#keeps one thing for himself but people are not quite things . . .

[mixingandmelting]

Grocery Shopping

Summary: he goes grocery shopping with you for the first time

A/N: Damian's a little shorter considering his age and it would become a whole fic on it's own to talk what would happen with him 😂

Dick:

It’ll be fine, he said. Things will still go well, he said. He tried everything with you, keeping your hands in his, linking arms, keeping you between the cart and himself.  No matter what you both did, without fail, he ends up getting separated from you, quite tragically he might add. Now look at him, benched on one of the benches in the middle of the store in the result of getting lost who-knows-how-many-times from searching for you in the sea of people (all puns intended). 

Okay, so maybe he should’ve listened to you about never going to the store on the last day of sales. And all the other rules he had brushed off when you told him. However, he didn’t think the store would be  this  jammed packed with people treating it as a battle ground. There’s not a single villain in sight. No signs of foul play. Yet there’s civilians elbowing each other, fighting with their lives on the line.

“Is this, you know, normal???” 

“What do you mean? Have you ever shopped for groceries before?” 

He lets out a puff of air in frustration. This was supposed to be a couple’s date. One of those cozy-esque ones where he gets to spend more time with you in a normal setting. 

But It’s okay. He’s okay. You’ll be back soon and he’ll at least get to cuddle with you when waiting at the line that snakes from one to another corner of the store. Right? So let’s just hope no else finds out about this.

Cue his phone vibrating. Please don’t be what he thinks it is. Please don’t be what he think it is. He opens the text. 

… Dammit all. 

Of course it’s Tim asking if the person on the bench was him. Who else would attach a low res picture that’s obviously from the security camera ? In the group chat of all places too. Slowly he places his phone in his lap and rests his head on the cart. Never is he ever going to ignore those rules again. 

Jason:

He utterly underestimated the whole thing. He has to physically push and shove through people to take a step forward with a cart. He keeps having mini-heart attacks the second the warmth of your hands around his arm disappears from the fear of losing you, only for you to reappear next him with food and toiletries. At least he doesn’t have to worry about people putting their hands and taking stuff from the two of you as everyone so far quickly got second thoughts as soon as they took a glance at him. 

But the worst part wasn’t this. Rather-

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, pal!”

He leans over the handle, groaning as he rubs his face with his hands. Ugh. Just how many times does this make? Standing back up, he turns around and throws the same glare he’s already given to the five other guys he accidentally bumped shoulders with. And like them, this guy too flinches as he crane his head up from Jason towering over him. Then comes the stuttering “my bad” before booking it with his girl in tow. Tt. Pathetic. 

In his head, he realizes two things: one, you’re always right, and two, never suggest grocery shopping on a weekend afternoon. It explains why you were so irritated when he did and now? He’s going to lose it if anything, ANYTHING, happens at the cashier line (he saw how long it was when entering the store. It’s going to be at least an hour of waiting to even get close to the front). 

“Jason! Hurry up!”

Snapping his head towards the direction of your voice and he has so many questions. Since when did you grab the rest of the groceries? How did you get the other end of the store that quickly? 

With that, he sighs and quickly heads towards you, worried your arms might fall off or you getting hurt in general from how you’re trying to hold everything without dropping a single item. 

Tim:

He’s educated. He’s done his research on grocery shopping and knows the rules and what's in each aisle. So trust him to choose a time where it’s not too early and there aren't a lot of people, in hopes he could fulfill the couple’s goal of having wholesome bonding moments. But of course, putting what’s theoretical into real practice comes with a challenge. 

“Why is the cheese in the meat section?”

“Who places cereal next to the chips?”

“Is it even legal to have soda in the alcohol aisle???” 

This was not what was written on the blueprints. Breakfast aisle is meant to have breakfast foods, snacks aisle having the chips, and for fuck sake, is cheese not dairy? He was already concerned about how easily he cracked through security and accessed the blueprints. Now he’s wondering how in the world this store is functioning at all. There’s nothing special they’re selling nor are the prices cheaper. He genuinely can’t see why this place ranks so high in Gotham among the other grocery stores. 

The only reason for him to stay somewhat sane is your presence. Sticking right next to him where shoulders continually brush against each other whenever you two walk and sometimes placing a hand over his to placate him whenever he’s getting close. He appreciates it at the same time not whenever he catches you turning your head away from him. The tips of his ears burn but at least you’re trying stifle your laughter. 

“Come on, we’re almost done.” 

With a thud, his eyes widen when he recognizes the familiar logo on the case you dropped into the cart. Eyes going back between you and the case, he tears up as he finds out you’re the one that’s been restocking his energy drink with his favorite brand and flavor. He proceeds to nuzzle his cheek against your shoulder, thinking grocery shopping wasn’t so bad after all. 

Duke:

Many in the family other than Alfred don't understand nor appreciate the art of grocery shopping. But him? He knows the rules. Don’t get groceries on a weekend. Buy them in the morning rather than the afternoon. Fresh produce last, boxed and canned food first. Like please, he’s done it so many times that it’s a walk in a park. He even knows the go-to brands and their knockoffs if the store runs out of the former.

Shopping with you, there’s no hesitation when he turns the cart, heading towards the direction of the next destination for the next thing on the list. He weaves through the few people in the store while keeping your hand between his and the cart’s handle. At some point, joining you in inspecting and picking out which of the packaged food and produce to get. 

“Did you get the Spaghetti?” 

“Yeah, but you cool if we get this brand? It practically tastes the same as the other one and it’s buy-one-get-one free.” 

From how everything’s going with a breeze, he does all sorts of couple’s shopping shenanigans with you. Pushing you on the cart with your arms out like Superman, racing you to the end of the aisle. The only “problem” he would say the two of you are having at the moment are over snacks and soda. It started out with him preferring double-stuffed Oreos while you insisted Thin-Mints were better. Then the classic Pepsi vs Coca-Cola. 

“Tell me, are you going to eat my fruit snacks?” 

You’re holding a box of fruit snacks and shaking them in the air, waiting for him to give you the actual answer. So far, he’s been exercising his rights to remain silent by keeping his head turned away from you, shuffling side to side. And it’s helping him win, snorting when you huff and dramatically roll your eyes in annoyance before tossing them into the cart. Nice.

Damian: 

Everyone always assumes he doesn’t understand nor know what grocery shopping is. Oh, but how wrong they are. Grocery shopping with him could easily equate to being on a mission. He goes to your place and wakes you up at 7:17 AM on a Wednesday morning, demanding you get ready to go out while ignoring all your questions and protests about being woken up at an ungodly hour, on a day-off from school nonetheless. It’s as if he’s done grocery shopping his whole life, getting nit-picky over the quality of the fruit and vegetables while checking expiration dates on the back of the box of tea before placing them into the cart. 

It seems as if he’s being inconsiderate, expecting you to keep up with him while he’s trying to get done as efficiently as he can. In reality, he’s only trying to impress you with his vast knowledge and skills. Think of it as talking to someone who can identify fake versus real Prada bags. He’s dropping hints on how to tell if the eggs are fresh or not based on the shells, which bag of onions are the oldest. Comes off pretentious however, all with good intentions. Well, and also to impress you in his skills of knowing how to shop for groceries. But that's meh. 

Don’t think he isn’t noticing you sneaking things into the cart. He’s simply choosing to turn a blind eye to it, though his heart string twings when he recognizes half of them are his favorites. When you come back from who knows where, he grabs your hand and keeps it in his hand without a word, earning a grin from you while his cheeks turn dusty pink.

[krillonthegrill]

my parents are two people currently holding the line. my mom told me about the email the night before and she also made fun of the wording because it was absolutely written by Elon Musk, a guy who doesn't know how things work on the federal level and a guy who thinks he can scam 2 million workers like he did the Twitter employees

they are seeing people in their department being visibly shaken up - my mom had to talk her boss (who i've known for my entire life and absolutely adore) down from convincing himself to quit. she's had to talk to her younger colleagues who may not have the stomach for this kind of stuff and i'm sure some of them DID quit (and do not judge those who do quit - this is so emotionally taxing and people are absolutely losing time off their lives for the amount of stress they are being put under)

she and my dad are basically shutting off everything to keep themselves sane, because what they ACTUALLY want is to just go back to work and do their fucking jobs. Trump and all of his bullshit drama is making that extremely hard, but they have no intent on leaving. they've worked too hard to just give it up. they're basically just waiting for him to shut the fuck up

delusion tells Donald Trump and his lackies gutting the federal workforce will be easy. reality says it will not, and these workers are holding the line valiantly, as are their unions

support them and let them know we have their backs. we are lucky that our government system is as interwoven as it is and that people can't just ignore this - even Republicans can't. contact your reps and senators, i sent a message to both my Senators (Democrats) and my other reps who are Republican. i will probably be calling them soon.

do not shut up. i'm so serious, be super loud in your opposition

CALLING YOUR REPS is what shook Trump's federal funding freeze. one of my senators posted on his website that the hundreds of calls he got is what made him say something. my other senator is very openly saying what this is - a scam and a scare tactic

look up their names and usually their website will pop up. we are in a very fragile state right now, and all the pushback that's happening is to slow Trump down as much as physically possible and to not let him get away with this bullshit. so support your communities and the people who WORK FOR YOU right now. they need to know that people care about them

If you’re an American federal employee and got an email saying “it’s ok to quit your job.” Do not, for the love of everything, quit your job. This is purely a scare tactic to get rid of as many people as possible without legal consequences.

[emmg]

He wrestles with a feverish appetite, this crude and uninvited urge that intrudes at its own whim—though, really, when would such thoughts be welcome? It is not refined, not proper, to sit opposite her and let his mind wander to the gloss of her lips, to wonder how she might taste, to wish that the mascarpone she savors so languidly were his own flesh, heavy and impatient. 

He despises himself for it—wants to be better, finer, something more than hunger in its basest form. And yet, he wants. Sweetness, yes; kindness, yes; love in all its quiet splendor—but also salt and sweat, the lush, slippery heat between her legs, his or hers or both, some mingled thing he might catch on his fingers, press back inside her, trace along her trembling thighs as he coaxes her to completion. 

But it is not only this. No, his disease is greater, more humiliating still. He thinks of grand, maudlin absurdities. Of flowers left on windowsills, of rings slipped onto fingers, of days spent making memories out of nothing. And it is this, not lust, that he fears might truly appall her. Because hunger, after all, is easy to satisfy. It is love, foolish and relentless, that tends to send people running. 

You mustn’t be so sentimental, someone had murmured that to him once. He can no longer summon the speaker’s face, nor their voice, nor even their gender, only the ghostly trace of the words themselves, breathed or sighed, said once or, more likely, many times.

It became, in those gauzy, amber-lit years of his youth, something of a running jest. An affectionate, exasperated refrain, volleyed at him with the regularity of a well-worn melody. 

"Don’t fucking propose to the waitress, Volkarin. She’s bringing you a beer, not subtly signaling that she wants to die in your arms," Johanna would mutter, leaning back against the sticky wood of some dimly lit tavern, where they debated spirits over spirits.

"They’re funding your research, Emmrich, not secretly applying to be the mother of your children."

"Your new assistant is very handsome. Try not to hyperventilate when he hands you a quill."

He laughed along. It was funny, after all. Until, inevitably, it wasn’t. Until the joke, fossilized through sheer, relentless overuse, lost its shape and became a dull thing, something to stub his patience against. Until his forced little chuckles gave way to eye-rolls, to abrupt departures, to a growing sense that he was, in fact, trapped in some long-running farce penned by a particularly untalented playwright.

They were all married now, every last one of them—the tireless jesters, the committee of mirth who, years later, still found delight in flogging the same long-dead horse. And he wasn’t. Not that he was alone, of course. He had his affairs, his amusements, his charming little entanglements. But still, from time to time, a most delicate and specific malice stirred in him. 

He wanted to dig up some particularly malicious little corpse, whisper something truly awful to it, and dispatch it to haunt them. Not in any grand, dramatic fashion. No moaning, no rattling of chains. Just a gentle, relentless nuisance. A ghost of mild inconvenience. A door that won’t quite shut. A draft they can’t find. A whisper when they’re shaving. A misplaced document on the morning of a big presentation. 

The sort of thing a petty man might dream up. And he has, after all, always been petty.

He tried, though. He tries still. To smooth the edges of his affections, to hush the operatic swell of his heart, to trade grand declarations for something gentler, something more palatable. Not entirely, of course—self-betrayal is a vulgar thing. But enough. Just enough to keep from frightening them, from scattering them like startled birds. 

For Rook, mostly. Because Rook is not like him. Rook does not do sentiment. Rook has the supreme, indifferent ease of someone born beautiful, the kind of beauty that turns heads and opens doors without so much as a sidelong glance of acknowledgment. Rook has never had to earn affection—it accumulates around her the way cigarette smoke clings to velvet. Rook rolls her eyes at poetry. Rook, with her lazy smirk and her miraculous ability to construct entire, fully functional sentences composed exclusively of obscenities.

He loves Rook very, very much. He suspects Rook loves him too, in her own peculiar way. She smiles, she laughs, she allows him his embarrassing little effusions, even kisses him for his trouble—then, with perfect timing, calls him a dweeb and steals the last sip of his drink. 

It’s fine. He’s learned to translate. In Rook’s private dialect, dweeb means yes, fine, I suppose you amuse me, a kiss means I would be inconvenienced by your untimely death, and drinking the last of his whiskey? That, of course, is a vow of eternal devotion. Or something like that.

It all collapses into a feverish, tangled catastrophe one evening. A breathless, ill-advised implosion of longing and lust and something dangerously adjacent to reverence. She is so, so beautiful, and he wants to touch her, of course, but also—he wants to read to her. Not the dull, airless sonnets, no, but the real poetry, the ones thick with scandal, with sin, the ones that might cajole that sharp little smirk from her lips. Maybe while his fingers are inside her. Maybe precisely then.

He wants to coax pleasure from her, whispering thick, illicit syllables against her skin, punctuating each lewd phrase with the curl of his knuckles, just to see how the two mingle, just to see which makes her gasp first. To see if she’ll arch into it, if she’ll moan, if she’ll laugh. Because of course she’ll laugh. She always does. Even when he licks his fingers clean, even when he settles between her thighs, even when he finds his own satisfaction in the aftermath of hers, she will be laughing. 

It happens like that, and yet, not like that at all. Because as he collapses against her, boneless and spent, something dreadful and unmistakable unfurls in his chest—too late, of course, always too late. His sentimentality, that incurable affliction, has caught up with him at last, threading itself through his ribs, pressing its damp, foolish hands against his throat. 

He bows his head to her chest, breathing her in, willing himself to contain it, to gather the wet, trembling edges of his absurd little heart and tuck them out of sight. Perhaps she will not notice. Perhaps she will feel only the smile he presses into her skin, as if that might smother the rest. 

A silence—brief, terrible, perceptive. 

"Oh no," she says, and he feels her fingers weave into his hair, loose and lazy and terribly knowing. "What the fuck did I do?" 

He shakes his head—not much, nothing at all, everything. Just a little.

"Nothing, my darling," he says, only slightly unsteady. "Nothing at all. I am—" a soft exhale, an almost-laugh, "—very happy." He swallows. Feels the first pangs of self-reproach begin to bloom, acid-sweet. "Only… allow me a moment to gather myself. It will pass." 

A brief caress at the base of his neck. Then, just as he begins to sink into it, she shifts, shoves, displaces him. He rolls onto his back, compliant, expectant, and she follows, settling astride him, her thighs bracketing his ribs, her cool hands framing his face. 

"Happy?" she confirms. 

"Yes, happy." 

"Hm." A small, satisfied noise. "Good. Happy and pretty. You’re so very pretty." 

She does not elaborate—she never does—but she kisses him. Thoroughly. His cheeks first, then his chin, the arch of his brow, the slow, methodical placement of lips upon skin, like affixing wax seals to letters never meant to be sent. His eyes, last. She drags a fingertip down, drawing his lids closed as if dimming a lamp. Then, the press of her mouth, warm, dry, familiar. And then—oh.

The flick of her tongue, feline and quick, slips between his lashes, parting what she has only just sealed, grazing the raw, unguarded wet beneath. He flinches; she giggles, breath skimming his cheek, unreasonably pleased with herself. 

She does it again, slower this time, the tip of her tongue tracing the curve of his eyelid. Then once more, lower now, across the ridge of his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. A methodical, absentminded mapping—kisses pressed to skin with no particular urgency, a grazing of teeth when the impulse strikes her. He lies still beneath her, utterly at her mercy, though she is hardly in a hurry to exploit it. She seems content merely to taste him, her breath leaving damp traces that cool, then tighten, then disappear. 

Chocolate, yes, still lingering from earlier, something dark and rich that settles at the back of his throat just from breathing her in. Salt, too, a faint sting where sweat beads along the curve of her upper lip. 

Finally, an exhale. A minute adjustment of her weight as she lifts her head, pleased, apparently, with whatever inscrutable calculation she has been making. A kiss, light as a comma, stamped onto the very center of his mouth. 

“There you go,” she announces, stretching her arms overhead, yawning into her wrist, smiling that slow, pleased smile of hers. “All cleaned up. Not a tear in sight, since you seem to find your own emotions so mortifying.” 

"Thank you," he says, and, disastrously, feels like he might start crying again. 

"Mm-hm." A pause. Her fingers tapping absently against his cheek. "There’s a joke in here somewhere." 

"Is there?"

A frown, thoughtful, exaggerated, her brows knitting together in careful concentration before giving way to a terrible smile. "Yes." A beat. Then, the telltale flicker of something truly indecent behind her eyes. "Something about staying hydrated. Or maybe—" a pause, as if she is weighing her options "—eating out your third eye." 

He laughs then immediately chokes as she presses her hand to his throat for balance, the casual weight of it cutting off just enough air to send his body into brief, ungraceful revolt. 

"Never short on dreadful puns, I see." His voice, when it returns, is slightly hoarse. 

"Never," she agrees. Then, with a flourish of indulgence, she leans down again, kissing his eyelids one by one. “So you continue doing this—” kiss, kiss, kiss “—and I'll continue doing that.” 

Disgracefully, absurdly, he cries again, even as she laughs, even as her laughter spreads like ink in water, pulling him under, until the whole thing disintegrates into some ungovernable mixture of mirth and misery. He is laughing too—helplessly, wet-faced, ridiculous—and she, entirely unbothered by his descent into sentimentality, licks at the salt on his cheeks like a cat, or perhaps some particularly devoted dog, calling him pretty, pretty, pretty in that lazy, drawling way of hers, as if the word itself were a charm, a refrain, a verdict.

He wants to ask her why—why this word, why now, why, of all possible things, she has settled on this ludicrous, ill-fitting descriptor as he lies before her, blotchy and unsightly and utterly, embarrassingly undone. But she only snorts into his collarbone, her breath warm, unbothered, and the chant continues, pretty, pretty, pretty, until he is left with no choice but to accept it.

In the morning, his eyes are red. Lucanis notices. Davrin notices. The two, incapable of letting a thing be, set about turning his misfortune into sport, taking turns to see who can unearth the most appallingly indecent explanation.

He feels a migraine approaching. 

And then Rook arrives, deposits a cup of coffee into his hands, and, without so much as a glance at him, declares, “He snorted too much powder last night. Leave him alone.” 

Ah. 

Oh.

He sits there, staring at her, vaguely appalled, impossibly infatuated, hopelessly starry-eyed. Very well, then. She has let sentiment in—however unwittingly, however carelessly—and now she will drown in it. And then, once she is thoroughly waterlogged, he will buy her all the gold in Nevarra. 

[crescenthistory]

2K IS SO WELL DESERVED 💓💓

Please could you analyse a relationship (maybe how it starts/people finding out) between barty and potter!reader or black sister!reader 💓

thank you kindly sweetheart<33 i did poly!bartylus x potter!reader here, so i'm choosing the noble house of black scenario here lols. i loved this one so much, especially dynamic 2, so someone feel free to request a full version once i open my regular requests 🙂↕️🙂↕️

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i will ANALYSE barty crouch jr. with black!sister!reader

carina's 2k celebration

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cw: reference to walburga and orion's excellent parenting (abuse), fem!reader, sibling troubles, precocious barty

regulus was barty's first best friend and he is fiercely loyal to him, to a fault

however, he is loyal within barty's own moral compass, which, as we know, is a quite unique one

meaning he is "if i see you jumping someone, i'm jumping them with you, no questions asked" loyal and "if you are upset, it is my sworn duty to make you feel different" but he is NOT "your sister is off limits loyal"

which they both find out randomly one day, more or less like this:

"salazar's soggy balls, your sister is proper fit"

"EXCUSE ME?"

queue regulus whacking barty like he's a dog getting reprimanded while barty shrieks and yells some incoherent excuse like "what? she is???"

how it goes from there depends on which dynamic you have with the black brothers

i see two primary ones:

you were either really close with regulus and thus have a more problematic but still close relationship with sirius

OR you really looked up to sirius, which made regulus distance himself for you for periods of time

(the latter one prompts much more angst in the getting together process, naturally – in a good way)

DYNAMIC 1 (regulus centred)

if you and regulus are really close, you would be brought into the slytherin skittles from the get go and thus would have a friends to lovers arc with barty

after regulus whacked barty for drooling over "my baby sister" (you're like. eleven months younger than him.), he keeps an eye on barty

i think barty frankly would not care at all and would continue flirting with you unabashedly

"when have i ever let reg dictate my love/dating/sex life before?"

though he would be saving the more salacious comments for when regulus isn't around

and trust that he would be pursuing spending time with you when regulus isn't around – once he got hung up on you it's almost like a compulsive tic, he just has to be close to you

you would probably be the only one having any moral qualms about it, wondering how regulus would feel and how things might change

as a black sister, you would likely feel like everything good in your life is a hair width's away from falling apart and live in constant fear of that while trying to remain nonchalant

yet barty's pull towards you is far from one-sided – he gives you that calmness in the chaos and chaos in calmness that you craved

only when you nearly have your first kiss in a hallway and you pull away last second talking "what about regulus?" do i think it might register with barty that he could genuinely be upsetting his best friend

prompt the always direct barty more or less marching into his dorm he shares with regulus and evan, declaring: "regulus arcturus black, i love your sister. you have no right giving out blessings, but would you please get behind this, it's upsetting her."

it would be a ROUGH conversation, but regulus knows both of you well enough to know when you're being serious about something

and barty was being deadly serious

after they've talked it through and regulus has said something along the lines of "as long as you promise it's not just a shag, then sure, be my guest. but i want to hear NONE of it", i think he would make a beeline to gryffindor

to find sirius, of course, for once daring seek out his older brother's advice, because it's for their "better third"

"sirius, i need you to calm yourself and not be mad at them because i genuinely need your advice"

it took a LOT of schooling his face for sirius to not rip his eyeballs out at the mention that barty is interested in you, but he kept calm, for regulus

he could tell that he needed it

they talked it all out

it genuinely made regulus feel better and more secure in it, but the second he left the room, sirius turned around crying to james in the exact same way

queue sirius pulling barty aside the next day to borderline threaten him to not mistreat you

and for YOU to then pull SIRIUS aside and have an angsty sibling confrontation of "is it more important to you to go to him first and be all protective, instead of to me and offer any support or congratulations?"

i think regardless of if you have a troubled relationship for a while, he still sees you as his whole world; something to take care of

so he would nod his head, properly reprimanded and give you the first hug you've shared in a while

barty is by FAR sirius' least favourite in-law and barty adoreeeees that fact, loving to rub it in

you'll have to gently be like "babe, please" to have him calm down and not agitate sirius (and by consequence regulsu) too much

it was chaotic but just right

DYNAMIC 2 (sirius centred)

you grew up always looking up to sirius – he's three years older, so the perfect age for you to think everything he does is so cool

you were still relatively young when everything went down with sirius and walburga, so you had a slightly more coloured image and fuzzy memories surrounding the abuse at home

less resentment, more uncertainty towards your parents while still idolising sirius, at least for a while

i think sirius in any dynamic considers his sister his "baby" to some degree, partly because you were the youngest, partly because of his upbringing presenting women as someone to be taken care of – and largely because you let him baby you, unlike regulus

you saw sirius as more of an authority figure than you ever did regulus and he always felt safer than your parents, so when you had nightmares as a child, sirius was the one who could soothe you the best

when you were anxious, he was the one who could talk you out of it, tether you to the earth

sirius saw you as more innocent and less tainted than him, so you could in return make him feel a bit better, a bit more like he had a purpose

i think this dynamic would make regulus very resentful of the both of you

yet another example of him being the second option, of him not measuring up, etc. -> in regards to both you and sirius

in regulus' mind, you were the better younger sibling and sirius was the better older sibling – regulus was alone

so he isolated himself more and more from the both of you as he grew up in a misguided act of self-protection

to the extent that when you started hogwarts, you were never introduced to his friends

i think they asked about you when you finally started hogwarts, but he brushed it aside so assertively that they dropped it

this is in stark contrast to sirius' marauders who happily brought you along more often than not

you were not really a part of their friend group, more so that you became everyone's honorary little sister while you established yourself your own good friends within your house and year

sirius would meet you at every breakfast, even if only to ruffle your hair and kiss your head while you groaned, embarrassing you in front of your friends

you knew of who regulus' friends were and you saw him around often, but it had been made clear to you not to engage

i think it would be the kind of situation where regulus implied you stay away, which hurt you and made you stay away, which in turn hurt him – the cycle goes on

so you never really got to know them beyond their reputations and sirius' complaints about them

until around your fifth year when you would meet barty in some capacity (same class because you were excelling above your year, same secluded area of hogsmeade, etc.)

you hit it off massively, bantering back and forth in a way that makes barty feel both challenged and seen

his interest is piqued

after which is when he makes the comment to regulus about how he finds you "proper fit"

this time, regulus loses his mind over it not because it's his baby sister, but because of his resentment, jealousy and even fear that you would be taking someone else away from him

he would not be making sense to barty, reverting back to his younger and more hurt self before stalking off

if barty, evan or even dorcas tried to bring it up to regulus afterwards, he would just say "let's not talk about her/them" curtly

he only spoke to pandora about it and she kept quiet to the others, respecting his space and boundaries

in this instance, it would be clear to barty that his interest in you was not okay, but it didn't subside

on the contrary, it only continued blazing and he kept meeting you often, mostly by coincidence – but he stayed on purpose

you think nothing much of it before regulus angirly stalks up to you when he sees you chatting in the hallway, roughly grabs your arm to haul you away and whispers something along the lines of "you have sirius. you got sirius, you can't take barty too"

queue massive sibling fight that barty eventually has to get involved in, ignoring the sound of his breaking heart

while you often ignored each other, the tension that arose between you and regulus was now palpable and uncomfortable

you were hurt regulus viewed you the way he did and always competed with you – why did he care so much for sirius' love and not yours?

regulus was hurt because he felt abandoned yet again – both by barty, but also you because he loved you and missed you

having no idea what to do, i think barty would be forced to do the one thing he had sworn to himself, any god he occasionally spoke to and regulus he would never do:

he willingly went to speak with sirius black

"believe me, i don't want to do this any more than you do, but i don't think they can get over this on their own"

i think barty might be able to articulate how regulus feels like the "odd one out" of the siblings and show sirius that regulus' standoffishness is just years of pain schooled away and not him being an aloof bother

which sirius knows but has never been able to work past regardless, not before it was presented to him like this

and while sirius would still be disturbed by it, i think this might be the only way to make him understand that barty loves you – because there was no other word but love for the pull he felt towards you, the emptiness he felt without you

the two of them would plot and scheme to get you and regulus in the same room at the same time, locking all four of you inside

when they begin to try and start a civil conversation, you and regulus are on the offensive and hostile

it is when you burst out something along the lines of "why do you hate me?" that regulus' face falls

"i could never hate you."

it would be an even rougher talk, but you are able to understand each other's pain at last

"i never meant to take him away from you, i never meant to take anything away from you. i just want to be part of your life again."

"it's never felt like i deserve a spot in your life, though. like you want me there."

"regulus there is not a day that i don't wish you were sat beside me."

loooooooong awaited hug

barty and sirius would have stepped back as mediators once the first realisation set in between you, watching while leaning on a desk from afar, feeling oddly united for a moment

at last, regulus would murmur: "do you love him"

you looked at barty for a long time before looking back to regulus with a quivering lip, despite knowing the answer

"only if you'll let me. only if you'll be okay with it."

and though a part of him might still be scared and kicking and screaming, he would use all of his big brother love to pull you close, kiss you on the forehead and whisper repeatedly "it's alright, it's alright. i'm sorry, it's alright."

barty held it together well for regulus' sake, but the second he was left alone with you he swept you up in the closest embrace

"i'm so proud of you"

not only are you the most compelling, bewitching, well, witch he had ever met, but you seemed to be the one person capable of piecing his best friend back together

went through hell to be a match made in heaven

[rinsanityy]

phainon is no stranger to being a gentleman. whenever the two of you are spending time with one another, he would always be the one to treat you whether it was to lunch or even shopping in the local market. you'll always find his hand pressed to the small of your back but while weaving through crowds, he's got his arm wrapped around your shoulder in order not to lose you in the mass of people. this man is willing to give you the royalty treatment simply because you deserve it. when phainon finds himself deep in his thoughts, you will always be lingering at the back of his mind, and he unconsciously smiles at the mere thought of you.

despite her heart that had long been frozen, aglaea does not fail in the romance department. if you find yourself in the heroes' bath, she will tend to whatever needs you may have and even accompany you during your stay. if she happens to find the time, she will use it wisely and sew a brand new garment just for you. she has already wrapped it up and will hold onto it until she sees you again. the warmth you give by simply being by her side is so unfamiliar yet it is enough to begin thawing her frosted heart.

for the crown prince of castrum kremnos, mydei isn't exactly known for having a kind nature. regardless of his intimidating appearance, it's quite obvious that the prince has grown to have a soft spot for you. if there is someone causing you trouble, mydei will appear by your side and he's already scared the person off with merely one sentence. sometimes the two of you would engage in playful banter, countering the other’s teasing remark with another. mydei will never succumb to fatigue in the midst of battle for he always reminds himself that you are waiting for him on the other side.

being the first chrysos heir to obtain a titan's coreflame and ascend to that of a demi-god, tribbie finds themselves to be somewhat of a mentor figure towards the others. if they ever find out that you're not feeling well, they will make sure to remind you to always take care of yourself. they are always happy to educate you about various topics as they take joy in being able to talk for hours and having someone listening to them intently. it is only natural for the teacher to worry about their student’s well being, how else will they be able to continue guiding you if you’re not in a stable condition to be guided?

she may have no experience whatsoever about romance but that doesn't mean castorice refuses to try and learn. she takes interest in the things that bring you joy and will remember the smallest and most random things about yourself. although her power restricts herself from making any physical contact with you, castorice makes sure to keep you safe and free from harm's way. each passing moment that she spends with you, castorice cherishes each and every one all the same. the servant of death is no stranger to the inevitable fate that awaits you but she cannot even bring herself to think about that when you were so intertwined in the present.

a genius and a charmer basically sums up the kind of person that anaxa is. he is always amused to see you fascinated whenever he displays the unique magic that he holds. similar to tribbie, he is fond of teaching you things without making you feel dumb. he dislikes whenever you downplay your intelligence and assures you that you're talented and intellectually capable in your own way. anaxa is a firm believer that every little part of your being is fascinating, it makes him inclined to continue finding out more about who you are.

hyacine always finds herself pleased to see how well you respond to her affection. although a little shy at first, she is willing to try different things with you. after a tiring day, hyacine simply wants to lay down on a sturdy branch of a big tree with you beside her, watching the birds soar through the sky while the suns fall and stars rise. the priest does not know what future lies in store but what she does know is that one day, when you two have passed on, you will take to the skies beside one another and soar to the stars.. just like the birds the two of you have watched do all the time.

just like how she has a talent for swiping people's valuables, cipher sure has a talent for stealing your heart. seeing as you're already aware of her skill of sleight, you find yourself wondering which poor citizen she swiped whenever you receive a gift from her. although a thief should never linger too long around their target, cipher cannot refuse any request of physical touch from you. you don’t expect much out of the aftermath of a bad day, at least not until a certain thief shows up at your doorstep and greets you with a flower or two that had been swiped from one of the largest flower fields that amphoreus has to offer.

note: written before version 3.1 therefore some if not most characters are ooc. tribbie’s scenario is purely platonic, otherwise the rest of them can be intepreted as romantic or platonic.

©rinsanityy 2025 do not plagiarize or repost my content.

[fangel]

ohmygosh… you’ve done it (∩´﹏`∩)♡ my rambles ･⁀➴

i’d like to start with WHATTHEFUCKKK the concept alone is so good, so unique — I LIVE AND LOVE to find dark fics that are actually different from the ‘oh he’s a serial killer blah blah omg the nth scream slasher inspo blah blah’ NO GIVE ME PASSION, GIVE ME A MAN WHO IS TRULY LOST IN HIS WAYS W/ HIS MIND CRUMBLING IN ON ITSELF BC HES SO OBSESSED SO GONE !! GIVE ME REASON AS TO WHYYY HE IS A MESS !! you delivered that 🤍 !!

the way he has this dominance over her even without being there: picking out her clothes, specific preference to hair and makeup, surrounding her with his work--the dolls of her that can never quite be her no matter how hard he tries--aka the constant reminder of his afflicted obsession !!!! AHHH and she feels so has to maintain that perfection to keep his best interest to the point it's all she knows even tho disgusted !!!!

at first i was lowkey mad at him bc why are you spending all day trying to make a doll that looks like (me) her when the real thing is right at home !?!? but after reading i get it. he's just a sick fuck who is scared of the perfect love being gone one day. he's so desperate to hold onto the idea that he needs to preserve it, keep it forever. tbh.. #NeedThat level of obsession

okay ngl when she talks about the dolls and how they move and watch her etc i was like oh no she's gone schizo.. she's going crazy being cooped up at home with all those lookalike dolls -- BUT NO THEY'RE LIKE ACTUALLY MOVING ANDF SHIT?!?! wth and then i was like wait are they real people !? spirits !? THE HUMMING -- and then the missing girls that look like her on tv.. him being gone all the time.. okay i see you sunghoon. i know what you are

the dollhouse. just that. the dollhouse. how it depicts what's happening WOW ! such a cool twisted way to incorporate how she slowly puts things together. reminds me of until dawn with the dollhouse in the basement -- and more on the dolls, people or spirits whatever the hell, NO they are lil guardian angels trying to save her !! to warn her of what is really happening !!

the smut. HELLO???!/ the smut is a world in its own. absolutely insane but in a beautiful way. should i be scared? yeah, but i am Horny instead. break me apart !! mold me, shatter me, recreate me however you want just keeping fucking me with those glasses on dgasgfksgfa but fr... there's so much hidden tellings even in the smut. she's begging him to release that darkness he harbors onto her, telling him 'to do it' but doesn't realize the weight of her words and what's she's telling him to do. the way the darkness stirs in him, indirectly getting her permission to indulge on his twisted desires of having her as his REAL DOLL. crazy. all out of love they're both losing themselves yet getting what they want. (the audience stands and applauds)

"the experiment" and the dolls all being trial and error... fucking insane. i love everything about this so bad. his dedication.. his oath..

"Your husband liked to dissect things. He liked to break things apart and put them back together all shiny and new. -- You didn’t care, you just liked the feeling of his hands on you, even if its intention was to destroy."

��� LOVED THIS, i feel like this sets up the whole story right here.

It’s what he couldn’t help but do to you every night. It was the only time he liked you to be messy, when you were laying in a heap of doll parts beneath him. He tried to be gentle with his curiosity, he really did, but it was as if something overtook him. That dark look in his eyes got bolder until he couldn’t hold himself back—until he just had to tear you apart

⤷ the way that this is literal... at night in workshop with literal doll parts and in bed with her she's breaking apart under his hold. wow. also doll parts by hole mention !!

her in the beginning "These days, you just wanted to be." and then sunghoon in the end "It just is"

⤷ chefs kiss, perfect. idk what else needs to be said.

the concept reminds so much of an old rpg game called "mad father" i was OBSESSED with it when i was younger and you've allowed me to escape in a (loosely) similar world. ily for this

dear kipo, your attention to details and way of storytelling is so wonderous and amazing. you've captivated me in this horribly perfect lil world. such a fucked up, pretty story. you are so so talented!! i could dissect the whole story tbh but i need to stfu

one last thing hdfjakhfkas this is so long im sorry but PLEASE listen to this song. i've had the artist on repeat for like 2 weeks and this song reminds me of this story SOOSO MUCh pls tell me what you think >.<

anyways <3 i ate this tf up. ty for your service 🍽️ !!

THE DOLLMAKER ˒˒ 박성훈 ▸  𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲!

you were sunghoon’s muse, his flawless, perfect wife that he dresses in frilly dresses and makes sure you always looked like the idealized woman. that much was evident from all the dolls he made of you that sat proudly throughout your home. but, when sunghoon isn’t there, the dolls move and show you things that would otherwise be hidden in the shadows. one day, they show you something so frightening, something completely sinister that you force yourself to believe that it isn’t real. your beloved husband wouldn’t do something like that, would he? you weren’t so sure about your answer anymore.

pairing ⸝⸝ park sunghoon 𝑥 fem!reader 𓄵 𝓯eat. ꔛ 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦!

genre ⋆ 📓 ⸝⸝ established relationship, angsty & mature themes, smut, some fluff, husband & dollmaker!sunghoon, gothic vibes, supernatural elements

warnings ⸝⸝ dark content, heavy dubcon, dollification, mentions of murder and kidnapping, really creepy dolls, sunghoon is actually insane lmao, heavy gaslighting, possessiveness, unprotected sex, soft dom!sunghoon, heavy body worship, slow sex to rough sex and back to soft sex (you’ll see), manhandling, handjob, cumshots, clit stimulation, fingering, brief somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, mentions of oral (f. rec), praise, petnames (my love, darling, doll), hair pulling (m. rec), cockwarming, a lot of skinship, teasing, brief nipple play, mentions of aftercare, they are very very codependent, traditional marriage aspects

𝓴ipo’s note ⸝⸝ went a bit insane writing this because why is the smut scene alone 5.4k words??? but it’s finally here!! my first post on my new blog (that’s not part of a series) and my first darker content fic!! this was really fun to write and opened a primal lust within me for sunghoon that made me crazier… hehe enjoy loves!!

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏  ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏  ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏ ͏  ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏ ❨ 14.8k ❩    ╱    ❨ 𝓶. list ❩ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏ ͏  ︵͡   𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙����𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (´ε｀ʃƪ)♡

You always strived to be nothing short of perfect, and you were immensely proud at the fact that you have never strayed from the path of the idealized woman in the eyes of their beholder.

And you were perfect. The perfect person, the perfect woman, the perfect wife. It was what you were born and bred to be, and with a smile you lived your life knowing that not a single frizzy strand of hair was out of place nor was there a single wrinkle in your dress. You were pretty, pristine, perfect. You’d ask for nothing more.

But, as the days started to pass—and your husband was out later and later for work—you started to hate the idea of perfection. You clawed at it like a noose wrapped around your pretty throat. Gone were the days where you’d be set alight with how well you presented yourself—with how much your husband loved to stare at you. These days, you just wanted to be.

In the beginning, you loved to be under Sunghoon’s watchful eye. You loved how he’d dress you in perfectly fitting clothes suited to what he loved to see you in—frills and lace. Loved how he’d fluff your hair if it was too flat or if it wasn’t up to his standard, or smooth down the fabric of your dress. You loved when he treated you like his perfect little doll. It meant the world to you, especially when it came from such an expert dollmaker like your husband himself. In his eyes, it meant you were the best of the best, that no other doll that he has made could compare—his perfect creation.

Now, the more you think about it, the more your throat closes up. But, as much as you’re growing to hate the idea, you just can’t let go of the deeply rooted perfectionism you still strive for. It’s as if it’s embedded in your skin, as if it’s in the marrow of your bones and in the blood that pumps through your veins. You don’t know how to live a life that isn't perfect, and at this point, you’re too scared to find out what that life entails.

So you put on the dress Sunghoon lays out for you before work and you style your hair just the way he likes it—and you be perfect. Because that is all you know how to do.

You stare at yourself in the mirror in your bathroom, your brows knitted together. Confusion spread throughout your body as you tried to put a name to what you were feeling. Disgust, maybe? Hatred? You didn’t know. Sighing softly to yourself, you picked up your makeup brush and dusted more of the blush onto your cheeks.

Sunghoon had already left for work, so it didn’t even really matter what you looked like right now. You stepped out of the bathroom and into your bedroom. Dolls of various sizes greeted your sight. Some had intricate and realistic outfits, the same ones that you wore, and some of them were more plainly dressed. There were dolls everywhere in your home, even some perched on the open shelves of your kitchen. It was a little girl’s dream home. The most unsettling thing about all the dolls around you no matter where you turned was how much every single one of them resembled you in some way.

It was as if Sunghoon could never quite capture your likeness exactly. With some dolls, their eyes were too big, their lips were too small, or the arch of their brow wasn’t quite right. Sometimes he couldn’t accurately carve the curve of your nose. You knew it drove him mad, not being able to immortalize you in his craft.

“You’re too flawless,” Sunghoon had told you once. You were laying in bed together and the tips of his fingers trailed along your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He used to always give you goosebumps, the good ones. Now it feels more like a chill down your spine.

You stared up at him from your pillow and watched as his eyes devoured your frame. His fingers twitched, briefly stopping their descent back down your arm, and you could tell he had the urge to test his hand at making you again. “I don’t think I’m flawless,” you smile at him, “I’m just as flawed as everyone else—just as human.”

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked up to your face, specifically to your smile, like he was committing it all to memory. He moved the hand that was trialing your shoulder up to cup your cheek. His thumb gently caressed the soft skin before he grazed it along your lips. There was a certain glint in Sunghoon’s eyes that you knew all too well.

“You’re flawless to me,” he stated. His thumb brushed along your bottom lip and pulled it down a little. You watched as his pupils dilated and the mix of lust and fascination that swirled in them grew. Ever so slightly, his eyes widened, too. Sunghoon moved his thumb down to your chin before leaning down to press his lips to yours.

He captured them with a certain roughness—the type that always shocked you with how gentle it initially seemed. Sunghoon’s hand grabbed your chin harder, his fingers creating soft indents into your skin as he leaned your head back and further into the pillow.

You were so moldable for Sunghoon, a shiny lump of clay ready for his skilled hands to turn you into a masterpiece. He hummed into the kiss and his teeth delicately bit down into the flesh of your bottom lip, only enough to not leave a mark. You moaned into his mouth, your arms raising to wrap around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer. In response, Sunghoon pulled his lips away from yours. He pressed feather light kisses to your cheek and up to the shell of your ear. “You’re my muse,” he whispered, before his head dipped to the crook of your neck to leave kisses there too.

You suppose that being so perfect wasn’t so bad if it meant that Sunghoon couldn’t keep his hands off of you—if it meant that he couldn't keep his hands off of his tools to try and remake you over and over again. Perhaps you were viewing it all wrong. Maybe it wasn’t a noose around your throat, but a pretty handmade necklace crafted by his nimble fingers. If it meant that Sunghoon never leaves, then you could be as perfect as he wanted forever. If it meant that he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he ever laid his eyes on, then you would be his doll for as long as you lived.

Maybe it wasn’t perfectionism at all, but an act of complete devotion—an act of love.

Sunghoon left open-mouthed kisses along your chest and moved further and further down until the lace of your lingerie blocked his lips from your skin. He pulled away from you fully and looked down at it like he was offended. You squirmed beneath him, your chest heaving as you tried to take in any air that you possibly could. “Please,” you inhaled, looking up at him desperately.

You weren’t quite sure what you were begging for exactly; maybe for his lips to be back on your skin, or maybe for him to quell the heat radiating from your body. “Please,” you said again, your voice coming out quieter and more forlorn.

Sunghoon ran his hands underneath the sheer fabric at your stomach and you gasped at his touch. “So soft,” he sighed contently, hands trailing further up until they physically couldn’t anymore and were blocked by the lace at your breasts. His calloused hands were a stark contrast to your velvety skin and the slight roughness made you shiver.

He pushed the sheer fabric up your stomach with the movement of his hands until the bottom half of your body was completely bare under him. Sunghoon must’ve decided that he couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t bear to take the extra second to lift the lingerie over your head, because the harsh sound of fabric ripping filled your ears and the swift coldness of sudden exposure had you gasping again.

Sunghoon tossed the tattered fabric somewhere off to the side next to the two of you and in the corner of your eye you saw it fall to the floor below. His hands surged upwards, no longer bound by the restraints of your lingerie, and grabbed your breasts. Sunghoon’s thumbs rubbed against your hardened nipples and you arched your back off the mattress to give him more access. His hands dropped down to your thighs and he pushed them towards your stomach as he spread them further apart.

Sunghoon’s breath hitched when his eyes finally got a look at your glistening pussy, completely on display for him. His hand then moved from the back of your thigh and he dragged his fingers through your folds, collecting the slick on his fingertips. “Perfect,” Sunghoon breathed out.

Your husband liked to dissect things. He liked to break things apart and put them back together all shiny and new. It’s what he did to you every night—left you in a heap before cleaning you off and making you new again. You didn’t care, you just liked the feeling of his hands on you, even if its intention was to destroy. You knew that it was just a morbid curiosity. As long as he remained by your side, you were content in being a pile of doll parts for him to play with as he pleased.

In your bedroom, your eyes landed on a doll that wasn’t there when you had stepped into the bathroom. It sat in the center of your bed, dressed in the same lingerie that Sunghoon had ripped up. It didn’t look at you, but at the entrance of the room, with the hint of a smile that you knew was carved into the doll but couldn’t help but feel was mocking.

No matter how often it happened, you’ll never get used to the fact that the dolls moved around on their own. It only happened when you were home alone. The dolls never dared to move when their maker was home, but you still felt their eyes on you nonetheless. You had told Sunghoon about it—the two of you even waited around to see if one of them would move, but they never did. It was extremely frustrating.

You sighed at the doll and straightened your back. Leaving said doll where it was without a word, you left your room to put a start to your day.

What you weren't expecting was even more moved dolls in your kitchen. You stopped in your tracks as different, mini, and almost identical versions of you stared directly at you from the kitchen table in a circle. Usually it was only one doll that moved here and there, but this many moved dolls in the span of minutes was completely odd. Cautiously, you stalked towards them to see what they were surrounding.

It was the TV remote. You scoffed.

You grabbed the remote with a roll of your eyes. Aiming it towards the tiny box TV in the kitchen, you clicked it on and placed the remote back down onto the table next to the dolls. You let whatever channel it was left on play in the background as you started making breakfast for yourself.

“We’re here with the mother of one of those young girls today. Can you tell us a little about your daughter, ma’am?” you heard the news reporter ask. You took a pan out from under the lower cabinet and placed it onto the stove, ticking on the heat. You watched as a flame ignited, quick and large as lightning, before calming to something smaller.

A grief stricken voice filled your ears next between your soft humming. You didn’t realize that it was the tune Sunghoon always hummed when working from home—something he didn’t do as often anymore. “She was the most beautiful girl in the world—the most gentle and kind. She loved everyone and she loved love. My daughter was the single spark in this bleak night. Please, if you know where she is, please let a mother know.”

You moved about the kitchen, ignoring the way the dolls’ eyes seemed to follow your every move. Cracking the egg, you let it fall into the pan with a sizzle, fanning away the sudden smoke that rises. “The news station also has an anonymous tip hotline open for anyone who may know any information. The search for the six missing girls is still on. This Friday, the mayor will hold another search party and encourages everyone who can to join.”

Turning to throw away the shell of the egg, you caught a glimpse of the TV. “This has been—” You gasped, the shell falling to the tile below with a soft crack as your hand flew to cover your mouth. On the small screen were the pictures of the six missing girls—six missing girls who all looked eerily alike to one another, eerily alike to you. You rushed forward towards the screen, desperately needing to get a closer look at the girls’ image.

Fear and panic prickled at your skin and clawed its way up your throat. What if you were next? What if whoever was taking these girls had their eye on you to take next? You glanced around the kitchen, the dolls suddenly gone from the kitchen table and perched back in their rightful places on various shelves. What if one day you stepped out of your home to run an errand only to be met with a cloth to your nose and mouth?

You began to tremble as you focused your attention back onto the TV. Did the police have anything on who was taking the girls? Any physical descriptions or perhaps a drawing? You waited for the news to mention anything else, but they didn’t. 

Lightheaded, you felt yourself begin to spiral. Your hands grabbed tight to the kitchen counter as you tried to steady yourself and not let the fear cloud your mind. Maybe it was all a coincidence. Maybe you just happened to look like those girls but the perpetrator was after someone else. You inhaled sharply, trying to swallow down the fear and panic and let the oxygen get through instead.

The sudden loud ringing of the smoke alarm startled you and made you jump. The eggs. They were still on the stove! “Oh!” you breathed as you hurriedly moved to turn off the stove. You accidentally stepped on the egg shell in the process. “Oh no,” you said softly under your breath as you moved from the stove to the trash can. You scraped off the burnt eggs, your appetite suddenly gone. You sat the pan in the sink for you to wash later.

Bending down, you meticulously picked up the pieces of egg shells on the floor to throw away as well. When you turned from the trash, there was a singular doll back on the kitchen counter. You jumped again.

It pointed towards the hallway to get to your living room, unblinking. You stared at it for a moment—at yourself. Why were the dolls doing this? “Fine,” you say, smoothing out your dress, “I’ll play along.” You need a distraction from the missing girls anyhow.

You left the kitchen and made your way down the hallway that the doll pointed to. As you slowly made your way down it, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary besides the way the various dolls’ eyes followed you. You make the bend to the end of the hallway and freeze.

At the end of the hallway was the displayed dollhouse that you didn’t touch. Sunghoon didn’t even let you clean it, opting to clean it himself. It meant a lot to him and he took great care for it to be in as pristine condition as possible. The dollhouse was a perfect replica of your home, down to the welcome sign you weaved on the front of the door. You’ve never even seen the inside of it… until now.

There was a crowd of dolls on the ground below it, more than you’ve ever seen moved before, pointing up at the scene portrayed in it. Swallowing thickly, you stepped further forward as a chill ran down your back.

In the dollhouse were only three dolls: one of you, one of Sunghoon, and one that you couldn’t even begin to understand what it could be. You took another cautious step forward, leaning in to get a better look and taking care to not step on any of the dolls. The scene depicted in the dollhouse was quite simple. You were upstairs in you and Sunghoon bedroom, asleep. Sunghoon was in some room you’ve never seen before, carving away at a doll that you could only assume was of you. Behind him was the other doll, covered in different, mismatched layers of fabric. It was so covered by copious amounts of fabric that it didn’t even seem to have the body of a doll anymore. It was almost grotesque looking, in a way.

Very quietly, almost indistinct, you heard the same melody Sunghoon hums when working. Your eyes widened in shock as you furiously tried to digest and decipher the scene. You shook your head a little. “I don’t understand,” you say, the confusion dripping from your voice. “What does this mean? What is that behind him?”

There was a creaking behind you and you swung around at the sound. More dolls were behind you, pointing. You weren’t sure if they were pointing at you or the dollhouse. Maybe it was both. You swung back around to the dollhouse when you heard something move.

Now Sunghoon was in front of the other fabric-covered doll. His doll was slightly bent at the torso and his head was tilted. The thin, wire-framed glasses he wears sat low on his nose bridge. You knew that look—that inspecting look. That morbid curiosity. It felt as if the dolls were screaming at you, “Do you understand now?” You still weren’t sure that you did. Too many puzzle pieces were missing from the board and it hindered you from seeing the whole picture. The sound of Sunghoon’s humming still filled your ears and you didn’t know what to do to stop it.

More creaking and you turned to look behind you. More dolls. They filled the entire hallway, their tiny fingers pointing at you, trying to force you to understand what they were trying to show you. Behind you, the dollhouse began to violently shake and you gasped as you looked at it. Sunghoon was now back in the bedroom with you. He stood over you, his hand hovering over your arm. You knew the action it was trying to convey—you could feel the tips of his fingers trailing up and down your actual arm now, making you shiver.

You stumbled backwards, even more confused and scared at the shaking dollhouse. The front of the dollhouse slammed shut, locking in the scene of you and Sunghoon inside, and stilled. Your chest rose and fell heavily and you clumsily stumbled your way out of the hallway and into the living room, avoiding any pointing doll that you could.

Later that day when Sunghoon came home from work, you didn’t mention the moving dolls or the dollhouse. It was as if nothing happened at all, every doll was where he placed them and the dollhouse was just as pristine as he left it. You especially didn’t dare mention the scenes depicted in the dollhouse. You feared your husband would think you were crazy.

You carried the plate of hot food to where Sunghoon sat at the kitchen table. “Eat up!” you smiled placing the plate in front of him before placing a chaste kiss to his cheek. You felt him smile before you pulled away. You were turning to make yourself a plate when Sunghoon grabbed your wrist to stop you. You jumped, a gasp slipping between your lips. Trying to cover it all up, you turned back to Sunghoon with a smile.

His own smile faltered and his thick brows drew together. “Thank you, darling…” he trailed, the words falling from his lips one by one. “What’s wrong? You’re never so jumpy.”

You’d been jumpy since he got home, still shaken from the morning’s encounter. It was so bad that you nearly burnt yourself on the stove while making dinner, suddenly startled by the sound of the front door opening and Sunghoon returning home from work. When he kissed you hello, his arms coming to wrap around you, you jumped then too. You tried to distract him with your smile, but you should’ve known that nothing gets past your husband.

“It’s nothing,” you say, smiling again and giving him a slight shake of your head. “I guess my body is just getting used to not being by itself now that you’re home.”

Sunghoon sighed and pulled you back towards him by your wrist. You let yourself be pulled into his lap. Sunghoon buried his head in the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry,” he says, his words coming out muffled. “I know I've been working more and more lately and I haven’t had much time for you.”

You leaned into his touch, sighing contentedly. “Can’t you work from home?” you asked meekly, voice barely louder than a whisper, “Like you used to? You work so much and you’re always gone. I miss you when you’re not here, and in return I’m sad the whole day.”

Sunghoon’s black hair tickled you as he lifted his head to press his lips to your neck, right where the thumping of your heart could be felt. His eyes met yours and the gentle pout of your lips. “I don’t have all the tools here that I do at the shop,” Sunghoon responded. When you sighed again and looked away, he continued. “But, I might be able to work from here tomorrow… I already finished most of the workload. We can spend tomorrow together, what do you say to that?”

You glanced back at him, trying to not let the happiness you felt break through your sulky demeanor. Clearly, it didn’t work, because the smile returned back to Sunghoon’s face even larger this time. “I suppose that’s okay,” you grumbled, the smile tugging more at your lips by the second.

Sunghoon chuckled, “Yeah?” You nodded, giggling at the way he dragged his nose along your cheek and the coldness of his glasses. “I love that sound,” he says, holding you closer. “I want to hear it forever.” He pulled away from you just enough to get a good look at your flustered face. Sunghoon brought his lips to yours, capturing them in a sweet and slow kiss.

Giggling more into the kiss, you broke away from him with great effort. “Eat,” you say, standing to your feet. Sunghoon didn’t let you get far. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Your dinner smells amazing, my love, but I think I want something else on the menu,” Sunghoon replies. You swatted him with the kitchen towel hanging from the pocket of your apron, your mouth falling into an open-mouthed laugh. Sunghoon just laughed more. “Do what I said,” you scolded him.

Sunghoon pulled you down to chastely kiss your lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

That night as you were getting ready for bed, you gathered all the courage you had. As you moved about your bedroom, Sunghoon watched you from the bed, his eyes trailing your figure and never leaving it. He was lounged up against the bed frame, his head tilted and the wire frames of his glasses low on his nose bridge as he stared. You were in the middle of brushing your hair, trying your best not to get crushed underneath his heavy stare. You were as bare as you could be without taking your clothes off.

When you stood from your vanity, the flowy fabric of your short nightgown moving with you, you met his gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke and you just stared at each other. “Those missing girls…” you started, finally finding your voice, “on the news… Isn’t it odd that they favor me?” Your voice shook slightly and you swallowed down the lump forming in your throat.

Sunghoon sat up straighter, his eyes still on you as his brows drew together. You looked away, shakily climbing into the bed next to him. “I-I mean… how they favor each other. And I favor them too, don’t you think?” you continue. You really hoped that you didn’t sound crazy. That your time alone in the house hasn’t started to drive you mad and see things that aren’t there—that aren’t true. Finally getting settled as the words poured from your mouth, you looked over to him. For a split second, his face was completely devoid of anything—no emotion, not even a quirk of his eyebrow, nothing. Then, in a blink of an eye, his face was how it was before you looked away from him. Maybe you were crazy after all.

“I’m scared, Sunghoon,” you said in the gentlest whisper, “What if I’m next?”

“Missing girls?” Sunghoon says, “I’ve heard about them. But, don’t worry—” he reached over to caress your cheek “—I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe here, with me.” His hand on your cheek trailed down to the crook of your neck and then to your shoulder before he pulled you towards him. The two of you laid down onto the bed and Sunghoon enveloped you completely in his arms. You rested your head on his chest and listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “No one but me will ever touch you,” Sunghoon muttered against your hair.

His comforting words did nothing to dispose of the uneasy feeling you still harbored. The images of those missing girls were burned into your mind and every time you tried to close your eyes and sleep, you saw them staring back at you. While Sunghoon fell fast asleep, him still keeping you protectively in his arms, you lied awake.

Your mind shifted from the missing girls, to the moving dolls, and to the dollhouse. What did it all mean? What were they trying to tell you? You went over the scenes portrayed over and over and over again and still didn’t get it. The answer seemed so close, but so far away at the same time. What were you missing?

You thought about the scene of Sunghoon standing over you while you slept. Did he always do that, stare at you like that? How often did he do it? You wanted to ask him, but you didn’t want to risk him thinking there was something wrong with you—didn’t want to risk him thinking that you weren’t flawless like he believes. And the way he trailed his fingers over the soft skin of your arm… Perhaps it was just him checking on you. Maybe he left the room for some water and when he came back he was making sure you were okay. Yeah, that sounded logical.

Him touching you wasn’t something new—he always touched you at any chance that he could. Always admiring every curve and plane of you completely, it’s normal for him to do so. The tension in your shoulders finally dissipated and you relaxed, snuggling more into Sunghoon as you let your tired eyes flutter closed. You didn’t know what the dolls’ game was, but you didn’t like it. Sunghoon was just being a good husband, is all. It even showed subconsciously in the way his hold on you tightened as you leaned into him. He loves you. He’d never do anything that came remotely close to hurting you, ever. You were more sure about that than you were sure about anything in the entire world.

Slowly, you began to drift off—your body getting heavier and heavier in his arms—and you let sleep overtake you.

A couple hours later, you were suddenly awoken by the sound of something falling onto the hardwood floor. You jumped, eyes flying open. You were met with the cold bed, Sunghoon nowhere to be found in your bedroom. Sitting up, you looked around the room to see what fell.

You sighed as your gaze landed on the doll, it was laying on its side on the ground, staring at you. “Enough,” you said lowly, another sigh pulling from deep within you. “I don’t know what you all want from me.”

The moonlight peeked into your bedroom through the curtains and gave a little light to see with in the dark. You slipped from the bed, deciding to see where Sunghoon was. Smoothing down your bedridden hair and wrinkly nightgown, you opened the door to your bedroom and was immediately met with another mini doll version of you waiting by the top of the stairs. You couldn’t keep doing this.

You passed the shelves on the wall filled with dolls of you and other trinkets as you made your way towards the stairs. You didn’t even give the doll a second look as you made your descent down them.

Sunghoon wasn’t in the kitchen either, but there was another doll there, pointing down the hall again. You tilted your head up at it and followed its directions. He wasn’t in the lounge room or the dining room either. You turned the corner in the hallway and your eyes landed on the closed dollhouse. It was backlit by the hallway sconce, the light making the dollhouse look illuminated.

You dipped into the living room and Sunghoon wasn’t there either. None of the bathrooms were occupied as well. You were convinced that he just wasn’t in the house at all. You stood in front of the dollhouse, annoyance coming off you like steam. Your arms were folded across your chest and you glared at it. It was closed this time, and you were deciding on whether it was not to play into the dolls’ game and open it or just go back to sleep and question Sunghoon in the morning. Alas, you were too curious for your own good.

You slowly opened the front of the dollhouse, expecting to see some confusing scene waiting for you inside. Instead, there was only one doll inside—the grotesque looking one covered in different scraps of fabric. It was in the same exact place that it was in earlier, except this time there was no doll of Sunghoon inspecting it. It was alone.

Taking a closer look, you tried to figure out where this mystery room supposedly was in your home. In the dollhouse, it was located between the living room and the hallway bathroom. You looked at the hallway you were currently standing in with its own mini dollhouse inside. Your brows knitted together in even more confusion. According to the dollhouse, the room should be right where you were standing.

That couldn’t be right, unless the room was in front of you and behind the wall where the dollhouse was displayed. Closing the front of the dollhouse, you moved closer to the wall, inspecting it. There was no outline of a suspected door, no uneven floorboards that could suggest the entrance was underneath you. There was only the hallway, the small bookshelf filled with your cookbooks and Sunghoon’s doll making books, and the dollhouse. You placed your ear against the wall; maybe if there was a room behind it you could hear something.

After a few moments, you almost gave up, deciding not to play the game anymore and just go to bed. But, right when you were about to lift your ear from the wall, you heard something—humming.

It was the same tune you hummed earlier, the same tune Sunghoon hums when working. The same tune Sunghoon hummed when the dolls showed you him working in the dollhouse. This time, you knew it was real. You stumbled backwards from the wall, your elbow knocking the doll over that was suddenly perched there. You gasped before quickly covering your mouth.

Frozen in fear, you swear you heard the humming abruptly stop. You then heard slight creaking, like someone was walking towards you. Scurrying back around the curve of the hallway, you peaked around it to see if anything else would happen.

What if Sunghoon wasn’t even in there. What if it was some stranger living in your walls, and you were just assuming that it was him—that the dolls thought it was him. Or, maybe they were trying to warn you of the stranger in a way that they knew you would listen. What if Sunghoon wasn’t in the house at all right now? Your hand pressed harder into the wall and you began to shake.

More creaking broke through the air, and you watched as the small bookshelf slowly began to push off the wall like a make-shift door. You ducked further behind the wall, just enough to ensure you weren’t seen. You saw a shadow dancing across the floor as the bookshelf slowly closed again.

You were so scared they could hear how fast your heart was beating. So sure that they could feel how hard you trembled through the floor. Hear your heavy breathing like a hawk listening for its prey.

The shadow got larger and you saw a figure start to be illuminated by the light on the wall. A hand reached from the shadows and towards the doll of you that had fallen over—Sunghoon’s hand. He stepped into the light and you could finally see him clearly; saw the way the warm light bounced off his skin, the way the light reflected off his glasses, and how his dark hair fell into his eyes. You pressed your fist to your mouth to keep quiet.

Why did Sunghoon have a secret room in the house? Why did he never tell you about it?

He fixed the doll; shifting its dress so it laid properly and flattened its messed up hair. You saw the corners of his mouth raise as he placed the doll back on the shelf above the dollhouse. It’s big eyes bored into you.

Without a sound, you made your way back to your bedroom as quickly as you could. You closed your bedroom door silently and slipped back into bed, willing your body to stop shaking and your breath to even out. You closed your eyes.

You tried to remember what the inside of the secret room looked like from the dollhouse. From what you could remember, it looked to be some sort of workshop, similar to the one Sunghoon would have at the shop. If it was just a simple place for him to carve dolls, why hide it? It was possible he kept it hidden so you wouldn’t worry about how much he was working. Sunghoon knew how much you disliked him getting obsessed with his work, always carving and shaping dolls until the tips of his fingers were scarred. You relaxed again.

You’d be upset and worried, yes, but he didn’t have to hide it from you. You would understand his dedication to his craft.

A couple moments later, you heard the door knob twist. As you heard Sunghoon’s footsteps near you, you hoped you looked like you were still asleep. His presence covered you like a blanket. Just before you could feel the heat of his fingertips on your skin, you turned to look at him.

With false sleepiness in your voice, you ask, “Why are you out of bed?”

Sunghoon smiled down at you, lightly shaking his head. His hand caressed your shoulder, “Don’t worry about it, my love. I was just getting a jumpstart on work so we could have more time together. Go back to sleep.” His voice was soft and gentle, like he was trying to lull you back to sleep with his voice alone.

You sat up more. “Well, I’m not tired anymore,” you say, a smile pulling at your lips. Sunghoon’s hand at your shoulder raised to smooth your hair before coming to your chin to lift it up. He leaned forward and delicately pressed a kiss to your lips. “No?” he asked in that same soft and gentle voice.

Sunghoon was already climbing on the bed and on top of you before finishing his question. He placed more delicate kisses around the edges of your mouth, his hands dipping lower. You shook your head. His hands slowly lifted your nightgown up your stomach. “You’re sure you aren’t tired anymore?” Sunghoon asked, the corner of his mouth raising ever so slightly. He was lifting the nightgown over your head so you were in nothing but your panties underneath him.

Light giggles left your mouth as you shook your head again, “Yes.”

Sunghoon’s fingers hooked underneath the hem of your panties and he slowly pulled them down your thighs. His eyes were completely focused on the way each tug revealed more and more of your cunt and how it glistened with the strips of moonlight coming through the window. You heard him exhale softly, like he couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. “Fuck…” he muttered lowly, “I don’t think I’ll ever get use to seeing this, and it’s all for me to admire.”

He fully pulled your panties off and tossed them somewhere to the side of the bed. Sunghoon spread your legs open and pushed them up towards your chest so he got an even clearer view—just like he always did before taking you apart. He moved his hands so they splayed out on the back of your thighs right near your pussy he was still admiring. You squirmed a little, the air suddenly cold on your skin and from laying there completely open for him as you waited. “Entirely,” you said hushed, looking up at him. His glasses reflected the moonlight and covered the look in his eyes. “It will always be all for you—I’ll always be all, entirely yours.”

You gasped, body jolting when a thumb was pressed into your eager cunt. Sunghoon ran his thumb along your folds, collecting the gathering slick that was forming by the second. Bringing his other thumb to your cunt, he spread you apart even more, like he wanted to watch the arousal drip out of you himself. A soft whine left your lips. You were completely naked and under your husband’s watchful eye while Sunghoon was still completely dressed. He hasn’t even pulled his pajama pants down despite the way you saw him strain against the thin fabric.

“Is that so?” Sunghoon asked, his gaze finally flicking up to you. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards and you inhaled sharply when you finally saw that all too familiar dark look in his eyes. It reminded you of the way people dissected animals, excited to see its insides and how the body worked. Just beneath it you saw his intensely desperate, fiery hot need for you. The two expressions folded on top of each other over and over like an endless piece of paper, like he couldn’t decide what made him more excited. But, you knew which one would win tonight—which one always won.

You nodded slowly at his question. After all, no matter how bitter the idea of perfection tasted in your mouth, it was nothing compared to the sweetness of your husband’s love. It overshadowed everything, clouded your mind until you could think of nothing else. You lived for it, you’d do anything for it—to keep it. And Sunghoon, he loved you for it. So, the cycle continued until you forgot what the bitter aftertaste even belonged to.

Was it so wrong for you to love the suffocating attention he gave you once he wasn’t busy? Maybe. Maybe you should feel some shame for how obsessed you were with Sunghoon. But, at least you knew the feeling was mutual. If it weren’t, you wouldn’t be surrounded by a house full of dolls that looked nearly identical to you made all by his hands. Right? Doll making was a labor of love, and Sunghoon never shied away from showing you how much he loved you.

Sunghoon leaned over you. You felt his arms brush against your thighs as he pushed his soft pajama pants down. His face hovered over yours and you stared at him with big, doe eyes. His lips brushed against yours, pulling away slightly when you tried to chase them. Sunghoon tossed his pants and boxers to the side and you felt his cock slap against your thigh, sending a wave of arousal throughout your entire body. The entire time, Sunghoon’s eyes never left yours. “Like my own, personal little doll,” he continued, his voice low. “The real thing, not any of these flawed imitations. Complete perfection, and all under my hands to do with as I see fit.”

His lips captured yours in an unexpectedly rough, hungry kiss. He moved further over you until his body shadowed you. His hands were on either side of your head as he pinned you to the bed with his body, the kiss deepening and growing hungrier. Sunghoon pulled away from you, lips plumped and wet with saliva that still connected his lips to yours. He tenderly caressed your cheek and asked, “Do you know how much I love you?”

With his other hand, Sunghoon grabbed his cock so he could line himself up with your entrance. He quirked a thick eyebrow as he waited for your answer, eyes trailing the way your chest rose and fell heavily and your breasts pushed more against his own chest. “How much,” he continued, slowly slipping the tip of his cock inside you, “I’d do for you? How I’d do anything?” Your mouth fell open as your back arched slightly at the action. Sunghoon’s gaze returned to you, his hips halting once his thick tip was completely inside you. “Do you?” Sunghoon asked you once again, his heavy gaze weighing down on you.

Your husband liked to dissect things. He liked to break things apart and put them back together all shiny and new. It’s what he couldn’t help but do to you every night. It was the only time he liked you to be messy, when you were laying in a heap of doll parts beneath him. He tried to be gentle with his curiosity, he really did, but it was as if something overtook him. That dark look in his eyes got bolder until he couldn’t hold himself back—until he just had to tear you apart. You used to be scared every time it happened, still not learning to expect it. You should be ashamed that you did let it happen. But, as time went on, you began to like being taken apart; began liking how each time you’d blink away the fog, you were more perfect in his eyes.

Nodding, you inhaled deeply. “I do,” you say quietly, meeting his swirling dark stare. “And I love you just as much. I’d do just as much.”

“No,” Sunghoon spoke plainly. You drew your brows together, confused. “The way I love you, it’s… cavernous. Deep and dark—pitch-black. There is no end, no beginning, it just is.” His hand trailed down to your chin. “It consumes me, my love for you. I can’t control it… I can’t control the things I’d do to ensure you’ll always love me. And you will… won’t you? Always love me?” Sunghoon asked, his eyes boring into yours.

“Yes,” you say meekly. Despite the way Sunghoon’s body blocked the little light in the room, you could still see the way he fought the darkness inside of him. “I’ll forever love you. There’s nothing that would ever change that, Sunghoon. I promise.”

Sunghoon’s body relaxed over you, and his eyes briefly fluttered shut as he shakily breathed in to further calm himself. “Good…” he muttered, his voice barely loud enough for you to hear despite him being so close. “Because sometimes… The thought of you no longer loving me… i-it drives me completely insane.” His grip on your chin tightened and he bent down to sloppily kiss your lips. Sunghoon’s lips slowly worked against yours, like he was using you to calm himself even more. Like he was basking in your love for him like you did with his love for you.

He pulled away, just enough that with each word from his mouth, his lips brushed against yours. “It makes me want to rip you limb from limb. Polish all the parts so you can see it—see how much my love for you breaks me apart.” With a harsh thrust, Sunghoon pushed himself into you completely. You cried out, the sound being muffled by his lips so close to yours. Your nails dug into his shoulders at the action. Sunghoon pulled out of you until just the fat tip of his cock remained inside. With each word, he thrusted into you. “My sweet love, my perfect wife, my doll.”

Loud gasps rang from your mouth and Sunghoon took your hands from his shoulders and pinned them above your head with one of his own. His eyes never once left yours. He wanted to see how you cracked and shattered beneath him. He wanted to witness it. Sunghoon trailed his other hand down the side of your face, his thumb running over the soft skin of your cheek before it moved closer to your mouth. His eyes shined when he dipped his thumb into your mouth and you eagerly swirled your tongue around it, his own mouth opening. Sunghoon’s pace slowed as if he was remembering himself. The languid strokes drove you crazy and your hips lifted off the bed to gain more friction.

It was a constant back and forth of back to back harsh thrusts that felt like it was splitting you open to slow, sweet thrusts that had you begging for more. With your arms pinned about you, you couldn’t even really move besides the slight lift of your hips, and they could only lift so high with how close Sunghoon pressed himself into you. He had complete control over you; over how you moved, how deeply and at what pace you felt him, and over what sounds you made with his thumb in your mouth. Your eyes began to get glassy with how much you wanted him.

You guessed that you liked being used—liked being his toy, his plaything. You guessed that you liked feeling desired, feeling like his doll. You glanced around your bedroom, back arching and loud, unashamed moans falling from your lips at the way Sunghoon fucked you. It felt as if every single doll was looking at you, watching you. Watched you succumb to your husband and watched as the cracks in your porcelain body began to crumble. Watched how you loved every second of it. How wet it made you to the point that Sunghoon was slipping in and out of you with ease and how the vulgar gushing sounds bounced off the walls.

Sunghoon’s pace slowed and he watched how his cock slowly disappeared into you before he slowly pulled it back out and examined how it dripped with your arousal. A soft chuckle left his parted lips as he did it over and over. You clawed at his arm still holding yours above your head, a loud whine came from the bottom of your throat and your body shifted in any way that it could to feel him deeper, to have his cock drag against your walls faster.

He replaced his wet thumb with his mouth, completely silencing your moans and whines. Sunghoon’s mouth worked slowly against yours once again, soft groans vibrating against your lips as he kissed you.

“You feel so good,” Sunghoon whined, barely able to get his words out before his lips were back on yours. He let out another moan, his shallow strokes growing quicker. “Taking everything I give you so well, my love. It’s like your body was made for mine.” Sunghoon finally let go of your arms, giving your body some space as his lips traveled down to your chest. He left wet kisses all over it, teasingly kissing around your perked nipples while you dragged your hands through his hair and pulled at the tips of the strands. Everytime his lips touched your skin it felt like white-hot coals were being placed on you where they touched. Sunghoon looked up at you over the rim of his glasses, lips pressed to your skin with a hint of a smile. “Do you feel good, darling?”

Sunghoon’s hips picked up speed, just barely, but enough to make your head spin wildly. His pace was agonizing and you were sure your frustration showed in how you tugged harder at his hair and pulled his head back and the way your hips pathetically raised to meet his. Sunghoon’s mouth opened and he let out a laugh. “Please,” you begged him, your eyes filled with unfallen tears, “please.”

He sat up, lips brushing against your skin one last time before he pulled away. Sunghoon pushed down on your hips with his hands to stop them from moving, his own still continuing at that agonizing pace. “Please, what?” he asked, head tilted to the side as he watched you squirm beneath him and claw at the bedsheets. “What are you begging me to do to you?”

You whined when his hands moved up to your waist and sent tingles throughout your body. Through your blurry, tear-filled eyes you could see his smile. Pitiful moans escaped your mouth and your chest rose and fell so heavily you would’ve thought you weren’t breathing at all—instead trying to gasp in gulps of breath. “Please,” you begged again. Sunghoon inhaled sharply at the way you clenched down on him, at how your whiny moans filled his ears and the way the corners of your eyes flooded with tears. He halted his movements and pulled out of you completely.

“No, no, no!” you cried and leaned up to reach for him. He pushed you back down to the bed gently. Sunghoon’s own breathing picked up as his wet cock hovered over you. He took one of your hands in his and guided it towards it. “I’ll continue once you can tell me—” his breath hitched once your hand wrapped around his thick length “—what you want.” Sunghoon guided your hand up and down his cock slowly, his hand tightening on top of yours so you squeezed him more. His breath shuddered as he watched your hand work, his stomach tightening every time your hand squeezed his mushroom tip. He moaned again at how easily your hand slipped over him from your arousal, and his moans grew louder when he’d move his hips to force your hand back down his length again and again.

“Tell me…” he breathed out, his eyes fluttering closed, once you still didn’t give him an answer. Sunghoon’s hands laid flat against the back of your thighs—right next to where you needed him the most.

“I… I-I want you…” you stuttered out, voice small. Sunghoon hummed in question, bringing his thumb to your clit. He rubbed circles into it at the same speed he moved his hips. You gasped, back involuntarily arching off the bed. Your hand paused mid-stroke of his cock before his hips rutting against it stirred you back into action. “Closer…” Sunghoon says through a grunt, “but, I’m going to need more than that from you, my love. Don’t you want to be good for me and do what I asked?”

A soft whine left his lips when you squeezed a little too much at the base of his cock. “I want to hear those pretty moans of yours as I fuck you with my cock… see your pretty face as you cum around it. Won’t you give that to me? Do you really want to settle for my fingers tonight, darling?” Sunghoon continued.

How could you tell him what you really wanted? Explain the deepest desire that you had right now? He told you about his inner battle with how much his love for you consumes him. He told you the things that it made him want to do. You wanted him to let go and do it. You wanted him to wipe you clean so you watched it all—saw it all. Enough with holding back—like he tried to do every single night without fail. It was no use when you both knew what was coming. You wanted him to lose control. You wanted that swirling darkness in his eyes to take over. You wanted him to do what he said he wanted to do if you didn’t feel the same way he felt about you. How do you express that to him?

“Do it…” you say, your words coming out strained. A sweet moan left your mouth and you looked him dead in the eyes as the tears finally slid down your hot cheeks. “I w-want you… to do it.” Your voice was just above a whisper, loud enough that only his ears could hear your words despite being the only two people in the entire house. You squeezed down onto his thick cock more as your wrist worked harder. The hand he wasn’t using to rub circles into your puffy clit grabbed your thigh tighter, his fingers surely leaving indents into the plush skin. Sunghoon’s head hung lowly as he tore his gaze away from yours and went back to watching your hand.

Sunghoon plunged two fingers deep inside your dripping entrance and you felt like you could finally feel the oxygen reach your lungs. He pushed them in and out of you, his gaze flicking over to his movements instead of yours to relish in the way his fingers came back out more and more wet. As his fingers curled inside you, causing breathy moans to leave your willing lips, you watched the way his stomach tensed and his hips faltered. Without saying a word, you could tell what was running through his mind right now. You could see his eyes grow more and more darker, fill up more and more with desire. Sunghoon finally looked back up at you, his wire-framed glasses low on his nose bridge. “Do what?” he asks, his voice just as quiet as yours was.

You didn’t have to say anything else. Sunghoon’s hips froze and his stomach tightened even more as a pretty moan ripped straight through him. His eyes fluttered shut, his fingering waned and you lifted your hips to chase his hand. Sunghoon’s warm cum shot all over your stomach and splattered up to your breasts in thick spurts. He let out another moan, this one dragging out from deep within him as his body finally relaxed. You helped him through it all—hand never stopping as he rode out his high and marked more of your stomach with his cum until you were painted a creamy white and he was completely empty.

His eyes blinked open and he looked down at how messy you were. Something in his demeanor shifted as his eyes grazed over you and you couldn’t tell what had changed until he looked at you. You inhaled sharply at his stare, your breathing picking up. His own chest still heaved from his recent release. Sunghoon took his wet fingers out from your cunt, taking a moment to drag them through your folds to spread your arousal even more, all while his eyes never left yours. Gone were the barriers that held him back, that darkness took him over full force.

Meek whimpers escaped your lips and you dug your nails into the bedsheet beneath you. “You like being my doll, don’t you?” Sunghoon asks. His voice was almost flat, and he was still speaking in that hushed tone. His expression was decidedly blank except for the subtle way his brows drew together. “Don’t you?” he asked a little louder when you didn’t answer him. His hands squeezed the back of your thighs and his fingers dug into the soft skin there. You timidly nodded, not daring to look away.

His hands relaxed and his thumbs brushed over where his fingers dug into you comfortingly, his eyes finally leaving yours. Sunghoon grabbed his cock and rubbed his flushed tip in between your folds, the wet sounds it made piercing the silent bedroom. “You know,” he starts, his voice no longer so low, “you really are truly flawless, doll. My muse…”

Sunghoon is already slipping back inside you before you can process the way his thick cock completely stretches you open. You cry out as more unshed tears fall from your eyes. He continues, “It angers me how much I can’t capture you fully. How none of these dolls can compare to the real thing—the real you. It makes me… so angry…”

He’s pulling back his hips as he speaks, the tip of his cock just barely leaving your pussy, before he roughly thrusts his cock back inside of you. Another loud moan emits from you and your vision blurs from more tears as your face gets hot. You could barely hear Sunghoon’s wry laugh over the sudden ringing in your ears.

Sunghoon’s pace is brutal, and you’re suddenly regretting whining so much about how slow he was once going. It gave you whiplash, how fast he fucked into you, and the only thing you could do to keep yourself grounded is tightly wrap your hands around his wrists at your hips. Your arms smeared and got sticky with his cum but you didn’t care. With each thrust, your body shook and pushed you further into the mattress. With your iron-clad grip on Sunghoon’s wrists, your tits pushed together and bounced in accordance with his hips against yours. Sunghoon was fucking you like he wanted to break you in half.

“S-Slo—” you tried to speak but was cut off by the waves of sudden pleasure hitting you one after the other. Sunghoon just shushed you, his hands pulling your hips towards his so you’d feel him deeper. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you couldn’t think about anything other than the way he was making you feel so, so good. You wanted to feel this way forever. Wanted him to stay lost so you never escaped this feeling of immense pleasure. Wanted him to use you to take out his anger at himself—at you—like you meant absolutely nothing, just a doll for him to handle and put back in its place.

You adore it, the way he makes you feel.

Such nasty sounds fill the air, but neither of you could bring yourselves to care about it. If anything, it turned you on more just how loud and demanding to be heard it was. With how much the sounds of the sex the two of you were having penetrated your ears, you would’ve thought that you’d be getting multiple noise complaints at any moment. You both definitely weren’t trying to be quiet in the slightest.

Between your moans, you heard Sunghoon speak. “I want to take you apart, carve into you like I do my dolls, but this time make something real. Have you be so perfect forever.” His voice was almost scarily plain, like he thought this over time and time again before. You blinked away tears and finally got a clear view of him and the way he stared down at you with a hint of a smile, head tilted as he watched you crack and begin to fall into yourself. “Forever my perfect little doll, to bend—” he pushed your knees closer to your chest so you were practically folded in half “—and to break—” he roughly thrusted into you once more, his hint of a smile growing into a smirk as you clenched down on him “—and to put back together and play with as I please.”

“Sunghoon,” you sobbed as your stomach tightened and you started to shake. You didn’t get the chance to get another word out before you were violently orgasming, your cum pouring out of you and leaving a white ring around the base of Sunghoon’s cock as he roughly fucked it back into you. Wet, gushing sounds came from his cock plowing into your pussy and your cum poured out from around him and down the curve of your ass. You could scream at the sudden overstimulation.

“That’s my girl,” Sunghoon says as he watched you shatter. He used your hands still limply wrapped around his wrists to pull you up off the bed and halfway into his lap, his cock still buried within you. One of his hands supported your back and the other came to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Pretty dolls don’t cry.”

Sunghoon brought your hands to his shoulders and you held tightly onto the soft fabric of his shirt. His own hands dragged down the expanse of your stomach and he wrapped one of his arms around your back. Sunghoon lowered his head so he could look you in your eyes, his free hand lifting your chin to raise your head more. “I love you,” he murmured, pausing a beat to make sure you heard him, before roughly moving his lips against yours and cutting off one of your watery whines.

Your hands moved from Sunghoon’s shoulders to wrap around his neck and pull him closer to you. You deepened the kiss, letting Sunghoon open your mouth so his tongue could slip in and dance with yours. You’d give anything to keep his lips on yours forever.

Sunghoon began to thrust into you again, his hips moving slow at first before they rapidly picked up pace. You moaned against his lips, your eyes squeezing shut. You felt Sunghoon’s lips pull into a smile, “I love you so much.” He said it like it was a confession.

Head falling into the crook of his neck, you cling to him tighter with your last remaining strength and whimper into his warm skin. Your body shook all over until it felt like you might explode. It felt like Sunghoon kept repeatedly turning and turning the winding key in your back, going way beyond the motor’s limitations. It made you nervous for when he would let go and you would burst into action.

His deep moans and grunts rang in your ear and his arm around your back tightened. With his other hand, he pulled you back so he could look at you. Your face was tear-streaked, splotchy with drying tears and you tried to not cry even more. Your brows were knitted together from the overstimulation and whimpers fell from your lips. Sunghoon’s cum stuck to your stomach and your forearms and parts of his shirt, your own cum covered your pussy and Sunghoon’s cock. You were a mess.

Over and over, three words came from Sunghoon’s lips like a mantra as he filled you up with his cum to the brim and past that too. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I—”

Finally, silence rang through the air besides both of your heavy breathing. After another moment, your body finally stilled. The silence was so thick that you felt like you couldn’t move at all. Delicately, like he held the shards of you in his hands, Sunghoon laid you back down onto the bed. He pressed feather-light kisses to your jaw and cheeks before they finally landed on your lips.

You were so overwhelmed with emotions and feelings that you couldn’t feel anything at all. Your head was still foggy and your only penetrating thoughts swirled around him. Despite your eyes being wide open, your vision was cloudy.

Sunghoon kissed you again. “Stay here,” he says, pushing away from you. Your arms fell to your sides limply. He leaned back and pulled his cock out of you, eyes shining with adoration at the way yours and his mixed cum spilled out and dirtied the bedsheets. Sunghoon rubbed the tip of his cock through it a couple times, ignoring how you squirmed and whined. “Absolute perfection,” he said under his breath before standing to his feet.

You laid there on the bed, still spread open and a mess of cum, as your eyes went in and out of focus. When the clouds in your vision did part, all you saw were all of the dolls and how they stared at you. Sunghoon came back a couple moments later, his face coming into focus as the moonlight bounced off his glasses. He climbed over you and began cleaning you up.

You were barely aware of the way he meticulously made sure every nook and cranny was polished nor how he moved you to put new bedsheets on the bed. Your mind didn’t start to come back to you until he was pulling you over him and sitting you onto his cock. You came alive at his hands trailing the expanse of your body before landing on your hips. You moaned quietly, your gaze dripping to look down at him. The darkness in his eyes was not quite all the way gone.

Sunghoon brought you down to lay on his chest. “I could fuck you all night…” he trails and his voice vibrates throughout your whole body as he shallowly thrusts up into you, “and into the morning, too.” His hips stilled and instead his fingers caressed your back. “But then we wouldn’t have the full day together, would we, my love?”

You shook your head slightly and Sunghoon wrapped an arm possessively over you before pulling the blankets overtop of you both, his other arm caging you against him completely. As the moonlight filtered through the window of your bedroom, the two of you slowly fell asleep.

In the morning, you were awoken by kisses on your neck and your pussy fluttering around Sunghoon’s slow strokes. He lifted your leg into the air and you turned your body towards the warmth at your back, blinking away sleep. You hummed, a soft whine pulling from your throat as you looked at him.

His glasses were off, which let you know that it hadn’t been long since he woke up himself. Sunghoon leaned down to press his lips to yours, his cock still dragging at a snail’s pace against your walls. “Are you sore?” he asks, pulling away from your lips to kiss your shoulder.

You nodded. Him still inside you, lazily fucking into you felt good, but you couldn’t ignore the way he stretched you open and the deep soreness that came from it. “A little,” you say.

Sunghoon turned you onto your back so you laid beneath him and he pulled out of you completely. “I’m sorry, my love,” he says and his lips meet yours again. “Let me make you feel better.”

He kissed your lips once more and started trailing kisses down to your jaw and along the length of your neck. Sunghoon looked up at you through the strands of his black hair, kissing lower down your body to your breasts, his hands massaging them as he kissed at your perked nipples. Soft moans left you at his touch.

His kisses spread to your stomach, to your hips, and finally right above where you were already wet for him. He spread your legs open more. “I’ll be gentle,” Sunghoon says, placing a kiss to your clit before his tongue poked out to lap at your entrance.

Without Sunghoon around, the idea of perfection was bitter on your tongue—acidic in your chest. But, when your beloved husband was around, finally in your arms again, you understood why people strive for it. You love it.

If perfection was how Sunghoon saw you, then you’d forever be the most absolutely perfect person, woman, wife you could be.

Days pass and you are once again left alone in the vastness of your home. Sunghoon stood true to his word as best as he could, spending as much time with you when he didn’t have to work, but it still wasn’t enough. The house still felt empty, and the occasional early nights when he would come home didn’t help.

It felt like the early nights home he took came at a price. Most nights when he would finally walk through the front door, you were already asleep or close to it. He would wake you up with a kiss and a content sigh. It made your chest ache even more than it already did when he is away.

You were in the middle of washing the dishes, mind trailed off to someplace else as you idly let the sounds of the TV float around you. “The search for the six missing girls is still going strong. Police still has not found the perpetrator, but an interview earlier with the Chief says that they are very close to finding out who has taken these girls. Our anonymous tip hotline is still up and running for anyone who may have any valuable information on where these girls might be.”

The words brought you back to life, and you gasped quietly as you looked towards the tiny screen. You examined the bold numbers at the bottom of the screen. It reminded you of the secret room behind the dollhouse that you completely forgot about. You quickly finished the dishes, leaving them in the strainer to dry completely as you dried your wet hands.

Slowly, you took quiet steps towards the hallway where the dollhouse was displayed. You looked to the front door to ensure that it was still locked. Sunghoon could walk through it at any moment and you didn’t want him to know that you knew about his secret workshop before you had the chance to see what was inside.

You recalled the way the door to the room opened—the pushed opened small bookshelf that revealed the make-shift door. You tip-toed to the bookshelf, examining its sides and the books on it.

You didn’t really look at the books on the bookshelf besides your own cookbooks. Sunghoon’s doll making books were something you rarely touched, if at all. But, you took a hard look at those too, your fingers running over the spines. They all felt like books, the spines hard and sturdy, but something about them still felt off to you. You looked at Sunghoon’s books again, pulling each one out a little to take a peek at the covers.

In the middle of you pulling one of the books, you heard a quiet click and the bookshelf came loose from the wall. You took a step back, shock showing all over your face. Gently, you grabbed the side of the bookshelf and pulled.

The bookshelf creaked open and revealed an opening that you had to bend down a little to enter. When you stepped inside the surprisingly large room, your eyes did a sweep of what was inside. You froze, your stomach dropping as you stared at what was in front of you, absolutely horrified. You didn’t even really know what was in front of you… It looked like an amalgamation of various body parts, stitched and sewn into one. Its skin was weirdly shiny, almost like it was made of some kind of plastic or resin while still keeping its elasticity.

You disregarded the rest of the room, instead taking careful steps towards the strange creation in front of you. It didn’t look neither dead nor alive and that confused you even further—it barely looked human. Its eyes and lips were sewn shut and it was completely hairless. It was held up onto its feet by long strips of silk hanging from the ceiling that was tied around its naked body. Next to where it stood was a table with thick locks of hair tied with ribbons of your favorite color.

Maybe this was the final crack in your mind and it was crumbling completely, but it kind of looked like you too. Even the hair on the table matched yours perfectly. If you looked past all the stitches, the weird shiny skin, and the lack of hair, it almost seemed like you were looking in a mirror. It looked like an unfinished, life-sized doll of you. Your stomach turned in on itself.

The fear in you raised tenfold in you when it started to twitch. You took a couple steps back from it when it began to pull on its restraints a little. It seemed to start to panic and its shiny arms pulled at the restraints keeping it up even more as it tried to reach out to you. You jumped back more, fearful tears filling your eyes. Your mouth opened to speak, but no words would come out.

The uncanny creation tried to speak, though, before realizing that its mouth was sewn shut. When it began to frightfully hum—the sound off tune and terrifying—did your body start to feel heavy and limp. It pulled at its restraints with all the little strength it had as it reached out to you and began to hum wildly… it hummed Sunghoon’s melody, the one he hummed when he worked.

Realization hit you like a tsunami. Not only was you dear husband making dolls of you, but he was trying to make a real, life-sized human doll of you. And it seemed that every part of this surreal creation was taken from another until it resembled you as close as he could get it. Your mind flashed to those six missing girls—the six missing girls that all looked eerily similar to you. Despite having all the puzzle pieces right in front of you, your mind refused to see the whole picture.

You backed up further, the back of your thighs hitting the desk that was against the back wall near the make-shift door. You twisted towards it, chest heaving as you scanned the scattered papers and opened books. You picked up what looked to be a journal Sunghoon kept and read over the open page with trembling hands.

The entry remarked at how the experiment was working well and how none of the body parts were rejecting like they did before. He praises how the process was much smoother than last time, how the girls he chose were the perfect fit. The journal dropped from your hands.

Those girls going missing due to Sunghoon was no longer speculation. Your eyes snapped back to his “experiment.” It must be those poor girls, their bodies sewn into one to look like you. You still didn’t want to believe it.

Tears poured from your eyes as fear sunk its claws deep within you and forced its way down your throat and into your heart. Your entire world came crashing down around you and quiet sobs left your mouth as you fought against the idea that your husband wasn’t who he said he was—that he was a kidnapper, a killer.

You rushed forwards, your arms raised towards his creation before you wrapped them around yourself and remained a safe distance. “No!” you exclaimed as you rapidly shook your head. “No, this is all a misunderstanding—a mistake! Sunghoon wouldn’t do this… He isn’t that type of person!” You wiped at your eyes, almost believing your own words until you dropped your hands.

Dolls completely surrounded the peculiar creation—Sunghoon’s experiment. It was even more that the ones that surrounded you in the hallway when they were showing you the scene in the dollhouse. They all looked at you for a moment before slowly turning to look up at how the amalgamation of stolen girls thrashed towards you, still frantically humming.

The dollhouse.

It was a warning. Those scenes the dolls showed you… it was all a warning. This was what they were trying to tell you this entire time. This wasn’t just any ordinary experiment for Sunghoon, a dollmaker going completely mad in his craft—no. This experiment was for you. He was using these girls, tearing apart their bodies limb from limb and creating some freakish doll of them that was meant to be you. It was practice… He was doing all of this so he knew exactly what to do when he laid his tools down and cut into the real thing. You were next.

Sunghoon’s words rang in your ears and bounced around in your head: “I want to take you apart, carve into you like I do my dolls, but this time make something real. Have you be so perfect forever.” You finally understood it now.

Suddenly, all thrashing ceased and the humming finally abruptly stopped. The only thing that filled the silence was your muffled sobs. “I’m sorry,” you cried, unsure if it even heard you. “I’m so sorry.”

You stumbled towards the opening of the room and barely missed hitting your head on the way out. You didn’t even wait for the bookshelf to click back into place before rushing through the hallway and to the kitchen. For once in your entire life, you hoped that Sunghoon had a long night at work.

Nearly falling into the kitchen counter, you shakily grabbed the landline on the wall. Those bold numbers of the anonymous tip hotline flashed behind your eyes and you rushed to put in the numbers, putting the ringing phone to your ear. “This is the anonymous tip hotline for the six missing girls. Please only share useful tips that could help a breakthrough in the case. Do you have any information to share?”

Your breathing came out heavy and you tried to force the oxygen to reach your lungs, inhaling sharply as you tried to find your words. “I… I-I think my husband kidnapped those girls…” you breathed in a whisper. The woman on the other end of the line started talking, but your focus was abruptly taken when you heard another, more familiar voice behind you.

“Something scare you, darling?” Sunghoon asks, his voice gentle and filled with worry. You couldn’t tell if he was being genuine.

You jumped, pressing further into the kitchen counter as you spun in place, the phone leaving your ear. Sunghoon sat at the kitchen table, his thick brows knitted together. You didn’t even hear him come back home. Despite the landline being away from your ear, you still heard the woman on the other end asking you questions, frantically asking if you were still there. You were completely frozen.

Sunghoon rose to his feet and the stove light illuminated him. You saw him differently now. No longer was he your loving husband, he was something else. Still, you hated the way your heart soared when you locked eyes on him. How your body relaxed, even in the slightest. You hated how you felt complete now that he was here and how you wanted to run into his arms.

He crossed the short distance to you, his arms coming to rest against the counter on both sides of you. You inhaled shakily now that you and Sunghoon were face to face. Without his eyes leaving yours, Sunghoon took the phone from your quivering hand and hung it back up on the wall. His arm returned to its position next to you, completely caging you within his arms.

Sunghoon leaned his forehead against yours. “I thought I told you that you had nothing to be afraid of, not when I’m here.” His voice was still gentle—soft—and it was lowered as he moved one of his arms to take one of your shaky hands in his. You wanted to pull away from him and wrap your arms around him simultaneously. You felt exhausted.

You voice shook, “Y-You kidnapped those girls, didn’t you? Turned them into… into…” Sunghoon drew back to look at you, his head falling to the side as his brows pushed together. His confused look made you start to question if you had been imagining everything—the dolls, the dollhouse, the hidden room, the experiment. “Into… what?” Sunghoon asks.

“...Into me!” you exclaimed, more tears running down your already wet cheeks as you choked out a sob. Sunghoon’s hand tightened around yours. “You killed them… and who knows how many others! Am I next? Are you going to kill me too?”

Sunghoon let go of your hand so he could cup your face with both of his hands, his thumbs wiping underneath your eyes to get rid of the fallen tears. “They aren’t dead!” he says. “And I swear to you that I’ll never hurt you, my love. You know that. Think of them as… reborn.”

You started to tremble in his arms and tried to shift away from him, but Sunghoon wouldn’t let you go anywhere. “Is that what you’re going to do to me? Was all of this—” you gestured around the room at all the dolls of you sitting pretty on the various shelves around the kitchen “—just practice for the real thing?” you spat out. You tried to move again, but Sunghoon’s hands dropped from your face to your upper arms to keep you in place.

“No!” Sunghoon started, his voice coated in disbelief that you would even ask him that as he shook his head. “No… can’t you see? This—” he used a finger to motion around the kitchen at the dolls “—is a reflection of how much I love you. My devotion to you. You, above anything else, above everything else. A peek inside my mind and how the only thing in there is you.”

“A-And that experiment of yours—the missing girls? Behind the wall?” you asked.

“That… is my dedication to you—m-my oath.” Sunghoon was completely desperate. He pleaded with you, his eyes wide and begging you to believe his words. His eyes were watery, like if you didn’t believe him he might cry as well, and he looked at you over the rim of his wire-framed glasses that slipped down his nose bridge.

You didn’t know what to believe. Didn’t know what to say. You just wanted to go upstairs with Sunghoon and lay in your bed and forget about everything that you’ve witnessed as he held you close to his chest. It was all too much, and your resolve was starting to crack and shatter. You wanted to smooth down your wrinkled dress and fix your messy hair, but Sunghoon didn’t let you move a single inch in fear that you would run from him. You couldn’t tell which one of you was more terrified.

His hands slid down from your upper arms and down to your hands, grasping them so tight that it started to hurt. “Come… Come with me…” he trailed, gulping thickly. You stared at him with wide, frightful eyes, suddenly unwilling to move, but Sunghoon desperately pleaded with you. He looked like he was seconds from getting down onto his knees. “Please,” he begged, pulling you into him, as his voice cracked. “You know I’d never do anything ever to hurt you.”

Sunghoon took a step back, hoping that you would follow after him, and you did. You let him guide you down the hallway all the way to the bookshelf and into the room behind it, his grip on your hands never once loosening. He led you in front of the uncanny image of you that he created. “I know how it looks,” Sunghoon says, his voice hushed. “But there’s no pain, no sorrow, nothing.”

It didn’t try to reach out to you like it did earlier and all the dolls that once surrounded it were gone. It didn’t hum that out-of-tune, terrifying version of the melody Sunghoon hummed when he worked either. It just hung limply from its silk restraints. “It just is,” Sunghoon continued. “And when it’s fully done, and completely polished, it’ll be flawless.” He delicately took your chin and guided your head to the side so you looked at him. Your body finally stopped fighting against itself and you relaxed in his grasp. “Like you are.”

Sunghoon leaned forward, hesitantly pausing to look at you again before bringing his lips to meet yours. He pulled you into him, his body wrapping around yours, and you timidly invited him in.

His lips felt so good against yours, and you knew that once you parted for air you’ll miss the feeling of them forever until he kissed you again. It felt right—it felt like home. The home where the two of you were always together and he held you like he was holding you now—like he was afraid that if he let go he would lose you. That if he didn’t hold you like a delicate porcelain cup you would chip and crack and shatter. And you would.

When Sunghoon’s lips moved against yours like they did in this moment, everything fell into place. All your worries slid off your back and for a brief minute, it was just the two of you in the whole wide world. Nothing existed but him, and his body enveloped in yours, and his touch that made you burn. And the flames danced so beautifully for him, didn’t they?

Just when you were about to pull away to quell the heaviness in your lungs, you felt a sudden sharp pain in your neck. You hissed, breaking away from Sunghoon’s lips just barely. Sunghoon chased your lips, holding the back of your head and pulling you closer against his body as he kissed you harder.

You whimpered against his lips, your nails digging into his arms as you tried to free yourself from his vice-like grip. It was no use, Sunghoon was never going to let you go. You felt your body grow heavy in his arms and he had to hold you up. Your vision began to spot black and fray around the edges, and your ears rang terribly. Just before you passed out completely, and over the ringing of your ears, you heard Sunghoon’s muffled voice as he kissed your neck where the pain stemmed.

“I love you. I love you so much that it hurts, I truly do.”

You fade in and out of consciousness as time passes around you. Sometimes you see blurred glimpses of Sunghoon, sometimes it's just an array of colors until you black out again.

You aren’t sure how long it’s been when your eyes finally do open and you remain conscious for good. Blinking away the blurriness in your vision, you examine how you're laying on the couch in your living room. Your entire body aches and it feels stiff. Your head is pounding and you almost close your eyes again to ease the pain you feel. You notice how you’re in different clothes and there’s a blanket over top of you. Too late do you notice the figure in your peripheral, and your eyes shift to look at them.

Sunghoon hovers over you, his expression a chaotic mix of hopeful, relief, and worry as he stares down at you. He’s wearing different clothes too, and his hair is a complete mess, like he’s been running his hands through it, and his glasses almost slide completely off his face. “Are you here, my love?” Sunghoon asks quietly. His voice sounds slightly hoarse.

You give him a confused look, pushing the blanket off of you and crying out from the pain you feel as you try and sit up. Sunghoon rushes to your aid, tossing the blanket to the side without a single thought, and helps ease you to your feet. Your gaze drops to your legs as he helps you stand and you notice how weird they look—shiny. There’s slight indented lines at your knees, too. You look at your arms and they’re the same.

You look doll-like.

Once you’re steadily on your feet, Sunghoon moves a step back to take you all in. You notice how done up you are and when you carefully raise a stiff and sore arm to your hair you feel how it’s styled. Your gaze lands on Sunghoon’s face, his eyes meeting yours.

His eyes are shining—completely full of love and pride. You’ve only seen him look like this when he first came to you with one of the dolls he made that looked the most like you, and when the two of you are in bed and his fingers are gently caressing your skin as he admires you. But, it was even more intense than in those scenarios. Confusion clouds you and you wait for Sunghoon to say something, and he does. One singular word.

“Perfect.”

[ kipo’s note . . . ] would it be wrong to say how i absolutely #needthat #desperately… like hehe yes i’ll be your perfect doll for you forever and ever and ever (๑´ω`๑)

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ ︵͡   𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (´ε｀ʃƪ)♡

🏷️﹙ 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍? 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 ﹚ @jjunberry @gothgyuu @gyuuberries @hyukascampfire @xylatox @ghstzzn @izzyy-stuff @sunoosgfv @jihyokat @whosserina @jellymochii @innocygnet @sumsumtingz @riribelle @yeoningz @minaateez @beombunni @jiryunn @lvrs-street2mmorrow @everythingvirgoes @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @fancypeacepersona @deobitifull @tinycatharsis @strawberryshoujosundae

© jjunbug - all rights reserved. do not repost on any social media or sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[mountainsoftreatos]

Just having some thoughts/feels I had to share about Charles’ reaction to Edwin’s confession on the steps of Hell –

People-pleasing Charles – who only feels like a ‘good person’ when he is keeping spirits up and protecting the people he cares about, Edwin most of all – can’t bring himself to respond to Edwin’s confession directly. Initially, Charles cannot bring himself to say “I don’t share those feelings,” because he knows it would hurt Edwin. And hurting Edwin is so antithetical to who he is and wants to be as a person, especially in this moment when Edwin is so vulnerable, when Charles has just seen, for the first time, the torture he had to endure in Hell.

So he compares them to Orpheus and Eurydice. He is trying, in this very stressful moment, to get Edwin to understand, “I love you as much as Orpheus loves Eurydice. I love you enough to risk my entire existence to come down to Hell to get you. No one and nothing could stop me. That is how much I love you.”

And I love Edwin’s response!! Because Charles just compared them to romantic couple, but that doesn’t matter to Edwin if they don’t get out of Hell together. He was serious when he told Charles that he didn’t have to feel the same way. Not being with Charles is the worst possible outcome to Edwin and that is what he focuses on – not the romantic comparison – but the tragic ending.

Charles again tries to avoid addressing Edwin’s confession. When he says he never finished the story, he has this little smile and I’m not actually sure if he is being truthful, or if he does know the story and is trying to make a little joke, but either way, he is trying to tell Edwin, “The important part of the comparison is the strength of love in the story, not how the story ended.”

But Edwin seems even more upset by his answer, his little joke. (I do wonder if it was Crystal pointing out that Charles hides his pain behind a smile that made Edwin push Charles to give him an actual response, or if he would have done it anyways). “I’m being quite serious,” he tells Charles.

And I think Charles realizes that his non-answer is hurting Edwin anyways. He realizes that Edwin needs to know how Charles feels, even if it risks letting Edwin down. And I love Charles’ response:

You, Edwin Payne, are my best mate. That will never change. You are the most important person in the world to me. There’s no one else, no one else, that I would go to Hell for. And we’ve got, and we’ve got literally forever to figure out what the rest means.

These are all very strong, very certain words. He is basically certain about three things:

Edwin is and will always be his best friend.

Charles would risk everything to save Edwin. No one else, just Edwin.

They will be together forever.

Compare that to his line, “And I can’t really say that, like, I’m in love with you back.” There’s uncertainty there! The words “really” and “like” are used as qualifiers, which are words that limit the meaning of another word/phrase. He is softening his words. And telling Edwin “I can’t really say…” is not the same as “I’m not...”, right? “I’m not in love with you back” says,“ I know what I’m feeling and it’s not romantic love.” But “I can’t really say,” communicates, “I do feel something, and in this moment I’m labeling that feeling as not ‘in love’ but that label might not be accurate.” As Jayden Revri said, he leaves it open.

Then he ends by saying they have forever to figure out what the rest means, as long as they get out of Hell – bringing his reassurance back to what Edwin had been concerned about – that they escape Hell together and will be together forever. Okay, lots of thoughts – just had to share!

Ahhhhhh, I just love Charles.

[thezombieprostitute]

Your Husband: Reminder

Summary: Nick reminds you that, while your marriage was an arranged one, it is no less important to him that vows are kept.

A/2: Reader is female, plus size, early 30's. No other physical descriptors used.

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: Implied violence, Power imbalance, Smut. Please let me know if I missed any.

Part of the Yours AU

Nick Fowler is a smart man. No one can deny that. He rose up from nothing to a powerhouse in just a decade, maybe not even that long. He was a strategist who had yet to lose any territory to another group. Had yet to lose any of his men to prison. Had yet to be ratted out by the people in his communities. Nick Fowler is a smart man who knows how to run things.

Your father was more "clever" than "smart" and knew that agreeing to Nick's bid for your hand in marriage would be the right choice. Sure, at the time, Nick wasn't yet a major player, but he'd made waves. He'd also made examples of his enemies in such a way that made others opt for a friendlier approach. Your father was clever enough to recognize supporting this "upstart" would assure his continued hold on his own territory.

As a mafia princess you'd always known you would have very little say in who you married. Honestly, you thanked your lucky stars that Nick was at least handsome and near to your own age. From the time you were 16 you'd felt the leering eyes of your father's friends and business partners. While you didn't have time to get to know Nick before the wedding, you at least never felt creeped out by him, or that you needed a shower after being around him. He was a perfect gentleman in every interaction.

The wedding itself wasn't a lavish affair, for which you were grateful. It was beautiful, of course; your father had to show off his wealth after all. But you and your mother managed to keep it tasteful. Your dress was elegant, rather than showy, but still conveyed the idea of wealth and power. The decorations leaned into the church's instead of covering them up. It actually made things look like they were meant to be together, adding to the quieter idea of "rich and powerful".

The tastefulness of the wedding was actually one of the things Nick complimented you on during the drive from the church to the reception. That 15 minute drive was the longest conversation you'd gotten to have with Nick and it was quite revealing. Nick laid out his expectations of you and reiterated the part of his vows to keep you safe. The latter was the only part you hadn't been expecting. It was interesting.

Your wedding night, however, had been beyond your wildest dreams. For Nick it was a demonstration of how, while he was in control, he could still be good to you, for you. You were reduced to a whimpering mess by the time he was done with you. But he also took the aftercare seriously. He drew you up a bath and lavished you with praise and care. You found yourself clinging to him through the night.

It's your first wedding anniversary and Nick was late coming home. You'd had his favorite dinner cooked and ready to eat over an hour ago. There was no notice, no text, no call from Nick. And it wasn't the first time.

You let a tear drop. Your mother had warned you any husband you ended up with wouldn't be faithful. But you'd foolishly hoped Nick would be different.

He finally enters the penthouse and he's looking the worse for wear. His clothing, normally pristine, is crumpled. His tie is loose. He goes to the bar to pour himself a drink. You can't help the sob that escapes you. Even if you had no right to expect him not to cheat, was it too much to ask he not do it on your anniversary?

The sound catches Nick's attention. "I thought you'd be in bed by now," he says. He looks at the dinner you'd made, long gone cold. "You know I don't expect you to cook."

"It's our anniversary, Nick," you sniffle. "Wanted to do something nice. I guess it's my fault for expecting you to remember the date."

He sets down the shot glass and walks over to you. He tilts your head up, making you look at him. "Didn't think you wanted to celebrate being tied to me. You should have told me you were planning on cooking. I would have pushed everything in my schedule to make sure I was here."

"Including your mistress?" you bite.

Nick's grip on your chin tightens. "What was that, ma moitié?"

"Don't lie to me, Nick. I grew up in this world. I know you have...other women. Prettier, skinnier, younger women. You don't to want to touch me except to produce an heir. It's just the way it is."

"I never lie to you," he says through gritted teeth. "But you really think I would break my vows to you? You really believe I don't think you're fucking beautiful? Do you really think me so shallow?"

"It's standard for men in this 'business'," is all you can think to say, confusion written all over your face.

"If it's standard, why are you upset by it?" His voice is icy with rage.

"I thought...I hoped you were different."

"I am," he growls. He leans in close, "and you're going to remember that going forward."

That was your only warning before he's on you with a bruising kiss. His lips never leave yours as he pulls you up to your feet and guides you towards the bedroom. You finally get a chance to breathe when he pushes you onto the bed.

"You really think I'd be hooking up with someone else when I have all of this," he gestures to your form, "waiting for me at home? I ain't even looking at other women because they're not you and that's not who I am."

The fervor in his eyes has you scared. You've never been looked at like that before. If he's lying, he's doing a damn good job of making you believe those lies. You want to look away but that's not what he likes. You know he likes the eye contact.

Seeing the fear in your eyes Nick softens a little. "You are going to be punished for doubting me, for belittling me to my face with your accusations." He pets your hair. "But I understand it's one year of being together versus a lifetime with lowlifes. So I'll take it easy on you. Do you understand?"

You whimper as you nod. You've never been punished by Nick before and you're scared. You know that Nick is a killer, a proficient fighter. What kind of punishment does he have in mind for you?

"Strip," he orders.

You're quick to obey, taking off the dress you were wearing to reveal the lingerie you'd bought for the occasion.

Nick lets out an appreciative whistle. "And you really think I'd want anyone else?"

Heat rushes to your face in embarrassment and you take off the lingerie.

He gently cups your face, "So gorgeous, ma moitié. So good and obedient for me. Now lay back and spread your legs. I want you holding your thighs back." Following his instructions, you feel your body heat up, feeling shy as you expose yourself to him.

He lays next to you on the bed, still fully dressed. "I want you to keep those legs held like this, no matter what. Understand?"

"Yes, Nick," you nod. You'd learned early on Nick only wanted to be called "Sir" by his employees. He may own you, but he wants you to know you're above his underlings.

He slowly slides two of his fingers into your core and your breath hitches. He goes all the way to the knuckle, his eyes never leaving your face, before slowly pulling them out. He continues his painfully slow pace, gradually working you up until you whimper with need.

The second the sound escapes you, Nick starts licking and sucking on your clit, his eyes still never leaving yours. Again, his movements are slow and gentle, as if he knows how to apply just enough pressure to make you hungry for more. Especially when he rubbed his fingers along that spot he knows drives you crazy. You want to beg him to move faster, to give you what you need, but you don't want to push him. If this is his idea for your punishment, you'll take it. A man like him can torture you in so many scarier ways.

His fingers press a little harder as he moves along your slick walls and you let out a cry and grip your thighs tighter. His pace picks up and almost start crying from relief. His tongue moves faster and you can feel your orgasm building.

Before you can reach your climax, he pulls away from you making you cry out. You almost lose hold of your thighs, but you're mindful of Nick's earlier command. He licks his fingers before getting up off of the bed.

"That was the first one," he comments as he removes his jacket. You can't help the pout that forms and he cracks a smile. "You're going to take your punishment like a good girl, yes?" You nod, not trusting your voice.

"Words, ma moitié."

"Yes, Nick," you sob. "I'll be good."

He caresses your cheek, "like I said, I'll take it easy on you this time. You've only known me for a year, after all. You know I don't like being insulted to my face, but you didn't know I think of cheaters as scum when you accused me, incorrectly, of being one."

"I'm sorry, Nick," your voice quavers. "I did think it was just the norm."

"I'm happy to show you otherwise. Now back to the rest of your punishment. Keep those thighs held back."

"Yes, Nick," you submit, tears forming.

He continues edging you, bringing you to tears. You lose track of how many times he does it because you're so focused on trying to keep your thighs spread for him.

When he finally tells you to let go of your thighs you let out of a small cry of relief.

"Always so good for me, ma moitié," he coos. "Now let me show you how much I want you." Nick is almost feral for you. Your cries, your whimpers, your obedience. He swears he could've cum in his pants. The times he denied you your orgasm were much needed reprieves to keep himself from humping the mattress. But a lesson had to be taught.

Nick kept you in that bed for hours. He made sure to hit all of your favorite spots, making you scream his name as he filled your pussy. He showered you with praise. "Taking me so well." "So beautiful when you cum." "Fuck, love feeling you milk my cock." Though it doesn't take long before you're too brain-dead from pleasure to register his words. He finishes and starts giving you gentle kisses before going into aftercare mode.

As he's washing you in the giant bathtub he apologizes for the ruined dinner. "I know how good your cooking is. I'm sorry I didn't come home sooner. I really thought you didn't want to do the anniversary thing." You respond by hugging his arm and nuzzling him, making him smile. "How about, to make up for it, I'll take you book shopping tomorrow? Hell, I'll even see about buying you that used bookstore you love to visit so much."

Your eyes go wide at the offer, "you really mean it, don't you? All of it."

Nick's eyes soften, "yes ma moitié. I am in charge, yes, but that doesn't mean I'm free to hurt you."

You squeeze his arm tighter as your brain struggles to stay awake. Nick helps you into the bed and, just like your wedding night a year ago, you find yourself clinging to him through the night.

Once he's certain your asleep, Nick grabs his phone, quietly so as not to disturb you, and texts O'Malley to look into your father's affairs. From what you've told him, your father's been lying to Nick about keeping promises. If that's the case, Nick has to be even more on guard than he thought. Or make his move sooner than he'd planned.

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[mssorceressupreme]

Truth or Dare | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: Fred realises his true feelings for you once you are dared to french kiss George during a round of truth or dare. Draco then forces you to kiss him instead, which only results in a brawl. You then take Fred back to the common room and help clean his wounds.

Warnings/tags: violence/fighting, jealous!fred, kissing, non-con touch, Draco being a git (sorry malfoy lovers 😭), cleaning wounds after a fight trope, reader isn't in a specified house here, spicy ending (if u squint)

———

The Ravenclaw common room had never seen a gathering quite like this. The enchanted blue flames flickered in the fireplace, casting a radiant glow over the room, which today, was packed with students from all four houses.

Luna had invited everyone over, claiming that a “spontaneous social gathering” would be a great way to pass the time and forget about your studies for a while.

The usual gryffindor group, Cedric and some hufflepuffs, the slytherin trio and Cho, all decided to partake in this gathering.

And so, there you all were, sitting in a large, chaotic circle on the floor, playing a game of truth or dare that had long spiralled out of control.

The rules were simple: if you refused a dare or a truth, you had to take Veritaserum and spill your deepest, darkest secret in front of everyone. No one wanted to risk that.

So far, Harry had been dared to kiss the prettiest girl in the room, which led to him—rather sheepishly—kissing Ginny, earning a gag from Ron. But moments later, Ron found himself a stuttering mess when Hermione had been dared to sit on his lap for two rounds, her face burning red while he struggled to keep his cool.

Neville, poor thing, had been forced to recount an embarrassing moment where he tripped down an entire staircase in front of his crush, which turned out alright anyway because they went to Madam Pomfrey together and spent the whole day chatting.

And now, it was your turn.

Draco, who sat beside you, leaned in with a smug grin. “Alright Y/N, let’s make this interesting,” he drawled. “I dare you to French kiss the person sitting across from you.”

You turned your head, your stomach flipping.

And there sat George Weasley, grinning at you like he had already won.

The room erupted into cheers, and George wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “Well, Y/N, I won’t say no,” he teased, leaning back on his hands.

Your heart sank a little—not because George was a bad choice, but because you wished it was his twin instead.

Still, rules were rules.

Taking a deep breath, you stood up and took slow tentative steps across the large circle, kneeling in front of George. “Alright Georgie, just get it over with,” you muttered, cheeks burning.

George chuckled. “Hey! At least pretend to be excited.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling lightly, before leaning in, pressing your lips to his. He kissed you back easily, bringing a hand to your neck, letting it linger a moment longer than necessary before you pulled away, flustered.

George gave you a grin then winked, and you smiled back. He was one of your closest friends, after all; teasing you came naturally to him.

"Okay that's done!" Flustered, you rose up and hurried back to your spot next to Draco.

"You guys are adorable." Cho, who was sitting on the other side of you, nudged you gently, and you laughed nervously.

Sure, George was handsome, humorous, and kind, but he wasn't Fred. To most people, they were pretty much the same person, two halves of a whole, but to you, it was different. There was something about Fred that you saw differently.

Speaking of Fred, you shot a quick glance in his direction, curious as to his whole reaction regarding the scene that just unfolded.

Fred hadn’t said a word.

He sat stiffly, arms crossed, his jaw tight as he glared at his twin. Something in his chest twisted when he saw George’s smug grin.

But it wasn't entirely George's fault. You see, no one knew of Fred's secret crush on you. Would you call it a crush? Man, feelings were a complicated mystery to Fred, he never bothered going down that lane, it was foreign to him. Best avoid all that sappy stuff, y'know.

Draco, however, was unimpressed. “That was pathetic,” he scoffed, leaning closer to you. “You call that a French kiss? It had to be longer.”

You folded your arms, tilting your head to the side. “You didn’t even say how long.”

Draco smirked. “Fine, then, two minutes. You can do it on me instead. Save you the hassle of walking over there again."

The room let out a collective “ooooh,” and your stomach churned.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Crabbe, Goyle and Dean chanted.

"Wha—I already did the dare!" You countered, raising your hands in defence.

"Hmm now that Draco mentioned it, it was a bit of a short kiss, barely a French kiss, more like a Portuguese kiss." Lee agreed, resting his hand on his chin.

"Portuguese kiss? That's not even a thing you git." Angelina chortled, throwing her head back.

Before you could react, Draco leaned in slightly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers barely grazed your cheek, but it was enough to make you shift uncomfortably. He patted your head, smiling like he was doing you some kind of favour.

You didn’t like it.

But Draco was your friend, and this was supposed to be fun, so you ignored it. You didn't want to ruin the mood for everyone so you forced yourself to tolerate it.

Fred, however, wasn’t ignoring it.

His hand was clenched into a tight fist in his lap, and his usually mischievous eyes were laced with something entirely different.

Draco leaned in again, wrapping one arm around you. “Come on, then,” he murmured, his smirk widening. “Or do you want the Veritaserum?”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. You didn’t want to kiss him. But you definitely didn’t want to take the serum, either.

Draco took your hesitation as an invitation. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re scared.”

The crowd cheered again, urging you on.

Draco removed his arm then ruffled your hair slightly, "Don't be a wuss, I'll make it enjoyable for ya."

"Don't be scared Y/N, it's only a kiss!" Seamus encouraged, hoping to make you feel better, but it only made you feel worse.

Only a kiss? You wanted to save french kissing for someone special, not some ridiculous dare.

Draco leaned closer, nuzzling his nose into your neck. His hand brushed against your arm, he was so close that you could now smell his fresh scent. You leaned back instinctively, smiling awkwardly while brushing your arm.

Everyone was so caught up encouraging the two of you to kiss that no one paid attention to the speed at which Fred stood up from the floor and bolted to Draco, tackling him harshly.

A collective gasp echoed through the room as the two of them crashed onto the floor. Draco barely had time to react before Fred punched him, his face twisted in pure rage. The two of them were now in a brawl, wrestling each other on the ground. It was clear that no one was going easy on each other.

“Keep your hands off her,” Fred snapped, his voice low and furious.

Draco, stunned for only a second, sneered up at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

"Fred! Oi! Stop, it's just a game!" Lee's attempt at stopping Fred with his words was useless.

Fred wasn’t listening. His fists clenched, his breathing heavy as he pinned Draco down, gripping his shirt harshly.

Draco’s smirk returned. “Merlin, are you jealous Weasley?”

Fred loosened his grip, blinking slowly, "I..."

"Called it. Bet you wished it was you getting to french kiss Y/N then. Why don't you let me finish my dare with her so I can show you how it's done eh?" Draco remarked, all too obnoxiously for Fred's liking.

Fred's eyes grew darker, laced with furiousness.

He lunged again, and in a matter of seconds, they were full-on fighting.

Gasps and shouts filled the room as they tumbled, fists flying, knocking over a pile of books and scattering cards from an abandoned wizarding chess game. The flood thudded heavily, as they continued their wrestling.

“Fred! Draco! Stop!” Voices pleaded, but they were drowned out as Fred was blinded by rage. How dare Draco force himself onto you like that?!

No one listened.

You watched them in pure horror as they fought; you joined the others in yelling at them to stop, but none of them listened.

Hermione immediately went to comfort you, placing a comforting hand on your arm and sending you an apologetic look. Was this all because of you? You felt like shit for causing this, bloody hell, you should've just french kissed Draco.

“Merlin’s beard, Fred, stop!” George tried pulling his twin back, but Fred shook him off, shoving him away.

Cedric attempted to pull Draco off Fred, but Draco pushed him aside, scoffing, "Not now Diggory!"

Draco, despite being an arrogant prat, was also a decent fighter, and he managed to shove Fred back, wiping a bit of blood from his lip.

“What the hell?!” you finally yelled, eyes darting from Fred to Draco.

Fred froze.

His furious gaze met yours, his chest rising and falling heavily, as he wiped some blood off his lips.

He swallowed hard. Then, without a word, he turned and stormed out of the common room.

You hesitated only a second before running after him.

—

You found him on the astronomy tower balcony, leaning against the railing, gripping it so tightly his knuckles were white.

The night air was cold, but Fred’s skin was burning.

You took a deep breath. “Fred—”

“Why don’t you go check on Draco?” he cut in sharply. “Or George. Your boyfriends.”

Your brows furrowed. “They’re not my boyfriends. You're being ridiculous now.”

Fred let out a short, humourless laugh. “Really? You were getting pretty cozy with George back there.”

You sighed. “It was a dare, Fred.”

“Oh, and Draco just happened to be all over you?” He turned to face you, and that’s when you saw it—his bruised lip, the cut on his cheekbone, the faint traces of blood at the corner of his mouth.

"Come on, I know we're friends but I can handle myself." You assumed he was being protective as a friend, so you attempted comforting him, but failed miserably at doing so.

"Yeah, friends." He pressed his lips together.

You took a step closer wanting to reach up, but Fred’s eyes flickered elsewhere. “Don’t.”

You froze.

“I don’t need you feeling bad for me,” he muttered, turning back to the railing. His grip tightened. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity, Fred,” you said softly.

Silence stretched between you. The wind howled through the tower, whipping his hair slightly, but Fred didn’t move.

Your gaze drifted to his hands. His knuckles were raw, bruised from the fight.

Without thinking, you reached out, gently prying one of his fists open. He held his breath, glancing down at you.

Your fingers traced the swelling on his knuckles, your touch featherlight. “We need to clean this up.”

Fred didn’t protest. He just stood there, his jaw clenched, watching you. He released his breath, silently agreeing.

Wordlessly, you pulled his hand in yours, leading him down the spiral staircase, away from the cold, away from the fight, away from everyone else.

—

The fire crackled softly in the Gryffindor common room, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The common room was empty—everyone was either asleep or still in the Ravenclaw tower, talking about what had happened.

Fred sat on the couch, his arms resting on his knees, his head tilted slightly downward. He hadn’t said much since you dragged him back.

You returned from the bathroom with a damp cloth and knelt in front of him.

“Hold still,” you murmured, gently dabbing at the dried blood on his lip.

Fred flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. He just watched you, his hazel eyes unreadable, though there was a glimmer of something, awe, perhaps. His eyes studied yours, the way your eyebrows furrowed as you focused on cleaning his wounds. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, you were the epitome of beauty in his eyes, a darling angel.

You focused on cleaning him up, biting your lip. The silence between you was begging to be broken, heavy with something left unsaid. But you chose to ignore it, shifting your focus to getting Fred cleaned up. You see, it was the way you were always so caring towards everyone, so kind, always selflessly giving your time away to help those who needed it. That was part of the reason Fred had fallen for you in the first place, your kindness.

Fred exhaled sharply as you pressed on his wound.

"Sorry..." you mutter, but he gently removed your arm, and rested it on his knee.

“I don’t know how to stop this,” he said suddenly.

You paused, looking up at him. “Stop what?”

He let out a cheerless laugh. “This. You. Making me feel like a complete idiot.”

Your heart pace increased. “I—”

“Do you know what it’s like?” His voice was raw, unfiltered, a slight rasp as he spoke softly. “Watching you? Seeing every guy in that room touch you? Kiss you?” He shook his head. “I nearly lost my mind.”

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away.

“Never thought I'd admit it, but I’ve wanted you,” his voice low, almost trembling. “For so long, and I—” He broke off, exhaling harshly. “And then tonight, I had to sit there and watch it. Merlin, it drove me so bloody mad.”

Your hands were shaking. Was this it? The Fred you never thought would ever return your feelings, about to spew the words right out?

Fred’s eyes locked onto yours, something desperate behind this gaze.

“I hate that you don’t see it,” he muttered.

“See what?” you breathed.

His lips parted, and for a second, he hesitated.

“That I love you.”

Your breath caught, inhaling as you paused.

Fred let out a rough laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Godric, I love you. I don’t just like you, I love you. And it kills me because I know you don’t feel the same way so I just thought I'd keep it to myself but here we are."

Your heartbeat felt as though it was pounding loud enough to wake up the whole dorm.

“You idiot,” you whispered.

Fred blinked. “What?”

“You idiot,” you repeated, your voice shaking. Then, before he could react, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his with all the emotion you've held back, the words you've been dying to say to him.

It was nothing like the kiss with George.

This was everything.

Fred let out a soft, startled sound before his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, as if he had been waiting for this moment forever. His lips moved against yours, desperate, breathless. He kissed you like he had something to prove, like he needed you to know how much he meant it.

And you did.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, getting up from kneeling and he pulled you onto his lap, now straddling him in the common room, to which you were thankful that no one was around.

A soft moan escaped you, as he sucked on your lower lip, your hands tangled themselves in his fluffy hair, tugging lightly.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, you whispered, “I love you too.”

Fred let out a quiet, shaky laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “You better.” He teased.

You rolled your eyes, and he grinned.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, kissing him again as if there was no tomorrow. He smiled into the kiss, desperately needing a round two with you, his Y/N.

[waxworkdaughter]

so one thing about Mulder is that he quite simply will never assume that Scully wants more from him or wants a deeper relationship with him in a relationship or romantically or anything, because he sees her as this so cool beacon of sanity and rationality and brilliance, and because historically assuming that the people in his life want a deeper relationship with him, even if they've implied or stated it and even if they're related to him and are supposed to care about him hasn't Gone Well for him. He sees himself as a trespasser in her life and in the lives of the people he cares about, a stowaway and a scratcher at the door, hoping to sneak into her life and keep his particular corner of it, but afraid that if he "pushes" (from his perspective) for more she'll wake up and realize that he's an intrusive mess that she doesn't want around.

He's not going to "acknowledge their relationship" or "reach out and act on Scully's [obvious to the audience but deflected by her to his face] feelings" or 'take pity on her pining already and stop being selfish' or any of that because she's talked around her feelings or not talked at all just as completely as he has, if not more completely, and his life has been a series of brutal rejections from people he depended on. For a big chunk of time in the middle there, while Scully is sitting there on her own feeling rejected, Mulder is sitting there thinking he's managed to finagle exactly as much of Scully's time and attention as he's ever going to get or rightly deserves to have, and is terrified of upsetting the fragile balance by wanting more.

it's an impasse.

[sulfies]

If I Lead (pt3)

Part 2 here

Vincesco stood true by his word.

 Desmond didn't even need to use most of his skillset which he was happy about. He took it easy and dodged when he needed and accepted some punches when It seemed like he was going overboard. He was not trying to climb the ranks in a race and make a name, he just needed to be off the training wheels. And It had worked. The young lad looked a bit pissed off about not winning against him but Desmond didn't care much about it.

The next day he was given instructions and pocket money to get himself some gear that fitted him. Now equipped with warmer clothes and shoes that actually fit he was faring better. 

Marsilio also was paying him quite a good amount of money for basically doing nothing but walking around and swinging his sword to train every now and then…. He really couldn't understand why the mercenaries complained about Ezio cutting their wages since he became in charge, just how much Mario was paying them before?

A month passed in this new lazy routine.

He made home in his guard tower. He was used to sleeping outside and wasting money on rent seemed unnecessary when he had little to no belongings. He bought himself some extra blankets to cushion the stone ground and shield from the cold wind at night. His lodging was enough for him.

He was rarely in it unless he was sleeping anyway.

He would wake up before dawn, bathe in the stream right outside the village a few minutes away if he needed, and then he would make his way to the barracks.

It was peaceful really…

He was terribly bored.

There was not much for him to do, sometimes he would get called to patrol outside the woods to see if any bandits were camping around but they have yet to see one since he has been here. Every now and then he would group with some people for training, but most of the time he was left alone as long as he reported to the barracks first thing of the day.

He had taken hunting as a hobby, going out around mid-noon to catch some small game to bring to the butcher. It gave him food and some extra savings money. He wanted to save enough to buy a horse so he could travel without problems, taking detours if he needed but horses were expensive. 

The barracks stable had a few but they all had their owners and the ones that did not were there if the need arose.  Also, he really wasn't looking to be known as -the horse thief-.

Sometimes Vincesco would call him over to go for a drink at the tavern, each time he would accept with the guilt eating him from inside out. He was not supposed to lay around and get drunk. He had people he needed to get back to, people who he was to guide but he could not refuse his bosses.

So he would drink a mug or two of the piss-tasting beer, the cheapest money could find as slowly as he could till the rest were drunk enough for them to not realize he was faking his stumbles on the street. Once everyone parted he would climb up to his den and force himself to sleep.

He was going mad.

Desmond wasn't used to being this useless. He was used to waking up and having a mission to complete.

Find us a new water-source Desmond, We need food Desmond the field has yet to yield any, Desmond help us move this rocks over so we can prepare the shelter, Desmond climb up the mountain to see if there is anything that survived

and he did it all without complaints.

He travelled for days or months to see if there was anything new, he noted down any new changes he could see. He helped Shaun with whatever he needed his strength or body for. He helped Rebecca gather whatever supply she was going to need to make their lives easier. That was his job.

He was there to calm the people down, remind them that gods had not forsaken them but they had been given a new beginning. To not panic but have hope so humankind could survive long after them.

It was all bullshit really, to keep the leftover people from going mad. 

In the darkest times, religion was most of the time the home of hope they needed to shelter in. But it had worked.

They had a functioning farm, bushes that yielded berries, small huts that gave lodging to people. They were actually seeing growth after 20 years, grass was filling the land and young trees were growing taller. They were finally getting somewhere so Desmond had left on a new expedition to find some more survivors further back from the camp to see if anyone was left.

And then he was here.

Lying on his blankets he watched the stars, tracing the groups with his eyes trying to remember the names Shaun taught them, the ones he couldn't remember without his books, Rebecca had made up stupid nicknames for.

He missed them terribly nowadays… Even his father.

William had died just three years ago. The grief lingered more than he had expected. All the issues they had before seemed so small after the flare, they never patched things up but they didn't fight like they used to. Desmond knew he bore some guilt about convincing him to not go through with the shields. They all did.

They each had their turns to cry, shout and laugh crazy about it then cry some more. The three blamed themselves which in turn made Desmond blame himself more. It was an endless cycle they decided to put behind themselves to focus on the now. 

Desmond turned to his side, inhaling deeply, his hair tickling his neck from the wind. He listened to the nocturnal birds and closed his eyes. He hoped they were safe above all else. 

---------------------------

Two weeks passed by fast and Desmond's routine did not change. Wake up, bathe, barracks, busywork, hunt, do something… anything… then sleep. He had taken to sharpening the unused swords and upkeep of them for today's activity since no one else was bothering to do it. 

Near a clearing around the stable, he was sitting on a stool, sharpening one sword after another with a whetstone on his lap, adding them to a pile. 

“Actually working for your coins Domenico? You should join the others inside for a few cups.”

He looked at the voice that was calling him. Angelo, one from Marsillios circle. He gave a polite smile back. “Not much to do and I don't like drinking while the sun is up, gives me issues at night.” 

“Smart man, keeping your soldier ready for when it's needed.”

Desmond made a face at the joke, He never stepped a foot in the brothel. A lot of the recruit's freshly earned coins ended up in there almost the day they gained them… then trickled back into the economy. He did not want to think about the amount of STD’s circulating around. Even if everyone was magically clean… sex had been the last thing on his mind for a long while.

“Please, If the wife learned I even dared to breathe next to one of the honey pots she would have my head.” 

“Oh come on, how would she even know?”

He hummed in answer and smiled “Trust me she would… and I like to keep my manhood intact till I die”

Angelo laughed and walked near him. Eyeing the swords lying on a pile on the side, the ones that were ready to be polished.

“Needed me for anything?” 

The other man shifted his weight “Marsillio wanted me to let people know to be extra sharp the next few days, actually do what he says and whatnot… not that you need a reminder.”

“Why is that? Is Ser Mario coming to check the barracks again?” He had seen him a couple of times, the man usually looked around for a few minutes then joined the backroom to talk about what he needed to.

“Nah, the actual big boss is coming back any day now. Sent in a word with his bird, arrived just an hour ago to the villa.”

Desmond's whole body tensed in a second. It was not hard to figure out who the nickname belonged to.

Ezio was coming back.

He forced himself to relax. “A-ah… so we need to be on our best behaviour?”

“Mmhm. You might be asked to go to the training grounds a bit more and longer than you are used to, we need to look busy lest we want more budget cuts. The young master has already been bleeding us dry…”

Desmond gave a nervous chuckle and placed the sword in his hand on the pile. “Alright, no problem for me but I know a lot of the kids are going to groan and moan about it”

“Yeah they already are, Vinchesco is not happy about it so I'm sending you up next to him for morale.” A soft pat landed on his shoulder “Think yourself as second in charge. A small promotion with no pay raise”

Angelo left his side with a smile.

“Great”

Not great… he couldn't even hide next to the recruits as they trained.

He might visit the church just to pray and hope that Ezio doesn't give a shit about the training area and just passes by it. 

Maybe he could fake a stomachache or the plague… ask for a toilet break as soon as Ezio stepped foot through the gates…

---------------------------

For two days Desmond’s every limb was aware of every movement and talk around him. They were patrolling a lot more and training a lot longer. 

He wished he was just given the duty of cleaning around the barracks but Vincheso liked him for some reason enough to ask him to stick by his side.

“If I have to hear any more whining I might actually have them train till sunrise…”

Desmond shrugged his shoulders and he listened to him complain, not much different than the recruits. He figured it out the second day while Vinchesco’s job was to babysit the newbies, Desmond’s job was to babysit him. “You know if you guys were more strict from the get-go they wouldn't feel this comfortable crying about it.”

“And make my own job harder? Training doesn't teach a man how to swing a sword anyway, they actually need to fight to become man is what I think. I sure didn't learn how to kill from stabbing these stupid straw dummies couple times a day.”

“I'm not sure just charging into the enemy will teach them much is all I’m saying… well other than dying.”

Vinchesco leaned back onto the railing “Meh, I send the ones that show promise to the others that actually put them to work.” he waved his hand around “All this is just, keeping the meatshields sharper.”

Desmond sighed, what a way to raise an army… Ezio really needed to keep tighter reins around these bunch and overhaul the system… but he rather Ezio do that once he got to Venice and away from here.

“You are way too uptight Dominico. It's good here. We get coin, we get food, we drink then we fuck and then we sleep. Living it up like nobles almost… you should enjoy it more, I’m sure you fought plenty of battles in your youth but this is not a battlefield and we got Ser Ezio behind us if else happens. The man is his own army.”

Desmond's jaw clenched, old memories of the fall of this Monterriggioni flashing in his mind. No wonder no one was alerted till it was too late… he always thought the Village was captured way too easily.

“Mmhm… I'll try” he smiled back with a strain “Old habits die hard, that's all… the guard schedule back in Florence was way more strict.”

“More the reason to-”  “HE IS BACK! SER EZIO IS BACK”

A shout cut off Vinchesco’s word, The messenger ran towards them. 

Desmon felt the anxiety boil in his gut

“Shit…”

[longwayaround]

Oh, he knew people could get quite a bit more than just two pairs of shoes, but... well, he's always preferred sticking to just a few options. It made things easier, really, and if he really needed something different, the TARDIS' wardrobe was very extensive.

Still, he might get it. If Rose liked it.

Why not have something to remind him of the day that Rose came back?

All in all, that meant that he wasn't really browsing when he went back over to the Converses, more trying to keep himself busy. He tried categorizing them at first, on a variety of criteria, including visible color spectrum for a multitude of species, and then he busied himself with checking the materials, evaluating their usefulness in a series of scenarios, and finally —

"Rose!" he called, happy and surprised. He'd been so distracted he hadn't noticed her coming over. "Oh, I'm not... well, what do you think of that one?" He pointed towards the single pair of shoes that was set aside from the mess he'd made with the other ones. It wasn't entirely dissimilar to the red, but it was a warmer, more purple-ish color.

Rose could see he was thinking. "There is no harm getting two pairs." She said. "I have known people to buy more than that." She told him. The times she had seen people do that when she worked in the shop before she met The Doctor, she had always wondered when they would find the time to wear them all.

She watched him go back over and have a look. Rose carried on looking at the clothes. She soon decided on a few more things. If she needed anything else, she could always pop in a shop or two on Earth when they landed there if she needed to. Rose made her way over to where The Doctor was. "Found any others?"

[sailordraftss]

Forever, no more. - Sae Itoshi ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

summary : When Sae Itoshi left for Spain, he hurt Rin the most but he also managed to hurt his girlfriend, you.

warning(s) : not edited, angst?, out of character?, use of (Y/N)

The airport terminal buzzed with the sounds of departing flights, the announcements, and the soft shuffle of people walking to and from their gates. But for you, it felt like everything had slowed down. Your heart was caught in the whirlwind of emotions, stuck between wanting to run to him and the painful understanding that this moment had been inevitable.

Sae stood in front of you, his bag slung over his shoulder, eyes slightly downcast. His signature smile towards you was missing, replaced with a shadow of guilt and uncertainty.

“(Y/N) …” His voice broke through the noise, quieter than usual. He wasn’t looking at you, and that made your chest tighten.

“Don’t say it,” you whispered, shaking your head, your throat constricting as tears welled in your eyes. “Don’t say you have to leave. I… I can’t hear it again. I love you, Sae.”

You had heard this before. He had been telling you for months now—how his dreams were pulling him away, how the invitation from Spain was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, how the pressure to be the best, to prove himself, was too much to ignore.

But knowing it didn’t make it any easier.

His gaze lifted, meeting yours, and for a split second, you saw it—the conflict in his eyes, the silent apology. But it was too late for apologies. The reality was here. He was leaving, and nothing you said could change that.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, stepping closer but not quite reaching her. “I… I never wanted to hurt you, (Y/N). You know that, right?”

Your breath hitched as you nodded, forcing back the flood of tears. Don’t cry, don’t cry, you kept telling yourself, but the weight of the situation crushed your will. How many times had you tried to convince yourself this was okay? That you understood? But now that he was standing there, so close yet so far, it felt like the earth beneath your feet was shifting, pulling you into a pit of despair.

“You’ll come back,” You said, your voice cracking. It wasn’t a question, but a desperate plea.

Sae’s lips pressed into a thin line. He reached out, almost touching her cheek, but pulled his hand back as if the distance between them was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I don’t know, (Y/N). I don’t know what’s going to happen. This... this is my chance to make it. To be who I’ve always wanted to be. I have to take it.”

You nodded slowly, the words tearing you apart as they left his mouth. This is his dream, you told herself. This is what he’s worked for.

But it didn’t make the pain go away.

“I understand,” you whispered, looking away as the tears finally slipped down your cheeks. “I know you have to go. I just… I wish there was another way.”

Sae’s face softened, and for a moment, he looked at you as though he didn’t want to leave. Like he could change everything if he just stayed. But he didn’t say it. He didn’t make any promises, because he couldn’t. And that truth hurt more than any goodbye.

“I’ll never forget you,” he said, almost too softly to hear. His voice wavered, and your heart shattered at the sound of it.

Your chest tightened, and you took a step back, trying to hold onto the last moments of the life they shared. “You don’t need to promise me that,” you said with a quiet sob, shaking your head. “I just want you to be happy, Sae. No matter what happens.”

Sae’s face crumpled, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he took one final, lingering look at her before turning to walk toward the gate. The world around you seemed to blur, your vision fogged by tears you couldn’t stop.

“Goodbye, (Y/N),” he said without looking back.

And with that, he disappeared into the crowd, into the path that would take him away from you, away from everything you had been with him.

She stood there, frozen, as the sound of his departure echoed in you mind. Goodbye, you thought. Goodbye, Sae… I hope you find everything you’re looking for.

[lilylushes]

Luigi as Songs from Every Taylor Swift Album

Debut: I'm Only Me When I'm With You - This song is SO Luigi coded to me bc he's said he feels different from everyone else so the whole idea of letting your guard down while with the person you love would be something that'd be important to him.

Fearless: Jump Then Fall - I think that he'd be scared of heartbreak bc he doesn't appear to have that much relationship experience, so he'd need some reassurance that his person would work through things with him and stand by him (Bonus: Fearless - The whole kissing and dancing in the rain thing is so him to me).

Speak Now: Castles Crumbling - He has a lot going on right now and I'm NOT assuming guilt here, I'm just saying he might have regrets about letting people down and cutting his family off. Going from valedictorian Ivy League grad to being in prison would be an extremely difficult experience.

Red: Run - Luigi is a traveller, and he told people he was travelling to find himself and get away for a while.

1989: You Are In Love - If you don't think he embodies this song, GET OUT. "One night, he wakes, strange look on his face. Pauses, then says, "you're my best friend." PLEASE, this is so him.

Reputation: Literally the whole damn album - lmao but probably Dress or So It Goes bc...you know...ovulation songs

Lover: Daylight - This is how I see him okay ik it's parasocial but let me pls.

Folklore: this is my trying - Luigi's been an overachiever his entire life. On his Reddit, he said that he had brain fog and was barely passing classes. I can imagine that this song would resonate for him (Bonus: the lakes - The same justification as "Run" but add in him wanting to somewhere in nature).

Evermore: gold rush - this has been established lol

Midnights: I literally had to pick 3 from this album lmao - Labyrinth - I think Luigi probably has anxiety about letting go and giving his heart to someone else. It's just an impression lol. You're On Your Own, Kid - I think post-grad life for Luigi was hard (again, an impression I have). He succeeded so much academically and socially at school and could have felt quite lost after. This, coupled with the desire to be accepted, makes this song remind me of him. Snow On The Beach - I'm gonna write something ab this shhhh

TTPD: Robin - Luigi has said that he feels different from others, and I think he's a unique person. I really hope he keeps those special qualities about him no matter what happens. He deserves to be protected from the cruelty of the world.

[taleeater]

The Captive Scientist

Here is a very rough outline for an angsty Jayvik and Ambessa idea.

Tw: Ambessa cucks Jayce, slight non-con, abuse, illness

I went overboard and even wrote a happy ending after the angst 🫣

Ambessa arranges behind Mel’s back to meet the geniuses behind Hextec. Jayce is apprehensive, but Mel isn’t around to interject so he gets pressured into it. So Ambessa visits the lab with her guards, and as soon as Ambessa lays eyes on Viktor, she realizes this handsome twink is really the only one who is keeping Hextec research progressing while Jayce is too mixed up with Mel and politics. She decides then and there to steal him away for herself, and use him to advance her own holdings and army. Jayce is called away for some meeting and leaves, knowing Viktor can handle himself, but also not knowing about Ambessa’s unique… tastes and general demeanor. So once they’re alone, she forcibly comes onto Viktor. He tries his best to fight off her advances, and refuses to work for a warlord and leave Jayce, but she basically has him kidnapped. Jayce discovers that Viktor is gone hours later once Mel discovers what her mother has done. Jayce not for one second believes the claim that Viktor quit and is abandoning him and Piltover to work for Ambessa and go somewhere he’s more ‘appreciated’. So the night before Ambessa has arranged to go back to Nexus, with Viktor in tow, Jayce breaks into their room looking for Viktor, only to discover Viktor tied up on the bed being seduced by Ambessa. The guards apprehend Jayce frozen in his shock, and Ambessa has him bound to a chair in the room to make him watch. And Viktor, for one, is surprised that Jayce came for him, but also surprised to see Jayce seething with rage and… jealousy? It stirs something inside him. So Ambessa cucks Jayce and fucks Viktor in front of him. 

The next morning, Ambessa carries out a completely exhausted and barely conscious Viktor past an angry and upset Jayce. He doesn’t have the power to stop her. So Ambessa leaves Piltover with Viktor, and Mel and her guards later rescue Jayce from the empty suite. Jayce goes to the counsel to arrange for a rescue mission, but they won’t allow it because it would be like a declaration of war with Ambessa. They won’t risk war over a mere ‘Zaunite lab assistant’ when they have the real creator of Hextec right there in Piltover. Jayce is furious. Viktor is his equal, and they never would have gotten to where they are now without Viktor. Mel has to hold him back and convince him to wait. She’d do her best to pressure them, but in the meantime, she’d use her resources to arrange a secret infiltration mission to get Viktor back. But then, disaster strikes. The counsel is attacked and bombed by Jinx, and everything comes to a screeching halt. War breaks out between Piltover and Zaun, and Mel and Jayce are forced to dedicate all their time and effort into trying to quell the fighting. At least Viktor wasn’t there to get hurt, but Jayce can’t stop thinking about his partner. 

Here’s the other thing: Ambessa doesn’t know that Viktor is sick. 

Some time goes by, and Ambessa gets HexGates built in every major city under her control, bringing immense power to her empire. She spoils Viktor, giving him lavish gifts and pleasuring him when she has time, despite his continued resistance. He can’t do anything besides let it happen, because she holds so much power over him, and he is still a prisoner there against his will. Then the attack on Piltover happens, and Ambessa orders that Viktor not be allowed to find out. Knowing that he would become distracted from his work and she wouldn’t allow for anymore resistance.

Months go by, and Ambessa is losing her patience with him. No matter what she does, she cannot get Viktor to create weapons for her. Instead he makes tools, medical devices, agricultural improvements, structural improvements, everything for the betterment of the common people. But nothing to empower her military’s might. And another thing, Viktor is extremely limited in his research capabilities since he no longer has access to the HexCore. He misses Jayce and the memories they had together more than anything. The memory of the look in Jayce’s eyes that fateful night is still a constant presence in his mind. And that’s really the only thing keeping him going, as he slowly becomes more and more ill. But then one evening, Viktor has a horrible coughing fit in his lab that leaves him dizzy. He goes to the door to ask the guards to have someone fetch him some medicine, but then he overhears. The guards are quietly gossiping about the ongoing war between Piltover and Zaun, and how Ambessa was sending resources and troops to help Piltover exterminate Zaun. Viktor is SHOCKED. Immediately, his mind goes to Jayce. Was he okay? Was he injured? Was he fighting Zaun? Or was he fighting to protect it like he had promised him? So many emotions were swirling through him. He demands to speak to Ambessa immediately. 

This is where it gets messy. Ambessa arrives and listens as Viktor unleashes his fury, demanding to be released and set back to Piltover to find Jayce and help Zaun. He paces around the room ranting at her, until he gets up in her face waving his finger at her for working to commit a genocide against his people, when her stoic expression cracks. She backhands Viktor, hard, sending him sprawling across the floor and his cane clattering. He coughs as she approaches him, barely having time to push himself up on shaky arms before she reaches down and grabs the front of his shirt and hefts him up, feet dangling above the floor to hold him at eye level. “I think you’re forgetting who has the power here.” She threatens him as Viktor gasps for breath and struggles. She then drops him in a heap on the floor and leaves him, ordering the guards to make sure he keeps working as she leaves for the night, all his demands forgotten and brushed aside. 

Viktors life becomes a living hell. No more kindness, no more gifts or attention, or bribes, being forced to work tirelessly without rest for days on end until he collapses over and over again. No one will tell him what’s happening in Piltover, his body is failing him more and more everyday, until he’s left coughing horribly at almost all hours. Forced to work at his desk hooked up to all kinds of machines just to keep him breathing and healthy enough to work properly. And every time Ambessa visits it’s the same. He’s beaten for refusing her demands to design weapons, for not working harder. He’s no longer left alone to his own devices in his lab, he has guards armed with guns and lab assistants breathing down his neck to ensure he stays on task. 

It’s around this time that Jayce can’t stand it anymore. Caitlyn had taken over leading the purge of Zaun, and he didn’t have any power to stop Piltover from their invasion. Eventually his efforts to stop the fight got him evicted by the counsel, and he makes his decision. He was going to go find Viktor. Mel tried to dissuade him from his suicide mission, stating that she needed him there, despite Jayce’s distance and aversion to their relationship ever since Viktor was kidnapped. But he brushes her off. She gets upset and pressures him, and forces him to make a choice. “You can’t keep doing this. Will you fight for Piltover, or Zaun? You have to choose. Viktor, or me.” “I choose Viktor.” Jayce says it immediately with absolutely zero hesitation, but Jayce is just as shocked as Mel that he said it. He’s silent for a long moment, finally taking a moment to search inside himself for what he really wants. And it finally dawns on him. All he’s ever really wanted was Viktor. And Mel can see the realization on his face, sighing with defeat because she’s always known those feelings were there, and could do nothing about it. So she finally concedes, and informs Jayce that she will help him get Viktor back from her mother. 

She quickly arranges a task force, and sends word that she intends to visit Ambessa in Noxus with the intention of a diplomatic meeting to discuss aid for Piltover's fight against Zaun. So Jayce hides aboard her ship, and when they arrive at the Noxus capital, Mel gets information from some of the guards where Viktor is being held. She gives the information to Jayce, and covers for him while he sneaks into the tower where Viktor is being held. Mel distracts her mother with the meeting. But Ambessa can see right through her, and knows they’ve come to retrieve Viktor. But she knows Viktor is on death’s door, and she won’t be able to squeeze anything else out of the feeble scientist. So she allows for it to happen, and tells Mel right to her face that she shouldn’t try to deceive her family. Mel is shocked that her mother knew and confused as to why her mother is willing to give up Viktor so easily. Meanwhile, Jayce fights through the guards at the lab, and breaks in to find Viktor thin and worn, bruises on his jaw and peaking from any hints of uncovered skin, passed out at his desk pale as a ghost and bleeding from his mouth, his breathing labored and raspy. Jayce drops his hammer and rushes to his partner’s side, tears welling in his eyes as his hands hover above Viktor as he’s too scared to touch him. Viktor looks so fragile now, all his hidden strength Jayce came to know and admire over the years gone from his sick withered frame. Eventually Jayce’s hands find Viktor’s shoulders and he shakes him awake, calling out his name. Viktor blinks awake and thinks for a moment that he must still be dreaming, or dead. But Jayce starts to carefully disconnect him from the machines and IV, gently scooping him up in his arms as he mutters reassurances to Viktor that he was going to get him out of there, and bring him home safe and sound. But as Jayce is finally carrying him out of the lab, his hammer all but forgotten, Viktor finds his voice. “I-…. I never… wanted you... to see me like this… Jayce…” and Jayce’s heart shatters into a million pieces. 

He should have been there for Vik, should have come to get him sooner, and never should have left him alone in that lab, alone with Ambessa, and all those nights alone when he left Viktor to attend parties and be with Mel. His place was always next to Viktor. Jayce makes it back to the ship, with Mel close behind after her mother comes to see them off, with the promise that she will be visiting Piltover again soon enough. Viktor is fading fast the whole ride back to Piltover, and Jayce is panicking. He waited too long, and now Viktor was going to die if he didn’t do something. And fast. They arrive in Piltover and Jayce jumps out of the ship with Viktor in his arms before the doors even fully open, ignoring Mel’s shouts from behind. Jayce rushes to their old dusty lab, where the HexCore had been left all but forgotten those past few months. Jayce lays down Viktor and starts pouring over Viktor’s old notes and research with fervor, looking for anything, any way he can use their technology to save Viktor. 

Viktor ends up merging with the HexCore and becoming the Machine Herald. His life was saved, his illness cured and his body fixed. But this time, when Viktor emerges from the cocoon in the lab with Jayce, he receives a different kind of response than what he expected. Jayce declares that he loves him. Straight away, whole heartedly and truthfully, with every part of himself. He loves Viktor. And he should have realized it sooner. Should have stayed by his side where he belongs, shouldn’t have let Ambessa take him away, shouldn’t have let Mel and politics and power come between them and take him away from their dream together to save people, to save Zaun, and make the world a better place. And he wanted Viktor’s help to save Zaun from Piltover, once and for all. His words reach Viktor, touch deep inside him, and all at once his very human emotions come flooding back. This is everything he’s always wanted, it felt too good to be true. So to make it real, Viktor drops his staff and reaches up to cup Jayce’s face and kisses him. Like he had imagined time and time again, had dreamed about for months, for years. He needed to know if this love was real. The warmth of his lips and Jayce’s hands on him immediately burn away any lingering memory of Ambessa’s touch. And for the first time he feels whole and loved. 

Together, Viktor and Jayce, with Mel’s support, stop the fighting between Zaun and Piltover, defeating Caitlyn’s soldiers easily without her leadership now that she has reunited with Vi, and bringing aid to the Zaunite citizens. In Piltover and Zaun’s weakened state, Ambessa arrives with her army, carrying Jayce’s forgotten hammer into battle to take over the counsel and invade Piltover. Mel and Caitlyn, with Vi, Jayce, and Viktor’s support, face off against Ambessa, and manage to defeat her once and for all. Mel leaves for Noxus to take her mother’s place as head of the family, and arranges generous aid to be sent to Piltover and Zaun. Both cities repair themselves, and a new peace is founded as the city of progress becomes a state ruled by science and equality. Jayce gives up all positions of power so that he and Viktor can live together at the college peacefully. Inventing technology that improves the lives of all the people in Zaun, and across the world, and sharing a wonderful domestic relationship together into old age. 

Damn I really ran with this idea 😅 hope you enjoyed it.

[silentsneezes]

Heyy me again… ahahah

Do you have any silco with allergies hc’s or maybe a k!nk Silco/Vander Zaundads fic?

Totally asking this with normal intentions, completely not obsessed or anything!

(Im gnawing at the bars of my enclosure i love your writing)

thank you anon!! trust me when i say i'm also gnawing at the bars of my enclosure... so here's almost 3k of sick v/ander and kink s/ilco

i'll probably continue this in the future, but between university and life things i haven't had as much time to write... so we'll see

anyways, this is set pre-everything in the show. you could read it as an au if you want!

The Last Drop on a Saturday is no fucking joke. Vander knows that full well, always double checking his list of opening tasks to ensure things run smoothly. Only a few hours after opening, the dimly lit, smoke-filled haven is already filled to its capacity. Earlier that day, there had been a boxing match held in a nearby arena, and it’s safe to say people are still riding that high. Vander picks up on arguments over bets that were won or lost, prideful drunkards boasting about how they’d been rooting for the champion all along.

The bar practically roars with the infectious excitement, only encouraged by the drinks the patrons continue to slam back. Vander doesn’t mind, he’s quite pleased with how popular his bar is, especially on nights where boxing matches occur. Everyone needs a good drink after a match, he supposes. Plus, the influx in business never hurts– people typically become more generous tippers the drunker they get. 

Vander works mindlessly as he pours drink after drink, zoning out to the sounds of raucous laughter, the clink of glass against wood, and the quiet kshhhh of the keg. The conversations are nothing more than a full-on-chorus, which has its pros and cons. 

On one hand, it allows Vander to zone out to the constant noise, letting himself work without second thought.

On the other hand, Vander feels like fucking shit. He’d been coming down with something the past couple of days, but he’d figured it wasn’t anything a few DayQuil couldn’t fix. Now, he’s beginning to realize that he was sorely mistaken in his initial dismissal of the cold. His usual charming grin doesn’t come as easily tonight, and when he wipes his brow, it’s not just due to the heat of the room. His skin is coated in a feverish sheen, his cheeks uncharacteristically flushed as he forces himself to work through his rising fever. 

The frequenters of the bars notice– at least those sober enough to– but they’ve seen this before. Vander’s tough. He’s the kind of guy who keeps his bar open for better or for worse, so when he’s sick, they just give him a look of silent understanding: he’ll be fine, he always is. 

As ‘fine’ as Vander might be, his movements are dulled by fever. He keeps moving, keeps working—filling mugs, passing shots, refilling drinks– functioning as if he’s on autopilot. His work is only interrupted as he hears the familiar drawl of his friend’s voice. 

“Is anybody home?” Silco asks with a slight smirk, looking Vander up and down as he takes a seat on the barstool closest to the sick man, observing his absent expression. Vander opens his mouth to reply, pausing momentarily to clear his throat before gruffly responding, “very funny, Silco,” sarcastically. He starts making Silco’s drink wordlessly, knowing exactly what the other likes. Vander doesn’t bother filling the silence between the two of them, letting the steady roar of auditory input wash over him. 

“Long day?” Silco questions, frowning as a nearby customer lets out a howl of laughter at his own joke, “I’ll bet you 20 gold coins he soils himself by the end of the night.” 

Vander finds it somewhat amusing how Silco always seems to take issue with the other patrons of the bar, as if he finds himself somewhat above this crowd. “I’d be an idiot to take you up on that,” Vander says with a tired grin, his lips barely curling upwards as he leans in, resting his weight on the bartop. He places the drink in front of Silco with a heavy thud, the glass almost too solid in his grip, as if it’s an anchor to keep him from slipping under the noise and fatigue. “You know how they get after boxing matches.”

“Oh, do I,” Silco replies, the words clipped, his voice carrying an immense judgement of those customers who lack any semblance of manners or public decency. He doesn’t like them, doesn’t trust them, but he does like Vander. 

Vander struggles to think up a response, his usual charm and banter replaced with a steady painful thrum threatening to become a migraine. The noise of the bar presses against his skull like a vice, and just as he finally manages to think up an adequate response, he feels it coming. A tickle in his nose, faint at first, but enough to make his breath catch as it buzzes through his sinuses. 

At first he tries to fight it, swiping at his nose roughly with the backside of his hand. His other hand searches his pockets for a rag, a handkerchief, anything. Unfortunately for him, the sneeze builds quickly. His eyes are forced to scrunch shut as his chest swells with an urgent, “hhHHHH-” and for a half-second, everything around him goes blurry, the pressure in his sinuses making his head swim, “hHHRRZZSCHHH’HUw!!”

Vander turns away from the bartop just in time, snapping forwards into his elbow with a resounding sneeze, one that grates his throat enough as to where he has to blink away a few tears. Silco watches with rapt attention, his abdomen pooling with hot attraction as he observes Vander’s broad frame nearly bend itself in two with the force of the sneeze. 

“Bless you,” Silco purrs, his voice low and sultry. The blessing practically rolls off of his tongue, and yet Vander knows it’s not just out of politeness. You see, Silco doesn’t just bless anyone. For him, offering a blessing is somewhat of a privilege, something one earns through continuous affection, and he and Vander are nothing if not affectionate. 

“I’ve got the whole damn package today—head full of cement and a nose that thinks it’s spring,” Vander mutters, barely able to keep the irritation out of his voice. Had he not known about Silco’s kink, he would’ve been entirely fed up with his body's need to sneeze. Except there’s a sliver of him that can’t help but relish the fact that he can make Silco squirm so easily. If he has to feel so utterly miserable, someone might as well enjoy it, right?

And he is miserable, nothing short of it. Silco, however, seems to be basking in Vander’s sickness, finding it difficult to resist the sight of his friend turned fuck-buddy turned… whatever it is they are now. 

“Why is it you insist on working when you’re sick?” Silco questions, knowing full-well the stubborn answer he’s about to receive– it’s the same every time. 

Except Vander doesn’t answer, letting Silco’s question hang in the air as he raises a hand to his nose. It’s back again, that bothersome, tantalizing itch that’s been wreaking havoc on his nose all night, “hhHHH’uh-”

At the sound of Vander’s hitch, Silco prepares himself for the imminent sneeze. Vander has never been one to have dramatic build ups when he’s sick– though allergies are an entirely different feat– rather, his sneezes come on quickly with one to two hitches beforehand. 

Unable to find a rag in time, Vander settles for cupping a broad hand over his nose and mouth, “hHHMMPH’DSSXCHHhew!” The sneeze is barely muffled against his palm, and Vander can feel moisture threatening to slip through his fingers. He pinches his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, gathering the residual mess and moving to wash his hands. 

When Vander returns to the bartop, he sees Silco, his gaze intensely focused, waiting with that unsettling calm, as if he could pounce at any moment. Had the countertop not been separating them, Vander is certain Silco would be draping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. And god does he want that. 

Just as Vander moves to prop himself against the bartop again, he hears a drunken, “Oi! Vander!” and groans internally, straightening up and snapping out of his exhausted haze. The woman, a regular frequenter of the bar, leans against the other side of the counter with a casual air, “Get me something strong, but nice. I’ve got a lady to impress,” she says with a smirk. Usually, Vander would have the energy to engage in some sort of playful banter, perhaps asking the customer as to who she’s pursuing tonight. Instead, he rattles off a few drink options, giving her a sideways glance as she chooses the strongest of the drinks he’d proposed, “You sure? It’s got one hell of a kick.”

The customer dismisses his warning with a wave of her hand and a chuckle, “I’m feeling lucky today.”

“Liquid luck,” Silco tuts almost inaudibly from his seat, though it goes unheard by anyone aside from Vander, “what a foolish concept.”

Vander’s lips curl into a slight smirk at the sound of Silco’s words, but he forces himself to maintain focus. He has a job to do. With a sigh, Vander grabs a glass, still feeling the steady ache that only a cold can instill. As he’s about to start mixing, he feels that nagging sensation in his nose return, the familiar tickle building once again. He grimaces, trying to hold it back for the sake of not sneezing into a customer's drink, but his body has a different plan. His breath hitches involuntarily, forcing him to pivot away from the countertop without even setting the glass down first. He draws in a final, urgent breath before snapping forwards and spraying the tiled floor with an uncovered, “hHHRRRSSXCHHHh’eHw!” 

As the sneeze fades, Vander stays still for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, his body still catching up with the sudden burst of pressure. He forces himself to stand upright, tending to the moisture clinging to his septum with his sleeve. He’d usually have a bit more decorum when it comes to covering and utilizing his sleeve as a tissue, for the sake of germs moreso than any feeling of embarrassment, but he’s too fucking tired tonight. 

“Salud,” the woman blesses absentmindedly, watching as Vander composes himself enough to make her drink, “you look sick as a dog,” she comments. Vander just continues mixing the drink, replying with a halfhearted, “that’s never stopped me before.”

“Touche.” Luckily, the woman leaves the conversation at that, exchanging the drink for a few gold pieces and making her way across the bar back to the person she’s trying to impress. 

“She’s right, you look terrible,” Silco says matter-of-factly, drawing Vander’s attention back to him. His fingers trail along the rim of his now empty glass, his expression smug as he receives an eye-roll in response. 

Vander doesn’t have time to reply as another customer approaches the bar, and he internally curses as he turns away from the one person in the bar he actually wants to see right now. His head throbs, the dull ache in his throat turning into a tight, bothersome burning sensation. As he prepares a round of shots, every movement feels slower than his last, his limbs growing heavier as the evening progresses. 

Finally, after what feels like hours, there’s a lull in drink orders, and Vander has the opportunity to return to his conversation with Silco. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, instead saying, “you’ve got a handkerchief, no?”

“I always do,” Silco replies effortlessly, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he registers where this is going. Vander extends his hand wordlessly, becoming increasingly frustrated with his nose running like a faucet. 

“Use your words,” Silco tuts, though his eyes flick between Vander’s outstretched hand and his nose, reddened and irritated after being berated all day. 

“Silco,” Vander huffs huskily, evidently too exhausted to tolerate any sort of teasing, “give it here.”

“That’s no way to treat a customer.”

“Bullshit, you’re not a customer.”

“Hm, then what am I?” Silco asks, enjoying this far more than he should. His hand slips into the inner pocket of his vest, extracting his crimson red handkerchief from its resting place. He keeps it hidden in his lap, waiting for the perfect moment to submit to Vander’s request. 

“A brat.” 

Vander’s hand remains outstretched, waiting for Silco to drop the dominant act and give in. Fuck me Vander mentally curses as the itch swells in his nose again, forcing his wide nostrils to flare in protest. It’s like Silco was waiting for this moment—the vulnerability of Vander, flushed and slightly out of breath, his hitches almost an invitation. 

“I know you always hhhHave one on you. Give it to m-hHHH-me dammit,” Vander’s previously annoyed tone is replaced with one of urgency. Both he and Silco know damn well he can’t hold back for shit. 

Silco watches, waiting until the very last second before pressing the handkerchief into Vander’s palm. His fingers brush across the calloused skin of Vander’s hand, which is nearly twice the size of his. Vander clutches the handkerchief, turning on his heel and doubling over as a sneeze tears through him, “hHHHGGSXCHHH’Hh’ugh!”

“Bless you,” Silco purrs once again, silently cursing the countertop separating him from the sick man. He can feel his arousal making itself known, pressing against the tight confines of his pants, “You’ll be making that up to me, you know I don’t share–” he begins, but Vander cuts him off. 

“I’ve been pudting on a show for you all nighd. Don’d be so greedy,” he mumbles huskily, the congestion in his voice dulling certain consonants. Vander gives his nose a strangled blow. It’s unsuccessful at first, eliciting a huff of frustration from the man. With both hands holding the handkerchief over his nose, he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the next attempt. The second noseblow is much more productive, clearing his airways as best they can be with a cold ravaging his nose.

“That’s better,” Vander acknowledges, tucking the– already soiled– handkerchief into his back pocket and moving to wash his hands again. Silco, having been observing Vander’s every move, shifts to relieve some of the pressure in his pants. 

“It’s a shame you have to work,” he comments idly, knowing full well that Vander could’ve called someone in to cover his shift, “I’ve heard a good fuck is quite the cure-all for colds.” 

Silco’s bluntness never fails to catch Vander’s attention. People typically shy away from expressing their kinks, especially one as bizarre as sneezing, but Silco treats it as he does anything that can bring him sexual gratification: without shame– though don’t be mistaken, he’s eager to indulge in humiliation when given the chance. 

Vander knows exactly what Silco is alluding to, weighing the benefits of closing early or calling someone to take his place. His stubbornness and grit can only last so long, it seems, as he leans heavily against the bartop again. 

Grinning as he recognizes the slight defeat in Vander’s expression, Silco presses on, “Would it be so terrible to take a night off? I’d stay, of course, to attend to your needs.”

Vander looks up, his eyes traveling from the smirk on Silco’s face to his slightly unbuttoned top– had his chest been so visible before, so appealing? His view of Silco’s slim waist is blocked by the counter, but he’s almost certain Silco’s hard to some extent; it really only takes a few sneezes to get him going. After all, Vander’s are his favorite. 

“Fine,” he agrees stubbornly, glancing at the clock. Typically, The Last Drop would stay open well into the night and through the earliest hours of the morning, but it’s only 11:30 and Vander feels like dead weight. He leans down, searching for the bar-phone he keeps next to the especially expensive liquors. Upon finding it, he dials an employee's number despite the guilt ringing through his mind. He’s not one to give up easily, and he’s certainly given one hell of a fight to make it through this shift, but the promise of a quieter room and Silco’s attention is enough to sway him. 

“Jay? I’m sorry to ask, but–,” Vander pauses as his breath hitches, the itch suddenly returning with a vengeance. He holds the receiver as far away as possible, ducking to the side and clamping his other hand over his nose, “hhHHHGDTSCHHH’huew!” 

Apparently, Jay could still hear the utter desperation of the expulsion from over the phone– and was left to imagine the mess it made, and trust, it was messy– and is quick to say, “I’ll be there in twenty. Try not to drop dead by then.”

TBC…

as always, any reblogs, tags, and comments are very much appreciated!! i experimented with a different writing style with this fic, so any feedback is appreciated as well :3