#it is BAD for sports it is bad for people!!!!!!!!!!!

[unpopularly-opinionated]

Almost every week, for the last maybe 2-2 1/2 years or so, I (27) have been going out to different bars with the same group of people, all of whom are at least twice my age or more and I honestly couldn’t recommend it more for younger people.

I mean to get the bad aspects out of the way upfront, I did (and sometimes still do) have a minor insecurity about being the “annoying child of someone in the group that everyone has to pretend to tolerate”. My stepdad is the one who initiated the hangouts originally, and I initially was just tagging along for free food and booze. No one���s ever done anything to make me feel that way mind you, they are always SUPER accommodating, almost too much sometimes. Sometimes they’ll straight up change topics if they’ve noticed I checked out because I wasn’t interested in what they were talking about. It’s just my own irrational insecurity that crops up from time to time. I also struggle sometimes with explaining this friendship to other people, often referring to them as “my stepdad’s friends” even though we’ve been out together so many times that I could and should very reasonably consider them my friends too. Again, this is a me thing, nothing against them.

We started out doing it with a purpose, we were doing bar trivia every week and having a blast. But over time, we grew kinda bored of the trivia, the format kinda changed, and it started pretty late into the evening, and we ultimately just realized that we actually were just cool hanging out and chatting without needing to have an excuse to be there.

But being the youngest among them, I just find them very interesting to talk to. They’re always talking about their jobs, the good, the bad, and the ugly of them all. Most of them are managers of several people, and they’re the type of managers who care more about their employees than the businesses, so I always feel like I’m hearing a fair assessment of whether an employee is being completely insane, or if the company is screwing them over somehow, or what not. And just how the working world works from their perspective. Not to mention how they got to where they’re at. One went to college and has a masters, one went to college but dropped out and taught himself to code, another just worked his way up from the bottom to the top (yes, they all work in the tech industry lol).

This isn’t even mentioning the fact that my grandfather is there with us as well, and he’s retired now but he had been an electrician for 60+ years prior, and being the oldest of our group, he has like a whole extra generation’s worth of experience to add to the mix too. It’s really great because it kind of adds that extra layer that makes me feel more comfortable in the group (like yeah, I’m the clueless youth compared to most of these guys, but they’re all youths to him too).

I can’t really explain it too well, but I feel like I just absorb life experience by hanging out with this group of people. It’s not all just work talk either, they talk about their personal hobbies, trips they’ve been on or are going on, their kids, food, alcohol, sports, politics, lots of politics, social media nonsense, etc. No one ever gets worked up over things, even when talking politics.

TL;DR: I recommend befriending people much older than yourself. It’s not creepy or weird, and you could learn a lot, even if you might not think so. Just sitting there and absorbing it all I think would benefit a lot of younger people.

I need you people to realize that you can be friends with people older than you. like, much older than you. like, decades older than you. you can be friends with these people. regular friends, just like anyone your age. it is possible.

[giselleloversclub]

NCT SMAU REC PT.3

mark lee

dm for prices @susicheng

small lifestyle influencer yn, who also happens to be a stressed college student, runs into a life threatening dilemma: plug moved to a different state post grad. having developed a crippling dependency on her weekly smoke sesh, she needs someone new, FAST. luckily, chenle seems to know just the guy. enter: mark lee, an astoundingly reliable plug with an interesting texting style. 

plug! mark x fem! reader

personal fav !

⋆ you. @fairyoflia

in which a biology major and a basketball player lock eyes on the train after getting caught in the rain. unfortunately for them, they hate each other.

basketball player! mark lee x fem! reader

from the rooftops @peterm4rker

in which biochemistry major mark lee didn’t have time to be swinging around the city fighting crime when he had a chemistry report due in two days and a whole plan to make the girl of his dreams to fall in love with him before the new years party.

or

in which journalism major y/n l/n needed her ground breaking story of the year before fuckass yuna took her place in the college newspaper and decided her favorite superhero was the answer, all while trying to get that cute biochem student to notice her.

spiderman!mark x journalist!reader

_______________________________________________

huang renjun

starlight @suhnandmoon

after an unexpected night at the movies, you’re left turned into a vampire. with the help of park jisung and his friends, your new lifestyle adjustments are thankfully made a lot easier. that is until your friends start to call out your flaky behavior. quick, how are you going to cover up your secret? a fake boyfriend taking up your time? perfect! huang renjun is just the right guy!

huang renjun x fem!reader

vampire au

crush culture @suhnshinehaos

ln yn has always flirted with huang renjun. but they do that with literally everyone else too, they couldn’t possibly be serious about pursuing him, right? on their final year of university, yn is determined to show that they are. with all the walls that renjun has built around himself, will they be strong enough to succeed in tearing them down?

huang renjun x gn!reader

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞 @sungbeam

you and renjun are pen-pals-turned-best-friends, except, no one knows that you know each other. at the same time, both you and renjun are also trying to survive being set up with people by your own separate friend groups. turns out, maybe you both just want each other and no one else.

huang renjun x fem!reader

_______________________________________________

lee jeno

LOVE ON THE (DANCE) FLOOR @v1si0n

jeno was not thrilled about you joining his dance team, especially because he starts messing up every time you’re around. is it really his fault that he gets distracted by how good you look when you dance?

enemies to lovers

dancer!jeno x bookworm!reader

ᝰ.ᐟ off the record @strrykais

someone had to write for the sports column in your schools paper, and unfortunately it falls onto you. only knowing very little about basketball - thanks to your friend chenle, this shouldn't be so bad!

well, that was until you meet the team’s captain and he rudely asks if you are deaf.... funny thing is, you are!

lee jeno x fem!reader

personal fav

good graces @106alibi

y/n knows she's petty. so when she found out her (secret) celebrity boyfriend of a year had been cheating on her, through a news article to make things worse, she decided to cook up an action plan to get back at him, and what better way to take revenge than to get together with his all-time favourite athlete?

or, in which y/n involves an unsuspecting lee jeno into her little revenge scheme on her now ex-boyfriend.

boxer!jeno x magazine-editor!reader

personal fav

secret admirer @diaphamin

in which ncit’s star basketball player lee jeno is your secret admirer

lee jeno x reader

my youth , your kitchen @cigsaftersuh

in which y/n, a pre-med student, who loves to cook & feed people, meets jeno, the quiet sports science major with a soft smile, and discovers that the way to someone’s heart really is through their gastrointestinal tract, their stomach.

non-idol! jeno x f! reader (.◜◡◝)

good boy @fullsunstrawberry

New year's resolution leads to you hitting the gym with your two muscle-head friends. But things get complicated when feelings and emotions are involved.

Jeno x Reader (some anton x reader)

underneath the tree @winwintea

you’ve heard enough of the word ‘christmas’ and it was only the beginning of december! sometimes you’d wish people would just throw their cheerfulness out the window and focus on reality. unfortunately for you lee jeno has just drawn your name for the company’s annual secret santa swinter swap and he’s going to make sure you get a gift you’ll never forget. (and maybe even get you to appreciate christmas along the way?)

co-worker!lee jeno x female!reader

oh , pretty please ? @nislost

After being scolded by a teacher y/n decides she’s sick of failing her classes. she knows if she doesn’t get her act together she might not even make it in life. she decides to seek help from the one student that that can potentially help her, jeno the valedictorian. jeno would only accept if y/n helped him in some way too.

valedictorian!jeno x bimbo!reader

_______________________________________________

lee haechan

on the same page @johnnysuhbmarine

Knowing a change of scenery was what your mental health needed, you transferred to where your brother, Mark, goes to college. The good news is, he’s not too cool for his younger sister, so he lets you join his friend group immediately. The bad news is, Haechan is in that friend group, and a brief encounter four years ago was enough for you to understand he does NOT like you. Even worse news, he’s a lot hotter than he was four years ago…

Haechan x reader

personal fav

lab rats ! @106alibi

graded internship season has finally rolled around for biology student y/n, and with a current gpa of 4.0 under her belt and an extremely high possibility of graduating valedictorian, she's fairly confident that acing her research internship will be just what she needs to secure that spot. of course, that was until a certain someone came into the equation.

or, y/n finds herself partnered with the last person she'd ever want to work with for her research internship, lee donghyuck.

biology-student!donghyuck x biology-student!reader

how not to be a virgin 101 @diaphamin

college is about gaining further education, to some, but to y/n it means she is finally free to explore the side of life she was never able to. parties, relationships, and sex. she was tired of being dull, tired of being the only one around her who hasn’t experienced anything romantic. she was ready to be the exact opposite of what she wasn’t. the only problem being… she doesn’t know how. that’s when she calls upon haechan, someone notoriously known for having a bit too much fun… and asks him for guidance.

where you are @luvmahae

what the absolute fuck is up baby! fall semester marks the peak of greek life at ncu. the campus quad is filled with tents representing various fraternities and sororities with their letters proudly presented in front of each booth, all eager to recruit new members. as students return to campus, they are met with a flood of fliers and invitations to parties, mixers, and rush events. while you were walking through the crowd of eager freshmen to join these organizations, you bumped into someone very unexpected...

what do you do when you bump into the guy you hooked up with after a music festival during summer break? instead of the royal blue basketball jersey you first met him in, it was replaced by a varsity jacket with the letters reading "ΝΧΘ".

"haechan?"

fratboy!haechan x fem!reader

personal fav

nerf this ! @injvns

in which overwatch streamer yn ln is on a winning streak one night, and sorta kinda ends up killing professional overwatch player lee haechan on stream…multiple times. she didn't even know who he was, let alone that he was super hot?! c'mon, she wouldn't have smoked him THAT hard if she knew!

or

yn starts overwatch beef with haechan accidentally. romance ensues.

progamer!haechan x streamer!femreader

cruise of love @mixxiew

yn, a scholarship student, finally gets the opportunity of her life to join her friends for the Semester at the Sea. every thing looks like a dream until the arrogant rich boy lee haechan crushes into her.

haechan x reader

just pretend ! @nislost

y/n gets hit up by her ex and in a desperate attempt to have him leave her alone she gets a random picture of a guy on pinterest and pretends he’s her bf. turns out the picture she used is of an up and coming youtuber lee haechan.

nonidol!haechan x f!reader

sunshine and starlight @lavndrystudios

haechan gets more than he bargained for when he meets chaeyoung’s new roommate. turns out he loves you, he really does. too bad you’re with ten.

haechan x f!reader

APT @sourrpatched

“Don’t you want me like I want you baby?”

After a uni party full of too many drinks and party games, y/n meets the love of her life. Only the next morning she can’t remember his name, his face, or anything besides his very attractive hands.

Lee Donghyuck lives a simple life, work, school, and sleep. He has no business in being dragged into parties every weekend. Which is why bumping into his complete opposite is enough to bring him out of that shell, albeit with force.

LEE DONGHYUCK X FEM!READER

you’re losing me. @najaemism

it’s been six weeks since you ended your six-year relationship with haechan, and it seems like he’s already moved on.

angst, ex!haechan, hurt/no comfort

it's the way you are @inurnctdreams

y/n suh is going into her second semester of her sophomore year at snu. as a self-proclaimed snu lions fangirl, she can’t believe there’s a new player on the team she hasn’t met yet, especially one as cute and funny as lee donghyuck, who nearly everyone she knows seems to already be friends with. how did she manage to avoid him (even if unintentionally) for almost an entire year and a half? he seems way too good to be true… and then she remembers; he’s in the frat.

haechan x fem!reader

_______________________________________________

na jaemin

builds @moonslie04 In which streamer! Jaemin joins a random player's world and starts to roast their build without knowing that the innocent player was another genshin content creator.

˙⋆✮ bed chem ✮⋆˙ @wonbin-truther

when jaemin saw the big red "16%" on his first organic chemistry test, he knew he needed a tutor, fast. enter l/n y/n, a chemical engineering student who is determined to raise his grade. but as study sessions turn into late-night library marathons, jaemin is starting to realize he’s got more than just organic chemistry to worry about.

college student yn x college student jaemin

movie nights @nana4nena

while you’re having weekly movie nights with the dreamies, you and jaemin are falling in love, but someone is falling for you

jaemin x fem! reader

✮⋆˙ .exposure. @susicheng

a member of the up-and coming pop-punk / emo band, reverie: yn finds herself falling in the deep end with the band's new (much needed) photographer, na jaemin.

na jaemin x fem!reader ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

_______________________________________________

zhong chenle

run your mouth @doughyk

chenle has a worm in his ear;not a good worm either, and it doesn’t seem to go away. But there you are, the worm in his ear. Yapping his ear off during work, absolutely smitten by him…chenle not so smitten by you.

nonidol!chenle x fem reader

personal fav

say it @sqh3e

you and Chenle are in the same music class at SMU, you write the songs, he sings them. for a few weeks you stopped showing up and no one realized you hadn’t been showing up until your friend mentions your name.

singer!chenle x fem!reader

_______________________________________________

park jisung

SCUM'S WISH 𓆩♡𓆪 @jungaji

struggling with unrequited feelings, you and park jisung agree to a fake relationship to ease your loneliness, filling the gaps left by others. with promises not to fall for each other and to part ways if your affections are reciprocated elsewhere, you jump into this arrangement. can you both stick to the rules, or will the lines between pretense and reality blur?

or, in which you and park jisung turn to each other for comfort in an attempt to soothe your unrequited loves.

park jisung x fem!reader feat. jeong jaehyun & cho miyeon

_______________________________________________

[projectjasper]

ARCHER'S (UNHINGED) STARLYMPICS 2024 HIGHLIGHTS

for those curious enough to read but not curious enough to watch

general sweet moments between so many different people who we don't often see together that will be lost to time soon, so i suggest you seek them out if you wish to 'awwww' a little

both teams - 'lightning cheetah' and 'shadow eagle' - having a pair to represent their team, except lightning cheetah's was pond & phuwin and shadow eagle's was nanon & tu, which i (as a lightning cheetah fan) can only interpret as shadow eagle being homophobic /j

skynani being on different teams (likely because they were composed before gmmtv realised how popular they would be) and the whole operation trying to constantly find a way to place them into the same context despite it

some participants straight up wearing jeans, indicating that they do not at all give a shit about the sports aspect

the members of the two teams always supporting each other despite the competitive nature of it all

most people being really bad at basketball (with the exception of joss, gawin, and tee) and football (with the exception of fourth)

pond (lightning cheetah) willingly carrying members of shadow eagle on his back and helping everyone stand up before returning to the game (gods bless him, he was not meant for competitive sport)

a mini-game (that did not affect the results, to be fair) which entirely depended on whether the person covering a basket was tall enough to dodge the ball aiming directly at it

marc (lightning cheetah) celebrating aou (shadow eagle) scoring, because 'we are means love' ykwim

phuwin missing his shot but pond (never having scored before) catching the ball and nonchalantly throwing it directly into the basket in a move that can only be described as impressive in the literal last minute of the basketball game (their team still lost, but hey, it was cool as hell anyway)

book only coming out to "play" for one minute, not doing anything, and ending up with a gold metal and an award, because his team still won - as it should be, btw, he is people's princess

namtan coming to the event in bright lime green kicks (and NOT coming to play, in the metaphorical sense), winning women's racing and thus guaranteeing the only award her team (lightning cheetah) would get in the entire starlympics

ciize (lightning cheetah) wearing a cheetah print headband and skirt with boots, which is definitely not athletic wear, but looked really fucking iconic, so who cares

chen doing actually quite well as a goalie and making me cheer for my chosen team's competitor until nanon suddenly decided to take his place, promptly missing two goals

fourth carrying the entire football game on his back, scoring all three goals for his team, and literally physically not being allowed back on the field in the first half of the second part of the game

win metawin scoring a goal in ridiculous expensive shoes that have little bags on them

nanon, despite being a goalie, showing off on the field multiple times, with no detriment to the game, as everyone was so bad at football that they couldn't even score a goal while the goalie was literally not at his gate

lightning cheetah's goalie paul seeming really good and almost (indirectly) convincing me to name my firstborn after him, only to miss every single penalty kick in a move that could only be described as him suddenly deliberately switching teams

a series of penalty kicks, most of which were disappointing to both teams, excluding the ones, where ohm (footballer) went up against nanon (goalie) and did not manage to score, followed immediately by leng kicking nanon in the balls with a football during his penalty kick, which was - and i'm sorry to say this - hilarious for all the reasons that you're thinking of

credit where credit is due, fourth and gemini's penalty kicks were also great, and they were the only lightning cheetah footballers to actually score for their team (gemini did that while wearing converse too, which is insane)

lightning cheetah easily winning the mini-game of tug of war, with great sapol looking so nonchalant and relaxed (read: extremely hot) while playing it that i am sure he gave at least a couple people a heart attack

despite there being only two teams, the team of losers was consistently awarded with "silver medals" for their... loss / winning of second place (out of two)?

in general, there were four awards: for basketball, football, men's racing, and women's racing - shadow eagle won all but one (women's racing)

the concert after the games was generally very wonderful, with everyone you can think of (and even some people you can't think of) having their own performances

whoever decided on the lineup definitely cooked because we got 'sadistic' by project jasp•er as the opening number and such amazing back-to-back performances as markpoon & aouboom and winnysatang & forcebook

prim & tu starting to perform 'tilt' (23.5 ost) together, seeming iconic at first, until nanon joined them out of nowhere, which probably constitutes that performance as some kind of a homophobic hate crime

phuwin, rushing out of the green room to watch project jasp•er do their first ever live performance, and pond later rushing out of the green room to watch phuwin perform 'to you'

pond wearing new light brown contacts, which i will forgive, as they are a step in the right direction (no contacts)

force wearing a show-stopping tits-out outfit during his and book's performance (seriously, look it up)

first & khaotung singing 'destroy love' together and it sounding so incredible that i will now forever miss first's voice in that song when listening to the regular version

gemini & fourth deciding to sing gemini's song (someone like me) together for some reason, with gem completely forgetting that it was now a duet and stealing fourth's part jjgkfdjglfjdgk

'charm' by lykn, joong & pond being so iconic that it was first performed in full during the concert and then once again as the closing performance

me having so much unbridled fun despite the whole thing lasting around eight hours <3

[peppermintquartz]

I'm a year older than Lou.

Growing up, homosexual people were Evil. Therefore they were afflicted with AIDS. That was the equation taught to us: gay = AIDS = painful death

Being gay was bad. If your peers didn't like you, they'd just call you gay and ostracized you for "acting homo" such as liking the wrong kinda art or music or idk reading the wrong books. Or reading in general. You had to like the stuff that was acceptably masculine or feminine, not cross the gender divide. Girls had to have long hair. Boys had to like sports.

I live in a conservative country. Queer literature or information was impossible to find for years. Even now it's difficult to find. Conversion therapy was - still is - a thing.

I didn't even know about bisexuality until I was in my early 20s even though I had crushes on my female classmates. And when I realized that I was bisexual, I had to sit with that realization for a bit. I never acted on my attraction to women, though.

That would have been the environment Tommy Kinard grew up in and probably it was worse for him. Coming out after decades of conditioning to reject that part of himself. Am I projecting? Probably. But the fact remains that the world wasn't kind to queer people growing up before they were allowed to be openly queer.

Bring us back our Tommy. He survived some hard times. He deserves love and kindness now.

[velvetvexations]

honestly like anything where someone popular posts "I don't trust x people" on the x people website even if most people don't reply, by law of averages you're going to get some people responding angrily and that'd be useful to reinforce your beliefs, like if you post on the nfl website and go "I'm not sure about sports fans" or on a cricketing reddit "Jamaicans/Australians/Indians make me uncomfortable". Like it doesn't matter whether someone is doing things intentionally, unintentionally or their prejudice is rational or irrational or both (like someone victimised by a black man who then paints all black men as equivalent, it's rational irrationality, in their mind it's a rational response but it's their inability to get through it other than using hate or distrust which furthers their problems far more than anything that the disliked group can do)

Like if you're popular enough any response to something emotional will be seen as an onslaught, whether it's "what the fuck? that's fucked up" or "shut up asshole" or "I'm sorry, please don't hate me, what did I do :(?" all of those by enough people will be an onslaught, some of them might be neutral or positive on their own, but "how can I prove I'm trustworthy" isn't an answer which will work anyway when someone has taught themselves to hate your entire group, whether or not you're "one of the good ones".

Yes! If you're so scared of men you can't be around them without feeling fear and discomfort no amount of "men do bad things" is going to change the fact that you at best have serious issues that are impeding with your functioning in society. Most non-men lead happy healthy lives not being like that. Get therapy.

[undercoverdonderwolk]

Seriously with everyone clamoring for rookies it was like…can you all just watch f2? Because a bunch of 17-23 year olds racing each other seems to be what you all want. A year from now with the changing regulations the media will do a switch up and make everyone scream about how important experience is in times like these. Kind of annoying honestly.

yeah i do think it's insane how the f1 people seem to be obsessed with getting rookies in. like i get it on some level, there's so few spots and it's so easy to flop that i get it's tempting to be like, well maybe someone else can do better but it kind of... like you'd never do that in any other sport, you know? you give people at least a couple of years to find their feet... and a bad spell or a case of the yips is common and forgivable... it's strange.

[yukioos]

HIIII can u write a wrestling! leon one shot?? where he and his college team are on the way to a tournament and they have to stop at the gas station to fuel up and whatever and readers family owns the station and when he sees her it’s like love at first sight (if you’re comfortable with it, can u make it suggestive?)

MALBORO NIGHTS

SUMMARY: leon is on his way to a wrestling tournament when he stops at the gas station for some snacks. he encounters you, a worker, and things turn into a hot mess.

AUTHORS NOTE: hi! i don’t know a lot about wrestling so i had to research a bit on the topic. sorry if i got some information wrong!

WARNINGS: suggestive!! modern au, leon’s fear of failure and embarrassment, kinda sexual thoughts from leon but he feels bad about it, making out, reader and leon are both consenting adults, not proofread

leon’s wrestling team had won their conference tournament and now had to travel across the country to another tournament. this time, it was national. he had already flown across the country to another state with his teammates. they stayed in a hotel for a couple of nights, extending their visit to explore the state and its historical sites.

but when the morning came, and he had to travel to the venue, he surprisingly wasn’t nervous. it wasn’t unlike any of his other tournaments, and he was confident he will win. despite his young age, he was one of the best on the team.

the one thing he hated about traveling across the country for a tournament was the people. having to appear all mighty, strong, and perfect made him freeze in his tracks, and his stomach would flip. he was fine when he was just around his teammates, hell, when he was with them, it was a judgment-free zone.

even as he and his teammates packed up and brought their bags, laid them in a bus, and drove to the venue, he couldn’t ignore the agonizing feeling. he didn’t want to be embarrassed, and he didn’t want to fail in front of thousands of people! and as much as he loved seeing people do good at something they liked, he despised seeing people do better than him at wrestling.

wrestling was his sport, his passion. he claimed he’d lose his sense of self and confidence without it. but of course, chris always told him he’d be the same person with or without the wrestling.

despite his dreading feeling in his stomach, he talked with chris the whole ride. even as hours passed on the bus, even as chatter died down then people wouldn’t stop talking, he always had him by his side. leon admitted, chris always found a way to make him feel better.

leon’s chuckles become silenced once the driver announces, “alright, we’re gonna have to stop by a gas station of some sort! fuel’s gettin’ low!”

groans erupt from the rows of seats, and chatter fills his ears. many complaints are heard from his teammates around him, and even chris rolls his eyes at the announcement.

leon glances around the bus, seeing nothing but roads, cars, and trees for miles. he then shouts to chris, over the loud noises, “we’ll be fine. the tournament can’t start without us!”

he responds and continues ranting, “yeah, you’re probably right. better not start the tournament without us—“

minutes pass, and the bus suddenly halts to a stop. leon glanced out the window to see a gas station, remembering the bus is low on fuel. he feels a tap on his shoulder, so he turns around.

“leon, chris, i, and three other guys are gonna head into the store while the bus driver’s fillin’ up the tank. wanna come with?” carlos asks, smiling at the blonde and brunette.

leon doesn’t waste a second as he begins agreeing, commenting on how sitting in his ass for so long hurts. chris bellowed, and carlos said the same as they walked off the bus and into the store.

the six men split up to find snacks for their teammates, wandering around the isles to find their desired candy or chips. leon’s feet stomp against the red and white tiles. he settles on a protein bar, a bag of skittles, and a bottle of water for the trip. he then travels around the store to find more snacks for his teammates then calls out for his brunette friend.

chris quickly responds, “yeah?”

the blonde nods to the register, “you ready?”

a smirk appears on the brunette’s face, and leon looks puzzled. he asks what he’s smirking about, and turns around to see what gained chris’ attention.

there you stand, sucking on a lollipop as you meticulously flip through the pages of a thick book. your light pink nails came up to the lollipop stick every couple of seconds, popping it out of your mouth and wrapping your lips against it again. of course, you aren’t aware of your effect on the blonde wrestler standing many feet away from you.

leon begins to slouch and tries to shrink his frame. he nervously comments, “i don’t feel like going up to the register—“

he yelps when chris grabs him by the hood and pushes him to you, muting his protests as he tries to not any of the snacks. he shakes his head with wide eyes, then is suddenly met face-to-face with you and your book.

chris grins, teeth shining, “hey, leon, can you check these out for me? i’m gonna go to the bathroom.” chris taunts, winking as he pulls cash from his wallet.

he places it on top of leon’s snacks, held in his arms, all while dropping his items on the counter. leon’s cheeks warm up, and he hears his heart beating fast.

when you look up at him, he gives a lovesick smile. your eyes are the most beautiful he’s ever seen. the way you’re looking at him with a sultry smile causes him to nervously glance at the floor, unable to hold eye contact. once he

you take the items from the counter and scan them, starting up a conversation, “seems like there’s a whole lot of people out there,” referencing to the loud noises from the bus, “are you with them?”

leon’s eyes widen, and he fidgets with his fingers. his throat tightens, and he stutters, “oh— oh, um, yeah. i’m with them. we’re heading over to a wrestling tournament a few hours away.”

you pause in your tracks, not scanning the items anymore. he’s a wrestler? well, it does make sense. he looks incredibly muscular and well-built, but you have to admit, he is the finest man you’ve ever seen.

you notice he starts to appear nervous when you stare at him, so you continue placing the items in a bag and ask, “where are you coming from?” afterward, you place your hands on the counter in front of you and look up at the blonde.

leon blushes at your sudden change of position and your interest in learning more about him. he glances down at you more, gulping when he sees a peek of your cleavage. he loses his train of thought and forgets all about your question.

he begins to observe you, your shirt doesn’t fully cover your shoulder, and your bra strap peeks out. the way your heart necklace rests perfectly on your chest drives him crazy. your eyes have a certain glint in them, a seductive one.

you tilt your head, smirking as you realize he’s analyzing everything about you. he must’ve noticed your smile because he finally answers your question, “raccoon city—“

you roll your eyes and grab him by his hood, pulling him into a kiss. it’s almost as if you could read his mind because he was about to slowly lean in. he whimpers, wanting to be closer to you, so he puts his hand over yours on the counter.

your lips push against each other’s, but you pull away, groaning as you’re making out in a public space. you ask, out of breath, “break room?”

he quickly nods and you grab his sleeve, dragging him to the room behind the register. twisting the knob, you gently push him inside, and he feels a surge of confidence, pushing you against the nearby wall. he hadn’t had time to look around. he didn’t care if anyone was watching, he didn’t care that he didn’t know you as well as he wanted to. all he knew was that he needed you, and he needed you now.

he grabs your hip with his large hand, and you pull him in for another kiss. you take a fistful of his blonde hair, and he moans into the kiss. your bodies are heated and burning with anticipation, but you both want more. you know you do.

you raise your leg to his hip, almost wrapping it around his waist. he understands and places his hand on your ass, then picks you up. you wrap both of your legs around his waist, smiling into the kiss. he places you on a table and momentarily breaks away from the kiss.

saliva connects to your lips, and as disgusting as it is, it’s sure as hell hot, and you still want more.

he takes his sweatshirt and his shirt off then mumbles, “is this okay,” gripping your thigh and kissing your neck tenderly.

you gently scratch his scalp and nod, taking your shirt off, leaving only your bra and jeans to view. his abs glisten with sweat, and he leans down again, pushing his warm hand onto your stomach. you lay flat on the table and pull him in closer with your legs.

your lips intertwine and the action intensifies. you both moan, but suddenly you hear a sound that makes you both pause.

“leon, where are ya? we need to go!” a voice shouts.

leon sighs and closes his eyes, laying his head on your chest momentarily. he groans, “fuck,” and you giggle, relishing in how much he wants to continue. his hands still lay on your thighs, a silent reminder of what you were about to do.

you scratch his scalp and neck, then, with your other hand, you pick up your phone. you open the contacts app and tap his cheek, causing him to look up at you.

his cheeks and lips are red, both flushed and hot. his eyes look tired and begging, he wants more but needs to get to his tournament.

he grabs your phone and enters his phone number and his name. he then grumbles, “promise i’ll be back after the tournament.”

he picks up his clothes and your shirt, placing it on your lap. once he’s done dressing, you place your hand on his chest, “take the snacks for free. it’s on me.”

he opens his mouth to interject, but you shake your head and guide him to the register, “don’t forget to win, ‘kay? you’ll do great.”

he smiles and smoothens your messy hair, agreeing, “i’ll do my best. i’ll text you right after.”

you look up and tilt your head again, slowly standing on your tiptoes and wrapping your arms around his neck. you gently place your lips on his, and it’s much more relaxed and loving than before.

but leon hears another call of his name, and he kisses you back. he smiles and walks away, but before he leaves, he yells, “i’ll be back, y/n!”

as he jogs the short distance to the bus, he notices chris standing right outside the entrance to it. the brunette notices his disheveled hair and points it out, “you look like you just got banged,” and walks onto the bus, sitting in their seats next to each other.

he mumbles, “wait,” then his eyes widen. his pearly whites shine, realizing what leon just did.

this was gonna be a long ride.

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝔚𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔗𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔥

Summary: Tired of being trapped in the suffocation and monotony of your life, you make the hair triggered decision to abandon it all and escape to an eccentric town in California.

You never expected to get spirited away by a charming man one night on the boardwalk. But you should have known from the look in his eyes that he was nothing but bad luck.

Warnings: Fem bodied reader, fem pronouns. 18+ MDI. Oral (F!Receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, sex outdoors, mild gore (blood drinking). Reader is dodging red flags like it's a profession. Not proofread.

Notes: 14k words. I rewatched The Lost Boys a few nights ago and couldn't resist writing for one of my favorites.

Santa Carla is almost jarring to witness. Even in the day, when the mid sun is bright and blunt on the shifting scape of graffiti and grimy corners and sidewalks marred with old gum, it's unabashed in its abnormality. It's entirely unlike the hushed, quaint little streets of your hometown, with its lush lawns and the little elderly ladies in their Sunday best, speaking amongst each other in gossip that's quiet and passive aggressive. A complete one-eighty of the punks that skulk down these avenues with black smeared around their eyes and worn cigarettes dangling between their pierced lips while they lug old boom boxes over their shoulders, spitting out metal and rock and roll. 

Just the sight of them would have been enough to send the old committee in your town into a conniption, banding together to drive the demonic filth from the city limits. But here, no one bats an eye to this sort of thing. It isn't shocking to the locals to see a man who's old enough to be your grandfather gliding down the pavement in hot pink booty shorts that are tight enough to show what he's packing. 

Your own mother had nearly been sent into a spiral when she had heard about you wearing a crop top - she hadn't even seen you herself. Someone had snitched to her apparently. Your best bet is Audrey. She's always bored on her shifts at the market, sitting at her register with a glazed overlook in her eyes until she manages to find something worth blabbering about. You're sure she had all but flown over to the phone on her lunchbreak to snitch and warn your mother that she had spied you perusing over the ice cream freezers with your stomach shamelessly bared for the entire world to see. 

It's pretty embarrassing to have your mother barrel her way into your kitchenette at the middle of 10 p.m. to scold you for "acting like a harlot." 

But here it's normal. People are dressed in so many different styles. Sporting hair dyed from fried bleach blonde to bright neon green; decked out in leather, ripped jeans; women and men alike strolling around in tight swimwear that leaves little to the imagination with diamond bellybutton jewelry that glints in the sun. Tattoos on tanned skin and manicured nails with leopard print. 

Your mind still hasn't caught up with it all yet. It's like you've stepped into a music video, or another world entirely. It's like the air is permanently charged. Electric and humming, pulsing like something alive. Fluttering in your stomach like a flock of nervous butterflies. But that's probably just the anxiety. You've dangled between pure excitement and tension for the past few days that you've been here. Forcefully fixed there by the stubborn ball of apprehension that's tucked itself behind your sternum like a heavy rock. It's almost makes you nauseous. So caught up in your nerves to truly let go and enjoy the moment. To revel in the reality that you've finally escaped. That you've finally managed to wrangle yourself free of shitty little town in the middle of nowhere and have run off to a place where no one will notice you. Where you can blend into the masses and disappear without the worry of judgement. 

It's just not that easy though. It never is. There's guilt behind your panic. The dread that you've just abandoned her. Left her without little more than a letter tapped to her front door before you shoved most of your belongings into a couple of suitcases, took up all of the money you've saved up over the past three summers and vanished in the early morning without a trace. 

It was dumb maybe. But you prefer desperate. You had to get out. You had to do it while you still had a chance, while you're still young and hopeful. Before Gallatan could eat you up of all your worth and turn you into one of those judgmental ladies perched out in front of one of its buildings with a mean scowl on your face. You had to do something before you lost sight of yourself or became the woman your mother wanted you to be. All barefoot and pregnant with another baby on your hip while your husband - probably Oliver Palmer if she could have a say so - was busy at work. 

The idea to run had snuck into your head, all forbidden and frenzied. You had shunned it for as long as you could, ignoring it while you droned away at your job, pouring the same grouchy bastards' hot coffees and running the same sunny side up eggs and suspiciously damp pancakes in trade for measly tips. And then one day, for no particular reason at all, it had all just become too much. Too stagnant. Too gray. You had to go before you'd suffocate, and that's how you found yourself cruising down the highway with the window rolled down to let the crisp air in, still damp and fresh with morning dew. 

You couldn't look back now. You wouldn't. Still, that wouldn't keep the guilt from biting at you. From nipping at your heart, a little bit at a time. It stung. It twisted in your chest like a knife, your selfishness. But you'd been selfless your entire life. Dating the man she had wanted you to date, taking the ballet classes that she had wanted you to take, wearing your hair up the way she wanted. For once you were going to put yourself first, even if it was a tad foolish. 

Your newfound liberation didn't banish the anxiety away completely though. The first night here once the high had finally worn off, you had been forced to face reality. And the unfamiliar walls of the dingy hotel didn't help, with its shabby wallpaper and linens that smelt faintly of generic detergent and cigarette smoke. It was alien. Unnatural almost, the chirp of crickets traded in for the rhythmic thumping of music pouring out from the bar across the street. You had stayed inside, hidden away by the locked door, trying desperately to tune out the noise of your own scattered thoughts with the audio of the TV. Using the soft, watery light that spilled out from the screen as a nightlight to try and ward off the confusion and unease in the pit of your gut. 

Your sleep had been difficult. Spent tossing and turning on the mattress, its springs creaking lightly with each shift as you tried in vain to ignore your own guilt. Helplessly fighting off the images of your mother pacing about her living room, wearing a pathway into the blush-colored carpet, nipping at the edges of her polished nails with tears in her eyes. The urge to reach over for the landline on the nightstand had nudged at you so insistently that you had to unplug it to keep from dialing her number. You knew that if she answered, if you heard the sound of her voice drifting out in that worried, angry stream that you'd be unable to keep yourself from packing yourself into your car and driving all those miles back to Gallatan. 

The morning after you had been unable to resist the allure of the call from outside. Like a slave to your impulses, you had allowed yourself to get caught up in the magnetism of it all. It's as though the scent of the sea had coiled around your throat, salt and wind taking ahold of you to usher you into the wonder of it all. You had spent the entire day exploring all of the shops that Santa Carla had to offer. Everything from quaint little outlets full of sage sticks and minerals that claimed feats such as granting fortune or banishing negativity, to music shops, and boutiques with lingerie and toys that you'd only ever seen in Playgirl magazines and cheesy sex tapes hidden in the back of your town's video store. 

It was a wonder in every corner. Everything in the imagination placed to draw your attention. To lure you in. And it had succeeded, stringing you along. Like a moth drawn to dazzling lights you had let it take you. Santa Carla is always a spectacle, but at night is when it truly comes alive, and the boardwalk is the pentacle. It's as though the entire town is lit up in a thousand individual pyres, burning and flickering, a kaleidoscope of neon and thrills. 

It sounds dramatic, but your first night on the boardwalk had nearly left you breathless. It was a place that's likeness you've witnessed in movies, or maybe the pathetic little county fair Gallatan throws each year. But the tiny kiosk of buttered corn-on-the-cobs and the pony rides are nothing in comparison. 

You had felt like a kid in a candy store despite your initial apprehension. Once you had seen it in all of its glory, wooden pathways swarming with chaotic masses, and carnival games and seedy stores adorned along the streets; sugar and salt and the musk of weed tainting the air in a distinct brand all cultivate to create a unique kind of charm, you had been unable resist.  

Like thousands before you, you had fallen for Santa Carla, like a mouse falling into a vat of honey. 

And it doesn't take you long for you to give in a splurge a little, ignoring your limited funds in favor of spoiling yourself. It's only something small, like finally trading out the pair of corduroy pants that you'd worn for years in favor of a couple skirts. Your favorite is lightyears away from anything you would have been able to wear before. Tight, dark, buttery leather that molds smoothly to your hips. Just low enough that you don't feel exposed but still skimming up past your knees. It's beyond any of the clothes that you had allowed yourself to purchase, but it feels nice to wear. Even though you still find yourself subconsciously tugging the hem down every once in a while, there's something undeniable freeing about wearing it. Like some kind of middle finger to all of the people who had kept you stunted and trapped. And as a final fuck you, you had immediately tossed your old pants in one of the trashcans settled outside the shop. 

You've been out here every night since, basking in the energy and the buzz that prickles over the boardwalk. A sort of treat for yourself after spending all of the hours in the day job searching, walking into all of the vintage themed diners and hole-in-the-wall thrift shops to turn in your applications. You don't have a long-term plan as of now. If you're planning on staying here. If that's even a possibility for you. But it'd be nice to have some extra cash while you try and figure that out. Something to keep you afloat while you try to course your future. 

Tonight is just as charged as last night. Shifting and alive with the bodies of tourists and locals alike, all looking for entertainment. You wander aimlessly, people-watching as you go, admiring the different kinds of groups as they all meander around in search of excitement. Children clutching onto the stuffies that their parents have won at carnival games; a gaggle of girls laughing happily as they cling onto each other as they navigate through the crowd; a couple walked by you in a rush earlier, the boyfriend spilling out what sounded like desperate apologies that were going completely unheard. 

Despite the speed of everything else around you, you're content to take your time, strolling around while you idlily drink your soda from the cherry-colored straw. You aren't in any particular rush to get anywhere. The dusk is still visible, occasionally peeking past the buildings and the horizon above the sea, all thin and dusty in a rich blue. You have all the time in the world to enjoy yourself, at least for now. You have no desire to go and hold yourself up in your dingy hotel room, clicking through basic cable to try and find something worth watching while you hopelessly chew through another cheap delivery pizza. 

The excitement is contagious out here, and you're in the mood to indulge. You let your feet carry into a record shop, a quick glance at the magenta neon sign above declaring it as one of the many music shops displayed along the boardwalk. The cashier posted behind the front desk shoots you a lazy nod before quickly returning to the porn mag boldly held in his hands. You grimace when you see it, but it doesn't keep you from drifting further into the dimly lit depths of the store, glancing over the many aisles of records as you go. 

You've burnt yourself through most of your music, playing them ceaselessly in favor to listening to spotty radio stations that turned to static whenever you drove through mountains. If you hear another song off of Like a Virgin you might actually lose your mind. 

It takes you a moment of searching the place before you find the cassette tapes, most of them organized in the back of the shop in shelves secured to the walls. The variety is a little overwhelming and the flimsy laminated signs taped above the racks did little to help. Either people have just been shoving tapes back wherever they fit, or the employees have been doing a lousy job of organizing the shelves, because despite claiming to be arranged by genre, you've found Metallica mixed in with Duran Duran, and Def Leopard and Anthrax placed with Prince. 

It doesn't bother you much though, and you keep searching over the massive collection of music, stepping around other customers and squinting through the dim golden lighting to read the album names properly. You barely notice it at first. A light brush along the back of your neck. A pressure that prickles and skips down your spine. It's so soft that you almost mistaken it for the press of your shirt nudging at your back, but it feels different. 

Like the weight of a stare. Warm and insistent. It has buried animal instincts welling up to the surface. It's kneejerk when you sweep a searching glance over the few people dotted around the shop, skipping over faces that don't meet your stare. They're all caught up in their own personal bubbles to notice your discomfort. 

Somehow, it only makes you feel more on edge. Viewed by a potential danger that you can't see. You don't know why it makes your breath snag, but it does. Someone is watching you. But no matter where you look, you can't find them. It has your mouth running dry, even while you assure yourself that it's nothing, nervously tapping at the straw in your soda to distract yourself. Something electric is trembling down your spine, magnetic and alien. It grips ahold of your neck, looping around your throat like static fingers, catching you on a string to tug you around on your feet. Your focus shifts somewhat frantically, with the hope to reassure yourself that no one might be sneaking glances at you, and then, your stare is suddenly moving all on its own. When you notice him and you have to wonder how you missed him in the first place. 

He's standing off on the other side of the store, separated by rows of music. You notice his fingers calmly flipping through vinyl's, the silver rings banding his fingers winking softly in the red neon spilling out from behind him. Your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they continue in their sweep up to admire more of him. He looks like a rockstar. Like he had leapt out from an album cover, with fluffy long blond hair. It's messy, spilled out like a lion's mane, wild tips glinting in shades of gold and the cherry red that's projected from the neon. 

The first thought you have is dumbstruck and a little captivated: He's gorgeous. He looks like the type of guy that would be spotted making out with models at some exclusive Hollywood club, not here in some dingy shop with a blow-up doll and random movie posters taped to the ceiling. 

His eyes shift up then, sudden and unwavering as they land directly on you. It's shocking as they pin you down, prompting a tight gasp from your lungs. His stare is firm but playful, shooting through your body like an electric current. You turn back around like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't, latching you attention back onto the cassette tapes like they're some sort of lifeline all while your cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

You didn't miss the amused smirk that had nudged at his lips before you looked away. Almost as though he was expecting you to have been admiring him, all cocky. Self-assured. The hazy air seems too thick now, the ting of cigarette smoke stinging at your lungs is all acrid and heavy. You could choke on it, but you're determined to remain in place. You keep still, secure in your spot as you search the disorganized tapes. Seeing but not really noticing them anymore, the letters and titles all melting into nonsense as you tap at the sweating paper cup clutched in your palm with your fingertips. 

You don't know why you feel so nervous. You haven't been like this since your first crush on Christian Bakely. It's bashful. Almost timid like a juvenile, fickle attraction that you have when you're young. It makes you want to scold yourself for developing some sort of superficial, puppy love for the first hot guy you've seen since you've left home.

You will yourself to move down the aisle a little more, going slowly to at least try to appear unbothered while you've become horrendously aware of yourself. A part of you entertains the idea of leaving. There are a million other stores just like this posted along the edges of the boardwalk, but you're quick to squash down your unease. You aren't going to run out over something so stupid. He's probably already forgotten your blatant staring anyway, traded in his amusement in favor of flipping through records and forgot that you even exist. 

You try to do the same. 

Your attention perks up when you notice a tape that gets your focus and you're quick to pluck it free from its place wedged between the rest. You listen to the song pumping softly from the overhead speakers, falling back into the gentle lull of it all. The delicate hum of the crowd shifting just outside, the chill of the hard plastic casing in your palm, the sweet syrup of the soda on your tongue as you take another sip. It's gentle. Calm in a way that isn't curated. 

"Nice choice."

The voice drifts from over your shoulder, but before you fully register it, you're already jumping. You think your heart skips when you do, fluttering briefly as you jolt on your feet. 

"Jesus Christ," you hiss through your teeth. You can't hide the glare on your face when you turn to look at the figure standing beside you, but your mind just about falls silent when you realize that it's the pretty blonde that you had been gawking at. 

"Shit. Sorry, that was my fault." He holds one of his hands up in a placating gesture, like you're some cornered animal that might startle otherwise. Except he doesn't look all the apologetic. He's smirking, almost like he's pleased. Eyes all bright with mirth like you've done something funny. "Didn't mean to make you jump." 

You don't believe him. 

"It's fine." You offer a weak smile, torn from your nerves which are frayed between adrenaline and the warm flutter in your chest. Somehow, he's even prettier up close. His features are sharp with a strong, a straight nose that connects to high, pronounced cheekbones like you've seen on old statues. His lips are plump. Rosy and pink. But it's his eyes that really get you, glittering faintly under the light in a blue that's too soft for the mischief lurking around the edges. It takes you a moment to remember what he had initially said, and you have to all but wrangle the delicate thank you out from your throat. All while you know that there's no way in hell that someone like him is listening to Cindi Lauper in his free time. 

He doesn't look like any of the men from your hometown. Most of them were just as clean cut and blue-collar as the rest, with worn steel toed boots and baseball caps smeared with grime and sweat. They were handsome in the well-mannered, country kind of way. Hats off at the dinner table sort of guys, even though more than half of them have wound up drunk and lost in someone else's field more than once. But this guy was the type that you've been a victim to fantasizing about more than once. Helpless daydreams about unobtainable rockers. 

You can smell his cologne with how close he's placed himself next you, rich and masculine and heavy with something that smells earthy. Damp like dark soil. It has your mouth going dry. It you want to lean in towards him to draw more of it into your lungs, but thankfully you snap out of it before you could actually act on the urge. It makes you horrendously aware of the face that you're staring at him again. 

You snap out of your daze, casting your attention back over the shelves to keep yourself from shamelessly ogling him any more than you already have. God, you're like some lovestruck middle schooler all of a sudden. 

"You're not from around here, are you?" He remains at your side, nearly brushing his arm with yours while he briefly pulls a tape from its shelf before poking it back in. Something tells you that he's pretending to inspect them just as much as you are now. 

"What gave it away?" You dare to shoot him a glance. The tension that had turned your muscles taught finally beginning to thaw. 

"Nothing," he shrugs. Then he's shooting you another lopsided grin. " I'd just figure that I'd remember seeing a babe like you walking around." 

It's undeniably corny, but there's something in the way that he delivers it, the way that he carries himself that sells its charm. You find a weak laugh bubbling from your chest, still nervous but also reluctantly content. You shift down the aisle a few feet and like a brand-new shadow he follows. 

"I bet you say that to all the tourists that come through here." You draw another sip from your drink, and you're a little disgruntled to find that it's almost empty. 

"I may have used it once or twice," he admits. There's no hesitation when he says it, still displaying as much ease and bravado as he has been. 

"And has it ever actually worked for you?"

"I'd like to say that I'll be successful for a second time, but I guess we'll see how tonight goes." 

The look you give him is playfully unimpressed, openly toying with him in a way that seems oddly natural. All of that pervious uncertainty shifting and melting down into something new but fluid. His eyebrows perk up in mock disbelief, an arm raising to flatten a palm to his chest as though he's shocked by your answer. 

"Damn, shot down already." 

"Afraid so." You mirror his shrug from earlier before slipping around the corner made by the edge of a rack, continuing in your search. It feels a little like a chase as he trails after you, all lazy in his pace but no less motivated to keep you in his sight. 

"So what brought you to Santa Carla?" he asks from behind. 

"Kind of just passing through, I guess. Needed a break, you know." 

He like he might understand. "Well you lucked out coming here. There's always something going on; parties, drugs." He pauses for a minute. When his voice dips out its right up against your ear, coiling low and dark to tremble down your spine. "Murder."  

You spin around to face him then, a gasp snagging in your throat. But when you see him, he isn't close behind you at all but a few feet off. He almost seems delighted to have your focus back on him. Confusion nestles in the back of your mind. You could have sworn that he was directly behind you. That you had felt the subtle weight of his chest on your back, the brush of his breath on the nape of your neck, but he would have had to have leapt back to be standing as far away from you as he is now. 

Odd. 

You clear your throat, trying to collect yourself as you latch back onto the memory of his voice. "Wai- Murder?" 

"Oh yeah, people die here all the time." It's almost bored how he says it, like his discussing some monotonous fact and not tragedies. "It's like a nightly thing." 

You wait for some kind of a punchline. Or some reassurances that he's only joking but it doesn't come. He must pick up that you're expecting some kind of explanation, but he must find it funny because that smile is back, just hinting at the corners of his mouth.  

"Murder capital." His eyes get a little big when he speaks, somehow entirely serious and teasing all at once. "There's been talk for years about anything from a reclusive serial killer hiding away in the hills to a black market, or maybe devil worshippers." 

Figures that in an attempt to escape from your old life that you'd manage to flee to a place where killings are apparently "a nightly thing." An extreme exaggeration you hope. You can practically imagine your mother laughing at you, all snark as she revels in your less than stellar luck. Like some kind of joke from the universe. But now that you think of it, this town would be a prime place for a black market or a cult or whatever. With the massive influx of visitors that rush through here in the summer, it must be easy to snatch people up off the streets without too many noticing. 

He laughs at your troubled expression. The silver-plated belt that he fashioned to the shoulder of his coat chimes softly as he shifts himself into your space with a grin, flashing teeth that look sharp. "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe." 

You still haven't entirely adjusted to his blatant flirting. Sure, you've encountered your fair share of horn dogs at your past job. Men who would leave their phone numbers on their checks or shamelessly stare at your tits and ass while ordering. Still, you never had someone approach you out in the open like this, apart from maybe at the bar when egos are high and liquored up.  

But he's clearly confident. Dripping with a roguish charm that's magnetic. You could almost call it intoxicating, the energy around him is palpable. The way he moves is rushed and light, like a puppy that's too hyper. 

"I think I'll manage on my own." But there's no snark in it. It's friendly. A warmth that he shares as you both exchange smiles. You pluck another cassette from its shelving, one you'd been eyeing during the conversation, but you can't manage to pry your attention entirely from him. "I mean, I don't even know your name. You could be a murderer or some cultist creeping around for his next sacrifice." 

"You found me out," he teases. Eyes shimmering and blue, all mischief. "There go my plans for the night." 

"Sorry about your luck." 

He shakes his head. "Nah, it's good. Besides, I think you might be too cute to cut up." 

"Oh, well thank you so much," you gush in a mimic of appreciation. 

"Of course," he jokes easily. He's holding a hand out then, his voice just a little bit more authentic as he waits for you to take it. "The name's Paul." 

You have to tuck your empty cup in the crook of your other arm to accept it. When you do it nearly shocks you how chilled his skin is. His fingers are cold, palm smooth and almost icy against the warmth of your own, but you don't pay it too much mind. Instead you give him your name, speaking it softly through a light smile. He repeats it under his breath, and you try to ignore the pleasant ripple of heat that runs through your body at the sound of it. How he cradles it on the tip of his tongue like he's testing it out and found that it tastes sweet. 

"So, are you still looking for some excitement?" 

You fall silent, eyeing him a little suspiciously. "It depends. What did you have in mind?" 

The grin that spreads across his face is much more puckish. Much more so than the ones before it. There's almost something dangerous there. A darker edge to his stare like you've lit a fire in him somehow. He nods down to the tapes clutched in your hand, and before you can realize it, he's taking them in his own. 

"These are the only ones you want?" he asks, backing away from you. It leaves you confused, watching him with your words lost in your throat. 

"Uh, yeah?" 

He hops back on his feet like an excited kid, jerking his chin like he wants you to follow him as he continues to walk backwards in the direction of the register. He doesn't pause for you to catch up, suddenly twisting on the heels of his boots. He acknowledges the cashier as he draws closer to the direction of the counter, but his lips have drawn up tight like he's repressing a laugh. Like he's in on a joke that you aren't. 

You feel like you're being guided by an invisible string as you urge yourself into a hesitant walk, squinting at him through a bewildered stare as you quicken your pace to keep up. But he doesn't switch gears to approach the register at all, instead he's making straight for the front door of the shop. The employee must come to the same conclusion as you do, because suddenly he's dropping his magazine to stand up from his chair with a jerk. A loud shout already raising up high to demand Paul to stop. 

Paul only tosses you a look over his shoulder, glancing back at you like he's confirming that you're still trailing after him, and when he sees you, he flashes an impish thousand-watt smile.

"C'mon! We gotta make a run for it."

And then he's bolting. Lurching towards the door with quickness of a high-strung dog let off its chain. A part of your brain stalls, and for a moment your body follows suit, freezing still for less than a split second but it feels like an hour as your mind splits down the middle between two decisions. The clerk is screaming, clammy skin flushed red with anger as he attempts to climb over the front counter like he means to body slam Paul in a tackle. But he's already shoving the glass door open, the bell above sounding his quick leave in a metallic cry. 

You should stay back. Keep far away from the random stranger that picked you out in the middle of a random store and is attempting to shop lift your cassette tapes, but before you can properly decide, your body is already in motion. You can hear your feet thumping across the carpet as you rush over to the door that's beginning to slip closed. 

"Oh, you fuckers!" The clerk yells so loudly that you're sure he's probably spitting. There's a violent clatter as the tray of lighters that were beside the register make contact with the ground in a messy thump. It has all the impact of a gunshot, and it's all it takes for your system to flood with a burst of adrenaline. You slip through the door before it can close in on you, escaping out into the chaos of the night like a bullet. 

Paul grips your arm once you're out, using it as leverage to guide and pull you through the oblivious crowd. He's cackling and howling into the air like a madman, practically skipping as he tugs you forward. You think that you might be laughing too, but it's hard to tell through the blur of it all. The world around you is a rush of colors, lights and sounds. Someone thumps against your shoulder as Paul ushers you through the sea of bodies, but his grip is firm, fixed tightly around your wrist like a cuff. 

The voice of reason chants in your head for you to jerk yourself from his hold. To vanish into the cover of the crowd and pretend that tonight never happened. But you don't do that. Against all common sense you allow yourself to be spirited away by some giggling maniac with a pretty face. 

His eyes are wild as he looks back over at you, the reflection from the lights of the nearby amusement park rides glinting bright in them. Everything about him might be a red flag, but like a fool you find yourself chasing after him. Running towards the rush; the excitement sparking under your skin and turning your blood white hot. He lifts the cassette's up, still secure in his hand as he waves them in the air like trophies. 

You aren't sure how long you two keep running for, but eventually you both slow to walk. The even pace allowing you to catch your breath as he guides you to a set of motorcycles that have been parked along the edge of the boardwalk, the back wheels nearly pressed up against the wooden railing. He releases your arm only so he's able to circle around the one at the end of the line with red rims.  

He holds your stare as he swings a leg over to mount the seat, making himself comfortable on the bike. Only then does he hand you the cassette tapes back, and you take them with shaky fingers. A product of the adrenaline that still thrums through your limbs like an electric current. You make sure to tuck the tapes safely in your jacket pocket. It seems dangerous to accept them. It feels good too. 

"You know, if you were trying to impress me, you didn't have to all that." 

"No?" his eyebrows perk up. "I wish you would have told me sooner then, babe." 

"Oh, so it's my fault then." 

"Nah. I steal shit all the time." 

You can't help but to scoff. Still, there's a bit of a genuine laugh in there too. He hums lowly, leaning forward to hang his wrists over the support of the bike's handlebars, spreading his thighs to get comfortable. You almost hate how pretty he is. It isn't normal. There are bonfires burning on the beach down below. The pyres reaching high enough that the light casted by the fire spills over his hair like sunlight, gold and amber and red. He almost seems otherworldly. Like a spirit that's been raised to tempt you. To lead you astray. God, you think you could let him. 

"The question still stands." He tilts his head, watching you expectantly. "Still lookin' for a thrill?" 

Time pauses again, churning down into a placid stream. This is another moment when you should say no. And it's right there, held just at the base of your throat. A small puff of air and the word slip out, materialize out on the warm summer air with a punch of finality. That's all it would take to cut this night short. To put a cap on all of it, bottling it all up so you could let it collect dust and become a distant memory. 

The voice of reason, bearing a striking resemblance to the sound of your mother's, echos in your head. Chanting from the sidelines for you to back away from him before he drags you down into a pit of trouble that you can't crawl out of. But when has doing anything she's wanted you to do gotten you anywhere? 

"Yeah, I think I am." That's your answer. 

"What are you waiting for?" 

He scoots himself forward, straightening his posture a little and slipping his hands around the handlebars. It's a clear enough invite, and you don't let the air around you both stagnate. You grimace a little when you drop your empty soda cup on the ground, leaving it to drop while you move to lift an arm up to grip onto his shoulder. Using it for stability as you swing your leg over the seat of the motorcycle. He doesn't waste any time starting it, kickstarting it before you've even sat down on the seat. 

You try to be mindful of your skirt as you lower yourself down onto the leather cushion. Tugging it down as low as it'll sit while scrunched up around your spread thighs. 

The bike is loud. It's engine purring in a great roar, metallic and sharp in your ears. It thrums under your legs, almost like a living, breathing thing. Pulsing as the engine hums and spits. You're quick to slip your arms around his waist, ignoring the stubborn layer of hesitation lurking underneath the exhilaration of it all. You cling on to him, shamelessly tucking your chin over his shoulder as you drape yourself over his back. He doesn't seem to mind, passing you a joyful glance, turning his head just enough that his nose almost brushes over yours. 

"Don't be shy now. Better hold on tight." 

That's the warning you get before he revs the engine, sending the bike into a jarring lurch. You yelp when the bike blazes off like a rocket, squeezing your hold around his middle tighter to keep yourself from blowing off the seat as he swerves it down another strip of the boardwalk. 

He's laughing again. Sounding like a madman as he suddenly directs the motorcycle to the left, smoothly jerking the front wheel to dip it into a turn. Your heart falls down to your ass when a descending staircase drops down in front of the bike. It seems as sudden and daunting as a cliff, but you don't have time to shout. Your cry stays lodged in your lungs, and you only have enough time to tuck your head into the crook of his neck, hiding your face in his hair just as the bike speeds down the steps in a quick glide. The bumps are just barely felt by the speed that he's gunned the motorcycle into, but it doesn't stop your stomach from flipping. 

He might be laughing, but it's difficult to tell if the vibrations rattling his ribcage are from the engine or not. But based off of what little you know of him; you wouldn't put it past him in finding your panic funny. 

The tires meet the loose sand with a brief drag, spinning for a fleeting second as the bike darts off like a bat out of hell. Once you can feel the solid ground rushing beneath you, you're able to get yourself to lift your head up from the safety of his neck, peeling your eyes open to sweep a cursory glance around your surroundings. 

You see the bonfires first. Burning and twisting in the night like glowing spires, flickering in molten amber towers that reach at the sky. People are scattered around them, some holding beer bottles while they dance. You can't hear it over the howl of the wind in your ears but you're sure that they're all laughing. All barely holding in their mirth as they cavort around the fires. And you can smell the smoke in the air, spicy and pungent, melding with the salt of the beach. 

It all passes by in a blur, the ocean little more than a pale, twisting smear. Foam tumbling over sand. But the rest of the water - what lies beyond the waves, is a vast black. Stretching out farther than your eyes can perceive. You only get hints of it in the traces of moonlight crossing over the water like silver lace. 

The nervousness coiling in your gut finally begins to unwind, and the tight grip of your arms around his ribs follows, slackening just enough for you to slip your hands up to his chest instead, letting you sit up just a little straighter. It makes you extremely aware of how scant the tight fishnet shirt he's wearing truly is. You can feel his skin from between the mesh netting, trepid and soft on your palms. Your fingers flex, the urge to remove your hands bolting up as though you've touched something hot, but somehow you find yourself hesitating. You don't remove them. And he doesn't seem bothered by it in the slightest. Weaving the bike through the bonfires scattered around the beach and coasting it just a little too close to the people walking and dancing around on the sand. 

He just narrowly misses running over a few of them. Calling out an unworried, "Get out of the way!" when he nearly clips a guy in the shoulder and sends him diving on the ground to avoid being struck. The man's angry shouting trails after you both, a dim, warbling sound that's quick to die over the wind and heavy rumble of the motorcycle. But Paul's laughter almost sounds louder than all of it. Pitching high over the balmy night air like the cackle of a coyote out on a hunt. 

You feel a little guilty, but you can't keep yourself from answering with a similar laugh, all light and airy. Welling up from your chest with an ease that makes you feel alive. It's like you've shed a skin, almost. It's easy to pretend that you're flying. It feels like you are, with the wind pulling at your clothes, nudging at the shape of your face like the sweep of prodding fingers. You can't really remember a time when you've felt so far above the world, miles from your worries and insecurities, soaring past the anxieties that keep you awake at night.  

You twist back a little to look over your shoulder, emboldened by the rush in your veins to watch as the man clumsily scrambles up from the ground, kicking up a spray of dirt as he lifts an arm in the air to flip you both off. 

"Sorry!" you yell after him, but it doesn't keep you from smiling. 

Eventually Paul veers off of the beach, cutting through a parking lot that he uses to merge onto a vacant street. The boardwalk grows smaller and smaller behind you, the lights of the rollercoaster and rotating Ferris wheel growing dim until it's hardly more than a few faint dots in the distance, just barely peeking out over the roofs of buildings. He shoots through downtown, blowing past a redlight without any care. He doesn't slow a single time, ignoring the speed limit like it's merely a suggestion. The way he drives is insane, and it makes you wonder if he has a license at all. Probably not. 

Uncertainty unfurls when the houses making up the edges of town grow sparse, thinning out until you only pass a few odd little homes bordering the edges of the backroad he's taken you on. You ignore it when he turns his bike, veering off the worn asphalt and onto a dirt path. It looks well-traveled enough, thankfully. The headlight on his motorcycle spilling over the beaten dirt, highlighting the prints left by a vehicle's tread that seems fairly recent. 

Apprehension prickles at the nape of your neck, that old instinctual feeling again. It weighs a little in your gut like a physical thing. Your brush it off, telling yourself that you're only being paranoid. But a pair of animal eyes peek out from the field growing on the side of the road, glimmering in the passing headlight like a couple of coins; it seems like a bad omen. 

You keep your voice trapped in your mouth, letting your concerns fall silent as he guides the bike up an incline, driving it up a path where tree branches stretch out like reaching fingers. It's like you've been holding your breath, keeping yourself suffocated as the motorcycle eats up the ground, powering up the hill until it levels out into something flat. You see immediately why he brought you here. 

From this high up, you can see it all. The entirety of Santa Carla is laid like stars glimmering in the night. Streetlamps, porchlights, and the entire boardwalk flickering in the distance in shimmers of gold and silver. It looks so small from this perspective. Like the little model towns that your grandfather used to make in his basement. Like you could walk right up to it and place a building in your palm. It's a stunning view. One that makes you wish you were able to take a picture of for safe keeping. 

You've hardly noticed that he's parked the bike, stopped it close to the edge of the hill and killed the engine. But once you realize the silence it becomes heavy. But not necessarily in a way that's uncomfortable. It's a blanket draped over your shoulders, soft and inviting. You have to remind yourself to move, unmounting the bike to stand up on legs that have become weak from the heavy thrumming of the engine. 

Paul's quick to follow, shifting up with an ease that you're a little jealous of. Your muscles feel like Jello. It makes you quick to walk over to the picnic table positioned out in the center of the barren lot, settling yourself up on the weathered wood to shake some feeling back into your legs. Paul is fast to follow, practically skipping over, jewelry jangling as he jumps himself up on the tabletop. He begins absentmindedly picking at the chipping old paint, tearing it from the notches that have been carved into the wood, defaced to immortalize the initials of lovers.  

"What did you bring me all the way out here for?" you ask. 

"This is one of the nicer spots in Santa Carla. Figured I'd show you." 

"Oh, yeah?" you tilt your head, rotating a little in your perch on the bench. "What's the best?" 

A smile pushes at the corners of his mouth. It's another one of those amused, secretive little looks. Like he's in on something. "Maybe I'll show ya some time." 

"I'd like that," you agree. There's a small bout of silence then. You've gained the feeling back in your legs and it inspires you to sit up from the table, stretching out your limbs as you approach the rounded edge of the hill. A delicate breeze rolls up the slop, shuffling the leaves with a delicate hiss, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the hint of the ocean. It such a simple thing but it abates some that paranoia, loosening its talons, even if just a little bit. 

The weight of the cassette tapes in your pocket press against your stomach. Nudging there like a reminder. It has you glancing back over your shoulder, and you see that he's already watching you. The way he holds himself is relaxed, but there's something intense reflecting in his gaze, burning and hot. It makes your heart skip a beat, body flushing with warmth. It could be the shadows, but you think his smile grows. 

There's a flash of his teeth. "You'd have to stick around for that." 

He doesn't wait for your response as he shoves off of the table, bounding from it with a jump that rattles the silver on his chest. It's like you're both magnetized to each other, unable to stray far now that you've crossed paths. A part of it is almost frightening. You've had crushes of course. A couple random fling before, and a relationship - as complicated and fleeting as it had been, but you can honestly say that you've never been so swept away by a guy. Never enough to that'd be willing to become an accomplice in theft; never enough that you'd get on the bike of stranger and let them carry you off to spot in the middle of nowhere. It's as though all of your common sense has been picked up and dumped out on the ocean tide. Even worse is that you really don't care. 

Maybe you're just caught in the whirlwind of it all. Spun up by the excitement of finally being able to do things on your own terms without the worry of hundreds of people watching. Or maybe you're just addicted to the discovery; when you look at him, all of those concerns seem to melt away. Thinning and evaporating like snow in the summer sun. It's terrifying. It's thrilling. 

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't." 

It's almost as though he takes it as a challenge, stepping into your space like it's where he belongs. His cologne sweeps back over you again, bold and muddled with the spice of tobacco. Combined with his proximity it makes you a little dizzy, fingertips prickling with warmth as he fixes you with a stare that seems the seize you, burrowing down like he's cradling some delicate, wild piece of your soul. 

You just barely notice when his hand slips into your coat pocket to grasp the tapes tucked inside, like he's confirming that you still have them. He seems pleased when his fingertips slide over the hard plastic covers, as though it means something to him. His face hovers just a little above yours, noses nearly brushing. With the glow of the moon emitting from above, it makes it easy to see how his gaze flickers down to your lips. Like he's considering if he should try kissing you or not. You don't think you'd mind if he did. 

"At least you'll have something to me remember me by," he muses softy. 

"I haven't known you for very long but believe me when I say that there's a very slim chance of me forgetting you." 

Emboldened by your response, he cocks his head, daring to lean forward just enough that you can feel the faint press of his lips on yours. Not kissing, but just enough to tease the possibility. It's a little pathetic how something so simple has heat licking through your veins. The line you're treading on feels dangerous. Like you're dangling on the edge of some unknown territory. And you are. But what makes it so particularly daunting is the uncertainty of where this might go. 

Something about Paul is already addictive. Like a shot of liquor after a long week. You've always been the type to keep yourself from getting too attached, but he's like an adrenaline rush. It'd be so easy to get hung up on a guy like him, and the last thing you want to be is one of those women lying awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling while they fantasize about the one that could have been. Spending the remainder of their years living back in the memory of that one night in the past. 

He's a temptation that you've never had to face before. Bursting into your life with all the subtly of a firecracker, abrupt, explosive and invigorating. You want to hold onto that. Grip it tight with greedy fingers and enjoy this - whatever this is - for all it's worth. 

He speaks then, his voice has dipped into something low and hushed. Almost like a secret being exchanged, a promise being made. "I'm happy to hear it, but I like to be thorough." 

You think he's the one who kisses you first, but you really can't be sure. It a little daunting, how it completely sweeps you up. There isn't any of that dramatic stuff, like explosions, or fireworks, but something about it just feels right. It already makes you breathless. Time stretching out and yawning, heat draping over your body like you've been dipped in warm honey. 

The way he kisses you is starved. Passionate and fast like he's trying to have all of you at once. His teeth nip at your lips, a sting that he soothes with the tip of his tongue when you gasp. There's hardly any build up. He approaches it like he seemingly does everything else; just pure intensity as he reaches for you with eager hands that seem to be everywhere all at once. Squeezing at your hips, pressing down at the base of your spine to mold you close to him, and then he's cradling your jaw with chilled fingers. 

You can't help moaning into his mouth, a quiet noise that's still definitely heard if the way he smiles into the kiss is any indication. You aren't bothered by his smugness though, only encouraged by it. You slip a hand over his stomach, feeling the lithe muscle under cool skin. It's cute when his abdomen twitches under your palm. He reprimands you by biting at your lip again, only enough for a slight sting, but you really think that it was only an excuse for him to dip his tongue into your mouth, letting you fully taste each other. 

There's the subtle sugar of something sweet on his lips. Probably some kind of treat from back on the boardwalk. It mixes with the distinct rich pepper of tobacco, all warmth and cream on his tongue, but there's the edge of something almost metallic lurking beneath it all, almost as though he's been sucking on pennies. It isn't enough to be distracting, and you can't be bothered to pay it any mind as he turns you around without breaking the kiss to blindly back you up until your lower back nudges into the rough lip of the picnic table. 

He practically mauls you once he has you pinned, consuming you with a hunger that's infectious. It has you tugging at his hair, clawing your nails through the thick of his soft waves, dragging them along his scalp and it rewards you with a throaty groan that has sparks shooting up your spine. He must enjoy it because he's breaking his mouth away from your and immediately latches it onto your throat. The scratch of his stubble as you arching into his body, your head lolling back to bare more of your throat which he quickly takes advantage of. His tongue laps out at your skin like he's drinking up the subtle salt there, sucking softly like he wants to brand you with the shape of his mouth. 

The gasp that leaves you is wrangled when he wedges a thigh between your legs, bending his knee to press it flush against your cunt. Your grip on his hair squeezes tight. Holding on like it might help keep you grounded. Like it might keep you from float up to the heavens. The weight of his leg on you makes you cruelly aware of the wet patch that's dampened the center of your underwear. It's a little embarrassing, already being this worked up by a little making out, but he lights you on fire with a frustrating ease. It's unfair how he's already taking you apart piece by molten piece. 

He licks up the base of your throat, sucking at the edge of your jaw before he speaks against your skin like he doesn't want to pull away. "Can I eat you out?" 

You swear the question could have knocked you out. He says it casually, but his words are slurred. Almost like he's drunk. It's all moving so fast. Your head is spinning, and your heart is racing, chugging blood through the same artery that he traces with his tongue. It's hard to remember how you've gotten here, curled up in a stranger's arms while he grinds his thigh between your legs. This night has gone completely off the rails. Hurtled far past a simple night out to a haze of chaos and heat. It doesn't really make any sense to be here right now. 

But when Paul manages to tear himself away from your neck to meet your stare something seems to fall into place. You don't think you'd want this night to have gone any other way. 

There's a desperation glimmering in the blue of his eyes, bright and hungry. It has you contained in place. Swallowed up by the fervor in his expression, the gluttony in how he holds onto you. 

At this point you don't think it needs to be said, but you find yourself nodding anyway. "Yeah - yes. Fuck, please." 

He flashes you a grin before he's dropping down onto his knees without any fanfare. You decide to help him out a little, planting your hands onto the tabletop to heave yourself up on the surface, spreading your legs open to make room for him. It's brazen, the short length of your skirt scrunching and riding up high on your thighs, flashing the pale fabric of your underwear. His attention zeros in there immediately, stuck between your legs with an intensity that's almost concerning. He's looking at you like you're a piece of meat. All splayed out. It's a compromising that almost has embarrassment creeping beneath it all, but there's a perverted brand of delight on his face, and it's mixed with a strange kind of sincerity that has that shame fizzling out. 

He slips a hand up to cup the back of your knee, lifting it up to hook it over his shoulder so he can trail kisses up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. It's much slower than the starved bites and licks that he had given you earlier, the ones that you can still feel on your neck, aching dully from where he had sucked. It's like he's teasing you now. Too caught up in his own desire to indulge you yet and it feels like torture. Just the weight of his head parting your legs open, the brush of his wild hair against your skin has you flushing with heat. 

Your hips rock on their own, rolling in an effort to seek out friction that isn't there. The press of your underwear on your cunt is like a taunt, applying a barely there pressure that has your lungs skipping with a silent gasp. 

You don't expect the smack that he cracks down on the outside of your leg. It's more surprising than painful, but you jerk anyway, subconsciously trying to escape the smarting that fizzles across your nerves. The look that you shoot him is one of shock, but he doesn't look the least bit apologetic. Expression all smug as he presses his lips down on the crook where your leg joins your pelvis. Slipping his tongue out to lick at the tender skin there, running it along the seam of your underwear. 

"Feelin' greedy?" he smirks up at you, looking so smug that it nearly irritates you. "There's no need to flip out babe, I'll give you what you want." He kisses you over your underwear, gripping both of your knees to spread you open wider, giving him the room to nose at your cunt from over the damp fabric. There's something so vulgar about the way that he mouths at you while you're still wearing panties, circling your clit with the point of his tongue before flattening it to suck through your underwear. 

It makes your spine bow, fire and smoke blazing up your back and smoldering beneath your skin. There's a plea right there, just at the base of your throat but thankfully you don't have to voice it. He slips both of his hands under your underwear and tugs it down roughly, giving away his own impatience as he moves back just enough to be able to rip them down past the heels of your shoes. 

You're pretty sure that he pockets them, bunching them up and stuffing them inside his coat. But you don't get a chance to scold him - not that you would if you were able - because he's dropping his mouth open to lick a stripe up your bare cunt, splitting you open on his tongue. It has your fingers flexing, dragging your nails over the edge of the wood in a wild claw to have something to keep you anchored. It doesn't do much though. Not the chipped, textured paint under your palms, not the faint chill of Paul's hands clamping down on your skin, it fades out into a meaningless blur. Distorted to the sidelines as your brain blocks everything out, banishing it all into a muted background noise as the sensation of his mouth commands all of your focus. 

It's mindless how your body chases after its pleasure, your hips attempting to thrust under the unforgiving hold of Paul's hands to build the pressure coiling hotly in the base your abdomen. His grip is practically steel bands, vices around your skin to hold you open and immobilized while he torments you with the ceaseless drag and curl of his tongue. 

"Paul, come on, please," you beg. Panting out into the sultry summer air. It's stupid how easily he's pulling noises from you. Tense, breathless moans that drift over the hilltop in a shameless stream. It almost makes you a little thankful that he drove you both out here in the private little lookout, far away from potential witnesses. Based on the joined initials etched and written into the wood, presumably with pocketknives and permanent markers, you'd wager that this is a popular date spot. A cute little place for couples to admire the town lights and take advantage of the privacy while they hookup. You definitely aren't the first person to be splayed out here on this table. A part of you wonders if you aren't the first person that he's brought out here. 

You try to ignore the flickering of something stinging and unwelcome that lashes its way through your chest. It's obscure and startling, blinking in and out like a ghost, and you're quick to snuff it out. To turn it over and ignore it entirely. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that it felt suspiciously close to jealousy, but that's a route that you aren't going to dare to go down - a load of baggage that you have no desire to unpack. Not for a stranger, no less. 

Your hand pries itself from the edge of the table to grip onto his hair, fingers slipping down through his roots to thread through in the way you think he likes. You're almost instantly gifted with a pleased groan and his tongue dips inside of you, lapping up your taste like he's starved for it. 

You nearly sob when he pulls himself back from you, parting his lips from your cunt just enough to mumble out something; his voice slurs, thrumming against your clit as he speaks. "Don't worry about being rough, pull harder if you want." And then he's smothering himself back between your thighs. You do as he says, mostly out of reflex as he traces over you in tight circles that has your nerves running hot, your muscles burning as though you've been submerged in steaming water. 

A finger prods at your cunt, running up just along his mouth to get it slick enough and then he's thrusting it inside without little warning, filling you up with a smooth stroke. You moan out raggedly when he suckles at your clit just as he crooks his finger, brushing it in deft swipes. Your grip locks on tight in his hair, digging in through long, golden strands while he practically turns you inside out. Your grasp has to be painful, but he doesn't seem affected by it in the slightest. His effort actually seems to double each time your fingers tug and claw, like he might like the sting. 

You don't know why you enjoy the thought of that, but you do. Your hips jerk sharply at the idea of it. Of how he might react from your nails slashing down his back, leaving red cuts behind. Reminders of you on his body. How he'd sound while you bite bruises on his neck and shoulders; the bursts of red and plum placed where they would peek out from the worn collar of his shirt.  

"Oh, my god - Paul." 

You can already feel your orgasm rising up, winding up your body in an almost violent twist. It's eating at you rapidly. Climbing up at a rate that you can hardly track. You can feel yourself tensing; each individual muscle drawing up. Your lungs squeeze in your ribcage, rendering you breathless. You turn into a broken record, a stream of words and his name spilling out of your like a chant. It hits you like a freight train. Searing and rippling up your body in a splashing of stars that leaves you keening into the open air. 

He doesn't part from you, coasting you through the remnants of your orgasm with the stroke of his fingers and tongue, sucking steadily at your clit until your thighs shake. You have to tug him away by the grip on his hair, pulling his head back sharply to give yourself relief before the pleasure could become too much. He yields to you reluctantly, nipping pointed bites up the tender flesh of your legs as you drag him to stand. 

You feel almost outside of yourself as you grip onto his shoulders, clutching onto his coat while he crawls himself over you, notching his hips against your own like he belongs there. You're still floaty from your orgasm, pleasure thrumming and hopping along your nerves in a pleasant buzz but somehow you still want more. It burns and burrows deep in the pit of your stomach, lighting a fire in your veins that you haven't felt in a long time. Not like this, at least. 

His lips crash against yours in a meeting of teeth and tongue. It's almost animalistic, how you both reach for each other. His hands are all over you again, grabbing at everything he can like he's trying to commit the shape of your body to memory, like he wants to brand the warmth of your skin on his palms. And you're just as desperate. Your own slip down as a pair, reaching with trembling, frantic fingers for the buckle of his belt. You struggle blindly with it for a minute, fingertips slipping uselessly over the smooth metal from the way they tremble. You'd swear if your mouth wasn't occupied.

You can taste yourself on him, just subtly sweet and smearing on your own lips. It's dirty. Filthy, but it only makes it hotter; the very idea of breaking the kiss seems like torture, so when he huffs a laugh in your mouth and tries to pull away to help you with his belt, your other hand moves on its own to cradle the back of his skull. Keeping him pressed to your lips with an annoyed groan. 

"Don't." You demand into the kiss, nipping lightly at his pout to draw him back in. He complies easily, but that doesn't stop him from laughing a little. 

Finally, you manage to slip the leather free from buckle, tugging it loose from over the prong to pull it open. And then you're fumbling with the zipper, tracing over the metal teeth to find it, tugging it down like it's molten on your fingertips once you do. You're almost delirious with a single goal, slipping your hand down inside to feel him, and you don't hesitate to take him within your palm. He hisses lowly when you grip him, thrusting up in an uneven grind to chase after his own pleasure. 

He pants into your mouth when you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, smearing a drop of precum to aid in your glide and it makes the clutch of his fingers around your hips squeeze. Bordering close to almost painful, but the ache of it ebbs into an afterthought. He's thick in your hand, so hard that it has to be uncomfortable. You take pity on him, unable to string either of you out any longer than you already have and take him out of his pants. 

He moves like a man possessed now, slipping of his hands down lower to hitch your thighs high around the trim length of his waist, and then he's reaching down between the thin gap of your bodies to bat you hand out of the way, taking ahold of himself. Gripping the base of his cock to slide it between your legs, grinding the head against your clit in teasing strokes. It makes you whine, the sensitivity from your orgasm lights over you like small bolts of electricity and yet you find yourself raising your hips to chase after the feeling. 

"Gonna let me fuck you?" He scatters kisses along the corner of your mouth and the edge of your jaw, much too tender and saccharine for what this is. Cradling you like a lover would despite the ardor and desire saturating the air like the perfume of whisky. It makes a pathetic little piece of you melt, turning syrupy and pliant like a strip of wax held over an open flame. 

You find yourself nodding, swallowing thickly as you try to find your worn voice again. "Yes - just stop teasing." You lock your legs tighter around him, drawing him in closer, aiding his cock in grinding over your pussy like it'd help urge him along, and luckily for you it seems to snap through the rest of his restraint. There's no warning as he guides himself down to your entrance and drives himself inside in a single stroke. 

He punches the air free from your lungs as he buries himself to the hilt, the both of you groaning in relief through the stretch. He's so deep, holding you open around his girth, and you know that you're going to feel him for a few days after this. You hope that you do. You want this night to be vivid in your memory for as long as possible. You want it tattooed into your skin, stained behind your eyes like watercolors, sunk bone deep. 

You can't remember the last time you've been able to exist beyond the pressures and judgement of the world. A thousand miles above prying eyes, confiscated within the hushed intimacy of your own bubble - except for the first time in what might be forever, you aren't alone in it. It's a shard space, gone from quiet and lonely to fiery and scorching. Howling in the dark. You think it's too late. You really are going to be one of those women staring up at the ceiling, fantasizing about that one perfect night from a decade ago. But right now, you really don't give a damn about that. 

All of the thoughts rattling around in your brain are turning into mush, liquifying like hot sugar on stove. It's like you've been engulfed. Ate up by the wet bite of his mouth on your throat, the persistent weight of his hands clumsily tugging up at your shirt and bra to ruck it them over your breasts. He doesn't take his lips off of your neck once; it's like he's been captivated by the smooth stretch of skin, lapping the flat of his tongue over the column of it like he wants to stain the taste of you on his mouth. But it doesn't keep his hands from taking greedy handfuls of your breasts. 

You gasp when his chilled fingertips squeeze around the shape of them, the frigid rings around his fingers force you to gasp and arch into his palms. He plucks at your nipples, circling around them in tight circles that has your voice pitching as he drives his cock into you. The way he fucks you is unrestrained but no less practiced, burying himself into you with calculated strokes that have you tearing at the seams. 

You don't know if you've ever felt so full, so spread out in your entire life. Granted you aren't the most experienced person. A lot of your practice coming from an ex that frequently left you high and dry and a couple of flings you met from the bar. One of which wasn't the most satisfying affair considering that his roommate had burst in before things could really get good. But Paul has to be the first guy that's ever really taken your pleasure into any real regard. All the others were quick to get you off with a sense of obligation, as though your pleasure was transactional so they wouldn't feel too much guilt for using you to get themselves off afterwards. 

He fucks you like he wants to. Like he's hellbent on making you cum as quickly as possible. Like he needs your pleasure to satisfy his own. 

"You're so hot," he groans. His teeth clamp down on the muscle in your neck like he might tear flesh, inspiring a muted ache up your neck but he lets go before it becomes too violent. His voice is all gutted, likes he's growing drunk on the bliss cutting though his body. "Fucking squeezing me." 

He sounds just as wrecked, and it you can't help how your cunt clenches down tight around his cock, strangling another rough groan from the base of his chest. The small silver plates of the ornamental belt he has fixed to his coat dig into your exposed skin, pinching at your abdomen from how closely he pins your bodies together. It's like he's trying to join the two of you together, pressing into you until you live in the same body. 

You tear uselessly at his shoulders, digging your nails into the thick material of his jacket so wildly that you think you'd probably be able to rip it. You pant into his hair as he laps at your jugular, breathing in the fresh, chemical fragrance of the hairspray that styles the soft gold in selfish gulps. All of it cumulates, tiny little elements stacking on top of the other until the ecstasy starts to raise again. Maybe it's just riding off the afterglow of the first orgasm, but somehow, this feels like it's going to be stronger. More devastating than the one that still hums under your skin. 

You almost mourn that you're so close already, and a part of you tries to shun off the thick rapture building between your thighs entirely. You don't want this night to end yet. You aren't prepared for the awkward silence that will inevitably come next. You don't want to live through the silent ride back into town, where he'll drop you off at your ramshackle hotel room and presumably drive out of your life forever, leaving you to stand outside on the balcony outside your door while you listen to engine of his bike fade out and grow silent like a dying pulse. 

But he seems bound and determined to have you reach your high. One of his hands strays down from your chest, sweeping low until his knuckles are dragging over your clit in firm figure eights. A moan shudders through you, your ribcage wracking from what almost sounds like a sob. He doesn't let up though, driving you directly towards a yawning precipice that promises to swallow you up whole, and you can't do much else but cling onto him like he's a buoy in a storm. 

"Paul - I - " 

"Let me feel it. You're so close, baby, just let go." He bites at the shape of your ear; voice low and rich as he fucks himself into you like he wants to watch you black out. "I want to feel you cum all over me. You can take it." 

Like a slave to his voice your body draws up tight, muscles bunching up to strip you down of all you're worth. You kind of hate him for hurtling you towards the edge already, but you can't keep yourself from chasing after it. It's dirty, the cum between your thighs squelching lewdly each time he plunges into you, his skin meeting yours in damp smacks. And yet he cradles your cheek like you're something delicate, running the print of his thumb over the swell of your cheekbone in a gentle brush. It's all a juxtaposition of the other, and it has you crumbling. 

"You'll taste so good, just let go for me." The fires burn a little higher, white-hot and lashing, turned into an inferno that uses your bones as kindling. His teeth drag over your skin, sharp points gliding over flesh. You don't remember them feeling so lethal, like they could rip you open with a single touch, but it's hard to focus through the haze of it all. He bites deep and you swear that skin gives under the pressure, nerves lighting up light they've been doused in fire, parting like butter under a serrated knife, and the world erupts in a flurry of embers.  

This must be what it's like to be struck by lightning, static curling your toes and fingers, cosmos bursting in your eyes. You think you might scream. A chorus of his name that sounds like a prayer and a plea for help all at once as rapture's injected directly into your veins. It's almost brutal as pleasure rolls its way through you, seizing you up and stripping you to piece like a burst of dynamite. Just like before he fucks you all the way through it, pumping himself deep inside until he shudders, cock twitching inside of your cunt as he spills over into his own orgasm. 

It's almost abrupt how he drops you both back down onto the support of the table, leaning his body over yours like he's gone boneless. Crowding you in with his weight while he continues to grind himself against you without pulling out, drawing his pelvis on your overstimulated clit. You moan at the static searing through you, writhing under his body as he guides out your pleasure until it stings. 

But you can't find the strength to stop him, staring past his shoulder and up at the sky while your thoughts spin and flatline. You feel like you're floating, admiring the way the stars above twinkle and shift in an iridescent sheen with a drunken kind of fascination. You've felt good after sex before, but you've never been reduced to a state like this. It's like you're no longer in your body, tethered to it only by a thin, pulsing string, almost giddy from the pleasure. 

It's like you've been cocooned in warmth, something alcoholic tingling at your fingertips as he sucks and laps at your throat. Groaning softly while he cradles your skull, just barely thrusting himself into you like he doesn't want to stop. And despite how sensitive you've become; you don't think you want him too either. You're sense of time has gone all fuzzy, turned sluggish and pleasantly warm as you drift on your high, all loose limbed and heavy. 

It could be seconds or hours before he finally parts his mouth from you, a hollow sting digging into your neck as canines slip free. It's strange. Far from the bites that he had scattered over your throat before. It feels deep. Like he'd broken skin and pierced deep. He still hasn't pulled his face from the crook of your neck, licking up your throat like it's layered in sugar. Your skin is warm. A starling sensation against the weird chill of his tongue. Damp and hot. For a moment you think that it might be his spit, but it's not cold enough for that, trickling lazily down your throat like a slow leak. 

You're face pinches in confusion and will yourself to remove your arm from around his shoulder. An almost herculean task considering that your limbs have turned to lead from the dopey effects of your orgasm, but you force yourself to move. Years have passed by the time your fingers curl around your neck, dragging over your damp flesh to collect the liquid that's smearing over it. 

You blink slushily when you raise your hand up over your face, trying to focus past the blur that smudges around the edges of your vision. For a moment you think that you're hallucinating it. That the dark liquid staining your fingertips, glittering in the dark, tinged red and running hot from your body heat isn't real. You're trapped as you stare at it dumbly, horribly transfixed by the thick of it dripping down the crook of a finger in a single rivulet. 

You think your heart stops, a wild panic setting in as you scramble beneath him to try and slip free. But suddenly the comforting weight of him is now as unyielding as a snare. A cry locks in your throat, snagged behind the catch of your quivering lungs. 

A hand catches your wrist as you struggle, silver jewelry winking in the dark like a warning, horrible talons sprouting from its fingertips. It paralyzes you in place, the ice pumping through your frantic heart, turning your lethargic limbs into heavy stone. 

It's then that he chooses to lift his head from the vulnerable stretch of the throat that you had offered so foolishly, placing a kiss to the ache that you now know is bitten flesh. Your thoughts run into scattered cries, a litany of voices rattling around in your skull like taunts and yells. Shrieks that chant, told you so, over and over again in a bitter, acidic stream. And then you hear the echo of his voice. 

It's like a nightly thing. 

God, he had been toying with you this entire time. 

You can't escape. Too weak to move. Too overcome with fear - drained and so wrung dry that the adrenaline singing throughout your system falls useless. Your bones tremble with a broken cry, tears tainting your waterline, but even that isn't enough to keep you from seeing him as he is now. The logical part of your brain scrambles to find reason, but there is none as flashes of burning amber pin you down - the eyes of an animal's, peering from a face that's gone bestial. Inhuman. A demon's face stretched over a human skull; jaw smeared with a rich red like a feral dog that's been feeding on a fresh corpse. The smile that you had once loved is now tainted. Ruined by the blood that soaks his mouth; lips peeled back into a grin. But that charm is ruined, stretching into something sadistic and sharp, violent teeth baring in the dark. 

It's cruel when he guides the hand that he has caught within his own up to his mouth, easily bending your limb, overpowering you as though you aren't resisting him; made instead out of weakened clay and not muscle and bone. He snickers when you try to jerk your arm from his hold, like you're a mean kitten that he's picked up by the scruff. 

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart." 

You don't believe him. And suddenly the conversation you had back in the record store seems like a twisted joke. You think back on all the smiles he had passed you then. Like he was in on a joke that you weren't. But now you are and it's like the universe is laughing at you too for being so dumb, digging the knife in deeper for being so naive. The cassette tapes in your pocket are now as weighted and crushing as stones. 

His tongue slips out past his mouth, lips parting as he takes your fingers into his mouth, licking up the blood there like it's something precious. A drug in short supply. Despite the amusement glinting in his eyes, there's an unmistakable fringe of something intense and determined peeking through it all, as though you've made a bargain that you didn't know you were signing. Etched out your name in blood and written over your soul for the taking. 

"I think you're too sweet to part with, babe. " He places nauseatingly tender kiss to the palm of your hand - a mockery, and dead in the center, where you'd maybe slice your hand for a blood pact, and you know now that you aren't going to escape. At least not with your life intact. His eyes gleam like gold. Like two roaring fire pits. Hellmouths opening wide to consume you, bones, blood and all. 

"I think I might keep you."  

[ink-stainedkiss]

ʜɪᴛᴏꜱʜɪ ꜱʜɪɴꜱᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴɴᴏɴꜱ ꩜

Boyfriend!Shinsou who lives for taking naps with you. Shinso is naturally tired and sleep was a normal thing, but when he found you, it stopped being just a routine. He looked forward to cuddling up, holding you, and listening to your heartbeat. It was the closest Shinso could ever get to peace.

Boyfriend!Shinsou who only lets you and himself hold his cat. He’s always been protective over her since she was a tiny black kitten found cowering in an alleyway. Because she was a rescue, it took a while for her to warm up to anyone, but after lots of months, Eclipse adored Shinso. However, Eclipse’s hesitance toward new people made Shinso slightly nervous to introduce you too, but as he was explaining her behavior, the cat walked right up and purred against your legs, like there was no sign of the hissing fluff ball Shinso had to tame so long ago.

Boyfriend!Shinsou who realized he loved you when you confessed you never found him or his quirk scary. The day it happened will always hold a special place in his heart and he wishes he could relive it over and over.

You both sat atop a small building in-ground beta. You had asked Shinsou to be your training partner for the Sports Festival, which he was utterly shocked to hear, but the work paid off. You both had grown closer and maybe it was just the calming sight of the sunset, but Shinsou felt he could trust you.

“Why would nobody say that? You’re going to be an amazing hero someday.” You said truthfully. Shinsou watched you, trying to find some sort of humor or tease in your tone, but you only stared back with the purest of sincerity,” Do you not think…” he stopped halfway, unsure if asking you this would make you see him different,” Not think what, Shinsou?”

He sighed, turning back to the sun,” Do you not think I’m scary?” Shinsou waited for the hesitance, the words that let him down easy, but he knew the truth. Oddly, Shinsou didn’t hear anything, except for the sound of your giggles,” Is this because of those assholes in your middle school who framed you to be a bad guy?”

He was completely confused and he wasn’t sure if you were mocking him. You shook your head, wiping away a tear,” No, Shinsou. I’m not afraid of you and I never will be.” You confirmed,” I know what your quirk is, but I never believed you would use it for bad. I’m sorry you had to grow up worrying about that.” Your giggles calmed down and you faced the violet-haired boy,” From what you've told me, I know there isn’t any villain in you, so stop thinking people only see the bad in you.”

You stare into his dark magenta eyes and it feels as if the world around the two of you is silent,” Cause I definitely don’t.” It was probably just from the sun, but at that moment, Shinsou saw this light emitting from you and he swore you never looked prettier.

Boyfriend!Shinsou who sometimes uses his capture weapon to get you closer to him or to drag you back if you walk away. He finds the little squeak you let out adorable and during patrols, if it’s pretty dead, he’ll wrap you up just for fun. Also, don’t think that getting angry will make him let you go, cause he’ll just keep calling you hot or cute as you demand to be released.

Boyfriend!Shinsou who really doesn’t have a care in the world if you asked to do his makeup/nails/skincare. He will sit there quietly, occasionally adding comments as you work. Most of the time he’s distracted by your concentrated face.

“Toshi?” You called,” Toshi.” That gets him out of his trance fast enough. The boy blinks, giving you a questioning look,” What?” You give him a disapproving glare,” Did you even hear me? I asked you to turn your head like five times.” Shinsou has only a second to play off his embarrassment, it’s not his fault you’re so gorgeous when you’re focused,” Sorry, just thinking.”

You continue to apply the sticky facial mask, humming in curiosity,” About what?” You lean back, letting him turn back to you. He gives you a lopsided smile, his eyes scanning your face,” You.” You rolled your eyes, mouth open to give him a cocky response, but the boy swooped in, stealing your lips against his. While it’s a loving gesture, you push him off of you as you feel the cold mask rub against your face,” Toshi!”

But he wasn’t having it, completely forgetting the skincare as he placed his hands on your waist and pulled you closer.

Boyfriend!Shinsou who takes mental notes about everything you do or use. Everything. From hair care products to your order at restaurants. You don’t need to tell him what brand of shampoo to get, because he already has it memorized. He watches you constantly, and though it sounds creepy, he’s only trying to learn more about you. (Even if he’s pretty sure he knows more about you than you know yourself.) Not only the items you like but along with places and experiences. He took you out to a cafe once and he noticed how relaxed you look, so that became one of your favorite spots. He understands how you despise the subway trains, how your nose scrunched at the smells and how you clung to him the entire time. Let’s just say that was the last time you ever stepped foot on a train.

[aettuddae]

HONEYCOMB — chapter 9.

— late november, 2013.

꩜ synopsis: the lavier-choi's, a french-korean family from seoul's elite that runs an electric vehicle production business, has been preparing to face a looming economic crisis that could crumble their empire, and it all takes a turn for the worse when, unexpectedly, their patriarch, who headed the company, suddenly passes away. at the news and her mother's desperate call, albany, the eldest daughter, is forced to abandon her life in paris representing france as a professional fencer and return to her homeland to face her mom's old-fashioned whims in order to help the family. amidst all the frenzy, the only positive thing she finds is that, after years, she will be reunited with her siblings and all the friends she grew up with, especially the yu family from across the street.

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[written chapter]

seoul's elite children were a difficult species to deal with. mired in the hysteria of not having everything the world had to offer and the greed of possessing too much even so. convinced that they were the only ones who deserved proper treatment, that the rest deserved no respect, they were driven by the belief instilled by their parents, and possibly the rest of society as well, that they were the best this country had to offer, when in reality most were idiots with possibilities obtained in dubious ways.

when your parents had earned their money through hard work and raised you with dignity and care, it was hard to be an elite child among other elite children.

although not all the children in the choi family had the working principles of their parents, they were nice people, the kind of people who doesn't ask if you're high, middle or lower class before speaking to you.

albany enjoyed the facilities that life had given her, she didn't deny it, after all, without her parents' money she probably wouldn't have been able to dedicate herself to a sport as expensive as fencing, but she had never let it consume her head, never have her material goods been stronger than her moral goods. she wasn't the typical spoiled child who would do everything to keep her fortune, and she wasn't a capricious person either.

as she entered her teenage years she began to notice that she was the opposite of her mother. not everyone in the family could be different from the community in which they lived. during those times they fought a lot, among all the causes, the one that stood out was eveline's need to impose her beliefs and lifestyle on her daughter who did not want that for her and hated to obey her orders.

"albany dress this way," "fencing is not for ladies," "you don't have to help him, that's his job," "do you like any boys? someday you will marry a rich man."

the eldest of the choi daughters was not capricious, but she looked like she was when she constantly had to fight to maintain the identity she was developing before her mother's corrosive hurricane.

eveline was not a bad mother, albany had never lacked for anything and she always had her there when she needed someone to protect her, but she was a complicated woman who could rarely identify the things that others felt or thought. her whole life had been about trying to survive the robot that was her mother who seemed to have an unrelenting operating system with strict orders to hunt albany down and transform her into one of her own.

"you have to attend galas to get contacts and eventually someone to marry."

that was the most annoying one of all the annoying things that could come out of her mother's mouth. she and her father should have been able to distinguish albany's resistance to this idea from a simple tantrum, but her father, as good and understanding as he was, was always at work and her mother was unable to understand why someone wouldn't want to make the life she had.

her parents had met at the '87 seongbuk-dong garden festival. she was never sure if her mother loved her father, but he always told it so excitedly, how she was wearing a long, puffy light blue dress, with her blonde hair tied back and styled in a way that in seoul was not usually seen. he had heard that a new family had recently arrived from france and seeing her face while imagining her accent had only made him more desperate to talk to such a beauty.

her mother told all the stories without much emotion, even the one about minho's birth, which clearly thrilled her, was a bit bland when she narrated it. because of this, it was indecipherable when a memory moved her and when it didn't. she had said a couple of times that her father had come up to her and tried to flatter her beauty with a poor, awkward french, and she had chosen to stay with him because he was the most handsome of all the men at the festival.

of all the rich men at the festival, she chose the handsomest. intelligent woman.

for eveline it was the natural order of things because even when living in france that's what she was taught to do, but albany didn't want to get married, didn't want it at ten years old and didn't want it at twenty-eight. at first, she was just reluctant to the idea, until eventually, she was adding up reasons why she didn't see herself in that scenario.

starting because she didn't want to marry a man, obviously, which over time for society ceased to be relevant, leading her mother to pursue her and suggest that in modern times she could marry a woman if she wanted to. but it was more than that, she didn't want to feel that she belonged to someone, that her life depended on another person, she didn't want to be somebody's woman. she wanted to make a name for herself, to stand out on her own, to fulfill her dreams. her great and only love had always been fencing and it would be with this that she would marry, she had no intention of being a housewife or working in her family's company so she could provide for her partner, that did not excite her. the idea of having to neglect her goals for someone else did not move her. besides that, she had never loved something or someone as much as she loved her vocation.

"if i ever get married it will be because i loved someone else more than my dreams." albany used to say when she and jimin would discuss what they would do in the future.

and although she had loved people, never more.

it took a while for both her parents to understand this decision, until they got tired of asking her to find a wife and let her move to paris. still, when they wanted to send her to her first gala before that, albany made such a fuss about not attending, that she managed to put it off for two years.

the gala's. you dressed up in the most elegant gowns designed by the most important names just for you, and at your fifteenth you attended for the first time. they were events where connections were created, you not only looked for a partner, but also for friendships, future colleagues who could help you in the working and economic world. contacts.

the children arrived there with goals in mind, already knowing the relevant names of who they should approach. they had their heads washed by their families desirous of money and power, they were trained to look for the same and to use whoever they could get their hands on. there were exceptions of course, but most of the friendships they had now in their late twenties were fictitious, conventional because as children they were not taught to create genuine bonds.

at these events, which lasted for a six-month season, there were dances that you had to know by heart and if you didn't it was because you hadn't received the proper education, it was full of the sons with the most relevant surnames in the country. extensive tables filled with delicacies made by the best chefs, which tended to be albany's favorite part, classical music performed live, and decorations that looked like something out of a fairy tale.

they were beautiful, but boring as watching grass grow.

and albany wanted neither a husband nor more friends than she already had, so she refused to expose herself to so many unpleasant people in such a mediocre environment. once, when she was sixteen, she had such a fierce fight with her mother not to attend one of these, that she ended up locked up camping in her room with no interaction with the outside for two weeks, being fed by jimin who had the spidery ability to climb up to her window developed to perfection.

it was only when she reached seventeen that she agreed to attend her first gala, being of her class who later made her debut, thanks to the pleas of minho who by then had attended more of these events than one could bear. he swore he just wanted to see her make new friends and that it would be fun because he would be there with her, although years later she learned that their mother forced him to convince her. albany admired minho more than anyone else in the world and would do anything for him, so she agreed. they had a huge fight when he ended up not spending any time with her during the night, but they worked it out because in the end minho was just acting like an idiot man at twenty-one, and he apologized as soon as he realized how wrong he had been.

when she finally learned the reason why minho had begged her to attend her first of many gala's she ended up going to, any hard feelings left over from that altercation dissipated. more than anyone else she knew how hard it was to say no to eveline lavier.

her only condition for accepting that time was that jimin would accompany her. she wasn't willing to face a night like that on her own, even less so when she knew she would be heavily judged for being an older debutante than the others. so she convinced the yu parents to let little fourteen-year-old jimin be her plus one, and they agreed, mostly because the blackhaired would never have let them say no.

that night she was wearing a dress that eveline had sent a guy with an unpronounceable last name to design for her personally and jimin, who was not going as a debutante but as a chaperone, was wearing one of the dresses she already had in her closet for special events.

"what's the ugliest dress?" asked karina after entering the main hall with her arm tied to the older one's, scanning the group of people in extravagant outfits and hairstyles.

"jimin, it's wrong to ask that!" she slapped the hand she used to hold her. "but that brown one strikes me as an insult to fashion." she twisted her mouth in disgust, making the younger girl giggle as she pointed as dissembled as possible to a girl wearing garments with numerous ruffles of such a color.

"yes, it is ugly." she agreed in amusement. "but no more than that one." she pointed to a yellow one with a tail, both joining in laughter again.

they ignored all the dances that started on the dance floor, as jimin barely knew them and albany didn't care to remember them after not having practiced them for two years. they stood near the table and as slyly as they could they kept some food, as it was not well seen to eat away from the table, and then went to the patio of the place to eat while they chatted and joked about the event.

"i'm bored." warned the blonde, wiping her hands after finishing a piece of cake she had managed to hide and carry all the way outside.

"what should we do?" the other girl thought aloud.

they both kept silent as they contemplated the options the event offered, which weren't very flashy, and looking all around for something that was like a miracle. albany turned her head back and saw the bush entrance. in places like the one they were in there were always wide gardens to sit in or explore, in that specific one there was a short and narrow patio that connected to a beautiful rose garden that was strictly forbidden to enter during the gala, it was reserved for meetings during the morning and afternoon.

"jimin." she spoke with her eyes on the archway of leaves.

the youngest brought her attention to it to understand what it needed, and noticing her with her gaze wandering to the background, she searched for that which she was observing with her own eyes.

"oh." she vocalized as she found the target. "yes." she agreed, needing neither to explain anything else.

they quickly stood up, leaving the remains of what they were eating on the stool they were previously sitting on. they scanned their surroundings, confirming that most of the people were inside the room and outside there were only a couple who weren't paying attention to them. jimin took albany by the hand and began to take quick steps making the older girl follow her, heading to the place they had both set as their destination. the entrance was always open, hoping that people would behave and not pass by, but they didn't count on two best friends with nothing better to do.

they passed the archway and without letting go of each other began to walk through the dark, empty park. their phones had been taken at the entrance as to use the flashlight for illumination. it was barely visible as the walls of vines that enveloped the place blocked the city light and the moon wasn't particularly bright that night. as they wandered, something flew over the blonde, which, because it was night, she assumed must have been a bat. with the creature that had flown close to her and this realization of what it could be, the girl became upset and began to punch at the air, afraid that the animal had landed on her clothes. jimin tried to help her and calm her down, but there was not much she could do. not seeing well because of the darkness and the sudden movements she was making, albany didn't notice that the backward steps she was taking were leading her to a fountain full of water.

her ankles collided with the edge of the water and albany lost her balance. jimin, who was following her trying to calm her down, stretched out her arms with the intention of holding her, but didn't make it in time before the girl fell into the water. jimin covered her mouth in surprise and a little because she didn't want her to see her laughing at how stupid the situation had been, while albany finally stopped moving as half of her body was wet.

the blonde raised her head in search of some reaction from her best friend, who at first managed to hide it, but a few seconds later it was very obvious that she was laughing.

"hey!" she groaned as she noticed how entertained the younger girl was by all this.

choi, still submerged in the fountain, flicked the water in the girl's direction, but the splash barely reached her. in the end she could do nothing but join in their laughter. once they calmed down she showed her hands, wordlessly asking her to help her up, to which jimin agreed. the girl approached, grabbed the older one and when she was about to start pulling, she was drawn in the direction of the structure, without time to react to what was happening and resist, she fell on top of the older one, soaking herself as well.

jimin rested her weight on her hands, which she positioned on either side of albany's waist, and lifted her torso enough to be able to look at the blonde with shock, her mouth open in surprise, condemning her in her mind for what she had just done. she threw her body to the side, causing the water to jump and hit choi again, who, in vain, covered herself with her arms. once away from albany, jimin began to throw water at her, annoying her as a consequence of her actions, causing her to do the same and starting a war between the two of them.

after a moment, albany stood up as quickly as she could, her dress and hair in disarray and dripping, and then got out. she offered to help the younger girl to do it too and the latter, after looking at her with suspicion for a moment, accepted. once they were both out, albany gave her a mischievous look and jimin felt nervous about what was to happen, only to be caught in an embrace by her best friend who was completely covered in water and was now finishing wetting the parts of her that remained dry. she lifted her off the ground, shaking her body a bit, and letting her go finally, not before taking her face in her hands, pulling her close and leaving a long, loud kiss on her cheek, to which jimin pretended to vomit.

"thank you for coming with me, fée." she said sincerely.

"anything for you, bany." she gave her cheek a squeeze. "now how do we get back with our clothes all wet?" she looked down at herself.

"don't worry." a third voice suddenly joined the conversation as they were illuminated by flashlights, startling them. "we've already spotted them." reported with obviousness the head of events who was in charge of the gala and had appeared in front of them with two more authorities.

(!)

taglist [OPEN] : @cwpiqwon @yoontoonwhs @aeriuchinarga @sixflame438 @yeetaberry127 @1luvkarina @masuowo @saysirhc @rinapomu @aliceiwk @nwjnsloona @arihiu

[aspenicus-is-learning]

pullpin fic rapidly approaching 20k... here is a snippet

The 2028 Formula 1 season kicks off on March 10th in Australia, and Doriane has never felt so much like a zoo animal. 

It was bad in testing—it was bad in F2, and F3, and F4, and F1 Academy, and WEC—but this is like nothing before. Everyone is fucking learing at her, constantly. Not so much the drivers—or, at least, not all of them. Ugo is a rookie along with her this year, and he’s had some time to get used to her, so have Alex (Powell), and Dino, to a certain extent, he’s lived with Maya so he knows how to act—but most of the male media personnel, some of the more… enthusiastic fans, and a lot of mechanics and other team members. The Audi people are great, pretty much universally (some of the mechanics on Logan’s side of the garage seem… uncomfortable, but Doriane isn’t working with them, so it’s fine). 

Their eyes are just… Constant, from the moment Doriance comes into view. Logan seems to be trying to distract her from the fact everyone is always looking, trying at every turn to catch her attention, though not in a way that makes her think of anything more than a little kid who can tell something’s wrong, whose only course of action is distraction. 

It’s working, a little bit. At the very least, Doriane appreciates the effort. It’s kind. 

Media day is the worst of the weekend, though. When Doriane can get in the car, when she can drown everything out in the roaring of engines—F2 is here, and F3, so the sounds of the cars are pretty constant, and always soothing. Doriane has always loved the sound of this sport, the smell of it, the feeling it gave the air. 

The car is… Fine. Doriane has had better cars, and certainly she has had worse cars, done good things in worse cars. They won’t be looking for podiums, not on normal weekends, but points should be coming consistently. It will be okay. 

Doriane knows, with this chance, Abbi would be able to do so much more than Doriane knows she will achieve. With this chance, she could have already done it so much better. So much more in the way of progress, so much for the rest of non-men in motorsports. Doriane is an activist because she has to be, a historian because she has to be, a symbol because she has to be. Abbi was made for these roles, made to be the figurehead of this community. 

They want Doriane’s body, but they need Abbi’s mind. Where Doriane does her job as a woman in this world with a sense of duty, learns the past so well she dreams in black and white and the faded yellow of Lella Lombardi’s car with an air of necessity, and crafts herself to a picture of perseverance like a soldier going to war, Abbi enjoys these tasks. Enjoys the process of creating a god, creating the ideal of divinity needed to survive. She likes to learn the history, loves to fight people about women’s place in this high tower, and enjoys every second of promised godhood, every tiny drop of ambrosia that the world supplies her. 

Abbi would thrive in this environment for all the reasons Doriane loves her—she is loud and happy and bubbling and relentlessly joyful, in the face of everything. (Lately, that shine had been wearing, at least in private, but.) Abbi was sunshine, she was light, and she lived for the roar of the crowd the way Doriane lived for the roar of the engine. 

TELL ME YOUR FAVORITE LINE I BEG OF YOU <3

[to-the-stars8]

Home for the Holidays

Jason Todd & Dick Grayson & Tim Drake All Chapters Ao3

December 21, Salt Lake City, UT

They made it to Salt Lake City by sunrise, Jason having pushed the pedal til the car was practically begging for gas, where they stopped for breakfast. Dick bought them breakfast with ten of the thirty dollars they had, while the rest went toward the car.

When Jason returned from the gas station he sat in the booth next to Tim where he began to take his designated hashbrown and sausage biscuit.  

“Jesus Christ, this is good! I think I might spend the rest of the money on another biscuit,” Jason said with his mouth full. That caught Dick’s attention and he ordered Jason to show him the money. Once Jason threw two twenties on the table, far more than they had before, he demanded to know how he got it. “Relax, I didn’t steal it. What do you think I am?”

“Just be careful, Jason, we can’t be screwing around,” Dick said in a low tone, taking the money. 

Tim knew that was a bad idea, and it was only confirmed when Jason reached across the table to grab Dick’s arm. People in the restaurant turned to look at the two of them, which made Dick easily give up the money. 

“Fuck you,” Jason seethed before getting up, grabbing the money and Tim’s sausage biscuit before walking off. 

“Asshole,” The youngest boy called after, leaning over to take Dick’s food. “Consider this payment for acting up.”

“Shut up,” Dick said, looking around at the people now watching them. It made him antsy, and, if Bruce were here, he’d be getting a look for not having better control over the situation. “Give me half, at least.”

“No, you shouldn’t have pissed him off,” Tim said, holding the biscuit close.

“He shouldn’t have stolen that money,” Dick whispered-yelled back. 

“Did you hear what he said? He didn’t steal anything. Money-wise.”

“And you believe him?”

“What if I do?” 

Dick reached over and took a sip of his soda. “Then, how about you go join him in the car.”

Tim looked out the window next to the booth to see the back of Jason’s head through the truck’s back window. He was mid-sip of a soda before he turned it to look toward the busy road, and, after staring for a few seconds, Tim began to slide out of the booth.

Dick was shocked his little brother actually followed through with the suggestion and watched as he walked across the parking lot, hugging himself as he did, before hopping into the car. 

With a grumble, Dick went through his pocket for the five bucks he had hidden away to buy himself another sausage biscuit. 

*** 

Jason hadn’t expected Tim to suddenly hop into the car with him, say nothing, and start munching away on food. He tried to act like the boy wasn’t there, but couldn’t help but to glance at him every few minutes or so. The air between them felt awkward considering their history. 

“Rockin’ around the Christmas tree, at the Christmas party hop,” The radio played. 

Tim groaned before harshly beginning to change the radio station. “I fucking hate Christmas.”

Jason wanted to say he was surprised by that, but with the black clothes Tim was sporting it was obvious. The kid, while not overtly edgy, did have a sort of angsty teen phase going on. Jay would have related to it if he hadn’t died at fifteen. Suddenly, a rock band was blasting through the car speakers before Tim slowly turned the volume down. 

“So, you hate Christmas…why?”

The kid sat back and shrugged, picking at his food. “I wouldn’t say I hate it. The holidays always felt like a chore– My parents wanted to get Christmas over with, so I never really got to have the fun parts.”

“Oh,” Was all Jason could say. 

“Don’t get all emotional on me now,” Tim joked. “Don’t want it to end up like last time, ya know?”

Jason wanted to be angry, but he had to admit it was a bit funny–He even let out a little snicker before offering Tim half of the sausage biscuit. There was hesitance, but eventually, it was slid across the seat and onto the dashboard to save for later. After a minute or two of silently eating, Tim finally asked about the money. 

“There’s a senior living home right around the corner, I told them I’d clear their walkway of snow in under an hour for twenty bucks. Did it, but then an old lady asked me to help change her tire. She gave me the money even though I said no,” Jason said like it was just another day for him. 

“Why didn’t you just tell Dick that,” Tim quietly asked. 

Jason shrugged before telling him it wouldn’t have changed Dick’s mind about anything. Tim stared down at the road in front of him as he thought. He recalled Bruce telling him that Jason died because he was reckless and angry– The opposite of what a Robin should have been. Robins were meant to be obedient. Loyal. Even Dick had mentioned that Tim’s predecessor didn’t have the same control he did, and his disobedience cost him his life–sounding a little too much like Bruce rather than the kind, funny brother he usually was. 

Tim’s first impression of Jason had been exactly what he expected. The man who showed up at Titans tower a few years ago was angry, and he had become an outlet for Bruce’s neglect. Jason had quietly and awkwardly apologized, but that didn’t erase the memory for Tim. Even Jason had admitted he knew that. 

“Maybe you should mention it to him,” Tim said as he noticed a snowflake fall onto the windshield. “He won’t be on your ass as much.”

Just like the Devil’s name was spoken, Dick had appeared at the passenger side window. Opening the door, he leaned in to see if anything was amiss before snatching the biscuit off the dashboard. 

“Hey!”

“Move over,” He said, mouth full, and pushed Tim toward Jason. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jay said. “You’re driving. I want a nap.”

Dick groaned before switching places. Starting the engine, they pulled back out onto the highway. 

They hardly got a mile down the road before Dick mumbled under his breath, “The hell is playing?” And promptly changed the station to Christmas tunes again.

[ewwww-what]

Nobody is as excited about the preview as I am. I have paragraphs.

[demaparbat-hp]

Toph as a Goalball player 💪💚

[awkwardrocker]

The funniest part about George's meltdown today is that it was wholly unnecessary.

All he had to do was come out today and go, "I said my side of the story in the stewards and obviously Max didn't take kindly to that but what's done is done and we'll move on."

But instead he tried to go scorched earth and it made him look so much worse.

[collophora]

Hi there !!! I wanted to let you know your bad batch art is BEAUTIFUL I'm always happy to see it cross my dash!! Your art style is so pretty and I love the way you draw Tech!!

Do you have anymore sketches of Tech we haven't seen yet? No pressure <3!!! Have a lovely day :DD

Oh my that's so sweet thank you! éAè <3 <3 <3 Hughhhhh well since you ask nicely I dug into my wip folder and found a sketch ^^