#leaves me on delivered for days at a time

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 5

-. —- / .-. . -.-. —- .-. -.. … / . -..- .. … - / ..-. —- .-. / …. . .-.

Part 1 found here | AO3

Simon’s rut had finished in due course, leaving everyone a little worse for wear but recharged emotionally. Johnny spent every moment not pinned to a mattress, keening, with you. He couldn’t quite tell how it was working. Each time he emerged from their room and daylight still touched their mountain you could be found outside.

Bundled up in the shawl he had picked up for you and the winter supplies everyone else had pitched in for, you seemed to be making friends with the crows. Johnny would dress for the weather and join you often sitting in silence broken by caws. Each time he sat you allowed him a little closer than the time before.

You befriended the crows; he courted you.

In passing times he coordinated with John about making sure you would be set for when they returned to missions. You would need a phone, a computer, a card to access the joint bank account, sign-in information for the local grocery store for deliveries and any other number of things. Everything that needed to be delivered would arrive before they left.

The day Simon’s rut finally broke Johnny showered quickly and found you on the back porch, setting the cashews out that no one had cared to find in the back of the cupboard.

“Care to walk with me?” Johnny smiled brightly at you despite struggling to see with the bright snow blazing into his eyes.

You narrowed your eyes at him before agreeing with a nod.

“Let’s not track snow in through the house, have you explored beyond the deck yet?” Johnny offers you an elbow.

The hard stare you pin him with reminds him of the feeling before a bomb blows.

“Just an elbow ya bonnie moves to and fro and not much else,” he shifted it to prove his point.

The laugh you let out comes through your nose, but you take his offer. Silence only found in a forest coated in snow is broken only by the crunching of boots. Johnny walks you around the house and down the drive. Nearly ten minutes pass in companionable silence before you speak up.

“Why a wife?”

“Mmm?” Johnny glances at you. He had been lost in his thoughts about well he didn’t really need to jump back into those thoughts right now, they involved his lips being in places they had not been invited…yet.

“Kate called me a wife. Why a wife and not pack?” Your lips are pursed as you ask.

Johnny tips his head as he thinks of how to reply. Seven more steps pass before he has an answer.

“Wife is an old word, not too common anymore. Its original meaning was a treasured one. It can still be listed in lieu of a designation on a lot of government forms. When Kate told John she had brought us a wife she told him that she brought someone we should treasure.”

You slowed to a stop, confusion and a waft of fear-laced want lifted into the air from your neck. Johnny held down the urge to lift a wrist to his nose to pull the scent in deeper. Even the sour, off notes to the want couldn’t disguise the heady pull of it.

He did, however, lift his hand from his warm pocket to press it to your cheek. Watching your eyes drift close and lips part at the touch sent a frenzy off in his body. That moment got him through a lot of rough spots after they shipped off.

Johnny thought about it now, that sweet moment where you began to understand they would care for you because you were their wife, as he aimed the truck up the drive. When the cabin finally came into sight in the bright, cold sunshine he couldn’t prevent his sigh. Three weeks home with you, while he recovered from a bad concussion, would be a blessed chance to woo you.

Parked neatly under the front porch, Johnny grabbed his bag and headed for the stairs. At least two storms’ worth of snow had settled on each step. Odd, but it’s not like you were expecting visitors. Clomping up the stairs to alert you to his presence, Johnny turned the door handle and sucked in a deep breath to call out.

Only stale air met his nose.

Stale. Cold. Air.

He hadn’t driven with a gun on his thigh but Johnny always traveled with a blade at his ankle. It appeared in his hand as he cleared the house. Each room that came up empty, no signs of a struggle, ratcheted up his concern. The back porch being covered in untouched snow told him you were gone.

Missing.

Stolen?

The knife slid home in its ankle holster, Johnny ran back to the truck and turned it around, heading into town. If you had any issues that is where you would most likely be. None of them had any voicemails when they turned their phones back on after a grueling mission.

“Old MacDonald had a farm, eieio!” You sing out in your loudest volume.

Thirteen days trapped in this tiny cell at the sheriff’s office had given you a lot of time to work out a good outlet for your anger at being contained. Laying across the thin mattress projecting your voice into the cement box at least gave you something to do.

“And on that farm, he had a pig, eieio!”

Seven weeks alone after a lifetime of being surrounded by betas had driven you a smidge wilder than Scorpio left you. Thankfully one thing Scorpio had taught you was how to get over your shyness of peeing while being watched.

“With a ‘you have the right to remain silent’ here and a ‘anything you say can and will be used against you’ ther—”

Something slammed into the bars. Letting your head loll to the side you looked at the young alpha deputy, with black hair and tattoos peeking above his collar, who stared at you with wild eyes and a snarl to rival a lion. Too bad for him you were a fucking badger.

“Do you have to keep singing?”

Catching his eye, you took a deep breath.

“Twinkle, twinkle little fuck. Being cops must really suck.”

This twisted version of the song belted out louder than Old MacDonald did.

Deputy Tweedle Dee hit the bars again and yelled toward the desks.

“Any word on those military guys up the canyon? I might kill her if she keeps up the singing.”

“Promises, promises officer!” You shout after him, cackling at the whine of distress he let out.

Damn, you really needed to see people more. A few weeks with only the crows to talk to and you started to lose it.

A commotion beyond the edge of your hearing cut through your song.

“Where is my wife!?”

The roar had you sitting upright, snow boots clunking against the floor.

They might have abandoned you and not answered their phones when the food deliveries stopped but you knew your new keepers would object to you being gone.

“Now sir, you can’t barge in her—”

That was the receptionist. Bit of a bitch but she didn’t antagonize you like the deputy did at least.

Deputy Tweedle Dee reappeared from the edge of the cell, collar pulled tight by a hand lightly covered in hair pushed him forward. The tattoo insignia came next and there he was, Johnny. His sharp blue eyes scoured you, tension around his eyes easing at seeing you physically well. The angry glare returns as he shifts his attention back to the deputy.

You didn’t know what to call him; you didn’t have a companion word for wife. You had forgotten to look it up until now.

Johnny shook the deputy. You smirked as his head bobbled.

“Let her out. Now.”

“No, I can—”

The deputy’s words were cut off with his air as Johnny twisted the shirt around his hand.

“Now.”

The menace in his voice pairs neatly with the scent of rage and vitality lifting off Johnny now.

The deputy pulls the key from his belt and opens the cell you had been trapped in. You stand and cross to the exit.

“Deputy Fuck-up,” you snark as you pass the men.

Hate flares in his eyes as Johnny lets him go. The hand that choked a man settles against your back, heat flashing through your shirt. They hadn’t given you back your coat after they threw you into lockup. The thin blanket provided did nothing to fight back the chill of the snow and concrete.

Your beta preens at Johnny’s touch. The burn of his anger in your nose has her crying out to soothe him. She will hush if you ignore her, she always has before. Walking back through the precinct you can’t help but flip off the old sheriff who is standing up behind his desk in the glass-walled office.

He hustles around his desk, hollering into the room. The ruddy red of his cheeks slinks down his neck as he gets closer. He would like Santa with his white hair if not for the short trimmed beard instead of a long bushy one.

“Now, young man! You cannot take that beta!”

“Go out to the truck please, wife,” Johnny murmured down to you as he laid a kiss to your temple.

“I need my shawl,” you inform him.

Johnny looks at you, all light disappearing from his blue eyes.

“They took it?” Frost would have puffed off his breath if the heater hadn’t kicked in then, the hum filling the space.

You nod once, eyes not leaving him as the sheriff steps up to speak to Johnny. The one who calls you wife ignored the blustering man as he shrugged off his own coat and settled it on your shoulders. His touch lingers at the zipper, scent of burning and a hint of disaster in his scent. Turning from the oncoming storm you leave the building that had jailed you. The truck is unlocked when you reach it.

Opening the passenger door you gag and physically recoil. The stench of fear and panic billows out like smoke from a broken window. Pinching your nose closed and sipping in air through your mouth you open every door of the truck despite the cold biting at your skin.

“Damn, I didn’t realize he might actually care,” you mutter, tone nasally.

Nearing five minutes later Johnny pushes through the glass doors, your shawl in hand. At his appearance, you step from the driver’s seat where you had waited and close the back doors as you work your way around to the passenger seat. Johnny climbs behind the wheel and passes your shawl over. You let it rest in your lap, running your hands over it as he begins the drive back to the cabin.

Halfway through the silent drive, he speaks.

“What the hell happened?”

Struck as if by lightning you can’t prevent but biting back.

“The fuck do you mean? What the hell happened to being someone you treasure? The food deliveries stopped two weeks ago and I couldn’t reach anyone. What was I supposed to do but walk my happy ass to town?”

Johnny glances at you from the side of his vision.

“Why not drive?”

“You really need to talk to Kate about the fuckery I went through before you make assumptions,” you growl at him, fingers digging into the plushness of your shawl.

“Interestin’,” he drawls in his accent.

“What is?” you snap

“You weren’t this feisty when we left.”

He says it as if it is an interesting animal fact and not the trait that kept you alive and assured your demise rising to the surface again.

Snapping your teeth closed you cross your arms and stare at your boots. The remainder of the drive is silent. You ignore every drifting scent coming from Johnny, unwilling to engage in any way.

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

@lucienofthelakes @gg-trini @talia-the-gemini @thriving-n-jiving @z-wantstowrite @asialovesyou09 @literallegendicon @canthavetoomuchchaos @reinekoya @jsptmoche @demothers-empty-blog @hbaasaad @sun-daddy-yoriichi @wiciclesatmidnight @kaoyamamegami @little-mini-me-world @corvid007 @skeletonsucker @feyresqueen @dreamland08

[ducktoo]

No one believed you

Red Velvet's Kang Seulgi x M!Reader

Note: a short fic for the one and only bear in the town....cuz damn the song is stuck in my head these days. (She can put me on a chokehold any day)

You thought interning in the management department at SM Entertainment would be hard. You expected long hours, coffee runs, and maybe getting yelled at by some stressed-out staff member. What you didn’t expect was Kang Seulgi—the human embodiment of kindness, Red Velvet’s sweetheart, teddy bear, literal angel in human form—turning your life into a personal nightmare.

Repeat it again.  Kang Seulgi—the human embodiment of kindness, Red Velvet’s sweetheart, teddy bear, literal angel in human form—came to haunt even your nightmare.

And the worst part?

No one believed you.

It started on the second day. You were running a simple errand, delivering some files to the practice room, when she called you over.

“Hey you,” she said, not even bothering with your name. “Come here.”

You looked around, half-expecting her to be talking to someone else. No one was there. Just you and Kang Seulgi, sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, arms draped lazily over her knees like some kind of royalty waiting to be served.

“Uh… sorry, me?”

“Did I stutter?”

That was when you should’ve known. That was the exact moment you should’ve turned around, walked out, and never looked back.

But you were an intern, which meant following orders, so you shuffled over.

She sighed, pointing at her jacket. “Fix this.”

You blinked. “Fix what, sorry?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you slow? The collar. It’s messed up.”

You resisted the urge to tell her that it looked perfectly fine, because something about her stare made your survival instincts scream. So, with shaky hands, you adjusted the collar.

She gave a small nod. “Took you long enough.”

…Huh?

Seulgi, the same Seulgi who bows to staff at ninety degrees, the same Seulgi who once apologized to a chair for bumping into it, just talked to you like you were beneath her.

You had no time to process it before she stood up and walked off, leaving you standing there like an idiot.

And that was just the beginning.

Over the next few weeks, she made you redo tasks that were already fine, sent you on ridiculous errands, and threw insults at you so casually you started to wonder if you’d unknowingly made an enemy out of her in a past life.

“Intern, get me a green smoothie. The greener, the better.”

You later returned with a matcha smoothie, only for her to frown. “This is too green.”

“…Pardon?”

Or that one time when you were fixing the sound system in the practice room, and she walked in with a frown. “Are you always this slow, or is today special?”

You had never moved faster in your life.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part?

No one believed you.

“You’re joking, right?” Irene said, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Seulgi? Mean? That fluffy girl?”

“She’s literally the nicest person ever,” Wendy added. “Maybe you just misunderstood her?”

“Maybe she likes you,” Joy teased with a smirk. “It’s like elementary school when a kid pulls your hair because they have a crush on you.”

“…Yeah, sure, Joy-ssi” you deadpanned. “Except in this case, the kid is a globally famous idol, and instead of pulling my hair, she’s ruining my sanity.”

Even Yeri—who lived for chaos—laughed it off. “Oh, please. If Seulgi’s mean, then I’m the president of Korea.”

You were losing your mind. Because no one literally believed you.

-

Then one day, you snapped.

You had been holding it in for weeks, letting it simmer beneath the surface, but today? Today was the final straw.

Seulgi had sent you on yet another ridiculous errand—finding a very specific shade of red nail polish because, apparently, the “wrong” shade was “offensive” to her eyes. And the moment you handed it to her, she inspected the bottle, tilted her head, and said, “This is coral.”

You saw red. Literally and figuratively. Something in you broke.

“That’s it.”

The words shot out of your mouth before you could stop them. You inhaled sharply, clenching your jaw so tightly your teeth ached. Your hands, still holding the stupid little bottle, curled into fists. And then—before you could stop yourself, before you realised the position you were in—you grabbed Seulgi’s wrist, yanking her out of the practice room with a force that made her stumble.

“Uh—what?” she sputtered, stumbling slightly to keep up.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even look at her. Your fingers were locked around her wrist like a vice, knuckles white, footsteps heavy and unrelenting.

“Okay, I know I’m strong, but this is a little—”

You whipped open the nearest storage closet, pulled her inside, and slammed the door shut behind you.

Seulgi blinked. Then blinked again. “Did you just—”

“Talk.”

Your voice came out sharp, cutting through the dimly lit space like a blade. Seulgi’s mouth, still open in half-formed confusion, slowly shut.

You crossed your arms, legs braced apart, staring her down with the intensity of a detective grilling a suspect. “Explain. Now. Please”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, gaze darting to the closed door behind you as if considering escape. Then she sighed, rolling her shoulders back.

“Explain what?” she said, and despite her usual confidence, there was a tinge of hesitation in her voice.

You threw up your hands. “This! The insults, the errands, the way you talk to me like I’m some lowly peasant! I have been suffering for weeks, and I want to know why.”

Seulgi’s lips twitched. “You make it sound so dramatic.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, should I have written a formal complaint instead?” you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because trust me, I have drafts.”

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair before propping it on her hip. “Alright, alright.” Her fingers tapped lightly against her waist, and she shifted to her other foot. “You have to promise not to get mad, though.”

Your glare intensified.

“…You’re already mad, aren’t you?” she mumbled.

“Seulgi-ssi.”

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Alright. So, you know my comeback, right?”

You squinted. “Yeah. Baby Not Baby. What does that have to do with you treating me like dogwater?”

“Well.” She folded her arms, leaning against the shelves. “I have to act all mean and bitchy for the concept, but the members and staffs here wouldn’t take me seriously because they know I’m not like that.”

"Ok…?" You blinked. “So?”

“So,” she continued, “I needed practice. And I thought, ‘Hey, the new intern doesn’t know me that well. Perfect test subject.’”

…No. No way.

You pointed at her. “You’re telling me you—”

She nodded.

“For practice?”

Another nod.

“So you’ve just been… fake-bullying me this whole time? As rehearsal?”

She winced. “That makes me sound terrible.”

You let out a noise—half laugh, half exasperated groan. “Oh my god.”

Seulgi pursed her lips. “To be fair, you didn’t say anything.”

“Because I thought you hated me!”

She blinked. “Oh. That bad?”

“Yes, that bad!” You gestured wildly, exasperation leaking from every pore. “Do you know how much sleep I lost wondering what I did to make you hate me? Do you know how insane it feels to have everyone act like I was imagining things? No one believed me!”

She bit her lip, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “Okay… yeah. Maybe I went too far.”

“You think?”

She sighed. “Look, I didn’t mean to actually make you miserable. I thought you’d catch on eventually.”

“Why would I? No one believed me when I said you were being mean! Wendy-ssi laughed in my face!”

Seulgi let out a chuckle. “Okay, that’s kind of funny.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Unbelievable.”

She nudged you lightly. “Come on, don’t be mad. I’ll make it up to you.”

You eyed her warily. “How?”

She grinned. “I’ll let you be my real practice partner.”

“…What does that mean?”

“You can pretend to be mean to me.”

You snorted. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work. I don’t have it in me.”

“See?” Seulgi pointed at you. “That’s exactly why I had to pick you. You’re too nice. No one would suspect anything.”

You crossed your arms. “Or maybe I was just the easiest target.”

“…That too.” She shifted on her feet again, this time looking genuinely guilty. “Alright, alright. I do feel really bad. I’ll make it up to you.”

You crossed your arms. “How?”

“I’ll buy you dinner. And dessert. Anything you want.”

You narrowed your eyes. “…And you’ll never do this again?”

She held up three fingers. “Scouts honor.”

You huffed, finally stepping back. “You owe me big time.”

“I know, I know,” she said, rubbing her arm before grinning. “But hey, at least now we know I can act.”

You shot her a glare, and she chuckled, patting your shoulder lightly as she moved toward the door.

“Let’s get out of here before someone thinks you actually kidnapped me,” she said with a smirk.

And just like that, Kang Seulgi turned from your worst nightmare to… whatever this was.

[chleem]

bf!drew x gf!reader

unprotected p in v.... explicit language and content

⋆.˚ don't copy or translate my work

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“No.”

“What? But I like this one.”

“No.”

You pout, standing naked in front of him as you held a neon-red top up to your chest. 

You’re meeting with your friends in an hour, and after laying in bed all morning with him, it was time to get dressed. 

Except, you’re indecisive to this, throwing the top onto the bed, only to grab another one and hold it up to your chest. 

Drew watches your figure in the doorway of the walk-in closet, naked under the covers, an arm propped up lazily against the pillows. 

He’s biting down on his lower lip, eyes glued onto you, focused on helping you pick an outfit. 

“Slightly- slightly better,” he tells you, eyebrows pinched together. 

“But I don’t like it.”

“I- I don’t see what’s wrong with it. It’s cute.”

“Yeah- but not cute under this weather, time, or people,” you reply, not even trying to hide your frustration as you roll your eyes. 

You walk back into the closet again, rummaging through your drawer of tops to wear. 

You can hear footsteps behind you, and knowing that he’s coming in, you quickly turn to the other side, pulling open his drawer full of boxers and thrusting it into his chest, perfectly timing his arrival.

Drew doesn’t even flinch, casually putting the boxers on as he looks over your shoulder, his eyes following your movements as you dig deep through the pile of tops.

“Hey,” you feel a warm touch on your waist, “bra first.”

“oh shit- right,” you chuckle lightly, realizing you’d completely skipped the basics and went straight to picking out tops.

You don’t even turn around; knowing that he’s already doing it for you. 

His arms wrap across your tits, chest pressed close to you as his hands place the fabric there. 

You look down, seeing that he’s put a blue bra- no, blue bikini bra on you, his fingers grazing your back as he ties the knot. 

“Drew- this is a bikini top,” you tell him, glancing behind you to see him entirely focused, his mouth slightly ajar as he concentrates. 

You’ve told him a thousand times about the differences between the normal ones and ones for the beach, so you’re sure he’s doing this on purpose. 

“I’know,” he murmurs, finishing the knot. 

His blue eyes look back up to you again, and then they land on the baby tee with little sunflowers plastered all over, bundled up in one of your hands. 

“Choose that one,” he says, like he knows it'll look perfect on you. 

You furrow your eyebrows, following his gaze. 

“Mh… this one’s okay,” you murmur, more focused on your boyfriend picking the wrong bra for you. He leaves your side, and you try to subtly nudge him towards the right option. “Drew, that’s not it—an actual bra, please.”

You drop it to the floor, continuing to search for a suitable top for the day out, when a slap is delivered to your ass. 

“Babe- ouch,” you whine, turning around and ready to change your bra, when instead, you’re faced with Drew, looking down at your pussy with a black pair of panties in his hand. 

“Drew- I told you to get me an actual bra.”

“Just wear this one.”

“But it’s not a bra.”

“Covers your tits just fine,” he argues, voice flat, bringing a hand up to scratch his head. 

“That’s not how it works, Drew. I told you a thousand times-“

“No one’s gonna see,” he says, kneeling down and patting the back of your thighs, "what, you got another boyfriend to impress or something?”

Even though you don’t like his words and attitude right now, you find yourself giving in, lifting your legs and placing your hands on his shoulders for support. 

Drew helps you slide your underwear on with a smirk, slowing standing up, his eyes never trailing off your body. 

“The underwear doesn’t even match,” you say, crossing your arms. 

His fingertips trace the waistband of your panties, giving it a tight tug, the sound of the fabric snapping against your skin. “Who cares?”

“I care,” you poke his chest, as his hand rubs your upper ass, trying to smooth out the tension he just caused. 

Drew scoffs, a sound of dismissal escaping him as he moves away, turning to another cabinet. 

With his back turned to you, you reach behind you, wanting to undo the string. 

“Don’t take it off,” he says, almost like a command, knowing exactly what you’re doing without even turning around.

Your hands drop to your sides, a small sigh escaping your lips as you go back to the drawer full of your tops.

A few seconds later, you feel him behind you again, his presence so familiar. 

He pats your thighs lightly, signaling you to put on the shorts he picked.

Your eyes light up at the familiar fabric, the light blue denim, a pair you've been looking for all week, yet Drew found in only a few seconds. “You found it!” You gasp, arching yourself into him as your legs slip through the pant holes. 

His hands overlap yours as he pulls the pants up, your ass curving perfectly into his lower stomach. His boxer briefs are thin enough to feel the shape of his cock, slightly hard from watching you move around barely dressed. 

You jump slightly as you adjust the waistband of the shorts, adding to the friction between you. 

Drew groans quietly, and the corner of your lips tugs up in a half-smile. His hands take over, zipping and buttoning the shorts on with ease. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, his hands lingering a beat longer.

You rest your head on his shoulder, your lips inches away from his as he whispers, “Put that one on,” nodding toward the top with little sunflowers dotted all over it, the one you picked up earlier. 

“It’s ugly though,” you whisper back, a playful pout on your lips.

Drew chuckles softly, his breath brushing against your ear, “then why’d you buy it?”

“On sale,” you tell him, your eyes now focused on his lips, and how they’re still plump from all the kissing in bed the hour before. 

His hand now rests flat on your bare stomach, doing nothing but spreading its warmth. 

“Wear it,” he says again, and closes the distance between your lips, planting a quick but smooth kiss.

Your tongue shots out like a reflex, kissing back with a bit more greed than you should, his hand cupping your tit to give it a squeeze. 

It sends a wave of heat through you, ending as quickly as it came. 

Drew brushes past you and picks the top off the floor, moving to stand in front of you. 

“I’m going to a cafe though,” you tell him, looking at the top in his hands, running calculations of whether it’s good enough or not. 

He doesn’t say anything, instead, he waits for you to raise your arms.

You hesitate for a moment before lifting them slowly, allowing him to guide the top over your head.

He’s gentle with it, dragging the hole through your head, his fingers grazing the back of your neck as he pulls the top down over your shoulders.

Drew then grabs your wrist, making you face the mirror.

He watches you through the reflection, as you both take in the sight. 

You tilt your head slightly, examining yourself. As you do, his fingers hook around the belt loop. 

He tugs on it, making you stumble a bit, “see? It works.”

He's right—it looks great on you.

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips as you sharply turn around, immediately throwing your arms around his shoulders. Standing on your tiptoes to get closer to his face, you catch him off guard, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist to steady you.

You don't know why, but as you stare into those blue eyes of his, you ask, “wanna come?”

His eyes slightly widen, a corner of his mouth lifting. “Why?”

“I don’t know- cause you’re gonna be bored without me.”

He laughs, his hands sliding down further, “that’s true-“

“Yeah, so go with me-“

“I have a lot of work to do,” he replies, his voice taking on a mock-serious tone.

“You liar,” you tease, “you spent the whole morning in bed with me.”

He gives you a you caught me look, swaying slightly as he glances down at your lips. “I did,” he admits, his voice lower now. 

“Yeah, so let’s go.”

“wouldn’t be- awkward or anything?” 

You push yourself away from him, moving toward his side of the walk-in closet. You pull out one of his white tank tops, and he takes it from your hands, despite his uncertainty.

You watch as his muscles flex, his arms working to pull the shirt over his head, distracted by the way it fits him. 

“No- if you just shut up and hold my hand under the table, they won’t mind,” you joke.

The comment earns a laugh from him, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Of course,” he grins, used to the way you tease him. 

You then rummage through his pants drawer, finding a brown-colored one, thinking that it goes with your outfit. 

“And if we're late, I could blame it on you,” you add, a smile on your lips as he takes it from you. 

He scoffs, and your eyes instinctively drop to his legs, slipping through the pant holes, casually adjusting his crotch area. 

His semi-hard cock pressing through the material doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“And my friends would prefer a boner-less boyfriend.”

Drew’s blue eyes immediately glare up at you, which just makes it more funny. 

You laugh, moving past him to where his button-ups lie.

“Hey- you, you did this,” he stammers, and you hear the faint sound of a watch being fastened on his wrist. 

“I was getting dressed,” you reply, shrugging as you found a baby blue button up, one with a little sunflower on the right chest. Did you buy this along with your top? Whatever, it goes with your outfit.

“Mhm.”

You turn around, handing it to him with a sly smile, before leaving the small space, towards the bathroom. 

You clip your hair back, preparing to start with your makeup. A few seconds pass, and then Drew appears in the doorway, buttoning up halfway through his shirt. 

“You gotta fix it,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking down.

“Fix what?”

“Fix this.”

You follow his line of sight through the mirror, seeing the outline of this crotch area. 

“…We’re gonna be late.”

“…you always are.”

“No,” you look away, moisturizing your face before anything else. 

“It’ll be quick.”

“No, Drew, seriously.”

He comes up behind you, pressing his lower stomach close to your ass, pressuring you against the bathroom counter. 

Focus, focus, focus. You repeat in your mind, as you reach for your primer. 

“You wouldn’t have to do anything,” Drew’s hands lay flat on both sides of you on the counter, his eyes locking into yours through the mirror. He kisses the side of your neck. “You…you wouldn’t have to do anything.”

The fast shift to sexual energy has you stopping, the drops of primer resting on your face. 

You hate how your mind already has you giving up, the message coursing through your veins. 

“Drew…” you bite on your lower lip when he unzips your shorts, his fingers breaking through the rough fabric. 

His fingers come in contact with your pussy, cupping it over your panties, immediately knocking the wind out of you. 

He plays with it; rubbing circles around the sensitive nub, a moan rippling out of you. 

Fuck it. 

You throw your head back, eyes closing as you let lust take over. Fingers wrapping around his wrist, you feel the cool touch of the watch, your other hand tugging on the waistband of your shorts. 

“Hey- do, do your makeup,” he whispers lowly against your ear, before nibbling gently on the skin there, “I’ve got you.”

Drew removes your hand away from your shorts, yanking it down to the floor along with your underwear. 

“I’m- it’s gonna be-“ your words are cut short when your cunt is exposed again, his fingers tracing the wetness of it. “-all messed up.”

He kisses along the lines of your neck, lingering on places he knows you’re vulnerable to. 

Your heart pounds loudly in your chest, your other arm shooting up to pull his hair. 

“I’ve got you,” he repeats those words against your skin, the other hand kneading your breasts over the top. 

Your moans bounce against the bathroom walls, back arching deeper into him. 

His finger slides down your slit, reaching your dripping entry where he’s successfully opened up, practically purring his name. 

“Shit- you’re too easy,” he teases, voice dropping low as his knee stands between your thighs, nudging them apart. “already soaking wet.”

“Shut- shut up,” you practically whimper, the hand around his hair gripping hard, the other around his wrist digging into the skin there. “Just- hurry."

“We’ve, we’ve got plenty of time,” he assures, lips brushing along your jawline, hands never stopping, “relax and let me handle you.”

Drew’s voice and words send another wave of heat through you, your eyes fluttering open to peek at the mirror. His blue eyes immediately lock with yours, and a small smile appears at the corner of his lips.

“So fucking hot,”

He praises, and that’s when he does it; a digit pushing into your pussy, your muscles digesting the knuckle. 

“Drew-“ the loud moan of his name has his dick twitching, his stomach buckling in closer to you. 

He lets out a breathless laugh into your ear, lips glazing over the soft skin. He’s panting as fast as you are, engulfed in the sensation; and he’s just starting. 

He slips another finger in, ready to stretch your pussy out for him, working in and out slowly. 

You can’t help but tremble, eyes blinking rapidly at the smooth rhythm he’s got you riding on. Your arm falls down, resting them on his other wrist that’s still palming your tit.

“You good?” He groans under his breath, curling his digits inward, slowing down his pace. 

You instantly nod, but you couldn’t take (didn’t really need) the foreplay anymore; so you show him just that. 

The hand inside you; you pull on his wrist, ass pushing into his hard-on, signaling for him to fuck you already. 

“Okay- okay, I’ve got you,” he says for the nth time, popping out his digits, your fluid covering them. 

He steps back just enough to undo his pants and drag them down for his cock to spring out, the length standing tall and proud. 

You lean forward and prop your upper body bit lower, steadying against the countertop, ass perched in the familiar angle. 

You glance behind you; throat feeling more dryer than ever as his rough hand strokes along his shaft, guiding it over to your entrance. 

He grins as he notices the hunger and anticipation in your eyes, his tip that leaks with pre-cum poking your asscheek. 

Drew couldn’t resist the tease; it’s just who he is, “what happened to- to putting on your makeup?”

You lazily roll your eyes, palms resting against the cold surface of the counter. “Fuck- do it already-“

“I’know, i’know, impatient much?” He mutters under his breath, the corner of his lips still upwards. 

His tip tickles as it drags lower, eventually hitting against your arousal, pushing through your drenched pussy. 

His hand slides under, and it lays flat on your stomach, almost as if steadying- or feeling the length that’s about to absorb you. 

With a sloppy thrust, his cock sinks it, revealing your breathy moans. 

He pauses, almost as if savoring, and his fingertips dig into your stomach, able to feel just how full you are. 

“Fuck- oh, shit,” he grunts, his own eyes fluttering shut for a second. 

“Drew,” you whimper, peeking at him through the mirror. 

“Shit- sorry,” he mutters, planting a kiss on your shoulder, “just feels so goddamn good.”

His hips start to move slowly, thrusting in and out of you. 

The wet sounds of his dick clapping against your skin, the heavenly and sloppy singing of his name, along with his own low grunts of yours fills the space, making the world outside completely disappear. 

“Fuck- taking my cock so good, hm?”

His other hand squeezes your waist as the rhythm of his thrusts speed up, focused on chasing his high. 

You’re panting his name, feeling the pressure build in your lower stomach, a knot about to snap as your pussy clenches around him. 

He knows he’s close too; a groan leaving his lips as he buckles his hips, movements growing sloppy. 

Unable to hold it in, you let out an unstained sound of pleasure as you juice ripples out, the warmth coating over his length. 

It drips down; and his tip twitches slightly, indicating his own release. 

He lets out a low chuckle as his own cum flows out, mixing in with yours. 

Rocking coming to an end, he leans forward, hand coming up to angle your head towards him. 

His lips collide with yours, tongues tangling in a hasty pace, breaths mingling together. 

You sigh into him, eyes shutting, tilting your head to allow his saliva to explore more of your mouth.

It’s hot, passionate, and just leaves you greedy for more. 

Drew pushes away for a second, to catch his breath, only to be pulled back into you again. 

He smiles against you, satisfying your thirst, his tongue even going as far as poking into your cheek. 

You keep up, fighting to taste more of him. 

Nothing could break the two of you apart now; too into the post-sex make out session.

Except, well, your phone, whose alarm noise echoes through the room, loud enough to be heard in the bathroom. 

The alarm you set up to remind yourself to leave the apartment.

You reluctantly lean back, eyes fluttering open and seeing a string of saliva connecting your lips to Drew’s.

Blue peeks from his hooded eyelids, and he’s got a lazy grin on his mouth, one that shows just how starstruck, how much he was enjoying that kiss, and everything before. 

You lightly tap his chest; an unspoken command for him to pull out. 

“…You still wanna go?”

He asks, his hands secured around your waist. 

“Of course,” you reply, your voice steady, even though Drew makes it hard to focus. 

“…okay.”

He slowly pulls out, the white fluid leaking down. “We could just stay home,” he suggests, but more to himself. 

You glare at him, before walking off out the bathroom. The sticky substance is uncomfortable with every step you take, but the damn alarm is more annoying. 

You click it off, seeing how thirty minutes has passed already. It felt like ten. 

You already know Drew will follow after a few seconds. 

Guessing correctly, you feel his presence before he even says anything. 

Turning around, he’s there, his pants back on, and a quiet sense of urgency in his movements as kneels down. He helps you clean up, hands gentle compared to the rough towel. 

You steady your hands on his shoulders, looking down at him. 

He’s got your underwear and shorts in the other hand, and when he’s done, you instinctively raise your legs through the pant holes. 

“What about your makeup?” He asks, breaking the silence. 

A smile appears on your lips, “what? I look better with it?”

He deliberately hoists your underwear up with more force than necessary, making you squeal in surprise. 

“Makeup isn’t enough,” he says, a smirk curving his lips as he tugs your shorts up with the same firmness.

The remark catches you off guard, and you laugh, playfully hitting his chest as he stands up. “Hey!”

He laughs, walking back into the bathroom, “C’mon, hurry, we’ll be late.”

You roll your eyes but can't suppress a smile as you follow him. 

One thing’s for sure: your friends are definitely going to be waiting... and probably complaining. But right now, you don’t really mind.

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

word count: 3.4k

࣪𖤐 a/n: muahahaha inspired by the mv + been a long time since i wrote some smut

elevator | other

[karmicmortal]

content warnings mean dom!heeseung, extremely mean, slapping (pussy and face), degradation, spitting, orgasm denial

don’t like it? don’t read it!

notes this drabble was originally posted to istjisung. i am istjisung. if you see my drabbles posted on any account other than istjisung or karmicmortal, or the ao3 accounts of the same name, that is not me.

“are you even listening to me?” heeseung asks, noticing the way your eyes have glazed over and you’re looking at anything but his face, which is a telltale sign that your mind is anywhere but in this conversation. “you’re not paying attention.”

little did he know, you were paying attention. to the conversation? no. to him? absolutely. more specifically, his hands. the way he fidgets as he talks, how long his fingers are and the way his veins make an appearance when he moved his hands a specific way. his hands are so manly, so sexy, so pleasurable. they could reach places inside of you that you could only dream of.

and all you could think about was having them in you. touching you in some way.

you didn’t think heeseung would be so mean when he did finally touch you.

your boyfriend finally realized that you couldn’t focus on the conversation, and thankfully, he wasn’t talking about anything important. but it still made him upset that you couldn’t listen for five minutes until he was done telling you the newest information that he’d found out about one of his biggest interests.

now he had you spread out in front of him, his eyes narrowed in annoyance (partly clouded by arousal), anticipating his next move. his cheeks puffed up cutely, greatly contrasting his actions.

he lands one, two, three harsh smacks to your pussy, making you jolt in place and cry out. his long, slender fingers slide through your folds and he pushes two inside of you without warning. he quickly thrusts his fingers inside of you, not giving you any time to adjust to the sudden intrusion. your back arches as he rapidly builds you orgasm up—something he knew how to do with ease these days—before he completely pulled his fingers out, leaving you to clench around nothing and whine at the loss of touch.

“isn’t this what you wanted?” you didn’t answer, trying to catch your breath. this wasn’t the answer heeseung wanted; his hand shoots up to connect with your face, throwing your head to the side. “answer me. isn’t this what you wanted?”

“n-no…” your voice was weak.

heeseung smirks. “i think it was. you kept looking at my hands, and i’m using them on you now, aren’t i?” he smacks your face again, your eyes going wide as you moan at the stinging sensation. “oh, look at you. moaning like a slut from being treated like nothing but a whore.”

you can’t deny the way you feel yourself get wetter.

he cuffed your face a few more times, reveling in the noises you make each time. some gasps, some moans and whines. you were sure your face was flushed, heat rushing to the spots where heeseung repeatedly struck. he delivers one last slap before squeezing your face, forcing your mouth open. he gathers his saliva at the tip of his tongue, spitting directly into your open mouth and splattering over your chin.

“swallow it.” the harsh tone he used causes you to obey, immediately closing your mouth and swallowing his saliva. right as you do, however, heeseung once again plunges his fingers into your sopping cunt, making you choke on nothing in the middle of swallowing. he chuckles at this as he begins to repeat the process all over again. build your orgasm up, pull his fingers out, smack your clit or your face, call you names that twist your stomach in arousal, rinse and repeat.

you like it, love it even, but who’s to say heeseung would care even if you didn’t?

[pettysreverie]

Thinking about Faerie!Reader who is the jewel of faery society. Since young, the elders doted on you and your generation-mates followed you in whatever you did. You were said to be the prettiest faerie in your generation. It was rumored that you would have oh-so many suitors.

CW: Implied Size Difference (pretty sure that’s it but let me know if I missed any)

Except…no matter how much older you got, your wings never came in.

You could be as pretty as you wanted to be—as talented and skilled as ever—but without your wings, you were nothing more than a failure. A dud. A mistake.

Then comes the coming of age ceremony, when you should be celebrating with your generation-mates—taking flight and reaching the canopy of the forest your clan resides in. The canopy—where all full-fledged faeries live. Where the big celebration is held. Where the suitors approach their intendeds and begin the courtship process.

A place you would never be able to reach. Not as you are.

Effectively shunned by all of those you’ve held dear for so long, you leave your home and trek through the oh-so foreign lands that surround the forest you once called home.

After a fairly dangerous and eventful journey, you manage to come upon a rather bustling city.

No, it is not like the beautiful forest you once knew…but it is not so bad either.

Maybe you get a job in the local apothecary, which makes sense given your extensive knowledge about herbs and the many remedies one can produce from them, as a result of growing up in such a lush forest.

You settle in okay enough. A steady job with a fairly nice boss. A quaint yet cozy room you’re renting next door to the closest book shop… things are going fine. And then this big behemoth of a man enters the apothecary one day.

You figure that he has got to be part orc or something, but you see nary a tusk nor green tint to his skin. Actually, you don’t see much of his face at all. He covers it up quite well whenever he comes in.

Not that you mind.

He’s a gentle and quiet customer, coming in every few weeks for a big supply of pain remedies. He leaves a very adequate payment, always over the price of his total.

The first few times it happens, you think it a mistake and try to correct it. But after simply not getting the hint, the large and quiet man wraps his equally large, and very warm, hands around yours and passes you the change back.

“Keep it, love.”

Oh.

Oh.

His voice…

It makes you positively swoon.

After that, whenever he comes in, you try your best to make conversation with him. To get a better look at him. He’s a rather slippery fellow, though. Somehow managing to evade your attempts rather gracefully.

Then, it happens.

On his usual day for pick up, he does not come.

And that’s just not like him.

Your boss tells you to simply wait for the end of the business day. So you do, and yet your handsomely voiced stranger does not arrive. With him being a no-show, your boss hands you the remedies that the man normally picks up.

Apparently, this has happened one or two times before. Procedure is to wait until the end of day before delivering it to him.

“Here’s ‘is address. It’s a bit of a walk. Think ye can manage it?”

And you assure him you can.

Not just because you want to prove yourself to your boss but, of course, because you also want to see the strange and quiet man that has claimed your attention so thoroughly.

So you follow the directions listed by your boss, trekking through the bustling city—your feet tapping against the cobblestoned paths as you imagine what he’d be like when you arrive at his doorstep. Will he be upset? Surprised? Maybe…maybe even glad?

By the time you arrive at the doorstep of his cabin, the sun is sitting just above the horizon line.

Your hand knocks against the hard wood door, your eyes taking in the quaintness of his home from the outside. It is just far enough outside of the city limits that the hustle and bustle has quieted into a gentle murmur.

So fitting for your handsomely voiced stranger, you cannot help but to think.

“Damn it, Johnny! I said I’m no’ in’erested in yer—”

You stare up owlishly at your stranger as he swings the massive door open as though it were nothing but a small scrap of parchment.

“Ah…sorry…”You squeak out, your hands reaching out to deliver his usual order. “Boss and I…we got worried when you didn’t come. Had me come delivery it.”

He just stands there, staring at you and then at the wrapped package you are extending to him from behind the usual mask that covers his face. You wonder if maybe he will close the door in your face. It did not seem like he was looking forward to any visitors…

“Come in.”He mutters, moving aside for you to enter.

“I’m sorry?”

“S’late…and a li’le doll like yerself shouldn’ be wanderin aroun’ late like this.”

You’re shocked by his words, even more so by his kindness.

Looking over your shoulder, you gaze at the darkening sky. Sure, you have found stability in the city. You have a lot more confidence navigating the cobbled paths and the swept avenues. But…well, he’s not wrong. It is getting dark.

And really, you would rather not take the chance of leaving now as the daylight continues to dwindle more and more.

“Okay…”You reply, one part excited for what could possibly unfold between you and this seemingly chivalrous stranger, one part nervous for the very same reason.

Just as you step through the threshold his deep, rich voice fills your ears…though only as a mumble. “I’m sorry…?”You repeat once more, so timid and hesitant. So worried that you’re already screwing this up.

“Tha name’s Simon.”He repeats, this time louder and clearer enough for you to hear properly.

You give him your name and follow him deeper inside. The entire time, his voice replays in your head.

Simon.

Simon.

Simon, your stranger, whom you will be spending this fateful evening with.

Now if only it will go well…

[michimars-room]

Ok sooooo, hi again! (I asked about your rules. We respect boundaries in this household). So, I have a little request (if your ok writing it of course!), with a reader who's like bad at understanding other peoplee emotions, reaction and most importantly how they feel towards them in like not knowing if they even like them as a person, friend, ect. If you do more then one character maybe with Ren, Sho, Romeo, Leo and Jin since they are either cold, easily say something that rubs the wrong way or anything but in reality they just care a lot about them but they just never realized that reader thinks that the guy's can't stand them and tries not to bother them. If you only do one then with either Ren or Sho. :3 (btw happy Sho is a close second place for characters you like <3)

oh noooo, I have to write for all of them, (minus Leo i’m so so so sorry… i cannot see him saying anyone is not a bother or that he cares…) now legally obligated since you included them and once i get to thinking i HAVE TO WRITE IT DOWN 🩶🩶🩶 ty for asking for specifics & also for sending this in. hope you enjoy!!

Leo fans - I have something special cooking for him in the slow cooker ♡

dense/oblivious reader × ghouls who have sharp tongues but are soft underneath mmgmfnfm

.°•°.Jin °.•°

The brisk chilly air hit your body immediately freezing you down to the bone once you stepped foot into Frostheim. The house is fitting for its name and the captain also being the embodiment of ice itself. He had a barbed wire laced tongue, lashing out at anyone while he was in a mood. According to Tohma he was far nicer, more lenient with you… but you didn’t see it. You never seemed to dodge his sharp comments, or glaring daggers, “get out. now. don’t piss me off again.” You took everything so literally and internalized it. “I’ll just.. go then. sorry for bothering you…” you sniffled, fighting back tears. Jin didn’t think you were being serious. Until you stopped going over to wake him up. Hell, you stopped talking to him altogether. Tohma on the other hand noticed Jin’s foul mood, growing worse by the day and would sigh. But alas, he cannot apologize on behalf of him, so he convinces you to deliver some papers to his room that he’s DEFINITELY asleep at that time just to walk in to him wide awake, laying on the sofa with a lit cigarette in between his lips. He immediately puts it out and drags you towards his bed by your wrist before you could run away again. “Don’t ever ignore me again.” was all he said before pulling you close against him, breathing in your scent. “You told me to leave you alone… so I did. I thought you hated me,” you admitted quietly. He squeezed you ever so slightly, his tone annoyed. “I don’t. Don’t do that ever again.”

°.•.°Sho ♡°.•.°

You were happily helping Sho prep for the food truck before the busiest hours. The last thing you wanted to do was make it more difficult for him. You weren’t a terrible cook and knew basic knife skills, Sho knew this as well, which is why he accepted your help so readily. That combined with enjoying your calming presence in the kitchen with him. Unfortunately today was different, you kept making mistakes, apologizing profusely before attempting again. Dicing carrots as opposed to julienning, mixing the wrong seasonings together, and par-cooking the wrong vegetables together… These were all minor headaches, but nothing Sho couldn’t work around. “What is up with you today? Something wrong?” On edge from messing up so many things in a row, hearing Sho’s questions pulled your focus from your mind and the task in front of you, causing you to cut your finger. Blood now dripping onto the cutting board you dropped the knife and ran over to the sink. Sho immediately rushed to ensure you were alright and properly bandaged. You apologized profusely for the millionth time in the past two hours. He sighed while throwing away the tainted vegetables. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, I’m sorry-” After your confirmation and final apology, Sho ushered you out of the truck. “You’re banned from helping me with the food truck from now on.” You couldn’t blame him, after all you really hadn’t helped much with all the mess ups he now had to fix… As much as it pained you, you stayed away. After a few days of not seeing you in the line during lunchtime or around campus he sought you out. “Listen, I banned you from the kitchen for your safety… you’re still allowed to eat at the truck y’know.” He joked trying to ease your nerves.

°.°.•°.Ren ♡°•°.°•.

Ren’s targeted harassment allegation really got to you. You never had intended to make him uncomfortable, that was in fact the last thing you tried to do. So when he brushed you off saying leave me alone. I’m going to report you for harassment. God everyone is so fucking annoying in this place. You took that seriously, apologized profusely and proceeded to keep a ridiculous distance apart... He just was overstimulated and socially drained, he didn’t mean to snap at you that day. Even when you came to help Haru, you both would make fleeting eye contact before you averted your gaze either fixed on the ground or to pretend to be focused on other things. Hearing him sigh and groan loudly, you felt like it was directed at your presence so you retreated, mumbling an excuse to Haru you were going to wait outside - for fresh air or something… Ren hated conflict and things that required work whether physical or emotional, but you always would play games with him - helping him get precious resources! You ease his burdens; be it with the never-ending chores by helping Haru in his place (which he finds you to be an idiot for doing so…), you listen and actually… show you care about him. More so than anyone he’s ever known. He’s been lonely for a long time so losing one person he actually CAN tolerate being around really pissed him off, even though this was self inflicted... So, he followed you outside as you scurried away. “Can you fucking chill out…” He said while frowning, he’s not the best at expressing his emotions but he attempted anyway, “I uh, didn’t mean to snap at you that day so can you go back to acting like a normal person?” That’s the best apology you’re going to get from him…

°.•°.•.Romeo ♤°.•.°.

The insults Romeo hurled at you made you recoil. According to Romeo, not only are you a BB! But you’re so careless! Can’t do anything right! All due to the fact that you had sprained your ankle while carrying too many things…

Well, he didn’t expect you to leave him high and dry like this! Having Ritsu deliver any necessary forms in your stead. Oh boy… When he caught a glimpse of you on campus he was charging like a raging bull over to you. “WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU??!? WHYB? IF YOU COULDN’T HANDLE IT YOU SHOULD’VE MADE SOMEONE ELSE TAKE CARE OF IT, BUT YOU DON’T SEEM TO UYB!”

“According to you, I can’t do anything right. So I thought you would be better off finding someone who can.” Romeo couldn’t help but pinch the bridge of his nose in a dramatic manner. “YOU-!! You’re more competent than others!!!” His tone softened after letting a deep exasperated sigh. “Next time open your mouth and tell someone before you hurt yourself again.”

[just1cefor4ll]

— 12 reasons why I wanted to leave, 1 reason why I stayed

Joost Klein x gn!reader

warning. ‼️heavy themes like suicide, abuse, alcoholism, death, bullying ect., swearing,not proof read ‼️

A/N. this is based on 13 reasons why and very slightly on anonymously yours. if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic then dm me, comment under this or ask in ‘requests’.

part 1 || part 2

Joost was getting ready to perform, chatting with his friends about how excited they were to go out afterward and finally have some time for themselves.

It was a night like any other—hundreds of fans packed into the venue with their phones out, or in some cases, holding up the most random devices Joost would definitely want footage from later. The stage lights were blinding, but the energy in the room was unlike any other, the kind of night that would be impossible to forget.

However one fan, in particular, stood out. They were right at the barricade, leaning against it, phone nowhere in sight. Unlike the rest of the crowd, they weren’t singing along, weren’t screaming—just watching him with quiet admiration. A few people around them threw curious glances, but they didn’t seem to care.

Joost, too caught up in the performance, didn’t notice them at first. But as the Europapa outro played, his gaze drifted over the crowd—and there they were. Their eyes met, and he stared, intrigued. He was used to fans buzzing with energy, shouting every lyric, but you? You were different.

Once the night ended, he saw you standing there as others made their way out— while you were just standing there in thought. You decided to leave a few minutes after, shoving through crowds and outside into the night. ‘How strange.’ Joost thought to himself but didn’t think too much about it, everyone enjoyed music in their own unique way and he wasn’t one to judge. And so he forgot about you— at least for a good while.

That night a letter had been delivered to him. He had an adress fans could send fan mail to and he loved recieving them. They always made his day and had a lot of the things he got somewhere on display or safely kept in a drawer he’d never throw away. But this letter.. it was strange.

In neatly written letters, the words ‘For Joost Klein, 13 reasons.’

13 reasons.. what could that possibly mean? He had re-read the 2 words about a hundred times before curiosity had gotten the best of him and ripped the envelope open.

—February 14th 2025

Joost,

I don’t know if you’ll actually read this. Maybe you’ll read the first few words, get a weird feeling in your gut, and throw it away. I wouldn’t blame you. It’s easier to ignore things that make us uncomfortable.

But in case you do read it, then I just want to let you know this letter is simply to let things out. I’ll stay anonymous, I don’t want you to find me but I want you to know my story. Why my story of all the hundreds others you could know? I’m not sure. Did anyone ever write this type of letter to you before?

Well to get to the point— here’s reason number 1. (You’ll figure out what I mean later.)

High school was pure hell to say the least. I mean, other than the typical grouping of people (You know, popular kids, nerds.. the weirdo’s..)

It started with rumors after I transferred from my old school because my dad wanted to live closer to family and get back into the city. The rumours were stupid— the kind that spread before you even realize they exist. I was a slut, apparently. A whore from the next town over. I lost count of how many people whispered about me, laughed behind my back, called me names to my face.

The worst part wasn’t the people saying it. It was the people who pretended not to hear. The friends who suddenly weren’t my friends anymore. The teachers who saw what was happening and did nothing.

I tried to ask for help. Once. I sat in an office, across from someone who was supposed to fix things, and I begged them to make it stop. They nodded, they smiled, they promised—then they sent me back to class like nothing had happened.

And this is gonna sound a bit weird— I mean I could care less you don’t know who I am— but that made the first crack in my soul. I was left broken to piece myself back together.

—Yours truly, anonymous.

The letter had kept him up all night—who could’ve known that one of his fans, someone who had stood in the same crowd as hundreds of others, carried something this heavy?

Joost read it over and over, each word digging deeper into his chest. What did you mean ‘you’ll find out later’? What did you mean reason one? Reason’s for what? The weight of it settled in his bones, making sleep impossible. He tried to brush it off, tell himself it wasn’t his problem, that he couldn’t save everyone. But the truth was, he wanted to know who had written it.

He thought back on any weird encounters he had— if he had seen anyone in his neighbourhood who was out of the ordinary but no— nothing came to mind.

And so he waited for the next letter. One day, two days.. a week. Nothing. Nothing came into the mail and he felt worried. Did something happen? Were you okay? He didn’t know you— only that you were deeply hurt and decided to entrust someone with your problems and you just disappeared. That was never good. Disappearing.. it was dangerous and he tried to watch out for any mentions of suicide on the news but surprisingly, 12 days after the first note, another one came. He opened it as fast as he could manage and sped through the letter, the way you expressed your hurt and sorrow.. it was unlike any other.

—February 26th 2025

Dear Joost,

It’s me again! Anonymous. I saw your show this weekend and it was quite the performance. It may seem stalker-ish but I’ve been going to almost every single concert you’ve had so far during this Europapa tour— I simply can’t get enough! :)

Well, to not bother you too much— although the content of this letter is heavy enough.. here’s reason number 2.

My mother died not long after I graduated.

It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t some tragic accident. It was the kind of death that creeps up slowly, stretching itself out over months, maybe years, until one day you realize the person you love isn’t coming back. I remember watching her get weaker, how her voice got softer, how she started forgetting things—little things at first, then big things, like my name.

And then she was gone.

I was left with a father who didn’t know how to grieve and a house that felt like a tomb. People said all the usual things— “I’m so sorry for your loss, she’s in a better place, let me know if you need anything.” They said them like changed the fact that my world had just ended.

After my mother died, my father started drinking. A little at first. Then a lot. Then so much that I stopped recognizing the person sitting across from me at dinner.

He was angry all the time. At me, at himself, at the world. It didn’t take much to set him off. A wrong look. A wrong word. A wrong breath. And then it was yelling, slamming doors, broken glass.

I told myself it wasn’t that bad. That as long as I stayed quiet, as long as I stayed out of his way, I’d be fine.

I wasn’t.

I confronted him once. Told him I was tired of being scared in my own home. That I couldn’t keep pretending things were okay. That he wasn’t okay.

He just stared at me, silent. Then he got up and walked away.

A few nights later, I found him dead— he had taken his own life and left a letter about how sorry he was and how i’ll be better off without him. He rather kill himself than work on his issues and be there for his child. Was I that much of a failure to him? Was I not worth the struggle? Guess not.

I guess that’s why I’ve always related to you as a person and a fan. I know you lost your parents too. And even though I don’t know you, and you sure as hell don’t know me, it made me feel less alone. And I guess that pushed me to not give up, at least not so easily.

—Anonymous

This letter made him feel something different. Was it anger? Confusion? Maybe both. He had questions— a lot of them.. and so he decided to write back. You had be bringing the letters yourself, it didn’t have his address nor anything to indicate this was sent and delivered by a postman and so he hoped you’d find it the next time you’d come around.

He quickly scrambled to find a paper and pen, but as soon as he sat down to write something.. he couldn’t find the words.

What could he say that wasn’t said to you a thousand times already? ‘I’m sorry this is happening.’ ‘It will get better.’ No. Those would be empty promises he couldn’t actually keep.. and so he thought— though for hours until he just grabbed the pen and wrote until there was no more space on the white sheet of paper.

He was nervous to actually put it in his mailbox. What if you stopped writing? He was probably your only hope and so he couldn’t afford to mess this up. The time ticked by and soon the clock strikes midnight, and the time came for him to finally put it into the mailbox where you’d hopefully find it and take the advice and things he had to say to heart.. or at least thought about them. He hoped for the best, for your well being even though he didn’t know you a single bit— how could he wish you anything else? You poured your heart out to him, you chose to do so and he felt some sort of pride in his chest bubble up because it was like he had succeeded in something. Something big. He hoped you thought so too.

—February 26th 2025

Dear anonymous,

I hope you’re doing okay

How have you been?

As you can probably tell, I’m struggling to find the right words to start this letter— but I guess this is the best I’ll do.

There hasn’t been a single night where I haven’t thought about you. About whether you’re still here. About how much of this weight you’re still carrying. I don’t know if you expect me to respond, if you even want me to, but I have to. Because I can’t read what you wrote and just pretend it’s nothing.

I keep thinking about that. About the fact that, despite everything, you’re still here. That after all the shit life has thrown at you—every loss, every time you were kicked down and left to pick up the pieces alone, every night you spent staring at the ceiling wondering if it was even worth it—you’re still breathing.

I don’t know who you are, but I know you’ve been hurting for a long time. I know you’ve been carrying this alone, and I know how heavy that gets. I know what it’s like to walk around with so much pain inside you that it feels like it’s carved into your ribs. Like no matter what you do, no matter how much time passes, it’s always there. And the worst part? The fact that no one ever really sees it.

People look at you and see whatever version of you they want. They see the person who keeps showing up, who keeps moving forward, and they assume that means you’re okay. That you must be fine because you haven’t completely fallen apart. They don’t see the exhaustion in your bones. They don’t see the nights where it physically hurts to be alive. They don’t see how goddamn hard it is just to exist some days.

And after a while, you start to believe it too. That maybe this is just how it is. That maybe you’re just meant to carry this alone, because no one’s ever really noticed enough to do anything else.

But I notice. I notice because I’ve been there. Because I know what it’s like to be drowning and have the world keep moving like nothing’s wrong. I know what it’s like to lose people and realize too late that you were never ready to live without them. I know what it’s like to be so goddamn tired of everything—of the weight, of the silence, of the pretending—that giving up starts to feel like the only option that makes sense.

But you haven’t.

I’m not going to give you some empty speech about how things get better. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that everything happens for a reason, or that the pain you’ve felt will magically fade. That would be bullshit. We both know it doesn’t work that way.

You are not alone in this. Not anymore. Because I see you. And I’m here.

—Yours truly, Joost. :)

You couldn’t stop the tears from slipping down your face, no matter how hard you tried to hold them back. The way he put everything into words—your feelings, your pain—it was almost terrifying. It was like, for a moment, he had stepped inside your mind, like he had lived through every dark thought, every lonely night, every moment where you felt like there was nothing left.

It was almost as if, just for a little while, you had switched places. As if he had carried your pain for you, held it in his hands and understood it in a way no one else ever had. And then, just as quickly, you were yanked back into your own reality, into this life that felt more like a prison than anything else.

You gripped the paper tightly, reading over his words again and again, as if searching for some hidden meaning, something that might make this feel less real. But it was real. He had written this. He had seen you, even without knowing your name, without ever meeting you.

And that terrified you.

He understood— someone who was never in your same exact shoes before understood.. you weren’t invisible anymore, not to Joost at least. Maybe you weren’t as alone as you had convinced yourself you were.

And maybe—just maybe—there was still a reason to keep going.

© just1cefor4all— I don’t consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms or fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. 🚫

[hannahssimblr]

She calls while I’m out on a job. One hand on the handlebars, the other holding my phone. “Yeah?”

“What are you up to?” 

“Working.” 

Around her voice are the sounds of gently lapping water, ambient music, like Enya or something. 

“Astrid, are you in the bath?”

“Yes.” Of course she is. She’s always in the bath. “You could join me.”

“You want me to join you in it,” I echo, and look down at myself. Bike grease on my hands from the chain falling off, the bandage from my coffee burn still wound around my palm. “I don’t really fit in that bath anyway, do I?”

“Hm,” she says. “No, but I don’t mind. We can just get bathwater all over the floor like the last time.”

I soften, drag my bike onto the kerb and lock it to the railings. “Yeah. That was nice.”

“Come over. When are you finished?” This is what she does. Puts on that whiny little voice to coax me over to her. Never “I miss you”, never “I want to see you.” Just “Come over now.” First making sure to place herself in some erotic situation designed to manipulate the caveman part of my brain.

“I dunno, like, an hour. Hour and a half, maybe. Depends on how many more restaurants need me for delivery.”

“Where are you?”

I glance around. “Near the Bavarian Quarter, I think.”

“Ugh. You’re far.”

“Yeah.”

She sighs, a great, world-weary sigh. “I won’t wait in the bath so long.”

“Wouldn’t recommend it. Look, just hang in there and I’ll come when I can. Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Ah, you wanted me to make you something.”

“No, I wanted you to join me in the bath.”

To this I laugh, aware of the minutes I’m wasting, but they don’t seem so important. “I know what you’re doing, Larsen. If you can wait a couple of hours, then I’ll come cook.”

“If I ordered something, what are the chances it will be you that delivers it?”

“Slim.”

“Ugh! Fine. I will wait.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too. Don’t be too long.”

“It could be two hours–” I reiterate, but she’s gone. Dead air on the phone. I stuff it back into my pocket and take pizzas from the insulated bag strapped to the back of my bicycle. Apartment 5C implies the fifth floor. I sigh, and hit the bell so they can buzz me in. 

None of these places ever have lifts. It’s inevitable. And the people who order takeaway food always live on the highest floors of their buildings, up spiral after spiral of tiled staircase. By the time I get there, I can barely wheeze out a “thanks, have a good night.” Legs shaking on the way back down. I’ve quit the gym. Couldn’t afford it anymore, but this job provides enough exercise for it to be redundant. Another eight kilometer cycle. Another lift that doesn’t work. Another set of fucking stairs.

The lifts that do work, by the way, are the ones from like, the turn of the century. The ones the allied bombs never got, with the metal grate you manually pull across, shuddering their way up inside the building as you obsessively picture old cables snapping like in a film, and you plummeting towards the basement to your demise. Astrid’s lift is one of those, and as I stand in it after my shift, legs exhausted and that ear ringing throb of silence after a long day, I think that if the cables snapped now, if these gears squeaked as they gave, sending me hurtling down the shaft, I might be too tired to try to save myself. Might not be bothered to scream. 

“Oh, you’re here,” she says, unlocking the door. “You smell like the outside.” She smells of soap and lotion, a waft of scent that I trail towards the kitchenette where she boils some water for coffee, while I lay down the bag of ingredients for dinner. 

Her face is pink and clean, scrubbed of makeup, with her hair twisted in a knot at the top of her head. She looks at me, head to toe, cuts and stains and dirty jeans. “You can take a shower, if you like.”

“Yeah, I would actually like that.” I leave the bathroom door open as I undress and run the shower. One of those awkward shower heads positioned above the bath. Old plumbing, with a hot and cold tap that requires precision balancing for a bearable temperature. 

“Sorry I’m later than usual,” I call out as steam fills the little room. “A few late orders came in for this Korean restaurant, and I was close by, so I thought I’d just grab the job.”

“It’s fine.”

“I wish you would have just eaten. You must be starving.”

“Well, you promised you would cook.”

“Yeah, I did.”

Her now, digging through her drawers. “I will give you clean clothes to change into when you finish.”

“Do I have clothes here?”

“A T-shirt and some boxer shorts.”

“You want me to just wear those?”

She pauses at the door, grimacing slightly at my rumpled jeans on the floor. “I don’t want you wearing those.”

“Okay, fine.” Inside the shower, I wash my hair with her fancy shampoos and conditioners. Pouring then a handful of some iridescent pink shower gel into my palm and forming a lather on my chest. “I met this complete dickhead at a door tonight, by the way,” I tell her. From the living room she utters a vaguely interested “hm?”

“He went apeshit at me for forgetting the dip for his pizza.”

“Oh. I hate when they forget that.”

“Well, yeah, ‘they’ meaning the restaurant, not the delivery person.”

“Oh, well, I suppose the people getting the pizza don’t know. They just know that part of their order is missing.”

I pause. “But they should use common sense and realise that I’m just a middleman. It’s not my fault the restaurant fucked it up, you know? People are just stupid, I think.”

She doesn’t reply. 

“Astrid?”

“Oh, I was looking at my phone. Say it again?”

“It’s fine.”

I grab her nail brush and scrub the dirt from beneath my fingernails. The bristles emerge black with bicycle grease. “It’s just, like, you meet all kinds of people when you do a job like this. I think you’d be shocked.”

“Mm,” she says, stopping in the doorway, now. “I just think there’s so little benefit to it. You don’t enjoy it, and it takes all your free time.”

“I know, but I need the money.”

“You could work less. You don’t need to work every night of the week, and weekends, too.”

With some irritation, I glance at her. “Yeah, after a while, maybe, but for now I’m really just focussed on paying you back for January’s rent.”

“Oh, mhm,” she steps out of the doorway and once again out of sight. It is a situation she cannot stand. A conversation she can’t bear to have. Her, forking out the money I owed the landlady before leaving Kreuzberg like it was a humiliation ritual. “I’ll pay you back,” I swore, as she cringed, unable to meet my eye, pained expression, like the words hurt. 

After towelling myself off, I dress in the clean clothes she has left in the door, arms, legs, feet bare, and it is cold. I graze a radiator as I pass, and it is on, but this is an old building. Badly insulated. It’s never really warm in here except for the summer, when it becomes unbearable, all the heat rising here to the top floor. Unable to open the windows because of the church bells that ring four times an hour throughout the night. 

Astrid hums over the sound of the extractor fan, eyes on her laptop while I cook. I peel and slice the carrots, julienne style. Fry lardons. Boil noodles. With a fork, I mix tonkatsu sauce with sesame oil and sake wine. Her fingers drum the keyboard. 

“What’s on your computer?”

“I’m just researching.”

“Oh, for art history?”

“No,” a pause, deliberate, then, too casually, adds “Valencia.”

“In Spain?”

“Mm. Trying to decide if I’d rather go to Valencia or Seville.”

I suppress my surge of annoyance. Take a slow breath while I rinse the mushrooms. “Oh yeah? When are you going to Spain?”

“I was thinking I am so tired of being cold. Sick of winter. I want to go where the sun shines.”

“Ah. With friends, is it?”

“Hm?”

“You’re going with your friends?”

She doesn’t look up. “No. You and me, I thought.”

There’s a prickling sensation in my head. My fingers reflexively squeeze the handle of the spatula. “When would we do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. In a couple of weeks. There’s a hotel in the centre of Valencia that looks perfect.”

Ah, there it is. She’s mad at me. Another fight disguised as conversation. Look at that haughty tilt of her head, the way her lips purse. She approaches conflict in this way for reasons I cannot understand. At times I wonder whether she does either, or if it's some instinct she has. An allergy to directness. “You know I can't do that, Astrid,” I say, half embarrassed to even have to say it. “I wish you wouldn’t do this.”

“Do what, exactly?”

“Put me in this situation. Deliberately. You know I can’t do that. Travelling is impossible right now. I don’t even want to have this conversation.”

When I look at her, her eyebrow is arched. “Well, you’re going to Ireland this weekend.”

“Yeah. The flight was fifteen euros. I have to fly Ryanair, I–” I break off to scoff and scrape burnt onion off the bottom of the pan. “You know how I am about Ryanair. I don’t fucking fly them. My legs don’t fit in their fucking seats. I hate the music they play at the end, then, bloody shoving lottery tickets in my face. This is not a luxurious experience I am excited about. It’s an obligatory visit to my family, and then dinner with a few friends.”

“Oh, you’re having dinner? At a restaurant?”

“Yeah. We booked a fairly shitty Mexican place. And I’ll probably have, like, one drink and no dessert, so don’t get excited about it.”

She frowns. “Why are you using this tone?”

“I don’t know.” 

I let the silence go on as I assemble our meal. Plates clacking together. Sound of cutlery in the drawer, and Astrid has stopped typing. She’s looking at me, but I avoid her gaze until I’m at the table, picking at my dinner in the seat beside her. 

“I’ll figure it out,” I mutter. Not exactly sure if I mean the rent, my bank account, or the distance that has crept in like a draft under the door. 

“Yeah, I know,” she says, twisting noodles around her fork, but not yet eating them. She means it, I think. I hope. Has faith that I’ll get it right, eventually. I reach out and rest my hand on her arm. Soft, warm, real. It’s weird now, but we’re still us, I think. Right?  

She’s watching me, intelligent eyes flicking about my face in search for something. Proof, maybe, confirmation, then she leans toward me a little. An invitation or a test. I hesitate for a moment before kissing her. Warm and slow, and my hand on her neck, wanting to feel the place where her pulse jumps, where it changes as I touch her. If I don’t think too hard about it, this feels normal. I try not to wonder whether she feels the same, or if she notices where it is different.

“You’ll take me to Valencia another time,” she insists, and to this I give her a soft, noncommittal “mhm,” murmured against her mouth. 

She closes the laptop with a soft click. “Okay, then.” Patient tone on her. I'm being let off the hook. This is something stored away for later, for when I’ve figured it out, for when things are better. I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes back. Pretending love is enough. Leaning, both leaning, on the hope that it is.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[shatcey]

Vivi's answers (translation + my comments)

I'm not familiar with JP, and the way I've translated all of this MAY not be entirely accurate. And I'm definitely not aware of some of the specific terms and jokes that could be used here. For this reason, I am adding screenshots from X/Twitter with the original text, and below I give my translation. And I used a gender-neutral (green) color for the questions. It's NOT because I don't like pink, I just chose a gender-neutral color!!!

Vivi is… so… different… I'm delighted!

Victor began with a very enthusiastic greeting.

Come, come here! I've been waiting for you! How are you feeling today? Let me hear your cute voice!

And a few minutes later he answered one of the reply to his previous post.

Yes, yes, you are the most lovely when you are full of energy! Let's have a good time today!

We start the tea party, so Vivi asks what we would like to eat (am I the only one who, after hearing "tea party", thinks about tea and lots of sweets?)

I've prepared a lot of things today, I hope you enjoy it… scones with extra butter, chocolate, fish and chips… Which ones do you like?

He answered a few questions. Mostly people wanted his signature scones. But one of them asked about the chocolate

I love chocolate♡

Thank you for the chocolate you gave me the other day. It probably won't compare to the one you gave me, but I'm sure this one is delicious as well.

and one about fish and chips

Fish and chips (≧∇≦)

I just fried them up to deliver them hot and fresh. Enjoy my homemade fish and chips!

After that he remind us that it is a White Day

Today is White Day, so I want to express my gratitude to you with lots of thanks. Of course, I always appreciate you, but today is even more special, isn't?

And now… He will read our questions (yeah, let's pretend that we believe him)

Right, let's check the report you prepared! You have something you want to ask me? Let's see...

About loneliness (not as subtle as you think, Vivi).

Victor, thank you for your hard work as always! I'm so happy to have tea with Victor 💠 so happy~ Without further ado, I have a question! I have to live alone in a quite distant area soon. Could you give me some advice on how to feel less lonely?

Good job! I'm happy to have fun with you as well. Leaving familiar places can be a bit lonely, right? But I think it will be nice to explore new places too! It's important to find a place where you don't feel lonely, isn't it? For example, right next to me.

Cooking advice (I'm not sure if I got it right… I literally turned the translated sentence upside down)

The other day I tried the sweets Victor recommended! I remember you often make scones, but I wonder if Victor likes to make any other sweets. Also I'm not a very good cook… Victor knows how to cook more than just sweets. Could you please give some tips on how to cook when you are busy!

Thank you, I'm glad you like them because they are all my favorite sweets. I make it while imagining the faces of everyone at the Crown enjoying it. When you make something thinking about the person who will eat it, you naturally feel happy. Alright, how about we practice cooking together? Let's start with scones, what do you say?

Deserted island (he's so cute…)

When you woke up in the morning, you was a deserted island. 🏝️ What would Victor do first…? 🤔

I'll check if you're safe next to me. When I'm on the deserted island, I'm sure you'll be with me as well. Until the others from the Crown come to pick us up, how about we develop the deserted island together and make it like a tourist spot? As long as you're with me, I'll be happy no matter where I am.

If you're in love? (I'm… not suprised)

How would you act towards a person you like?

It may not be obvious from my behavior… but deep down I hope you fall madly in love with me.

Post of adoration

Since meeting Victor, every day has been truly enjoyable.🫶 Thank you for meeting me.🥹💖 I hope you will continue to be with me ❣️ I love you ❣️

Thank you, I'm glad I met you too. I've enjoyed every day since I met you. You're a jewel that sparkles and lights up my days. Keep shining by my side in the future.

How do you relax? (it's not creepy at all)

Victor, I am very grateful to you for hosting the tea party, despite the fact that I are so busy. However, I would like to ask you something. I was planning to relax on my day off, but I ended up thinking about work. How can I make sure to spend my free time relaxing?

No matter how busy I am, I'll make time for you! It's common to think about work on weekends, right? But at this time, I'm always thinking about you. I wonder if you've woken up yet, what you've eaten today, and if I should come over to your place… I think about you even on weekends.

How to stay positive?

Lately, I've noticed that my mood has been declining and I've been feeling negative🌀 How can I lift my spirits and get through the day?😭

You don't have to force yourself to cheer up. But if you want to feel happy, I'll do it for you. Just call me anytime, lady.

Pamper me, Victor! (I'm blushing. Victor knows how to hint. I am very, very happy!)

Sometimes the work is tough, but when I see Victor working hard as the Queen's aide and with Crown, it makes me want to do my best as well. But... I also want to receive a reward. So, today… I would like to add extra butter… I want to pamper Victor and I want Victor to pamper me as well…

Asking for a reward is always welcome. I'm always up for a treat, I'm always up for spoiling you. Just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll make it happen. Even things like this as well... Oops, maybe that's a bit too stimulating.

Where is Victor's room? (creepy yandere… of course, I'm just imagining. I can't believe he said "fu-fu"… This is Gilbert and Ellis' favorite word!!!)

How are the rooms arranged at Crown Castle? I don't know where Victor's room is, so I want to ask before I get lost.

Fufu, I'm sorry, I imagined you getting lost looking for my room, and it was so cute that I couldn't hide my feelings. Someday you'll see my room. You don't have to know where the rooms of the other Crown members, do you? You don't have to go… into some other guy's room besides me, right? Just kidding.

Stuffed toys (so Vivi made the Ellis' toy which was in the "Sick Jude" card??? WHAT????)

Could you help me make a stuffed toy of a ruthless intelligent gangster? 🥹 I also want all the Crown members' stuffed toys to be filled with Vic's love. 💜

Do you like making stuffed toys too? I'm glad that you and I have a common hobby! Okay, this is Jude's stuffed toy, right? I made Ellis's toys the other day, so I'll help you put them next to each other as fast as I can! If I get caught and he gets angry, we'll share the blame.

What do you find sexy? (blushing furiously. Who is this man?)

I think Victor's lip mole is sexy💕,but could you tell me what you consider sexy about yourself?✨

Thank you, I don't really know myself, but I'm happy to hear you say I'm sexy. I wonder where else I'm sexy... Could you tell me? Go ahead, feel free to touch...

Except for sweets

Sorry to interrupt your sweet tea time 🙇‍♀️ Is Victor good with spicy or sour foods?

I can eat anything delicious! In fact, I don't have anything that I don't like. What about you? I would like to know your food preferences so that I can invite you to dinner.

A bad boss (you can't concentrate… and how will you do your job if she's going to be always by your side on your route, I wonder…)

I always go to work before 7am, before anyone else, and I work hard, but my boss is always complaining and scolding me. Honestly, I'm really exhausted… I wish I had a boss like Victor ……

Yeah, if I were your boss, I'd just keep praising and pampering you… Not good, you might be too cute for me to focus on work. Thank you for your hard work every day. I'm very proud of all the effort you put in.

A small problem

I was faithful to my evil nature and fed my body with sweets, and now I stuck in the swimming ring and cannot take it off! What should I do?! 😭

Sorry, you really are in trouble, but… …you're just too cute!!!! Do I really have to take it? If you insist, I guess I have no choice. When you put in the effort, I have to put in the effort as well.

Pep-talk! (This is deep. It took me a while to figure out what he meant)

I've been thinking about Victor too much and I can't focus on finding a job. 😭 I would be happy if you would scold me a little 🙇

Scolding… Can't a kiss serve the same purpose? I'm sure you'll be fine, you'll make the choice yourself. Believe in yourself more than anyone else, and if you can't, I want you to believe in yourself as much as I believe in you.

The shrinked Crown member (I'm not sure about Vivi's reply… he suddenly switched from "you" to "me".. so it's weird)

What would you do if a Crown member suddenly shrank due to some drug or something, Victor…!? Will you take good care of them...? 💭

Come to think of it, there was an incident like that the other day… I'm going to ask you to write a report next time. Of course, I'll take good care of them! And if I suddenly get small, I'd like you to look after me.

What do you do on your day off? (He's so sweet!!!)

Having tea party with Victor feels like a dream come true☕️🫖 Today, I brought you these 【💀scones】 that I made with you in mind🫡✨ Let's all eat together🍽️ What does Victor do on his days off from work?? 🤔🖤

Thank you! Wow… I'm so happy! But I can't share it with everyone. This is just for me. I rarely get a full day off, but I often go to buy gifts for Crown. But if I can spend time with you, I'll make as much time off as you need.

Hairstyles (The first and most important! Kate has a hairstyle, and it's cute!!! And again… Who is this man? I'm blushing furiously)

Victor is the only character with long hair, but does he do any hair styling? Please make Komadori's hair cute too❣️

I don't do hair arranging, but you can have as much as you want! Touching your hair makes me want to touch more parts of you, and I'm happy to reach out if that's what you want.

About drinks (will it be in his "Chronicles" or on his route???)

Victor is very good at handling alcohol, but what kind of alcohol does he drink most often? 🍷 By the way, is William still the member of the Crown you drink with most often?

Wine, I think… The first time William and I drank wine together, that day he was …… Fufu, I should stop. Someday, I'll tell you about our meeting and the beginning of the Crown.

Then was a poll, I mentioned earlier.

Then he said he wouldn't let us go (not creepy at all)

You're such a troublesome child, but it's cute as well. Is it okay if I'm going to take you seriously? I'll make sure that you can't escape from me. Just kidding, did that surprise you?

And after that, they provided us with information about the release date.

I am very glad that they added a real-time interactive part. This kind of adds realism to this tea party. And I like that Vivi (although I still think it wasn't him) was quite recognizable. Cute and funny. On his English release, I need to prepare a more serious question. I want to hear a serious answer from him. I like that side of him too.

In the end… he did not answer about how long ago and why he started growing his hair (there was such a question, maybe even more than one), how he takes care of them. He shrugged off the question about his favorite food. I'm sure he's not being completely honest. I don't know why I'm so sure of that. Maybe I just don't wanna think about how much he and Ally have in common. It gives me the creeps.

Obviously, he wasn't answering questions about his secrets…

And… I'm a little worried about his sudden shift from subtle (or not so) hints to outright flirting… It's so unexpected, and I'm completely unprepared for it.

And I really hope to hear about Crown from the Chronicles. It should be in the Chronicles. His route should be more dedicated to him than to the boys… Am I expecting too much?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🔝 𝕊𝕋𝔸ℝ𝕋 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 🔝

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[crowsofdarkness]

Cam Boy!Bill Skarsgard: Bill Sends You a Gift-Part Three

-pics not mine.-

Pairings: CamBoy!Bill Skarsgard x Viewer!Reader

Summary: Bill isn't ashamed of the work he does, showcasing his body online for anyone willing to pay. His number one rule was never to make a connection with anyone who either sent him messages or paid for private one-on-one video sessions. That was until you decided to request a certain private session.

Content Warnings: 18+ smut which includes Bill having an only fans page, masturbation, phone sex, virtual sex, and language.

Authors Note: this is a limited mini-series, just a bunch of blurbs that take place in this universe. i'm not sure exactly how long this will be. tags will be open for this if anyone is interested!

CamBoy!Bill masterlist.

A giggle fell from my lips as I stumbled into my apartment, barely falling face first onto the ground but steadied myself against the wall next to my front door. It was dark inside, the only source of light emanating from above the sink in the kitchen. It wasn’t bright by any means but with how tipsy I was, a spotlight would even help me walk straight. 

It had been an extremely long and exhausting week so when Friday at 5PM hit earlier, I went out with a group of friends after work with the hopes of forgetting everything that happened. It had nothing to do with work, more so who. 

I’d been talking with Bill for the last two weeks on and off. At first it was refreshing to have someone to talk to but the pestering voices soon began to creep in, telling me that I was becoming clingy and annoying him. I tried so hard to push those thoughts to the side because it was evident Bill wanted to talk to me. We did talk every day but it was very sporadic. Very in the early stages of getting to know each other. However, the last two days communication with him ceased. I asked how his day was going or funny tik toks I thought he would enjoy but had been met with the delivered status. So doing the only thing I could to drown out the negative voices that I scared him off, I did the only thing I knew would work. 

Drink. A lot. 

It wasn’t something I did. But as I mentioned, it had been a very long week and I needed to just forget. That’s exactly what I did because when I stumbled farther into my apartment, I noticed with blurry vision the large box on my kitchen counter. Shit, I nearly forgot about that. While I was leaving for work this morning, the box was waiting for me on the doormat. I’d been running late and didn’t have time to open it so I threw it on my counter. Now that I was home and slightly curious, I blew out a steady breath and then I read who the box was from. 

Bill Skarsgard. 

Choking on a breath, I rubbed my eyes to make sure what I read was true. Why would Bill send me something? In our conversations of us getting to know each other, I may have let it slip where I lived even though in the beginning I was against letting him know my address. 

I did my best to steady my hands as I opened the box, nearly fainting at what I found inside of it. A pretty green bra and panties set. The lace was intricate designs and even though there wasn’t a price tag, I knew it had to be expensive. 

Along with the lingerie was a few polaroid pictures of him; the kind I couldn’t show anyone. Seeing the lines of his abs and how thick his cock with his hand wrapped around it made me stone cold sober and I slipped the pictures inside of my bra, keeping it close to my chest. 

Literally. 

I then found a folded piece of paper with my name across the front of it. 

Hi. 

I hope you don’t think this is too weird but I wanted to send you a little something. Life is about to get a little crazy for the next few days so I thought I would spoil you to let you know I didn’t forget about you. You always look beautiful in green and if you’re comfortable with it, I’d love to see how it looks on you. I’ll be going out of town to visit some family and might not get the best phone service but once I’m back home, I’ll FaceTime you.  

XOXO

Bill. 

Biting my lip trying to hide the smile, I grabbed the box and walked into my bedroom with an idea forming. Almost immediately I felt guilty for thinking I somehow pushed Bill away when in fact, he was out of town. I didn’t think much about him saying that in a note rather than a text because in the time talking with him, I realized Bill liked to do some things the old fashioned way. 

As I pulled out my phone, I noticed that not only had posted new content on Only Fans but he was live on Tik Tok. Suddenly a wicked idea sprung to mind and I snatched the lingered out of the box and went into my bathroom. I figured he would want to film content once he was back home since he hadn’t posted anything in the last few days. 

Did I notice almost immediately he didn't? Yes. When someone posts some sort of content every day, you tend to notice when they go silent on social media. I mentally smacked myself for being so stupid thinking he was ghosting me. 

Deciding to watch his new video on Only Fans later tonight, I opened tik tok, immediately going to his page. Typically when he went live on tik tok, it was only to talk with his followers. When his face appeared on my screen, I felt my heart thunder inside of my chest at how gorgeous he looked. His mustache was thicker than when he sent me a selfie a week ago and his hair was a tousled mess, a few days overdue for a haircut. The usual bright eyes were a bit dull, probably from exhaustion. But you would never tell because of how wide his smile was as he talked about something one of his followers asked. 

As Bill rambled on, I quickly jumped in the shower to rinse off today's filth and try to sober myself up a little bit. I wasn’t drunk. More so a bit tipsy. I wanted to try and look somewhat presentable with the pictures I planned on sending him. 

I could send it to him while was live. 

With an even more mischievous smile, I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around me. I quickly dried my hair with another then applied minimal makeup, just enough to give my face some color. The lingerie slipped on like silk, fitting my curves perfectly. The bra pushed up my breasts to where they were almost spilling out of the top and the panties barely covered my pussy. 

Staring at myself in the mirror, I was nearly shocked at how good I looked and how well Bill seemed to know my body. He never asked what size I was which some may have been offended but I wasn’t. I felt an immense amount of gratitude that he thought of me this way. 

Exciting out of tik tok for the time being, I took about thirty pictures in different angles to find the best one. Blame it on the alcohol running through me, I took off my bra and held an arm over my breasts. If I was sober, I probably wouldn’t have gone this far. But I wouldn’t go any farther. 

It took a few minutes to edit and favorite the ones I liked and pulled up my text thread with Bill, shocked to see he had texted me a few hours ago. I must have missed it while I was out with my friends. 

Bill: Hey you. I sent you something and according to my app, it should have been delivered. I have to film some content tonight but I promise to call you afterwards so we can catch up. I’m sorry for kind of going ghost the last few days but I’ve read all your text messages. Talk soon. 😉

Instead of replying to that text, I attached six pictures and before doubt could set in, I hit send. Hastily swiping back over to tik tok, I sat on the edge of my tub and waited for my plan to begin.

“You know, I thought it would be a bit weird when I first started the Only Fans,” Bill said, looking off in the distance to something in his room and rubbing his jaw. 

Those bright eyes snapped back to his phone and the words trailed off those beautiful lips. His pupils dilated to pure darkness as his tongue darted so fast, I nearly missed it. I knew he had clicked open the pictures. 

“Oh, angel. You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bill grunted underneath his breath. 

The chat was going wild, wondering what the hell was going on, so he quickly got to his feet while carrying the phone with him. 

“Sorry to cut this short everyone but something came up. I’ll talk to you all soon.”

As soon as Bill ended his live on tik tok, my phone began to ring with an incoming FaceTime call from him. 

“I can’t believe that worked,” I giggled to myself and stood from the edge of the tub to give myself one more glance in the mirror before answering. 

I couldn’t even get one word out because Bill was already rambling. 

“You little minx,” he narrowed his eyes at me. 

I began walking towards my bed and gave him a faux shrug, feigning innocence. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Are you sure about that? Because I have six pictures of you in that pretty green lingerie set I bought you that say otherwise,” Bill rested an arm behind his head to prop himself up against his pillow. 

“Do you like them?” I asked as I sat cross legged on my bed. 

The cool air from the ceiling fan brought bumps against my skin. 

Bill’s eyes somehow darkened even more and slowly licked his lips. “More than you know, angel.” 

I blinked, hearing that nickname again. I knew I heard it on his live but I thought maybe he didn’t mean for it to slip out. Now it was evident he did in fact mean it. 

“Angel?” I questioned. 

I thought he would get embarrassed that I caught on. Instead he broke out in a teasing smirk. “It fits.” 

I raised a brow. “What if I don’t like it?” 

“Too bad,” Bill shrugged. “It stays. Angel.”

Silence fell between us for a few beats until his deep voice graced my ears once more. 

“I would ask how you’ve been the last few days but that can wait. I want to see your beautiful body.” 

A warm flush crept over my skin and I casted my eyes away from my phone. 

“Hey,” Bill’s soft voice spoke through my phone again. “Look at me.” 

I did and sucked in my breath at the hungry look in his eyes. “I want to see all of you. Always. Alright?” 

“Okay,” I nodded. 

“Good girl, now let me see you.” 

Those two words ignited something deep in my gut as I propped up the phone against my headboard so the camera could show all of me to Bill causing him to let out a groan. 

“Spread those legs, angel.” 

Blame it on the liquid courage or the way he continued to praise me, I did as Bill said and spread my legs for him. The material of my panties were skim so I knew he could see my pussy.  

“Can you finger yourself for me?” Bill’s voice was hoarse as lust overtook him. 

“You really want to see that?” I asked, a bit nervous. 

“Hell yes, I do,” Bill sounded offended that I asked him that. 

So I leaned farther back on my bed and moved my panties to the side, shocked at how wet I already was when I brushed a finger along my folds. I moaned as I dragged that wetness over my clit, drawing slow circles. 

“Look how wet you are. Such a naughty girl touching yourself.” 

I nodded as I sunk a finger inside of me and began pumping it in fast strokes. I arched off of the bed, showing more of myself to Bill, who must have been touching himself from the moans I heard coming from the phone. He grunted, swore, and choked on a breath. Faintly, I could hear him spit before the wet sounds of him stroking himself. 

“You have such a pretty pussy, angel. I bet it would swallow my cock whole, suffocate it.” 

“Yes,” I moaned, dragging it out, as I slipped another finger inside of me. 

I was so close, my orgasm cresting higher and higher. The leap into euphoria was about to be soul shattering as I peered open my eyes to look at my phone. Bill had changed the direction of his phone so it was showing his hand wrapped around his cock. 

“Oh shit,” I said, the euphoria finally washing over me. 

His pace was ruthless around his cock, nearly bruising, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind he loved the hurt. He wanted the tightness around him. 

“You look like an angel coming apart. Your moans sound like heaven and I can’t wait to hear them in my ear,” Bill rambled on. 

I lazily nodded while I dragged my fingers out of me, slick with my arousal, and felt my cunt clench around nothing as I watched Bill finally spill inside of his hand, moaning my name under his breath. 

Breathless, I slowly sat up to a sitting position as Bill turned his phone back to his face. 

“Lick your fingers clean for me, angel,” he ordered. 

My heart hammered in my chest as I did what he said, my tangy taste lingering on my tongue. What I didn’t expect was Bill to bring his own fingers to his mouth to lick them clean. 

“Holy shit,” I breathed, secretly wishing I was there to clean him fingers and his cock. 

“I want to taste you so fuckign bad,” Bil groaned, running a clean hand over his face. 

“Ditto,” I agreed with a small smile. 

[atreyucannamos]

XI: Carnelian

5016u

FIVE DAYS AGO

LEAF: Rawan, I need to ask a favor.

SAXIFRAGE: why hello lord cannamos

SAXIFRAGE: ask and perhaps ye shall receive

LEAF: I need paint in Ungrateful colors; enough to repaint Assembler.

SAXIFRAGE: for the cadenze

LEAF: Yes.

SAXIFRAGE: done

SAXIFRAGE: itll be delivered within the hour

LEAF: Wait, what? It was that easy?

LEAF: Did you just have it lying around?

SAXIFRAGE: ill be answering no further questions at this time

5016u

TWELVE HOURS AGO

MORNING OF THE CADENZE DE L' PAVILLOS

The guantlet had been thrown down.

When Dean-Commander Hebriyah saw Assembler, she looked like her teeth might shatter from the sheer force of the grinding. The Archchancellor had tightened her lips and heaved an exasperated sigh. Stablemaster Imani had read the room in the blink of an eye, and invented a sudden excuse to leave it. Lord Castor-Eyros was desperately trying to stifle his laughter. Underbaron Iphiannassa had fixed Atreyu with a stare that could cut through a bulkhead, and then raised a single eyebrow.

The Dean-Commander, the Archchancellor and the Underbaron went over every inch of it with a fine-tooth comb. Every petal of every flower in every wreath was examined for blight. The paintjob was checked and double-checked - had it been properly waxed? Was there inconsistency in the linework? Were there scratches? Every single element of the heraldry on the tabard, banners and streamers was scrutinized extensively, checked against a list of proscribed symbols.

Eventually, after three full hours, the Dean-Commaner was forced to admit - through gritted teeth, her eye twitching violently - that everything was in order. Atreyu had "somehow" managed to conform to every single regulation in the book; though their livery was certainly "unconventional, audacious... some might even say controversial," it violated no statute the College currently had on the books.

"Perhaps we shall draft a new one, and name it after you," the Underbaron had said, with a tone dryer than the Blanca Desert.

They all turned to Lord Castor-Eyros, who had spent the time grading papers. He looked up, eyes innocent, as if he had no idea what he'd been asked.

"Well, it's clearly a striking artistic statement that had senior members of the faculty examining its intricacies and implications for hours. Excellent juxtaposition of symbology; the use of yellow carnations around your house's canton-sigil was particularly provocative. Don't think I missed the gemstones in the broach, either; carnelian and fire agate - how daring! I agree with my erstwhile colleague the Underbaron - we should put this one in the books, as a prime example of how a Kavalier speaks without words. Good work, Lord Cannamos! Top marks. You've clearly been paying attention."

"It's an insult, is what it is," growled the Dean, finally losing her compsure. "An intentional provocation! Disrespecting the spirit of this institution's statutes by malicious compliance with their letter!"

"My dear Doleros," Castor drawled, returning to his grading, "I already said I loved it. You don't need to keep recommending it to me."

Atreyu was certain: whatever problems this might cause down the line, it was all worth it, purely for the noise that the Dean made in response.

5016u

NOW

NIGHT OF THE CADENZE DE L' PAVILLOS

Soundtrack: One Hour of Waltzes

The Reis twins were entertained - finally.

Everyone made the same assumption about the Primors Valentine and Vivian: social butterflies from the House of Glass, in their element at the center of a crowd - of course they'd love banquets and balls! Wrong. Dead wrong. Banquets and balls were so rote! Proceedural! As Valentine - or perhaps Vivian - said, "once you see two fashion victims stumble about to drab music, you've seen them all."

What they loved was drama! Intrigue! Passions rising, egos clashing, schemes colliding, sparks flying, rapiers drawn, fireworks and fallout! Banquets and balls were only as good as the drama they could produce. The Matriculation Ball had been soul-crushing until the latecomers had blundred in and injected some life into the proceedings. The storied veteran trying and failing to take responsibility on her shoulders? Delicious. Two animal-themed full-body augments upstaging one another? Sumptuous. The scion of House Delamar feuding with the scion of House Frostfounder over the fate of an ignoble? Delectable. And last but by no means least, the least favourite child of House Cannamos getting into a spat with their cousin? Ambrosial.

The Candenze de l' Pavillos had threatened to be another unstirred pot. It was all interminable speeches, droning music and gaudy, blundering oafs - with the preening lackwits that piloted them. Once again, however, the latecomers - or the Lunar Falcons, as they called themselves now - had saved the evening.

Atreyu, clearly flush with confidence after their recent triumphs, had turned every head in the College with their positively scandalous livery.

"Why, look," Valentine - or perhaps Vivian - remarked, gently tapping their twin's shoulder and pointing towards the young Cannamos' kuirass. "Yellow carnations around the canton-sigil!"

"Shocking," Vivian - or perhaps Valentine - exclaimed, feigning outrage. "And do you see? Three black stripes over burgundy! My, my, but our Lord Cannamos isn't so much sending a message as screaming it from the rooftops!"

Lady Persephone Helsing has arrived next, purposefully placing her brand new Viceroy right next to Argo-Laurent's Atlas.

"They say size isn't everything, dear sibling," one of the twins quipped, tilting their head, "but I have to say, neither is it nothing."

"It's true," replied the other, "it does produce a certain effect."

"Casts a certain aspersion," suggested the first.

"Shade in the desert," ventured the second.

"Shade on the desert," dared the former.

"A dark cloud," mused the latter.

"A pall of smoke," their companion murmured.

"Quite the impression," concluded Valentine, or perhaps it was Vivian.

"Quite the impression," conceded Vivian, though it might've been Valentine.

Tuera, they realised, had been there all along - they had not noticed her arrive.

"Unlike us, to miss such a thing." The sibling placed a finger and thumb to their chin, as if chasing a thought.

"Quite unlike us." The other sibling mirrored the motion with the opposite hand, though perhaps they entertained a different thought - or none at all.

"Though she does rather sneak up on you, that one."

"Can't figure her out. And I do consider myself quite good at that."

"Figuring people out?"

"Among other things."

"Do you perhaps suppose she has us figured out?"

"Do I perhaps? Why, what's there to figure out?"

The addressed sibling smirked. "What, indeed."

Praya's looming colossus arrived next, staking its claim in a space that was markedly removed from Count Argo's. She leapt down from her cockpit, glaring about at the assembled dancers. Though a considerable amount of makeup hid it, the twins' sharp eyes could make out the telltale signs of a black eye.

The one standing nearer sucked in a sharp breath through their teeth. "So, she took the erstwhile El-Ahrairah's advice, then."

From their vantage slightly further away, the other tilted their head. "Oh yes! She attempted to apologise to Ms. Azar."

"Attempted carries implications, dear sibling."

"It most certainly does, sibling mine."

"Are we then to conclude Lady Ironhand's ego got in the way?"

"Were I a rake for gambling, I should never bet against our erstwhile Lord Praya's ego providing impediment."

"Alas the day."

"Alas the day," repeated the other twin, taking a sip of their drink - or perhaps it was their sibling's. "But it was good of her to try."

"It was proper, given the circumstances."

"Credit to her, though, she took the blow without retort, walked away with her head held high, and didn't snitch."

Their sibling hissed. "Hate a snitch."

"Despise a snitch," growled the other.

Praya shot both of them a glare, as if she knew precisely what they were talking about. Both of them hurriedly averted their eyes.

"Perhaps we'd best light upon a different topic," the first whispered.

The second nodded curtly. "Perhaps we'd best."

Delamar and Caelan arrived just afterwards, mechs arm in arm.

One of the twins glanced up and whistled. "Chemistry between those two, do you think, V?"

"Chemistry most certainly, V." The one who'd been addressed lifted a glass - even chances it was the one that belonged to them - and took a swig. "But what manner of chemistry?"

"I've had it on good authority they've shared a room."

Their companion touched a hand to their breastbone, eyes wide. "Never."

"Shared a bed."

Their companion gasped, hand flying to their mouth. "Shocking!" They paused for a moment. "Which one was on top?"

"Tragically, my sources fail us on this matter," their mirror image replied, shrugging and simply taking the glass from their twin's hand.

"Well that's no fun," pouted the robbed twin, who simply picked up the other glass. "My money's on the wolf."

"Oh? I would've said the Sandman. The wolf is compensating far too much. And over far too many things."

"The Sandman chose as his manservant a tireless machine in the image of a gorgeous man twice his size with three times his muscle mass. Please, dear sibling, face the facts."

"You do make a compelling point," conceded the other.

The Lunar Falcons convened briefly, exchanging a few words, before spreading out through the grounds and to various conversation partners.

"Ah, do you see? Caelan is attempting to impress the most esteemed Marquess Fontague. What shall we call this?"

"Wolf, drinking Shrimp Cocktail. Now, what do you make of Delamar's wooing of the rich and beautiful Lady Carlotta?"

The reply came with a sly grin. "Two nobles of Sand danced together. Three hundred dead, sixteen hundred injured."

Rawan had already met up with Kay by the time Atreyu arrived, and so they had the unenviable task of impressing two people at once. To their credit, they seemed to strike upon some subject that enthused Kay, and the striking appearance of their mech seemed to earn Rawan's approval as well.

As one sibling took a drink, the other gestured to the trio. "Our beloved underdog doesn't do anything by half measures, do they?"

Finishing their drink and setting the glass down, their companion glanced over. "Something to prove?"

"Oh yes," their twin replied, setting their own empty glass down. "Our Prince must actually conquer those Thousand Kingdoms, no? Else how do they silence their detractors?"

"Is that what it translates to? I had always thought it meant Prince With A Thousand-"

The thought was interrupted as Tuera and Persephone wandered over. The twins, to their credit, refocused their attention almost immediately, giving no outward indication that the pair had caught them by surprise.

"Why, Ladies Tuera and Persephone, welcome," said one, whom Persephone thought might be Valentine.

"Welcome, Ladies Ashama and Helsing," said the other, whom Tuera was pretty sure was Valentine.

"Hey," Tuera grunted, narrowing her eyes.

Persephone waved, several of her tails twitching excitedly. "Hello! I hope you're having a good evening!"

The one Tuera suspected wasn't Vivian smiled. "Oh, now that you've arrived, most certainly."

"You and your companions have quite failed to be boring," elaborated the twin Persephone knew not to be Vivivan.

"Glad we could be... entertaining, then," Tuera growled, plucking a glass from a masked servant's tray and taking a sip. "I take it you've been keeping an eye on the crowd, then?"

"Oh yes," exclaimed one of the twins, who Persephone felt sure had switched with their sibling when she wasn't looking. "You mustn't let this sort of crowd go unobserved. The things you'd miss. The intrigue. The gossip. The drama."

"The daggers hidden behind smiles," their equal and opposite added, with a disconcerting leer. "The aside glances. The false airs. The scheming."

Tuera folded her arms. "Well you're clearly just dying to tell us. Don't keep it all for yourselves. Share with the class."

The twins turned to one another in perfect unison.

"Are we so very obvious?"

"Oh, she's read us like a book."

"Very well. Firstly, if you incline your head towards our erstwhile Praya..."

The conversation proceeded in this same manner for a while, with the twins relaying all that they'd observed: Praya's ill-fated apology to Rawan, Argo's estrangement from his fiancé, Caelan's daring play for Fontague's respect, Delamar's eye-catching dance with his fellow Housewoman.

As conversation turned to the subject of Atreyu, however, the four students happened to turn to look at them - and found that they had begun dancing with Rawan, and that at the exact moment they'd looked over, Rawan had dipped Atreyu low and was kissing them fiercely.

"O-oh my," mumbled Persephone.

"Well I'll be damned," whispered Tuera.

Both twins turned to one another.

"Oh. Finally."

"Talk about striking while the iron is cold, dusty and put away."

"But at least she struck, Valentine."

"That she did, Vivian."

[keirawantstocry]

.

[bogkeep]

so so sick of every courier service that's not just Regular Local Mail. why do they make everything so difficult and complicated all the time auuggghhggg

[cinnamnt]

can the hulu era futurama writers please for the love of god understand that not every episode needs to be an ensemble piece

[billiebrina]

free my girls from the bare minimum ‼️‼️‼️

[racewinner]

"go interrailing" they say "it's a formative experience and so much fun" they say. but they don't tell you about the Horrors