Jack’s in love with his blunt girlfriend, and isn’t afraid to show that.

Fem!reader, as per requested the reader is quiet and doesn’t give two shits about it, use of y/n, poor Trevor getting ignored bad and then rutger taking his spot, ngl this was kinda hard to write cause I am literally the most friendly person ever, anon I love u thank u sm for this req I love soft Jack, hope I did this ask justice!

WC: 1.8K, not proofread 🐚

♪ GOOD DAYS - SZA

“Still standing here?”

“Mhm.”

Tonight was great. You went with Jack to this beach party he was invited to and despite thinking you were gonna hate it, it was actually pretty fun. Though you would never admit that to him.

The warm air of summer brushes past you with a soothing coo of relaxation. The music from the party being distant in your ears; hearing chatter and the crashing of the waves in harmony.

“You don’t talk a lot, do you?” A boy says, one of Jack’s friends named “Trevor” or something—honestly you didn’t mean to forget but it just didn’t stick to you at the moment.

“Not really.” You say and then turn around to walk back into the crowd. After a few minutes of just wandering you bump into the chest of another person. “Excuse me-“

“Well hello pretty lady, you alone?” He says, and you lift up your head a little bit to see the gorgeous sight of your boyfriend, Jack. His smile widens as you two meet eyes and they crinkle at the side a little bit with how hard he’s smiling.

“Hmmm, not too sure if I am….” You tease and he wraps an arm around your waist to bring you closer to you. “Where’d you go? Outside?” nodding your head and bringing your arms to wrap around his neck you give him a small kiss

You two part slightly when a girl makes her way over to the two of you, not even sparing you a glance.

“Jacky! How are you-“ she stumbles—trying to purposefully trip herself into him, but only getting surprised when he grabs you and quickly moves the both of you out her way, causing her to fall flat on the floor.

A few people around her look down confusingly, and you mentally smile at her slightly embarrassed look. She quickly jumps back up to her feet and coughs a little to clear herself up.

“Um, anyways. How are you doing, Jacky?” She says, and looks at you for a second while her face shifts to displeased when she sees his arm around your waist.

“I’m fine. Me and my girlfriend, y/n, are doing pretty well-“ “Jack! Tell your brother he sucks at pool.” A tall brunette says with Luke trailing behind him with a grumbling smile “I do not suck! You definitely cheated!”

“Yeah okay Luke.” Your boyfriend snorts and the random girl is very swiftly pushed to the side while the two boys take over her spot in front of you.

“Hi y/n” Luke says and gives you a small hug while you smile at him in greeting. “Hi, I’m rutger! You can call me rut, Nice to meet you.” The boy takes out his hand and his demeanor is incredibly friendly, shooting him the same smile you gave to Luke “I’m y/n. You’re a pool expert?”

“Nah, but I could definitely beat you if you play like this dude over here.” He jokes while nudging over to Luke and he replies with a ‘so not true’

“You’re so on!” The two of you run over to the table, already joking around about which one of you would get which side.

“That’s new? She doesn’t really click with people like that…” Luke says and Jack nods, looking at the two of you. “It is rare, but sometimes it happens. Rutger has that younger brother vibe which is probably why they clicked so fast. Y/n has a soft spot for family.”

“Jack! Get over here! I am not having Luke as my partner again” “that’s my boyfriend!”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were alone? I would have came too!”

“Rut, I like my alone time outside” you giggle, seeing him plop down on the seat next to you, making an ‘O’ shape with his mouth.

“Well, Jack was looking for you earlier. And Trevor was complaining that you didn’t like him?” “It’s not that I don’t like Trevor, I don’t really know him like that.”

“you don’t know him either!” A muffled voice comes from behind the glass window you’re in front of, turning around to see Trevor (apparently) and Jack looking at the two of you.

Jack grins, mouthing a ‘hi Baby’ to you while Trevor freezes and backs up from the window. “…a little creepy.” “I didn’t even know he was there.” Rutger laughs and you scoff

“He’s kinda right though, I only just met you at the party two days ago.” Rutger says, leaning back into his seat. “Yeah, but you give off like a friendly sibling vibe. Whoever that is gives me random dude vibes which is true cause he is.”

“Can you at least make an effort to learn my name? As Jack’s best friend I think I deserve some respect!“ Trevor whines and Jack opens the door, already tired of talking to you through the window. “you are not my best friend.” “Then who is?” “You are, obviously.” Jack says to you in response to your question.

“Y/n! Come here, I need help with my hair.” Ellen calls you over and you gently excuse yourself from the porch as the boys talk amongst each other.

A few minutes later, the same girl from last night slides into your spot and everyone stops talking. “Hey guys, what’s going on?” “Um, nothing much. Just waiting for y/n to get back I guess. Where did you come from?” Rutger says and she fakes confusion, purposefully ignoring his last question. “who’s y/n?” “My girlfriend. You saw her last night at the party.” Jack says and she furrows her brows.

“Oh, her? I talked to her outside too, not very friendly.” “Yeah, you just have to get close to her. Unless you’re Rutger apparently.” Trevor sighs and Rutger lets out a little laugh “I don’t know, she really seemed like she didn’t like me.” “She might warm up to you eventually.” Jack cuts through shortly, not wanting to leave a space where she could talk negatively about you.

He thanks everything when he sees you walking back up to them, another smile gracing his lips. “Your mom is literally the best Hughes.” “Should I take offense to that or no?” He jokes and you shrug.

“Hi.” The girl sitting in your seat says and you nod your head back in greeting. “Can I get a hi too?” “Hi Travis.” “My name is Trevor!” Giggling, you let out a small ‘oops’ and Trevor knows for a fact you’re messing with him now.

The girl eyes you down carefully, as if she’s trying to pick out a flaw while you stand there and look at something on your phone.

“Oh shit, we gotta go. Promised Luke I’d go with him to watch a movie. You wanna come, babe?” “Nah, I’m good. I’m probably just gonna relax.” “I can go.” The girl says with an exaggerated ear piercing voice, and Jack can’t help but cringe. “Um, Luke said guys night only. Bye! Bye babe.” He kisses you goodbye before shoving rutger and Trevor out and away so the girl couldn’t question him.

You stand there and watch while the boys pull out of the driveway, waving a goodbye and seeing them drive off. Eventually, the boys leave and it’s just you and this mystery girl here.

You move to go back inside, and she follows you from a distance.

Walking into the kitchen, you take out a pack of strawberries and wash them off before grabbing a cutting board and beginning to cut them into pieces, trying your best to ignore the weird girl behind you.

“Do you even like Jack?” She questions and you pause before turning around to look at her. “Who are you?” You say, before turning back to your strawberries. “I’m Kianna. I live next door. I don’t think you’re a good fit for Jack.” “Good thing I don’t care what you think then, Kianna.” She huffs and you slide your diced strawberries into a cup, moving to take ice cream out of the freezer and scoop it into a bowl.

“That’s rude.” “It’s not rude, I don’t know who you are. Why would I care about what you think if I don’t know you?” You respond, and place your strawberries on your ice cream before leaving to go upstairs into Jacks room. “You don’t want to get to know me?” “Why would I want to get to know someone who’s trying to steal my man?”.

You can hear Ellen open the front door when you disappear up the steps and slow down so you can hear their conversation.

“Oh! Kianna, honey… what are you doing in here?” Ellen says and she freezes “um, I was talking to Jack’s girlfriend and she just went upstairs.” “Oh, y/n! Isn’t she great? I just love her so much, such a sweetheart! Jack’s just so in love with her too.” Ellen says and you can feel the awkwardness radiating off of Kianna. “U-um, Mrs. Hughes, I’m gonna head home now. Bye.” She mumbles before making her way out the door.

You snicker before walking up into Jacks room and turning on the latest episode of your favorite murder tv series.

You wake up to feel Jack laying down next to you, Arms wrapped around you and his body slightly squishing yours.

“Hey. Had a nice nap?” He buries himself into the back of your neck, smiling when he hears you giggling with a sigh.

“Was soo nice. You have fun at the movies with Luke and the others?” “Yeah. Was a great movie. Would’ve been better if you were there though.”

Silence is the only thing heard between you two. The tv doing all the talking you need to fill in the empty air.

“My mom said Kianna was in here earlier. She trouble you at all?” You roll onto your other side to face him properly and play with his hoodie. “Nah, she tried to intimidate me but it didn’t work.” “Intimidate you how?” “Tried telling me she didn’t think I was good for you or whatever, but I literally don’t even know that chick. Why would I care?”

Jack hums in agreement as he snuggles closer to you. “She’s just upset cause I’m not dating her. I’ve never liked her, but I’ve been nice because she’s like my summer neighbor or whatever.” You smile and nod in acknowledgment.

“I don’t care what she thinks. Like I said, I don’t know her.” “My mom secretly hates her too, but don’t tell her I told you that.” He whispers and you smile.

“I love you so much.” He mumbles into your neck and you sigh in contentment. “I love you too, J.” You two share a few kisses before you hear knocking on the door.

“Hey. Tell y/n her favorite Hughes brother just came home.” “Quinn!” “Hey! I’m here too!” “Shut up Luke!”

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loemius · 4 months ago

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here’s my hot take of the night:

the e-temples that have been cropping up lately are cool, and im glad to see people making specific spaces to come together to worship. that’s awesome! i’m very here for that as a concept. i love nothing more than to see the theoi get the praise they deserve.

that being said, i am very wary about the amount of people i have seen calling themselves priests/priestesses lately. not even just in the e-temples! ive seen multiple people in the tags who have in their bio “priest(ess) of [deity].” i realize most people probably don’t mean harm by it, but it gets under my skin. to call yourself clergy implies a specific level of knowledge and experience with a religion (which isn’t my business to get involved in your praxis like that, that’s personal unless you wanna share it), but more importantly, official recognition by an established institution. there are not that many of these (that i am aware of) for hellenic polytheism. calling yourself clergy is simply that — calling yourself that. there’s no backing for it, and it genuinely concerns me.

we as the polytheist community talk a lot about harmful practices in spirituality, things like spiritual psychosis or cultural appropriation, which are important topics to discuss. it’s been said before and i’ll say again — people claiming to be spiritual authorities of some kind without any kind of proof can be very dangerous. i don’t assume anyone has bad intentions. i give people the benefit of the doubt and assume that everyone is just trying to help other people worship. but it doesn’t change the fact that calling yourself a priest(ess) will make impressionable or unsure people look up to you, and that is a hell of a lot of responsibility. i am concerned that there are minors running these kinds of blogs. that’s a lot of pressure on someone’s shoulders, especially to put on someone who is still growing up and developing their research and critical thinking skills. i don’t want to gatekeep or anything like that. im very glad to see minors having really good experiences with their faith, that they’re excited to share it with others. but it just concerns me.

im certainly not as experienced as other practitioners on this site, having had about two years of experience at this point, but i am very wary of anyone who claims to be any kind of authority on anything unless you can back it up. regardless of if your blog says that you’re not an authority, calling yourself clergy of any kind implies that. people will take it that way. it inherently implies a level of authority, knowledge, and experience on a particular subject, which is usually backed up by having an official institution that recognizes you.

perhaps this is a little callous of me, but in the same way that when someone makes a claim about the theoi academically, i expect them to have sources to prove it, i expect clergy to have some kind of proof of their authority. otherwise, what are you doing that’s different than any other tumblr blog?

to be clear, i don’t have an issue with these devotional spaces. i simply take an issue with people referring to themselves as clergy when that is a particular term with a particular context and a particular implication. words have power. i earnestly think if people just called themselves something like ‘stewards’ of a particular temple, i wouldn’t be so bothered by it. or just call yourself a devotee of a particular god. ultimately, at the end of the day, the words we use have power and implications, and that has to be acknowledged and respected. send tweet

#helpol #hellenic polytheism #my posts #i might delete this later. idk. im feeling saucy tonight.#i think i need to be more on the hard recon side of helpol tumblr but most of those blogs post pretty infrequently unfortunately #which im guilty of too because i dont make original content often #but whateva #im just kvetching at this point #i should make a tag for that #kvetching tag

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judesmoonbeauty · 3 months ago

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Miss Fairytale Keeper, Come Have Fun With Us: Jude Jazza END

Translations will not include screenshots or CGs as mentioned here. Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. Thank you, for you support! ☾.

When I reached out, it was Jude’s hand I took.

Jude: If ya let go of me, I won’t letcha off.

Kate: Okay!

He makes me stand up, and kicks away all those attacking me, one after the other.

Jude: Tch, what kind of management do they have to be so hated like this?

Kate: Should YOU be the one to say that about other people?!

Jude: Don’t say unnecessary things!

The ones who attacked me were thin, and looked very poor.

They’re people who’ve lost something very important to them through gambling.

Even if I do sympathize with them a little, it’s never an excuse to draw deadly weapons.

Jude: Run!

Punching and kicking, he defeats his enemies one after the other, pulling me along strongly, and as we head for the door, we dodge bullets in the thick black smoke.

As we left the casino, explosions sounded behind us.

We kept running until we reached a nearby port.

Jude: I’m havin’ a real shitty day.

Kate: Is it okay now?

Our fastened hands were easily released, and the warmth of my right hand cooled quickly.

Feeling a bit lonely, I opened my mouth to gloss it over.

Kate: In the end, we didn’t collect any evidence.

Jude: There’s evidence.

Kate: What?

I’m not sure where he got it from, but holding a thick ledger in his hands, he handed it to me.

When I looked inside, I saw things other than money that had been wagered in the casino so far, and a list of customers who received them alongside Viscount Smith’s signature.

Kate: When did you get this?!

Jude: Took it from that damned Viscount when the explosion happened.

(I couldn’t see because of the smoke, but I guess that’s what happened.)

Based on the overwhelming evidence, the casino will be brought to justice before her Majesty the Queen.

Just as I was feeling relieved over completing the mission, I suddenly remembered something.

Kate: If I had known that I was being used for collateral, I would’ve bet….

(I knew that Jude would win…..)

Then he made a disgusted expression…..

Jude: Our princess doesn’t seemta understand why she was prohibited.

As we stood facing each other, the sea breeze blew through his hair.

Jude: Ain’t no way someone who shows their emotions so easily could win.

Jude: Imagine how much a young woman without much money would hafta pay if she lost?

(Ah…..)

I recall the words of Viscount Smith and realize.

(Selling my body, experiencing atrocious things, the worst case scenario….)

A chill ran down my spine as I realized how naive I’d been.

The client list had records of women and children being sold, and I finally understood those repeated words had been for my sake.

(Jude said that he’d protect me.)

Feeling mixed emotions of his kindness and my own naivete, i bit my lip and looked down, but when his shoes came into view, I looked up.

Jude: Really, cantcha say thanks to the person who saved ya?

Kate: …! Thank you.

When I expressed my gratitude to him, who is foul-mouthed but kind,

Jude: Seems like Crown’s Fairytale Keeper has grown attached to the admirable Vogel.

Jude: Kissin’ the winner. I think ya wanted that bad personality.

Kate: That’s something Nica said on his own,

Jude: Such good friends that yer on a first name basis. (Jude’s angy face.)

His raised voice and pouty expression, seemed to indicate he was in a bad mood.

Jude: I mean, is the princess even bold ‘nuff to kiss a man herself.

Upset with his making fun of me, I confronted him.

Kate: It’s just a kiss, I can do it.

Jude: If so, then I’ll betcha won’t.

Kate: If I can kiss you?

Jude: I’ll do anythin’ ya say. Probably impossible anyway.

He’s so confident I can’t do it despite my enthusiasm.

We faced and stared at each other for a while,

(Where should I kiss him……) T-T on the lips.

I looked at his lips, but didn’t have the courage, so I felt conflicted,

Jude: ….Ridiculous. (I’m with him on this one.)

He turned on heel and walked away.

Kate: W-wait a minute!

I quickly grabbed his arm and stood on my tip toes as he looked back at me,

Jude: Huh?

I kissed his forehead.

Kate: ….I kissed you.

Kate: Now, please listen to what I have to say.

He put his hand to his forehead, his eyes slightly open,

Kate: I’m Crown’s Fairytale Keeper, not Vogel’s Fairytale Keeper!

Starting to feel embarrassed, I ran past him.

Kate: That’s why I’m going home!

A few seconds later, with the sound of him turning around, only one word was heard.

Jude: Kid.

(He’s making fun of me again…..!)

When I turned to say something back, I saw the softest expression on his face.

Kate: Huh……

It was as warm as sunlight, and it was the first time I’d seen it.

It felt like time had stopped for a moment,

Jude: What kinda dumb look are ya makin’?

His grumpy face returned immediately.

Jude: Hurry ‘n go home.

He started walking and I followed him quickly.

Kate: Please wait!

Perhaps the reason why I didn’t stand next to the swinging jacket that was a step ahead of me, was because the excitement I felt still hadn’t gone away.

[Master List] [Jude Epilogue]

Heh, jelly Jude. Pouty Jude. More of that please.

Dividers: @.adornedwithlight

Tags List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @letter-from-afar @nateko @cosmowgyrall. @lunaaka

#jude jazza #ikevil jude #jude jazza translations #cybird translations #ikevil translations

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yurinaa-world · 1 year ago

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Hi! Can I get Dan Heng, Jing Yuan, and Blade with a reader who's like Furina from Genshin? Also your blog theme is cute ❤️

Characters: Dan Heng, Jing Yuan, and Blade x Female Reader

Synopsis: with reader that’s like Furina

Warnings: Fluff, spelling mistakes

𝒟𝒶𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝓃𝑔

"Well, my dear Dan Heng, rejoice that you are now in my presence.” He listens to words like these all the time. It doesn't bother him that you act the way you do, always acting so confident before running away with a tail between your legs, or even better, hiding behind him.

Whenever you sulk (by a huge body of water filled with sea creatures), on your knees, cupping a little sea creature with such a depressed expression on your face, he’s always there, yet you don’t notice until he reveals himself to you. "Haha, you saw spectacular acting. Did you think I was crying? Well, I wasn't.” You scoff and laugh, trying to pretend you were okay when you weren’t.

Trying to comfort you, but he can’t seem even to touch your walls since you put up 50 more. Since ‘actions speak louder than words’ don’t they “you’re lying." "Ha, I’m not. I don’t know what you're talking about. I've never cried since I’m the life of the show." "Your eyes are puffy.” “THEY AREN’T, so stop saying that!”

You’ll never admit to it unless you're on your last breath or not. So he’ll hug you until you stop crying about whatever upsets you, and he’ll only do this for you.

𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃

When a general is madly in love with you, he won’t care about any flaws you might have. If he were to be honest, when looking at you, he couldn’t help but remember the first time you had. You were a famous performer, and everyone enjoyed your acts, especially the ones that involved mystery. There had to be a trial, or this ain’t a show you want to be in.

You always played ‘the dashing and beautiful watcher/the great judge who had such venom and confidence in her voice’ and he was still training hard with Jingliu; your personality never faltered even without the stage that you were born to be on. It was who you truly were.

Now that you two have been together, you're more sentimental with him since acting for your entire life and being someone you're not is very tiring, so why not take a vacation? You love sea animals so much, why not go somewhere with a lot of animals? like a honeymoon.

𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒

"Annoying,” that’s what he always thinks about (not all the time though). Your are so loud that he can hear you from the other room, and your dumb little shows, which he gets dragged to, are always about you.

Call you a brat and know you can’t do anything about it since you're like a scared cat; it doesn’t make it better that you hide behind him every time you go meet someone with a bad reputation; he has to go with you or you’ll die!

Gripping on his arm, "Please, blade, accompany me.” “Why should I do that? I don't remember being some sort of bodyguard to you.” "Blade, please; I promise I won’t bother you again!” He’s just messing with you; he’ll come with you, but he wants something else in return, like maybe the most tame thing he’s thinking about is a kiss.

When you kiss him as a payment, he’s so mean about it afterward, straight up making fun of you. When you complain about him teasing, “I’ll never forgive; you’ve done something worse than treason against me,” before walking off in a hurry.

He’s not all that mean, comforting you whenever you're in a depressive mood, giving you everything, and staying with you until you're better, and when I say he’s glued to you, he’s GLUED to you, making you feel better in any way he can, even if others call extreme care so much. He does not listen to anyone.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

#✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ Yurinna's Writing :･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧#honkai star rail #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr x y/n #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng #dan heng x you #dan heng x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan #honkai blade x you #blade x reader #blade x you

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superblysubpar · 4 months ago

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<- part eight | epilogue -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: the "enemies” become lovers.

the song: Honey by Kehlani

also for your listening pleasure: I Want You So Bad by Heart , We Belong by Pat Benatar

7,482 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / descriptions of heights-being afraid of them / all favorites listed vaguely except for strawberry ice cream and the princess bride movie / SMUT - slight fingering (reader receiving), oral (reader receiving), unprotected piv intercourse with discussions of birth control - creampie | my blog is 18+

Hawkins Middle and High School - the past

The girls giggled in line, whispering and looking over their shoulder and you knew then it was a really, really bad idea to go with them.

The chairs swung in front of you, people yelling and waving to their friends and family down below them and you couldn’t fathom how they could be up so high and have a smile on their face.

Your hands started to sweat as you got closer and closer, till it was your turn next.

But then they didn’t follow you, when the boy running the ride sighed and said, “Only two on.”

The girl named Carol pouted and she looked at you, then the other girl, “I’d go with you, but I have to go with Tina. It’s a tradition.”

“Oh, okay, well, I’ll just…I actually really don’t want-“

“Single rider! We’ve got a single rider! I need a person to accompany this single rider!”

“That’s okay!” You rushed, waving the boy off from yelling again as the girls and everyone in line started to snort and whisper. “Please, I am okay not-“

“I can go with you?”

A boy with an ice cream cone in his hand standing next to the line glared at Tina and Carol who’s mouths parted. He shoved past them and smiled at you, wavy brown hair flopping in the wind as he looked at the attendant, then held up his chocolate cone, “Oh, um, can I bring this on?”

“I so don’t care,” the teen waved you on and to your horror, closed the bar over your laps with no belt.

Your eyes squeezed shut as it lurched forward , fingers slipping on the metal bar as your breath came too quick.

“I’m Steve, by the way, sorry about them. They’re pretty nice when they want to be, I think.”

His words registered, somewhere in your fear, and you managed to spit out your own name.

He repeated your name, he murmured something that sounded like the word ‘pretty’ which had you humming a ‘hmm?’ while your eyelids fluttered open in a grave mistake.

“Oh, uh, I said do you want to share some of my ice cream?” He blinked at you, light brown eyes coming in to focus in front of twinkling lights.

His cheeks turned pink as he mumbled, “That’s weird, isn’t it? I just…hey, you okay?”

His gaze roamed over your face that did not look okay at all.

“I’m…I’m heights aren’t my favorite thing.”

Steve nodded and looked around, breathing out as the ride stopped and kept you dangling in the air. You gripped his forearm without thinking, closing your eyes.

“It’s okay, um…okay, wanna hold my hand until it’s over? I know that doesn’t help that much, but you can feel something that…you know like not the ride reminding you of how high up you are? Shit, I mean, if you keep your eyes closed and hold my hand, it’s like we’re on the ground right?”

“Ri-right?” You hiccupped out through a gulp of air, hand following the yellow sweatshirt sleeve down to bare skin until you could lace your fingers with his.

A breeze blew, the bucket you were in swayed with it and you squeezed harder and Steve cleared his throat, “Woah, you’ve got a grip. You ever thought of baseball for a career?”

You laughed, but started to try to slip out of his hold from embarrassment, but froze when the ride squeaked, so he held it tighter and whispered, “Wow, these swings, that are on the ground, safely attached to the earth, are so fun.”

Your nose wrinkled as you laughed through it and shook your head when the ride started again.

He kept coming up with scenarios for the creaks, and breezes, the swaying, until your hand was loosening in his to a normal and comfortable hold and your eyes were fluttering open again in a genuine laugh.

“Hey, there she is.” He smiled at you. He squeezed your hand, “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The ride came to a halt and Steve kept his hand in yours as you walked off of it.

Hawkins, Indiana - Saturday A.B.

Your fingers roam over your face, your outfit, gaze meeting your own in the mirror as you whisper, “You’re going on a date. Just a normal date.

Nothing crazy about it.” You shrug, nonchalant, “It’s just with Steve Harrington. You’re probably gonna go to a movie and makeout,” the thought has the butterflies flapping in your stomach, but you hold them off, adding with a finger at yourself, “And then it’ll be over, and you’ll go back to how life was before this bet.”

Even as the sentence leaves your mouth, your chest tightens.

Back to life before he kissed you.

Before panic about your safety, before the color red became your favorite too, before you knew what he told Robin.

Before he spoke like that to you in his bedroom.

Before you realized you’ve been in love with him for forever and have just been too scared to get hurt.

Yeah, easy to go back to before all of that. No problem.

A noise outside has you peeking out of your window’s blinds then, and you grab a small bag, and head out your front door.

Steve sits in his driver’s seat, going over his plan with his eyes closed. He blows out his breath, nodding to himself.

“You’re gonna go on this date, and it’s gonna be great, and you are only going to kiss her a little bit at the end of the night, if she wants, and that’s it, Harrington.”

He opens his eyes and panics, seeing you locking your front door. He quickly jumps out of the car and shouts your name.

As you turn, his heart stops beating, he’s sure of it.

Steve stands at the bottom of the stairs, shaking his head and carrying a bouquet of your favorite flowers and something else. His hair is perfectly messy, cheeks pink as he waves at you to back up, wearing the same color he was when you met him. A yellow tshirt pulls at his shoulders as he climbs the stairs, voice sweet but scolding.

“Go back inside!”

“What?” Word lost around your laughter, hand on the keys still in the door’s lock.

He huffs, pouting his lips around the words, “I’m supposed to knock on your door, and give you these so you can put them in water, and tell you you’re beautiful.”

“Oh,” heat floods your body at the word beautiful, but you make no movement as he climbs the last few steps.

Steve raises his eyebrows at you over gold eyes that sparkle and you let out more of a surprised laugh.

“Wait you seriously want me to go back in?”

“Baby, yes,” he motions for you to spin, “I only get one chance, I gotta do this right.”

“Well excuse me, any other rules I should know about?” You grumble under your breath as your key sticks, you yank but it won’t budge. More laughter leaves through your nose, “My keys are stuck.”

“Okay, okay, go back inside, leave the keys in the door, and I’ll get them when we finish with the flowers,” Steve says from behind your shoulder. The hot breath on your ear makes a shiver travel down your spine and back up.

“But I’m already out here and-“

“Please?” The word is brushed against your ear, gently, sincerely.

“Mhm,” hums out of sealed tight lips so something embarrassing like a moan doesn’t slip out instead as you push your thighs together under your dress.

Entering the apartment, you look at him grinning smugly for getting his way as you close the door and roll your eyes.

A knock taps in a pattern on the door and you sigh around a laugh and call, “Who is it?”

“Kevin Bacon!”

As you whip your door open, ready with a witty reply about cutting loose, you stop. Steve swallows, eyes roaming over your body despite having seen the red sun dress before tonight and only a few seconds earlier. But when they land on your face, they melt into a look you’ve never seen before.

Even though you know he’s going to say it, it feels like air is sucked out of your lungs, deflating you on the spot into a gooey puddle when he clears his throat and keeps eye contact as he murmurs.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you respond, cheeks warm, “The dress is…”

“No,” Steve shakes his head, taking a step forward, “You’re beautiful.”

The puddle you’ve turned into disintegrates into the carpet.

Steve’s cheeks turn deeper pink, almost the same color as your dress as he shakes his head. “Wait, no, I mean the dress is great, you look, it’s great, it’s, red is definitely your color. I mean other colors look good on you too and-“

“Steve,” you interrupt and he closes his mouth and then you grin and point to the bouquet, “Are those for me?”

“Oh, yes!” He extends them to you, your fingers brush as your fingers wrap around the stems. You’re hiding a smile into a sniff of them when a loud click and flash happens.

Steve’s pulling a Polaroid square out of a camera as you blink up at him, “Wh-“

“Rule number one tonight - any time you’re looking too cute, I have to take a picture.” He shrugs, like it’s not the most heart melting, brain fizzing, breath stuttering thing a guy’s ever said or done to you.

“I-“

He lifts the camera again and you grin, swatting at his arm through a laugh, “No, film is expensive you can’t waste it on pictures of me.”

Your fingers wrapped around his forearm feel right, and the bouquet of flowers is squished between your chests as Steve holds the camera out of your reach, words soft against your cheek as he breathes them out.

“How would that be a waste, honey?”

Your heart is so loud in your chest, you wonder if the clear evening forecast was wrong, if a storm actually is coming.

Steve purses his lips in thought and then offers, “An amendment to rule number one - only pictures for the moments we really wanna remember?”

“Big brain word,” you mumble, gaze locked on his lips that twitch in a fight of a smile.

“We have a deal? No protesting, no saying anything about wasting film, you’re gonna get your picture taken and like it, yeah?”

The tap of his finger to the tip of your nose shatters your legs, you’re not sure how you’re standing.

“De-deal,” you clear your throat. With what you think is a smile, your body can’t remember how to do anything but melt anymore, you hold up the flowers. “Well, I guess I should get these in a vase, huh?”

“Good idea.” He smiles.

As you wander to your kitchen on wobbly legs, Steve takes a step inside the apartment fully, looking around with a thoughtful gaze.

As the glass jar fills in shaking hands, you call out, “Hey, wouldn’t rule number one be no help? How’d you know these were my favorite?”

“I didn’t get help. I knew they were your favorite already. From middle school.”

Your fingers turn the tap with a squeak, eyes blinking at the flowers now resting in the jar as you ask, “What?”

As you return to the main room, he stares at you, like he’s waiting for something, but then he finally says, “Those poems, in lit. You had a line about your favorite flower. I assumed they were still your favorite now.”

“Oh.”

Steve and you stand on opposite sides of the room, you holding the jar of flowers and him the Polaroid. The photo is developing slowly, the purples and blues matching the bruise on his temple from Thursday night. The red of your dress matching the small scar on his cheek.

The moment lingers, like the last few storm clouds are hovering, slowly lifting as the skies clear and bring promise of better weather.

He smiles softly and tilts his head towards the door, “Ready? We’ve got a whole itinerary.”

You grab the camera from him and snap the photo, sure he looks confused and dazed in it, but you don’t care.

The photo slowly spits out as you stare at each other, letting the moment you want to remember develop next to his.

He holds out his hand, waiting for you to grab it.

“Anyways, I’m rambling,” you finish, grabbing a water glass and sipping it as Steve’s thumb brushes over your knuckles of the hand he’s holding.

On top of the table.

On the edge of the table.

For everyone to see.

He hasn’t let go of it unless he absolutely needed to while eating, and was quick to grab it again when he got the chance.

His knee knocks against yours under the diner’s table, feet tangled together as he shakes his head.

“No, you’re not, and even if you were, I like listening to you talk.”

It feels like that’s all you’ve been doing since you got to the diner. After Steve took your menu and said that he’d already made arrangements, he’d asked you questions about yourself. Some typical first date favorites that he seemingly already knew, like your favorite food, which was delivered to the table. But most of your conversation went deeper, both of you talking about big dream things like not wanting to work at Family Video forever and what you hoped to do next. How excited he was to live with Robin, and how pissed he was at his parents for moving. Surface level things lead into deeper questions like why a season was your favorite because you spent it at your family’s old cabin and all of the memories wrapped up into it.

“To be honest,” Steve grabs your second hand as it sets the water down, holding both in the middle of the table as he stares at them, “I think I could sit here all night and listen to you talk to me.” He starts to trace your hands with his fingers, watching the pad drag up your index finger and back down. “You used to barely speak to me, and when you did, it’s not like we had a real conversation.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to him.

He lifts a hand and kisses your fingers, “For?”

Your lips purse, eyes squint, ignoring the swooping in your stomach as you ask, “How much time do we have?”

Steve laughs, his fingers slide in and out of yours as he looks at them. “I don’t think you have anything to apologize for, honey.”

“I do,” you say, watching how his fingers glide up and down against yours, wondering if you’ll start a fire right there on the top of the diner table from it. “I never gave you a fair chance. We were just kids and…I’m sorry.”

Steve looks up at you and shakes his head, “I didn’t give you much opportunity to think I deserved a chance. And I’m the one who should be saying sorry.” He looks like a kid who’s been caught stealing a cookie before dinner as he admits, “I used to egg you on, on purpose a lot. Just so you’d yell at me and get that little spot…” he touches your forehead, and the brain behind it turns to a static TV screen.

“Which,” he’s grabbing your hand again, unaware he’s erased all functioning properties from you mind as he continues, “I guess I’m not that sorry for. But, I am sorry for being a jerk in school, and after school, and all the times in between.”

Your head shakes, mouth parting in protest and he leans forward, nose close to yours as he whispers, “How about we’re both sorry, we both think the other doesn’t need to be sorry, and both are true. That just exists, and there’s nothing to argue about, hmm?” His nose taps the tip of yours, brushing up the bridge of it as your eyelashes flutter. “Rule number two?” His breath fans across your lips as he asks, “No more arguing?”

“But, what will we do if we can’t argue the rest of the night?” You murmur, tilting your head so your bottom lip skims his top and makes a noise that sounds an awful lot like a whine slip out from his throat.

His head tilts, and you think he’ll close the small distance between your mouths, but then a flash and pop happens next to your heads and you grin, somehow the photo being taken making the butterflies happier in your stomach than a kiss.

But then he’s mumbling, “I don’t know if I even aimed that right…” nose knocking your cheek as he presses closer across the table digging into his stomach.

“We’ll know what it’s supposed to be of,” words exhaled as you both inhale, tilt, and-

“Room for dessert?” The waitress interrupts with perfect timing.

Steve clears his throat as he leans away from you. He smiles politely at the waitress and says no thanks.

Your hands seem to loosen in his, and he only grabs them tighter.

“Okay, so. There’s much more to this date, but I wanted to check in, make sure you’re still okay with this?”

Thumbs rub circles over the back of your hands in a dizzying, electric way.

And that’s before he lifts one hand and kisses your palm while maintaining eye contact.

Your thighs adjust on the diner seat as you nod and murmur, “I’m having a great time.”

He smiles wider, squeezes your fingers. “Great, next stop - dessert.”

Steve’s fingers tug on yours, pulling you through the crowd as you laugh around a lick of your ice cream.

He’d pulled the maroon car into the grassy field ten minutes ago and you’d turned to face him as he put the car in park.

He smiled at you, fingers fiddling with his keys and shoulders tight as he asked, “This okay?”

The Hawkins 4th of July carnival sat before you, twinkling lights, rides, games, and most of the town wandering around it all.

You’d nodded and Steve slipped out of the door and pointed at you to stop just like he’d done at the diner. He opened your door and held his hand to help you out, never letting go until he had to pay for your ice cream.

As he’d grabbed his cone, he’d glanced at his watch and swore, grabbed your hand again and started pulling.

You couldn’t help but notice every girl staring as he tugs you through people saying excuse me, couldn’t help but feel that spark of pride in your chest when whenever your grip loosened around people, his only held on tighter.

“What is the rush!” You laugh, catching melting strawberry ice cream with your lips as he darts to the left.

“We’re late! I didn’t realize how long we talked at the diner, we’re missing it!”

“Missing what…”

Your voice trails off as you approach the big grassy hill packed with people on blankets in front of a large, handmade screen.

Showing The Princess Bride.

Robin sits in a booth, chin in her hand, bored, until she sees you two and grins, waving from her station.

“Wh-what’s going on?” You ask, looking at the screen, then him.

Steve frowns, groaning, “It’s like half over. Shit, I’m sorry. I had it all planned.”

He looks at you and all you can see is the chocolate ice cream on his bottom lip as he keeps talking.

“Family Video was asked to do a movie in the park, and I asked Keith if I could do it, and I picked The Princess Bride, for you, so we could watch it together, here-“

Your fingers catch his chin and he can’t breathe as your thumb swipes over his bottom lip. It slips in between your lips, tongue licking the chocolate from it as he breathes heavily.

His hands lift the camera just as yours go to grab for it and you make eye contact then look at Robin and grin.

She snaps a photo of you both when you ask, and you’re fairly certain Steve’s eyes are closed and your mouth is open in a question and it may end up being your favorite one, regardless.

You look at Steve and nod towards the hill.

This time, you hold out your hand and wait for him to grab it.

The movie is full of moments.

One of him asking for a taste of your ice cream and scoffing when you whisper a no, only to grab your wrist and pull it to his mouth and bite it, which you tell him he’s a serial killer for.

Once your ice cream is finished, there’s several, where you keep catching him watching your profile when you laugh at the same parts you always do, only for him to turn quickly back to the screen and ignore you when you try to ask him what he’s staring at. Which he says he doesn’t know what you’re talking about to, so then you get loud about it and then his palm covers your mouth as he whispers that you’re talking during the movie and it’s rude, baby, some people haven’t seen this a bazillion times.

So many with hands resting next to each other’s, fingers playing with yours, swirling over the skin of your arm up and down and tickling and soothing at the same time, making the butterflies in your stomach bang on the walls and scream about letting them out.

Another, where, when he kisses your bare shoulder and pulls your fallen dress strap up, you wonder if butterflies can scream and if Steve can hear them.

Then, when the movie’s almost over, Steve tugs on your hand and whispers against your ear (because you were scolded by Robin for talking too loud earlier), that he knows it’s not over, but you have somewhere to be.

The pair of you duck as you run past people down the hill, trying not to stumble and fall or laugh or block their view and being unsuccessful in almost all of it.

He helps you not fall, hands on your waist and he keeps them there as you turn, breathless, hands against his chest where you can feel his heart beating as hard as yours.

It feels a lot like you’re facing a fear, about to do or say something you might regret, but you know you never truly will, because at least you said it.

At least you gave the what if a chance to prove you wrong.

“Hey,” you whisper, “In case I forget to say it, this date has been pretty perfect.”

“Yeah?” He swallows, gaze falling to your lips then back up. “Even with the moratorium on arguing?”

“Did you just say moratorium?” You grin, while your palms climb higher on his chest and around his neck.

He nods, nose knocking yours, “Mhm, and for my big brain word, I have a request.”

“Name your price, Harrington.”

Steve takes a step back and pulls your hands deeper into the fair, until you’re in front of the ferris wheel.

Your feet scuff on the gravel as he tries to keep pulling you into the line and you shake your head.

“Please?” He looks nervous, looking at the sky and line and then back at you, “I promise it won’t be bad. Just like the first time, I’ll distract you and I’ll hold your hand until it’s over-“

“No,” your hand does slip out of his this time, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

You gesture to the giant ride in front of you, “This is like ten times bigger than that one a school. And I’m bigger! So that’s saying something if it still looks so big!”

Each of your volume increases, hands gesturing and drawing a crowd as you interrupt each other, rule number two completely broken.

“Please, just get in line? It’ll be worth it, and-“

“I’m not going, no way-“

“Stop being so stubborn, for once in your life and just-“

“I’m not being stubborn, you’re being stubborn and I don’t know why it’s such a big deal anyways-“

“Would you just hold my hand on the damn ferris wheel so I can tell you that I love you!?”

It feels like every single person at that fair stops talking right then. His words hang in the air, dings and chimes from rides and games get louder as he blinks at you, mouth parting and closing as nothing more comes out.

Your chest heaves as you gasp, “Wh-what?”

Steve swallows and takes a step closer to you, then another, until his hand is cupping your jaw and he’s shaking his head, like he doesn’t want to say the words but he can’t help it anymore.

“I love you so much. And maybe that’s a crazy thing to say, when this is technically our first date, but…but I do. I love when you snatch red vines out of my fingers and you get that wrinkle between your brows when you think I’m acting like an idiot.”

Your shaking hand grabs his on your cheek, vision turning blurry as he keeps going, voice cracking as he does, “I love the color of your eyes. I love how you can joke and not take things so seriously until it’s something that really matters. I love your work ethic and your heart and…and I think I’ve loved you since we were twelve and I heard your laugh for the first time while you broke my hand. I love you.”

It doesn’t feel real, the words coming out of him, the way your chest cracks open and releases the butterflies. All of your fears of not being enough, of only being a game, vanish with three little words said by Steve. The way he says I love you while he looks at you like that.

Like he means it.

Like you’re his.

His thumb catches tears on your cheeks while you sniffle as you somehow joke, “Acting like an idiot?”

Steve laughs, a rumble in his chest as his forehead knocks against yours, waiting, until you take the air out of him and put it back with five words.

“I love you too, Steve.”

This kiss, is like the moment the storm is over. When rain drips from the leaves softly and the earth smells fresh - like it’s been given a clean slate. When birds start chirping again and the breeze returns instead of the wind. Like sun peaking out of clouds and gray sky turning to blue.

His lips mold around yours, like they’re meant to, like he’s not ever letting them go. Your body heats, like he’s transferring all of his warmth into you from just his lips. Catching yours softly as they part, as they beg for more. He does let them go, only when there’s whoops and whistles around you and a booming crack and spark above you both.

Red and blue paint his features tilted up towards the sky, the fireworks in your stomach reflected in his eyes when they look back at you.

He kisses you again, in front of everyone, holding your waist and pulling you tightly against him, Polaroid sandwiched between you. Steve keeps kissing you until you’re both panting into each other’s lips, unable to part fully, but desperately needing air.

Your bottom lip catches his top one again in an over too quick peck as you smile and grab both of his hands, and tug him towards the parking lot.

He had to pull over fifteen minutes ago.

You’d kissed him dizzy in the grassy field, letting him press your body up against the door he was planning to open for you.

Mouth that had always been so mean to him making up for so much lost time. Lips that parted under his and followed his lead, that sucked and bruised right back, always matching his shift, countering back, challenging him and making something inside of his chest feel like it was prying open to get into yours.

The feeling was addicting.

He remembers his hands on your hips, pressing you into the car with his body, your name barely escaping between tongue and lips that just wouldn’t, couldn’t, stop.

You’d hummed, while fingers squeezed the back of his neck and then scratched along the back of his head, grinning around his mouth that parted in a gasp when you did.

“We,” he’d swallowed as your mouth slipped along his jaw, his head tilting back so you could kiss his throat, “We should…jesus christ.”

Your teeth scraped the side of his neck and his hands pressed to the hood of the car, thigh nudging between your legs and only stopping when you moaned against his ear.

You’d rolled your hips experimentally, mouth moving lower again so it could get a proper kiss once more, now that you’d gotten a chance for deeper breaths.

Steve’s hands had gone back to your waist and squeezed, his mouth evaded yours and pressed to your ear.

“You really are trouble, you know that?”

It just made you wonder what else it would take for him to call you that again.

But then it started to rain.

Everyone started running into the field, shrieking and laughing as rain thrummed and pinged on metal rides and wood booths.

He quickly opened your door, shoving the camera and Polaroids at you and ran around his hood.

Both of you swiped at your eyes, shivering from the cold rain that only turned down some of the heat between you. He’d swallowed as he looked at you, licked his bottom lip and asked if he could drive you home.

You’d nodded, and after he’d pulled onto the road, your hands met in the middle of the console.

But then you’d laid his hand on your thigh, pressing yours on top of it. You’d fiddled with his fingers, humming along to the radio and pretending like you weren’t up to no good.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins, every doubt washed away from the rain when Steve looked over at you with pouted, kiss-bitten lips, voice scratchy as he warned, “Honey…”

Which was his own fault. He shouldn’t have said it like that, shouldn’t have looked at you like that when he did. Cause it only made you lace your fingers with his from above. Made you move your hand and his to the hem of your dress where his fingers twitched when they hit bare skin.

“You-“

He stopped, biting his lip when you pulled at the hem, lifting it higher and letting the pads of his fingers drag along the inside of your thigh till he hit wet lace and cotton.

“Please?”

Which was your own fault. You shouldn’t have said it like that. Shouldn’t have looked at him like that when you did. Cause it only made it easier for you to guide his fingers to push under the black fabric. Made it too easy for the pads of two fingers to brush through your slick far too slow and tease at your clit before doing it again, and again, and-

He pulled his hand away when you gasped as the car swayed on the wet pavement and he shook his head, hands back to ten and two, mumbling the word trouble again.

But then he was pulling over, lights cutting the slant of rain on the deserted gravel road as he looked over at you with pink cheeks and wild, wet hair and nodded his head to his side of the car.

“Get over here, now.”

You’d grinned and said:

“Ask me nicely, Steve.”

And now your thighs were parted over his, the skirt of your evil dress fanned out all pretty and covering up how indecent you were underneath.

His hands held your waist as your hips rolled, the mess of black fabric underneath hitting against his Levi’s that were far too tight just right.

Heart’s song mixing with his own, thudding in his chest as you whisper his name against his lips like a prayer. He wonders if he can get you to come like this, just riding him fully clothed in his car, with just his mouth on yours, but that’s not what he wants. Not right now, not tonight.

“Baby,” he sighs, “We gotta slow down. You’re killing me here.”

It only makes your hips roll with a little more pressure, a laugh bubbling out of you as his eyelids flutter and the back of his head hits the seat rest with a groan.

He squeezes at your waist and holds you still, mouth catching yours when you whine.

It’s a much softer, shorter kiss than you’ve had all night, but not as sweet as what he says after.

“I wanna take my time with you.”

He stares at you, and your hand leaves his shoulder, pad of your finger tracing over freckles on his cheek, his cupid’s bow, up the bridge of his nose. It’s tender on his eyebrow, careful to avoid the bruise, until it’s gently brushing the three freckles next to his eye.

“Did you know you have a little bit of green in your eyes?” The murmured words take his heart and squeeze, make it harder to swallow as your nose nuzzles into his and you add, “I don’t want to miss anything else, Steve. Don’t wanna waste time we can’t get back.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw. He presses soft and silky lips to just below your ear, lower, lingering on your racing pulse point before he’s back to staring at you.

“I’ve waited over ten years for this, I’m not doing it in my car. It needs to be…I wanna remember this.”

A smile lifts your cheeks, and you reach for something, then whisper into his lips:

“So let’s remember it.”

A flash, a click, and a whir, before several moments lead up to a big one.

One’s where you climb off his lap regretfully, and he drives towards your apartment.

Several of climbing stairs and nervous fingers fumbling with keys and light switches. A radio plays Pat Benatar, music swelling around you both as you start kissing against your door.

Too many to count of kisses stolen between all of the other moments, till you’re in your bedroom with Steve Harrington and you’re pulling at his shirt that sticks to his skin. Bare arms quick to wrap back around you once it’s over his hair.

Your fingers scrape down his chest, over his stomach and shake while they work at metal and leather until he’s helping. Till he’s standing in front of you in just black boxers and swallowing as you look at him.

He steps forward, breath shaky as he asks, “Can I?”

Once your head nods and you say please, his fingers drag red fabric higher and higher, gently pulling it over your head until you’re standing in front of him in just black lace which is so much harder to concentrate around than red.

Steve kisses you again, softer and sweeter. Slowly dragging your mouth open with his as his hand cups your jaw. Your hands roam from his chest to hips, pulling him towards you and both to the bed.

He climbs over you as your head meets the mattress. He breaks away from your mouth with panted breaths, kissing down your throat, over collar bones and your chest as you blink at your ceiling and try to remember how normal breathing works. His hands caress down your side and back up, fingers playing with the band of black on your back until you’re nodding, asking him to take it off.

Steve swallows at the sight of pebbling nipples underneath him, gasps a breath against the curve of your chest when his fingers brush one and you jolt and make a noise he hasn’t heard yet. He needs to hear it again, and let’s his tongue glide out to wet the same spot before brushing it again.

It’s even better the second time.

He moves lower still, when you say his name and your hips adjust beneath his. Not sure if he’s dreaming when his fingers hook into lace and drag the underwear over your hips, past your thighs and off of your ankles. He’s pretty sure his heart is bruising the inside of his chest after he watches how it clung to you, space between your thighs already sticky and dripping for him.

You don’t have time to wonder what he’s thinking or worry about being anxious or doubt anything because he’s kissing your ankle, the inside of your knee, mouthing at all of the bare skin as he climbs higher again.

“This is…” he swallows, breath fanning over your clit as he looks up your body and asks, “You’re okay? You want to keep going?”

His eyes shine in the low lamplight of your room, hair drying and messier than ever from all your fingers have done to it tonight. His lips pout as he waits with held breath for your answer when you look down at him.

“Yes,” you nod, frantic about it and hand meeting his on your hip and holding tightly, “Please, I-Steve.”

He moans into your folds at the sound of his name, at the taste of you finally on his tongue. It licks over you in flat, broad stripes. He traces each lip, nose leading the path up to your clit each time. Which throbs when the tip presses into it just right as his tongue pushes at your entrance.

Your fingers squeeze his as your back arches and the other grips your bedding. Chest heaving from the feeling of his tongue flicking faster. The stubble on his cheeks scratch at your thighs that squeeze around him tighter, which only makes him double down on the movement, lapping at you like he’ll never get to do it again and needs to make sure he doesn’t miss anything you give him.

His name leaves you louder, like you’ve never said it before.

Like it’s yours.

He’s seeing red, when you clench around him tighter as his free hand presses circles into your clit until you’re shaking around him, fingers limp in his.

Your eyes are closed as your chest rises and falls quickly when he removes himself and looks at you from where he kneels between your legs. His hands gently roam up and back down your thighs, lips smiling when you sigh at the feeling, content.

He doesn’t want to break it, whatever’s happening inside your head, but his fingers swirl circles higher, just below your ribs, voice scratchy when he asks, “Was that…”

“If you’re about ask if that was okay…” you smile, eyes finally fluttering open.

Somehow, despite having the best orgasm just moments ago, you ache for more at the sight of him.

He kneels between your legs, his own chest panting a little too fast. Pride shoots through yours from how glossy his lips are, how pink his cheeks turn, how much his pupils take over normally golden iris’.

You’re a little crazed about it, pulling at his wrists so he falls on top of you, pushing at his boxers that he’s eager to help rid himself of too. Steve stands, pulling them off and your mouth goes dry, and he has the nerve to have some clarity, to look smug and ask, “See something you like, honey?”

A laugh bubbles out past your lips as you shake your head, hands covering your eyes as you try to get your breathing under control.

The bed dips and his fingers skate over your skin, up higher until his palms are pressed into the pillow and your hands fall at the feeling of all of him on top of you, pushed up against you.

Your hips roll, making him bite his lip above you when his length slips between your folds. Both of you breathe harshly into each other’s mouths, sliding together, teasing your kisses and the thing you’ve both been waiting for.

Until your hand pulls at his hair and you beg, “Need you, right now.”

Steve grips at your hip, dizzy from how you coat him and he’s not even inside of you yet. He gasps, “Ask,” he nips at your bottom lip, “Nicely.”

Your head shakes no, so your lips brush against his and then he’s swearing, closing his eyes and mumbling, “Oh my god, I’m an idiot.”

“What?” You blink at him.

Steve moans, lips pressed to your jaw, nose into your cheek as he admits, “I don’t have a condom. I…I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

The thought makes you grin, makes your eyelashes flutter because he twitches next to your entrance when you say, “Big brain word.”

He laughs, breath hot along your jaw and gasping as you roll your hips and offer, “Want your prize?”

“Honey,” it sounds pained, like he’s one roll of your hips away from coming.

“I-I’m on birth control. And I love you. I wanna do this,” your hands rub at his shoulder blades, down his biceps and back up. “Wanna feel all of you, Steve. Please?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, his throat bobbing in front of you as he forces out a rushed, “You can’t just say stuff like that baby, don’t be mean.”

Your hand reaches between you, fingers wrap around him and you’re addicted to the way his eyelashes flutter, the way he says your name when you tug once, lining him up with your entrance.

His eyes open in a daze, gaze bouncing between your eyes as he asks, “You’re sure?”

You’re nodding and then suddenly, wonderfully, beautifully, you’re kissing Steve Harrington as he pushes inside of you.

He stops when you gasp around his lips, eyes frantically searching over your face but only finding a blissed out expression with each inch he slips in more. He wishes the camera wasn’t down in the car.

Next time.

You envelope him completely, legs rising on either side of his hips and arms around his neck, lips against his as you nod and encourage him to keep going. Each ridge and curve of each other fitting together and nothing between either of you anymore, holding you back.

Steve’s hand curls against your waist, forehead pressed to yours when he rolls his hips experimentally and you moan into his mouth again, his name sounding desperate this time. Your hands claw at his back when he starts thrusting and all he can think about is asking you to do it harder and then taking you to the pool tomorrow. Show off how you marked him up while he holds your hand and people stare.

His eyes flutter open to find you already staring at him. Your lips mold together in a long kiss, parting in the same breath. Eyes open again as your mouths brush and beg each other’s names, hands caress and memorize over each other’s bodies while they glide together. Steve grabs your hand that tangles the sheets, lacing his fingers with yours and holding on until it’s over, and even when it will be, he has no plans to let go.

Your heartbeats thud against chests pressed together, no longer separate rhythms, and each push into you and slow drag out brings you higher and higher and you’re suddenly not so scared of how far the fall is anymore, not with Steve Harrington holding your hand.

He presses it tightly into the pillow, breath coming sharp and hating that this is over so quickly. But then you’re looking at him like that, like he’s yours. And he’s looking at you like that. Like you’re his. A scrunched forehead knocks yours and he’s spilling inside of you, warmth flooding over you both as his lips capture yours in another kiss.

This kiss, is different. This kiss is like when a storm is over, and not everyone notices, but there’s always a rainbow, somewhere, if you’re patient enough to find it, to search for it.

Your hand softens in his hair, the other a comfortable grip in his. His chest sighs against yours, breath fanned across lips that savor and treasure your kiss.

Steve lifts up, only slightly, so he can look at you when he says.

“I love you.”

Mouths find each other again, swallowing unspoken promises of this only being the beginning.

Until you’re speaking into the kiss, needing to get the last word.

“I love you, more.”

Steve pulls away, looking at your eyes. He shakes his head.

“Quit lying, honey.”

Honey.

Thank you SO much for reading this story. I wasn't going to come back and finish it, and I'm so glad I did. And then only reason I was able to was because of sweet comments and reblogs left and those of you who came and sent dms and asks. I hope the wait was worth it and I appreciate you so much! There is a small epilogue, but please read the warnings on it, may not be your thing ✌🏻💛

BICFTF TAGLIST:

@ash5monster01 @madaboutjoe @foreverinwanderlust @the-fairy-anon @scarletwitchgf

@curlsincriminology @siriuslysmoking @redbarn1995 @starry--sarah @starksbabie

@taccobelle @angst-lasagna @blckburd @crownofdecit @torntaltos

@sanniegirl1214 @yourmommilf @khena @ytgus @starryeyedpoet17

@halfburntout @belle101200

#superbly subpar's writing #BICFTF #steve harrington #steve harringon x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington series #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic

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yourheart-inmyhands · 6 months ago

Note

Second ask of the day I am so sorry if I am overwhelming you :(

But I was scrolling through your blog and someone requested Blade with a reader who was like terrified of him that they would not sleep or eat unless forced to.

Could you write the same for Dottore? I just feel like this would fit him well :D

~🍂 Anon (once again I am apologising for requesting a second time today. Feel free to ignore me)

omg no don't feel bad for multiple requests, i adore every request i get, even if there's multiple in a day :D <3

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including implied being held against ones will, mentions of drugging, mentions of restraints, mentions of permanently paralyzing someone, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Honestly, it doesn’t bother Dottore nearly as much as it should, but when has he ever been bothered by something this minuscule? Dottore isn’t an overly affectionate person, but he can’t deny the appeal of having someone waiting for him in his bed, it’s a nice change from the usual night spent in his lab, forcing himself awake for another hour. It’s a good change of pace for him as well, even if he has to use force to keep you compliant.

He’ll allow you free roam of the room during the day, certain you couldn’t get past the bars on the windows or the guards outside the door. When night rolls around though, it’s kicked off by a few of his segments coming to get you ‘ready’ for bed. They’ve been instructed to use any force necessary, which often means restraints or merely drugging you. This is so that when Dottore does eventually come around to go to bed an hour or so later, you’ve already had your time to cry and fight, tiring yourself out and making you perfect to snuggle up to.

Of course, he has considered permanently paralyzing you before, but a small, sick part of him likes it when you fight. Dottore enjoys the challenge you put up, so he may on occasion threaten it, among other things, he isn’t likely to actually do it.

There was an extra pep in his step as Dottore left the lab, choosing to let his experiments wait till morning in favor of going to rest with you. Normally he’d be there till sunrise the following morning, but as of late, he’s come to find that he much prefers your company at these hours. You had been extra difficult with his segments tonight, at least that was what they had told him, so they went ahead and administered some ‘medication’ to help you relax. It was a special formula Dottore had made for you and you alone, it was strong enough to keep you incapacitated till morning while also not making you weak enough that you needed assistance in breathing. Kicking open the door to your bedroom, he was pleased to see you laying there, staring at him with tear-riddled eyes, small wet streaks running down your cheeks from the crying onslaught you had subjected yourself to. Oh dear, if only you knew how much this sight made his heart flutter.

If you never grow accustomed to Dottore’s presence, it’s not a worry, he honestly thinks it’s cute that you hate him so much. His heart is set aflutter when he sees how terrified you are of him, he thinks it’s just so adorable. I mean, everyone already hates him, thousands have nightmares of the things he’s done, but you, there’s something about you specifically that has him hooked. He can’t ever let you go.

#genshin x reader #genshin x male readder #genshin x gender neutral reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x male reader #yandere genshin x gender neutral reader #dottore x reader #dottore x male reader #dottore x gender neutral reader #yandere dottore x reader #yandere dottore x male reader #yandere dottore x gender neutral reader #yandere genshin #genshin yandere #yandere dottore #dottore yandere

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roseykat · 1 year ago

Text

KINKTOBER DAY 4 - JEONGIN

TITLE: Weeding out the weak

PAIRING: Jeongin x reader

SUMMARY: After almost two weeks of Jeongin not allowing you to touch yourself, greed forces you to cave which only leads you to be caught by him in his bed trying to get yourself off. Despite pleading with Jeongin for him to fuck you, he finds a better solution by only giving you half of what you want.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with these posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.

TAGS: slightly mean dom-Jeongin, sub-reader, ruined orgasm, female masturbation, fingering, swearing, begging.

KINKTOBER23 - MASTERLIST

KINK: Voyuerism

TAGLIST: @kbitties @luneskies @mal-lunar-28 @kibs-and-bits @aaasia111 @fairy-lixie @dreamingaboutjisung @lizzekat

Jeongin is not a very tortuous person. He doesn’t ever actively go out of his way to make you upset and never would in the future. But this time, he had done it. You had reached a limit you never thought he would bring out of you and it all started with a bit of teasing.

It was just an innocent night out with Jeongin at a club and restaurant which quickly escalated into a steamy round of bathroom sex at the back. Jeongin was pissed that you had him so riled up enough to fuck you in public that he decided to put one rule in place for you to learn your lesson; no touching.

He wasn’t going to touch you and you weren’t allowed to touch yourself in place of that. For how long was the real question that you started asking yourself when it had been a full week of no sexual contact whatsoever.

But that’s the dynamic between you and Jeongin. You both love slotting into your roles of dom and sub here and there and that rule just happened to be part of it.

It was a painful mistake to think it was going to be easy without being touched or not being able to touch yourself. But that was after the fact that your sex drive had been satiated by getting railed by Jeongin. In the days after, the urge began creeping up whenever you felt horny, and Jeongin managed to take advantage of it.

He fed into your needs by getting handsy with you; groping your tits around the house, smacking your ass as you walked past him, kissing your neck from behind. But not anything more other than that, and it was frustrating.

"Why can't you fuck me?" You would ask him earlier into the second week.

"I told you," Jeongin started. "No touching until I say so."

"Surely you can now, it's been more than a week," you pleaded.

"No."

"Then can I please touch myself at least?" you questioned. "I need it so bad."

"Then you should've thought about it prior to acting up last week," Jeongin responds sharply.

As a result of the harsh reinforcement of his rule and words, it's led you into a state of being completely starved for touch. Sex had been on your mind a lot more than usual, specifically, the things that Jeongin has done to you in the past. It was almost like detoxing from him entirely.

However, up until now, when you're in bed watching a movie while Jeongin is out with friends, you still think about it. The fact that the film you're watching is relatively raunchy, doesn't help the circumstance that you're in.

It forces you to think about Jeongin - his cock, the way that he fucks, his fingers, his warm, wet mouth. A moan slips past your mouth just thinking about it. The invisible chokehold that he has around you begins to loosen when the idea of touching yourself slips into the cracks of your conscience.

'What Jeongin doesn’t know won't hurt him' is the phrase you tell yourself when your hand starts slipping down the front of your underwear.

There’s a wash of relief that you feel, the split second your fingers reach your clit, already gathering the wet slick that has started up from thinking about Jeongin. Your thoughts run rabid, tracing back to the times where Jeongin has fucked you so good.

“Jeongin…” you mutter to yourself, eyes fluttering closed as you pick up the speed of your fingers.

With the whole house to yourself, you have free reign to be as loud as you like - which is usually the case if Jeongin were with you. But there was something deliciously dirty about getting off while he wasn't there. Maybe it was the fact that you were completely breaking the one rule he had for you, or maybe it was the thought of potentially being caught.

Regardless of the matter, Jeongin knew that both were the case when he arrived back home early. He even announced himself as he walked in through the door, but your moans seemed to drown his voice out that you had no clue he was back.

His ear picked up the faint, muted sounds coming from the bedroom and proceeded to investigate with the inkling in the back of his mind that he knew what it was. Jeongin could see the glow of the TV from the slightly ajar door, but the sounds became much clearer when he pinpointed your moans.

"Mmm, fuck Jeongin, please..."

His throat ran dry for a few seconds. So this is what you look like when you're all alone and touch yourself? Jeongin needed to watch you like this more often; vulnerable, horny, helpless, and needy.

So he stood there, watching you for a good few moments where you progressively became more vocal and frenetic with your movements. He himself can't not feel horny when he sees you like this, so just when he thinks you're about to reach the very tip-top of your orgasm, Jeongin swings the door open.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Your hand retracts away from your clit, so startled that the wave of pleasure you were building yourself up towards dissipates as fast as you could possibly comprehend that Jeongin was standing at the door. With your heart pounding against your chest, there’s a few seconds where you both look at each other, dead in the eye only for you to realise that he is actually standing there.

“I…I thought you were out,” you stammer, hoping desperately that what you’re doing isn’t what it seems to him.

“I was,” Jeongin answers. “And now I’m back. So I’ll ask again, what are you doing?”

You sit up, still panting and fed up, “I’m horny so I don’t care about your stupid rule anymore. You haven’t touched me properly in two weeks and I haven’t been allowed to touch myself either, I’m done with it.”

Jeongin feels a slight tinge of guilt, but he doesn’t show it in his expression. He may have gone overboard with pressing up behind you at certain times, groping you or feeling you up whenever he got the chance. But, you still disobeyed him.

He takes off his black blazer and folds it neatly once before draping it over the back of the chair in the corner of the room. As he walks over to you, he’s unbuttoning the sleeves to his white dress shirt and rolling up his sleeve.

“You can take my fingers,” Jeongin says impatiently, sitting next to you but on the edge of the bed. “That’s all you’re getting.”

Better than nothing.

At the rate you’ve been going at for the past two weeks, just about every inanimate object looks mountable to you. Therefore, you are taking whatever it is that Jeongin will give you.

He starts by spreading your legs apart for himself and uses the tips of his fingers to glide delicately and softly over your pussy. It doesn’t take long for them to be deliciously slick with your juices while the wet sounds makes you grip at the hem of his jersey.

He then takes it upon himself to remove all of his rings that are always hot to look at but are now a barrier in this sense - for you.

“Wetter than usual you are,” Jeongin voices his observation aloud, making you flush with shame before his hand returns to you. “Is this what happens if I neglect you for too long?”

You throw your head back when he teases your entrance with just the tip of one finger. He pulls back and goes in a bit deeper, enough to make you start audibly moaning. Using this method a few times, he was to be sure that you’ve had some prep, regardless if you started but couldn’t finish it.

Plus his fingers are very different from yours and they have never been able to do the trick like him.

“Yes, baby, feels so good,” your eyes flutter shut.

“Yeah?” He reaffirms and then takes into consideration how hard you're gripping around his fingers. “I’m not going anywhere, you can relax."

“I can’t help it,” you cry out pathetically, gripping the pillow behind your head.

The ridge of pleasure fast approaches and Jeongin can feel you clenching sporadically around his fingers, watching his digits become increasingly wetter all the way down to the palm of his hand. When your moans become more strained and stagnant and when you start calling out his name, Jeongin makes the most malicious decision and retracts his entire hand from you.

Your eyes flash open, clenching around an emptiness as you cum.

“N-No! Please, please, please! I wanna-I almost-”

“Almost what?” Jeongin interrupts your babbling. “Almost came without my permission? As if.”

You throw your head back and try to swim in what’s left of the diluted pleasure Jeongin stripped from you. But no matter how hard you tried, it was no use. There was no intense surge of euphoria or tingly sensation that would spread throughout your body.

“Cry about it,” Jeongin shrugs carelessly. “You knew what the rule was and yet you still went ahead and broke it.”

At that moment, you could have actually cried. His words were a clear sign of ‘fuck around and find out’. So long as he is stern and strict with you about any rule that you both agree to implement, Jeongin will uphold it until the day he dies.

"I couldn't help myself," you whine while your legs are still clenching and rubbing toghether.

"Clearly," Jeongin replies sarcastically. "Now you know for next time that your actions have consequences."

"There won't be a next time, I promise I'll be good," you swear to him.

Jeongin raises an eyebrow at you, "don't tell me one thing and then go and do the other angel. You'll need to prove it to me in the meantime."

---

A/N: I'm a real...slut for mean Jeongin...also sidenote, this was originally meant to be a 'mutual masturbation' piece but I went with voyeurism since of the mean!dom trope that I ran with.

#rosiewritesskz #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #lee know smut #han jisung smut #hyunjin smut #changbin smut #felix smut #i.n smut

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adventuringblind · 1 year ago

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If you’re still taking requests, can you please write a wolff!reader x charles leclerc fic? And they’re secretly engaged and in love and toto finds out and he doesn’t want them together and tries to break them up. Maybe they break up for toto and then he sees how sad they are w/o each other and how happy they were together? Angst to fluff and happy ending please 😭💕💕 Tysmmm i love your work sm

Romeo and Juliet

Charles Leclerc X Wolff!Reader

Genre: ANGST lots of it but a happy fluffy ending

Request: yes, and forbidden love? Yes please! Sorry if this is darker then you were thinking… I got a little carried away 😅. I am open for requests! Mainly for Max, Charles, Oscar, Lando, Daniel, and George.

Summary: Reader and Charles are in love. Unfortunately for them, Toto is determined to keep them apart.

Warnings: Angry Toto, sad reader, Charles trying to problem solve. MENTIONS OF SH but not description of it, MENTIONS OF SUICIDAL IDEATION but again nothing descriptive, bullying and toxic media.

Notes: written in third person. Please like, comment, and reblog. I like to hear from y'all. It makes me feel like a celebrity 🥹.

Also, I've sent up my account to let tips be enabled. I was debating whether or not to say this because i dont want to sound like im begging, but frankly, people opinions do not matter me me. If you like my writing and want to support me, please consider tipping my posts or my blog. I put a lot of effort into my writing, and it would mean the world to me. Obviously, I won't have my feelings hurt if you ignor this, but I wanted to put it out there.

Masterlist

She’d never been quite sure how it happened. How she managed to find her soulmate. The two are meant for each other. The only downside is that she is living a Romeo and Juliet parody.

Being a Wolff meant spending majority of her time around the race track or at the factory. From the time she was little, she was following her dad around.

Toto never had any hard and fast rules regarding being friends with people from other teams. He couldn’t stop her from being friends with those she spent majority of her time around. He did, however, have rules about dating. Mainly not to date a driver and if she was then he would allow a Mercedes driver.

So her options were Lewis and George. She liked both, but not in any romantic way. They are her brothers. She annoys them and them tease her and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Her and Charles had been friends since he first started with AlfaRomeo. The two clicked instantly and talked constantly. She was the first person he looked for after a good race or a bad one. He was her everything and she was his.

Four years later they started dating. Secretly, of course, because she didn’t want her dad smashing anymore headphones. They made it work and were willing to do what it took.

It helped that she already lived in Monaco since that’s where majority of her friends lived. It made sense why they would ‘run into each other’ so often since they live in a small place.

George found out by accident right before a race. He’d found her phone in the ground. It had fallen out of her pocket and she’d not noticed. When she had noted it’s disappearance, she tried to locate it by calling it with Charles phone.

George took one look at the caller ID and knew. The less then friendly contact name, mix of heart emoji’s, and Charles contact photo gave it away. He answered anyways. If Charles knew where she was then at least he could give her phone back.

“Hello, this is George.” He only got silence in return. “Hello…?”

“Please tell me you didn’t see the called name.” Came her voice from the other end. The desperation in your voice making him chuckle. He was never going to let her live this down.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Now can you please come get your phone.”

The two lovebirds were able to make more things work after. Being able to have George cover form them helped immensely. Dates became more frequent. Places they wouldn’t normally go were suddenly a possibility.

Lewis caught on eventually. He saw right past the sheepish smiles of George and Y/N. While she was sneaking back in the garage through George’s driver room.

Between George and Lewis the teasing only escalated, but the two of them were the best possible wingmen she could have asked for. They managed to distract her father away when she was cutting things close.

It didn’t last forever though. The ending of Romeo and Juliet isn’t a happy one.

Someone had managed to take a picture of them kissing. It was a cute picture. Charles kissing her on what was supposed to be a private beach during the sunset. A picture that she woke up to circling the medial faster that the cars on race day.

Charles woke up to her rapid breathing. Her phone lighting up the dark room with constant notifications. Charles wrapped his arms around her. “It’s alright amour. We’ll figure this out on day at a time.

Things were weird after that. She clung to Charles as she was ripped to shred by the media, the fans, and her father.

She was being called a traitor to her fathers team. Her father had labeled her disrespectful. It was an utter nightmare.

The two Mercedes boys stood protectively behind her. Toto’s voice getting louder by the second. She was still sitting in the chair opposite his. Her eyes downcast to the lightly colored desk.

“I don’t understand why you chose him. A rival team! How do I know your not telling him everything about our operations?” Toto’s voice was laced with venom. This arms waving around to exaggerate his point.

“Because I love him. And I would never do that to you.” She wanted to stay strong, but the tears were threatening to spill over.

“I don’t want to see you back here until you two are broken up.” He turned his back to her.

She quickly exited, George following close behind her. Lewis remained in the office.

“I think you’re being too hard on her.” Lewis pointed out. Still leaning in the wall close to the door. His arms crossed over his chest, staring at the team principal he holds immense respect for.

“Aren’t you concerned at all?”

“No, she loves her family to much to do anything like that.” Then he left. Finding the girl he considered his sister clinging to George’s shirt.

Both of them had seen the comments. Both had been asked about it during interviews. Both had told their fans to leave her alone. It hurt both of them to see how people were treating her. The names they felt no remorse for spewing. It made them sick.

Charles’ fans were not any better. He hated seeing them tell her nasty things. Spreading rumors they knew nothing about.

He’d tried reassuring her constantly that she is his everything, but he knew she was losing her family. The last thing he wanted to happen. He wanted to protect her from this. Guilt wracking his body because he felt powerless to do anything.

When he found her that day, sobs wracking her body as she went to find him, he knew how he could help her. The last option either of them wanted.

“I love you so much.” He said, cupping her cheek gently, letting the tears roll down his cheeks and attempting to wipe away hers. “But I don’t want you to lose your family because of me.”

Charles called George that day to tell him want he was going to do. George having understood his actions and promised to be there for her. So when the broken girl showed up at his house that night, eyes red and puffy, he’d already been ready for her. Carmen making sure that she had extra clothes for her in case she ended up staying awhile.

Charles’ next stop was to see Toto. The older man hardly sparing him a glance as he walked into the office. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused you.” He started. Toto still faced the wall, refusing to look at him. Something Charles was grateful for. “Me and your daughter have parted ways. So, I’ll hope you’ll allow her to stay with her family. Neither of us wanted things to happen this way. But I’d rather lose her then watch her lose everything she’s grown up with and worked for.”

Charles waited a moment to see if he’d get a response before turning around and ducking out of the office.

He stayed with Pierre that night. Broken and defeated. His heart heavy with the sadness and longing to be with the woman he loved so dearly.

The media didn’t stop though. The news around them still trending. People still feeling the need to voice their disgusting comments.

Toto had tried to connect with his daughter, but received no response. In fact, nobody had. She hadn’t been to a race in months. Both George and Lewis had tried calling and texting her only to receive nothing in return. She hadn’t even read their messages.

Charles was hurting as well. He didn’t want to cause her anymore pain. So he distanced himself from everything that related to her. Carlos and Pierre had been watching his behavior. His head clearly not in a good place mentally. They were running out of ideas in how to help him.

Lewis was the one who caved first. He’d given her enough space, now it was time to invade it. He dragged George with him to her apartment in Monaco one morning. Determined to see proof that she was at least breathing.

When they got no answer, they searched for the spare key. The one she hid in the light above her front door. Relief flooding them both as George managed to locate it.

When they finally got the door open, they were greeted with the dark apartment. It looked like no one lived there. The fridge was empty and the cupboards almost mirrored it, aside from the open box of your favorite cereal.

There was broken glass along the counters and floor. Pictures had been taken off the walls. A few empty bottles of alcohol lay strewn along flat surfaces.

The woman they’d been looking for was wrapped in a blanket on the couch. Her chest slowly rising and falling.

George went to gently try and pull her from her sleep without scaring her.

Lewis on the other hand, went to investigate the rest of the rooms. Terrified at what he’d discovered.

He lightly jogged back to George, who didn’t want to pull her from her peaceful slumber, and tapped his shoulder. Motioning for the younger Brit to follow him.

Their first stop was the bedroom. Everything that reminded her of Charles had been stripped away. leaving only the mattress in the center of the room. The long mirror hanging next to the closet had been shattered. The glass that had fallen out of it scattered around the base word they’d seen people calling her written in thick black marker now divided by cracks.

Next, Lewis led them to the bathroom. The sight of it making George want to vomit. The bathroom mirror had also been cracked. Towels stained red line the countertop. Pills litter the bathroom floor. And the knife she’d been gifted by her father for her 18th birthday lay on the edge of the sink.

Who is obviously what had happened here recently.

George who was struggling to look at the scene went back to trying to coax the woman, his sister, out of her slumber. Lewis making an attempt to at lease get the area safe. Their hearts hurt for her. They knew she was hurting but neither knew it had gotten so bad.

Charles was her soulmate. Both her and Charles knew it. They had envisioned their life together. A life that she saw every time she closed her eyes.

She tried to separate herself from his memory. Tried to distract herself. But she couldn’t get her mind away from him. How he made her smile. How he listened even to the pettiest things she complained about. She wanted that back.

If her family didn’t want her for it and Charles couldn’t stand to see her hurting, then she would get back there on her own.

If their story was like Romeo and Juliet’s, why shouldn’t it end in tragedy as well?

But their story keeps going. Because they are meant for each other. So they will find away even if they don’t know it yet.

The gentle touches of Charles ghosted over her bare arms. Her mind trying to hold into the feeling even if he wasn’t here.

She cracked her eyes open to the dark room. Her body revolting as she tries to sit up. Her dehydration finally getting to her. Her head pounding from last night events.

She’s had a few episodes like this and knows she needs to get help. She doesn’t know where to start though.

She hadn’t really eaten much the last sixth months. Even food reminded her of him. How was she ever going to move in at this rate?

Then she noticed the sounds of breathing beside her. The familiar face of George greeting her, though his eyes are sad.

She immediately sits up. The horrible scene that is her apartment now clearly seen by one of the last people she wanted to know she’d sunk this far.

“George?” Her voice merely a quiet rasp.

“It’s okay now, we’re gonna help you. Okay?” His voice cracked. The male is clear distress.

Lewis came around the corner upon hearing voices. Relieved that she’d woken up. “I think we need to talk.”

Charles hadn’t been staying at his apartment. He knew he wasn’t in a good place mentally, so he went back home. His mother welcomed him with open arms, sad to hear the news of the two splitting.

He’d talked to Lewis and George about her during race weekends. Their lack of knowledge causing his concern to grow more with each passing week.

He’d tried for sixth months to force himself to move on but he knew it was in vain. She was made for him and he belonged to her. How was he supposed to move on from that?

Pascale had struggled watching her middle child. He struggled to eat, struggled to sleep, to the point it was affecting his performance.

“You should talk to her.” She suggested.

“I’ll only hurt her more.”

“I’ve been looking in social media for her. The things people are saying is terrible.” She sighs, the situation itself only getting worse. “She needs you.”

Toto knew he messed up. As soon as he’d made her choose, he knew. Only to have it confirmed when he heard the waver in Charles voice. When he didn’t see his daughter for moths. As he watched Charles performance fall.

He’d tried to contact her. Susie had encouraged him to call her the night everything happened. He’d received no response for sixth months. He’d asked Lewis about her only to be met with his sigh and sad eyes.

It’s like she disappeared from the planet. Everyone worried about her. But they collectively decided that maybe she needed space.

He knew she and Charles were happy together. He’d seen how big her smile was when she was with him. Even when he thought they were just friends. The two of them had been contagiously happy.

The next race came around quickly. At least for Charles that’s how it felt as he strode to the Mercedes paddock.

He spotted Lewis and George and weaved his way towards them. Everyone trying to get one roared for the weekend. Exactly what he should be doing.

“Charles! Listen mate-“ George had started. But Charles cut him off with the urgent need to speak with Toto before he could get in his head. “I need Toto. I need to see her again.” He was ready to break.

“He’s in his office.”

Charles didn’t waist any time making his way there. The older man a bit startled at the sudden appearance. “I love your daughter. I am begging you to not make her choose.” He was pleading but he didn’t care.

“I’m sorry.” Toto looked pained. Charles is taken off guard by it. His reaction the last thing the monegasque was expecting. “I should have never made her choose. She was happy with you. So when you go get her back, tell her I’m sorry and that I want her to come home.”

Charles fumbled around with his words. Gesturing wildly with his hands but for some reason his voice was stuck in his throat. Eventually he just nodded his head, attempting to get across his thanks.

Lewis and George were still talking. So he did the only logical thing and tackled then both in a hug. “I need to know where she is. He’s not going to make her choose.” The smile on his face so big it might fall off. “Please tell me where she’s been staying.”

Lewis and George shared a look. One that didn’t go unnoticed. “We need to talk.”

They’d told him about her state. About what she’d been going through. How they found her that morning, alone and so far into her head they didn’t know if she was going to come out.

His heart shattered listening to them. The two were connected deeper then anything he could’ve imagined. He’s upset that he didn’t get the courage to fight for her sooner.

She’d been spending her time since they found her with either if the boys. Neither wanted to leave her alone after that. So they made sure she wasn’t alone after that.

Her apartment was still mildly wrecked but they weren’t worried about it. They just wanted to get her out of her head.

Now he had a chance. They had brought her with them. She didn’t want to come to the track so she was back at the hotel. Tucked away from the world.

Now Charles was speeding to her location. Lewis’ key card in hand. Determination filling his veins. He needed to see her, desperately. His heart ached the last six months. He didn’t want to never see her again. Charles loved her with his entire being.

The trip was a blur for him. Not even realizing he was at the door until he had no more steps left to take.

He decided to knock first. He wanted to be respectful. He’d use the key as his last resort.

He got nervous when the handle turned. What was he going to say? He didn’t have time to think about it as the door swung open. Revealing the love of his life. Still as beautiful as when he last saw her. Though his heart dropped at the sight.

Bags under eyes, her body smaller then he remembered. Then there was the white bandages running up her arms. She was wearing a tank top and sweats, obviously not expecting him to show up.

They stared at each other for a moment. Then the tears started. She was in his arms in a second. Clutching him like he would disappear if she let go.

He breathed her in. “I’m here, I got you, and I’m never letting you go again.”

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writing-for-life · 5 months ago

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I’m running a Sandman blog. As such, I feel I can’t not say anything, but I’ll make this short (for me):

I believe victims. I work with them almost every day. My trust in the legal system on these matters is therefore also limited and a complicated affair. I unequivocally believe that the sexual assault allegations against Neil Gaiman are true. Having said this, I will withhold further commentary as the situation unfolds, because it’s too complex.

I also believe that stories have meaning to us that goes beyond their creators, and that meaning doesn’t suddenly fall away because of their creators’ actions, although it can, and that’s also okay.

Our feelings are allowed to be complicated, and no one deserves any type of harassment because they still love a story while simultaneously grappling with feelings of anger, disgust or simply sadness towards or about its creator. Neither does anyone deserve any hard feelings because they decide they don’t want to engage anymore.

Our feelings are our own, and we don’t have to justify them to anyone.

Fandoms exist because of story and community. And those stories and communities don’t suddenly stop existing, so I hope we can remember to treat each other with respect and empathy moving on from here.

Edit:

On a more constructive note, and also speaking as someone with both personal and continuous secondhand experience of SA who already sees the damage caused by unreflective knee-jerk posting on here:

You don’t have to make repeated public statements to disassociate yourself from works. Once is enough if you feel you have something to communicate to your followers. Not at all is enough, too. Simply do what you need to do. It’s enough if you know what you stand for, and to act accordingly.

Get your information from original sources, not “summaries” and hearsay on Tumblr. The amount of misinformation, both accidental and malicious, I have seen on here is shocking. All podcasts are freely available with transcripts. Stop believing the people who tell you otherwise, because they either don’t know what they’re talking about, or they aim to control the discussion for their own agenda. If you want to partake in discussion, get info from the source, because that’s truly something you owe to the victims. Otherwise, consider to withhold your opinions. We don’t have to add to the noise, there’s enough of it already, and it somewhat disqualifies itself if it adds its own agenda: This is not about LGBTQ+ issues or whether you deem an outlet trustworthy (it’s about the victims). It is not about your own opinions about kink (it’s about the victims). It is not about your disabilities or struggles that render you “unable to listen or read”. It is about the victims, not about you. So consider to stop centering yourself.

You are not a bad person for enjoying the work of a person who did wrong, neither does condemning them automatically make you a good person. How you behave towards your fellow human beings does. So if you feel tempted to judge, or even harass, other people for their love of a piece of media, take a breath first. Because in that moment, it has stopped being about the victims—it has become about centering yourself as righteous.

Don’t read into works, but don’t pretend they exist in a vacuum either. We can’t truly separate the art from the artist, but we can (re)assign meaning unique to us. The moment you interpret a piece of art, it reflects you. It will mirror back your feelings and worldview. If all you feel while engaging is negative, it is time to disengage. There is enough art in the world you can enjoy. But don’t judge those who still find meaning even if you don’t.

Take action in the real world, and step back from online discourse. Put your money where your mouth is, donate to women’s shelters or volunteer, organise fundraisers. In short: Make a difference where you can. Online opinion pieces are not that place, neither is keeping yourself in a state of constant aggravation by obsessively checking the tags. All it does it make you unwell.

Don’t support the creator financially. I know I won’t from here onwards, especially where there is a clear divide between his work and that of others (the creator credit for The Sandman also belongs to Mike Dringenberg and Sam Kieth, as you can see on literally every Sandman-related published work. And the intellectual property belongs to DC/Warner since it was work for hire. The Sandman was never creator-owned). Secondhand books are an option, so are libraries. They’re everywhere, and eBay is your friend in that case. You can also still read and enjoy the works you own, it doesn’t harm anyone. You don’t have to bin, burn or sell them. If that feels right though, go for it. It’s your choice, but don’t expect others to make the same choices.

Most importantly: You have nothing to prove to anyone. You know who you are, that’s all that matters. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

#no tags #because all those tags are a mess #but you know what this one is about #stick together and stay safe out there

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colduncrustable · 2 months ago

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the martin antis working so hard to make waves is so funny. like, you are very much allowed to like/dislike any character you please! but making it your whole personality or acting like you’re cooler for it is a little bit silly. you are not morally or intellectually superior for hating on a fiction character.

not to mention all of the characters in tma are very nuanced and complicated, just like real people (!), and erasing all of that to serve a certain narrative is a complete disservice to the entire body of work. jon and martin’s relationship was never meant to be easy, they first and foremost worked closely together as boss/employee, and in a workplace that was actively putting them in dangerous and horrible situations. the whole point is that they’re both super fucked up but they have each other anyway. they both have flaws, they both have gone through a great deal both with and without each other, but they found love anyway. the idea that the dynamic change in s5 is due to martin just being this villain is so wild? like he’s not a doormat anymore but he also loves jon so fiercely and stands by him over and over again?

jon hated him, jon ignored him, was verbally horrible to him again and again, literally sent him on a dangerous investigation and said if anyone had to die might as well be him, jon accused him of murder, screamed at him, jon was on the run, jon died. martin was his number one defender through everything, even when honestly? he didn’t do a lot to prove he deserved it. but martin was strong in his loyalty and did his best to be a supporter anyway. he picked up extra work, he thought of him kindly when no one else did, he mourned him, and he put himself directly in the line of fire for jon. for everyone, yes, but especially for jon, he says that. because after everything, protecting jon is still his number one priority.

it’s so important to his character that he isn’t s1 martin anymore—that he learns to be a real person who has thoughts and feelings and a backbone. jon wanted that, and does it not say something that they don’t work out until martin learns to have a little bite? there’s a difference between being a real complicated traumatized human person, and just straight up being evil, or an asshole. jon had to learn how to be a lot of softer things but martin had to learn how to square his shoulders and stick out his chin. they had different arcs, and that doesn’t make either of them inherently evil or bad. it makes them real and not perfect and very multilayered, yeah.

martin didn’t handle every choice or action perfectly, he made a lot of mistakes, and he never claims to be the best person ever. but jon also fucked up, a lot. it isn’t a competition or a comparison, that’s really not how that works. but they work because of their flaws. that’s a big part of them fitting together. martin represented the humanity they were saving, with all his good and bad. jon was well beyond that, and while that doesn’t inherently compromise his character, it does mean he’s viewed in a much different light.

(meaning i think jon’s sins are seen very very different to martin’s.) (to be clear i think both deserve to be looked at critically, but hating either of them devoutly seems sort of silly.)

i’m not sure how you can listen to tma and all the ways it dissects and reflects on humanity and turn around and run blogs or make posts in the fandom about how you hate one of the main characters for being all of that.

jon never would’ve made it through without martin, even if martin wasn’t the key to everything, he was the reason to push through and not give up. martin is why jon didn’t go full monster mode, why he held onto who he was and his humanity, even with the whole ‘kill bill’ thing. martin gave him a reason to keep going, to try, to care so deeply. obviously there were other factors but jon says it himself, martin you are my reason.

if you can’t handle the fact that martin isn’t a grade a soft boy by the end of the show that’s a lot more about you than it is about him. he grew and maybe not always for the better but he could be a real person for jon instead of some kind of mirror or blank slate to be reflected on. i genuinely don’t understand how he can be misunderstood so deeply.

they’re both fucked up ! and if they are alive Somewhere Else you bet your ass they’re having long talks and going to therapy and fighting and making up and pacing the floors and figuring it all out together. it isn’t clean or easy or necessarily enjoyable all the time, but humanity isn’t either, love isn’t either. they went through unimaginable trauma, and expecting either of them to be holding it together any better than they already are is wild. context, it’s important. but let’s not turn multi-dimensional characters into flat one word answers.

it’s very human to like and dislike, love and hate based off of bias and experiences and perspective. but also opinion does not make fact. everything is relative, everything is subjective, everything everything everything. it’s an open discussion yada yada idk i’m just screaming into the wall about all the nonsense.

and beyond all of that, discourse is so useless. criticism and constructive conversations are really really important but discourse is pointless! oh you ship these people? well that inherently threatens my ship! oh you like this character that i hate? well that makes me feel invalid for hating them. like what you like, hate what you hate, have your feelings. but if you post shit on the internet you will get people who disagree, sorry, that’s how it is. partaking in little arguments over who is right or wrong when it doesn’t actually have to do with anything harmful or unhealthy makes no sense though. posting on the internet about all the hate you have in your heart when the world is already so full of it doesn’t actually do anything but add more bad to an already very large pile of bad.

things can be discussions not arguments sometimes, i promise. it’s not always tooth and nail, and let’s not forget, most of it is over things that never need to be fought over.

#i’m drunk forgive me for my rambles #drunk rambles #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #i’m saying what’s been said a million times #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #rant post #discourse is gonna kill us all #why are you guys arguing about ships #and people #and like silly things that don’t need to be argued about #and why are you posting about all of that hate #is that what we need more of?#i’m just adding fuel to the fire here #but i’m bashing my head against the floor anyway

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taylortruther · 11 months ago

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What are your thoughts on fans being anti-Travis due to his problematic associations? He’s affiliated with the NFL that is known for domestic abuse, and while I know you will say it’s not his responsibility to address, doesn’t being associated with such an organization say something about him? It seems like Taylor is okay with it. But when you tell those people that all people are imperfect they act as if he is irredeemable. Is he?

i dislike most sports because they are part of a culture that i just can't support, so i understand people having the ick about the nfl or players in general. but "irredeemable"? people cannot seriously think this fjdkasl

football is massively popular in the us, and assuming that everyone who plays it, enjoys the game, or associates with the players is "pro domestic abuse" is unreasonable. no rational people think that. because if you behave by that logic, can we not say the same for taylor? many problematic people work in the music industry and hollywood - if she chooses to keep her job, should she be tarred and feathered for willingly taking part in a problematic industry?

also, if taylor is so problematic because she associates with problematic people, then why continue to stan her? if association is all it takes, doesn't that mean our association as fans of hers makes us problematic too? if you run a blog about her, you must not really care at all about these things, which makes you a bad person. yeah, even if you discuss these things. because overlooking these things enough to stan her and enjoy her music means being complicit in the crime or moral issue itself. and if any of your friends like football or taylor, your association with them is even worse! and if you hear a taylor song playing at a grocery store, or see an nfl game playing at a bar, isn't it your responsibility to tell the management to turn it off? because if you don't, aren't you complicit in supporting problematic industries?

or... can we just admit that the nfl sucks, but travis can still be a decent person (as can taylor), and you don't have to like him or want to bone him, and you do not have to justify any of your opinions by saying they are irredeemably problematic people.

#hot taykes

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thewritingmagician2022 · 4 months ago

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Hey! I just found your blog and I've read through your work and I love it 💗 can I request MC trying to talk the brothers out of confessing to them?

(Perhaps taking place towards the end of season 1, beginning of season 2)

The brothers tell MC they love "LOVE" them and MC thinks they're joking and when they finally realize that the brothers are being serious MC's like "I thought you had better taste... are you sure you're not just infatuated with an idealized version of me that you created in your head? I mean you can do better, besides what would the people of Devildom think? Honestly, I didn't really get the impression you liked "liked" me in that way... I think you should think it through, maybe it's because I'm a novelty that your interested in me?" Or something along those lines? The point is that MC doubts their feelings and thinks they can do better.

Thank you so much! 💓

This is one of my favorite prompts because it’s so realistic and human and authentic. Which is terrifying too because I know I’m not gonna do it justice and I’m so freaking late on this. Back on topic - what makes us special to these brothers? Is it going to last? How long until we’re nothing new? (starts playing Taylor Swift in the background while I contemplate these)

Lucifer: Lucifer is vaguely insulted by the implication that you don’t trust him to know his own feelings. Yes, he understands your self doubt because he’s the high level demon Lucifer, the best of the best, and it makes sense that you would feel intimidated by that. But to doubt his feelings is to doubt Lucifer’s judgement and that won’t stand. He knows who’s worth his time and affection (no one) and he is not willing to open himself up to such a state of vulnerability without absolute certainty. So when he says he loves you, it’s true. He’s been around a long time and you’re the only person who has been able to capture his attention and heart in such a way; he isn’t worried at all about the feelings fading or being an illusion. He is under no delusions of who you really are - the person who doesn’t listen to him and runs wild with his brothers and causes so many problems in the Devildom and also the person who brought his family back together again and who reminded Lucifer of who he used to be and could still be. He will provide you reason after reason to back his point if you need it but he really feels he should only have to express his feelings once to make it clear.

Mammon: Mammon’s feelings are definitely hurt when you question him, even if it’s coming from a good place. He knows he’s not the most serious demon and maybe he’s a bit of a tsundere but he doesn’t understand how you can doubt him after everything you’ve been through together. He’s your first man, you’re his best-friend. Mammon is no stranger to romance and flirting over the millenia; demons, angels, witches, humans, etc. He’s got options, almost as many as Asmo, but you are the only person who has ever made him feel this good, this special and loved and in love.It breaks his heart a little every time you doubt his love for you. He might not be the best at talking about his feelings but he promises that he will spend the rest of his life showing you exactly how much he loves you for you, the same way you love him for him - the good and the bad and the weird. He is yours until the end of time, whether or not you’ll ever actually be his.

Levi: Of all the brothers, Levi is probably the most understanding of your doubts - not regarding him, that’s super crazy and he doesn’t understand how you could ever think he could do better than you. He does understand how self-doubt doesn’t always follow logic so he actually does well not taking it personally when you ask him those kinds of questions. He’s a man of many hyperfixations but they’re lasting. Have you seen him with his favorite series or Ruri-chan? This man is dedication personified. He’s already added you to his list of hyperfixations and, okay, maybe he does idealize you a little but he’s not as deluded as you think. He knows you have weird, messy bits of you - just like him - and he loves that so much about you because he’s able to actually be comfortable with you. He loves you and trusts you and respects you, which is more than he can say about anyone else in his life, and he is going to be your simp long after the series finale and he only hopes you’ll agree to let him stay in your life and worship you the way he knows you deserve.

Satan: That line of questioning makes him angry, shocking. He hates that you’re doubting him and his feelings. Satan is the intellectual of his brothers (if you ask him). He’s smart enough to know that there’s a difference between lust vsinfatuation vs love, and he’s considered it for a long time before he came forward with his feelings. He knows they’re genuine and lasting; he even avoided you in the beginning to avoid catching those kinds of feelings but it happened. Satan knows maybe he can romanticize things a little, like in the romance novels that he secretly loves, but he doesn’t think it’s to an unhealthy or unrealistic level - no more than a general man in love might do. He’ll sit and discuss all of this with you for as long as necessary, reigning in that anger that stems from feeling rejected, until you finally realize that he’s genuinely in love with you.

Asmo: Okay, so Asmo gets it, you know? He’s most beautiful being in three realms and charming and funny and sweet and basically everything good wrapped into one wonderful, sparkly, good smelling package. It would make sense that any human he pursued felt a little insecure about his feelings and their worthiness. But like…it’s you! You’ve seen Asmo at his worst - the days when he’s not as beautiful or kind, when he’s selfish and cruel and narcissistic - and you’ve stuck by his side the whole time. He is going to do the same for you. He sees your inner (and outer) beauty every time he looks at you and he falls a bit more in love with you every time. He knows what lust and infatuation feels like - he feels those every day and has them reflected right back at him tenfold. You are not those things. There’s still the passion and longing and affection but it’s so much warmer and steadier, like the warm sun that Asmo used to see in the human realm. You make him better (a hard task considering how close to perfection he is) and he won’t stand for you having any kind of doubts. He’s going to love you into loving yourself until you’re unable to doubt him or your relationship ever again.

Beel: That’s…not unfair to ask him. Beel may not be the smartest brother but he’s not as stupid as others make him out to be. He is the only brother who is going to hear you out and actually take the time to think about what you’re saying. You are the first human he’s ever had these kinds of feelings for, the first person actually. Beel is not used to romance at all and so he really needs to think about the line between romantic and platonic and familial; he doesn’t want to mess up the relationship by defining it incorrectly and breaking both of your hearts in the process. He doesn’t agree that you’re not good enough or interesting enough to inspire those kinds of feelings in him; he thinks you’re the most wonderful being he’s ever come across and anyone would be lucky to know you, let alone be loved by you like he is. It doesn’t take him too long to come the conclusion that no, he is in love with you. He would choose you over food or sports or even some of his brothers; hefeels empty without you in a way that even Belphie can’t compare to. He wants to kiss you and hold you and keep you around forever to share in his food and laughs and affection. Once Beel makes his decision, it’s completely solidified. Beel is a ride or die kind of man and you know you’ll never have to doubt him once he tells you he loves you.

Belphie: Belphie is torn. He understands why you may question his love for you. He did betray you and literally kill you in another universe; he would be more concerned if you weren’t skeptical about him. However, you feeling not good enough? Absolutely absurd. You need therapy ASAP. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to him and his family, even if you are a human. He never wanted these feelings; he loathed you at first but, over the months and different experiences you’ve shared, those feelings have grown to respect and trust and love. He couldn’t stop himself from loving you even if he tried (and he’s tried). He can understand your nerves but he knows down to his very soul that he loves you and that he will always love you. If you can’t accept his feelings, he’ll be the most accepting of it, especially because he doesn’t think he deserves you at all but he will never back down from his claims and he will continue expressing his love for you until the very end.

Diavolo: Of them all, Diavolo most understands why you may doubt the longevity of this relationship. He’s the demon lord. He’s the top choice of the realm, and everyone is scrutinizing him and his choices. He gets why you might be afraid of that and what comes with it. However, he wouldn’t be choosing you if he hadn’t thought long and hard about it to make sure his feelings for you withstood all of those doubts and fears. Diavolo does not lovely easily or lightly; he’s been offered companionship from more people than he could ever care to count but he’s never seriously considered any of them. You are the first and only person to have made him fall so completely head over heels in love that he’s able to get out of his own head which is so often filled with those some kinds of doubts and questions. He may not make every decision in his life with 100% confidence but this is one that he feels so sure of that he’s willing to stake his entire future and reputation on it. He loves you and he will do everything in his power to prove that he loves you and will stay by your side as you both rule the Devildom together, putting you at the top with him - exactly where you belong.

Barbatos: Barbatos is efficient, if nothing else in the world. Do you really think that he would pursue you if he wasn’t completely sure of his feelings and your future together? This is the man who has spent his entire life dedicated to Diavolo; he’s turned away from every and any meager temptation that’s come his way. No one has ever caught his eye like you have and certainly no one has ever made him question where his loyalty lays. Of course he is still Lord Diavolo’s servant and he serves the Devildom to the best of his ability but his heart isn’t in it the same way and that’s because he’s given it to you. You are what consumes his every thought and feeling; he’s broken the rules and used his powers for you, he’s gone against Diavolo for you, he is willing to do anything so long as he can be near you and make you happy. You don’t even have to accept his love or love him back, if you really can’t or won’t, but he’s seen you in every timeline and loves you in all of them. Nothing in this world or any of the others will change that and, if you give him the opportunity, he will dedicate his every moment to proving to you why you can put your full faith in him. After all, Barbatos has never failed at an assignment before.

Solomon: Solomon can understand insecurity on your end. It’s hard to consider yourself special enough to last for someone who has seen everything. Solomon has lived thousands of years, visited the three realms, love and lost time and time again. It’s hard to imagine that you’re anything more than the next shiny toy he’s got his eye on. For someone who can never die, what is this love other than a small blip on his radar one day? Solomon can’t stop you from feeling that way because, in a way, it’s true. You can’t be a permanent fixture in his life because you’re human but he can certainly be one in your life. Solomon would argue that he’s seen so many people and places over the millenia and he has lived long enough to know himself completely, and he knows that he loves you. He knows that no matter what happens or changes, his feelings for you will never waver. He will carry his love for you until the ends of time itself. It’s his curse to bear and the only thing that would make it bearable is being able to love you directly for as long as he’s given the chance.

Simeon: Simeon is the most patient and sympathetic as you ask him these questions. He would never invalidate your fears but he will confront them with you and break them down and banish them. Simeon is an angel who has watched over humanity for as long as they’ve been around. He has seen the best of the best and the worst of worst and still he’s never been tempted to turn away from his Father for one. At first, he could have explained it as curiosity and then fondness but it blossomed into the deep, unwavering love that he feels for you now. He sees your flaws and humanity and loves you all the more for it. You have become the new object of his worship and affection; he would fall from grace if it meant being able to hold you in his arms and shower you in the love he so truly believes you deserve. He will remind you every day of why you deserve to be happy and loved; he will tell you everything he loves about you from your smile to your kind heart to your most selfish desires. So, please, just put the same faith in him and his feelings that he puts in you and let him love you.

#obey me #obey me imagines #obey me asks #obey me satan #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo #obey me mammon #obey me asmo #obey me lucifer #obey me Simeon #obey me Levi #obey me Solomon #obey me Barbatos

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