#like originally i was going to stay at my accommodation up until i need to leave for the concert

[akkivee]

i forgot to say!!!!!! tho i wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly where lol i got my assigned seat for day one!!! i’m somewhere in front reserved seats so i think my death is imminent lmao

[thetriumphantpanda]

you'll just have to taste me | joel miller

Summary | He knows he's no good, knows it's a bad idea, you're out of bounds and should stay that way, but it's okay to test the waters, right?

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.7K

Warnings | this is literally 1.7k of utter filth, you've been warned, it's nasty, I told you, okay? Unspecified age gap, Joel is your dad's buddy and Sarah is your friend. Joel fights with his morals but the pussy is too good. Explicit smut, JUST THE TIP, unprotected PiV, cumshot, cum eating, spit play, dirty talk, Joel talks you through it. No outbreak au, no use of Y/N.

Authors Note | I AM SO INCREDIBLY LATE TO POST THIS, but this is my entry to @hellishjoel's HOT DILF SUMMER CHALLENGE. I know it's September and this was not my original idea, but it came to me and I wrote this in less than an hour. It's filth and it's nasty and I beg you not to judge me okay? Written and edited on my phone so forgive any mistakes.

Divider by @saradika

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

He’s going to hell. He’s always known it. Despite the years of his parents putting him in his Sunday best and taking him to church each week with his brother, despite his upbringing and the way he’s always tried to be the perfect southern gentleman, Joel Miller is going to hell, and the evidence in right in front of him.

You. His buddy’s daughter. His own daughter’s friend. The bane of his existence for the whole damn summer, with your short dresses and flirty eyes and the way you make him laugh and the way he’s wanted you since you waltzed back into town, masters degree under arm, with one purpose which seemed to be to turn him on at every possible opportunity.

It’s been bubbling for weeks. You’d caught him in the corridor during movie night with Sarah, whilst she was downstairs microwaving popcorn and he’d had no choice but to kiss you, your lips drenched in something that tasted like mango and made him dizzy. Then, at the annual neighbourhood cookout, when you’d dropped a fork and bent over to pick it up, flashing him those skimpy panties as you did, he’d had no choice then but to drag you upstairs and teach you a lesson, ten sharp slaps on your pert ass and strong words that you needed to stop. He doesn’t doubt you went home that night and shoved three fingers into your cunt and dreamt of him as you came.

But now, it’s all real. Sarah’s gone back to college, your parents back to work, and you have nothing lined up until you start getting invited to interview for positions that you’d applied to with a slew of applications about two weeks ago. It’s why you’re on his bed, it’s why he’s left Tommy on site on his own, and why you’re bare as the day you were born, legs spread obscenely, pussy on display as he stands at the foot of his bed and contemplates whether he really should do this.

“Y’scared, old man?” You tease, one hand trailing down your body, two fingers spreading the swollen lips of your cunt, middle finger dipping inside.

He can see the webbing of slick you drag from yourself, finger slow as it circles your clit. His eyes can’t miss the way your hole flutters as you touch yourself, like it’s begging to be filled, begging to be filled by his throbbing cock that he’s currently fisting in his hand.

“Ain’t scared,” He mutters, “Y’sure you wanna do this?”

You don’t speak in response, just dip two fingers back into your weeping cunt and start fucking yourself with them. He squeezes his cock a little tighter in his hand, feeling the weeping of pre-cum at his tip as he watches.

“Ain’t no comin’ back from this.” He muses, moving forward, knees on the mattress, your legs spreading wider to accommodate the width of his thighs.

“Want you,” Is all he hears from your mouth as his cock rests on your pussy, hot and heavy against your skin, “Want your cock, Joel.”

He thrusts his hips a little at that, dragging his length through the soaking folds of your cunt, head rubbing against the swollen bud of your clit.

“Y’sure?” He asks, continuing the rub of his cock, “It’s all over then, baby,” He coos, “I’ll ruin ya.”

“Good,” You groan out, hips shifting to try and catch his tip at your entrance, to try and get exactly what you want, “I want it, Joel, I want it bad.”

“Y’know what I think?” He asks, looking down at you, stopping his movements and opting to circle your clit with his thumb instead, “I reckon we need t’make sure.”

“I am-” You try and protest, but he’s shushing you.

“I reckon,” He says slowly, bringing the tip of his cock to press to your weeping core, “It don’t count if it’s just the tip,” He pushes his hips forward ever so slightly, not enough to sink inside, but enough that he’s already had a taste of what you’ll feel like around him, “Just the tip baby, and then we’ll know.”

He looks down at you and he can see your wild eyes, the way you nod your head against the mattress. You’re such a good girl for him, taking whatever he’ll give you, so he does just that. With three fingers on the base of his cock, he lets the tip of him push inside you, just enough that the head of his cock is nestled inside you, and he knows he’s fucked.

You’re tight and you’re warm and you’re breathing and whimpering for him, and those perfect walls are clenching around him so right and so good that it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to shove his cock all the way in and damn you both to hell.

“Jesus girl,” He breathes, one hand clutching at your hip to hold you still, “Fuckin’ perfect, ain’t ya?”

You don’t speak back to him, it’s all you can do to lie and try not to writhe too much as he starts his shallow thrusts. The head of his cock popping from your wet cunt and then being sucked back in so perfectly. He’s had his fair share of women since Sarah went to college and he knows he’s a lot to take, knows that he knows what he’s doing too, but when he looks down at you, your eyes tilted back in your skull, cunt squeezing him just right, he can’t help but think this is what he’s been missing.

“That good?” He asks, bringing his thumb back to your clit, swirling wetness across it as he continues the shallow thrusts of his hips.

“Want it all,” You grumble, “Can take it all, Joel.”

“Ain’t got a doubt,” He teases, but doesn’t relent, “But we gotta make sure.”

He wants to lean down, wants to cover your body with his own and suck one of your perfect nipples into his mouth, but he knows the minute he does you’ll beg him so nice and he’ll break, so he resists, swirling his thumb across your clit with more purpose now.

“M’gonna-” You choke out, and he knows, he can feel it, the way you’re fluttering and tightening around the head of his cock so perfectly, “Gonna come, Joel.”

“Yeah?” He asks ruefully, “Gonna come on my cock, pretty girl?” He smiling down at you as your mouth drops open, your cunt pulling painfully tight around him, “Go on, you can do it,” He babbles, trying to fight the tightening in his own stomach until you’ve come for him, “Come for me, baby.”

And you do, by God you do, and he thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. You whine, a high-pitched kind of thing, eyes clamping shut as you arch your back. There’s more slick around his cock than he’s ever seen before, making it easy for the tip of his cock to ease you through it. The convulsing of your walls around him bring him to his own end, using his last braincell to drag the tip from your cunt and give himself three strokes before the thick ropes of his cum are splashing across your swollen pussy. He watches where they land, painting your skin as his own as his head tips back and breathes a sigh of relief.

He know’s he should stop, but there’s something mesmerising about the mix of his cum and your own, the way he’s dripping down you and onto his sheets. His shuffles down a little and leans forward, using his thumbs to spread your pussy open, before he uses his tongue to gather the mess down there. He’s slurping at you, tasting your cunt through his cum, gathering as much of the two of you as he can in his mouth.

You’re moaning for him when his tongue flicks a few times at your sensitive bud, but then his body is over yours, weight pressed against you as one of his hands takes your chin, squeezing at your jaw to get you to open your mouth, which you do, gladly.

Joel opens his own mouth, letting his cum, your slick and his spit drop from his own into your waiting mouth. He doesn’t give you a minute to swallow anything, his tongue mixing with yours in a kiss that is messy and obscene. He can feel your hips against his own, your hot cunt pressing against him. If he was younger, he’d pin you down and fuck you again, this time for real, but all he can do is pull away.

“Swallow it,” He orders, closing your mouth and watching the bob of your throat as you do what he says, producing your tongue for him, “Good fuckin’ girl.”

He unceremoniously collapses onto the bed next to you, arm over his eyes as he tries to recover some semblance of composure. He can feel your body next to his, shuffling a little closer, and then he can hear you stifling a laugh and then before long, it’s not stifled, it’s full on laughter. He takes his arm from his eyes and looks at you, and can’t help but start laughing himself, until his ribs hurt and you’ve calmed down enough, your body draped across his in the mid-afternoon glow.

“This is bad, huh?” You whisper, fingers dancing through the smattering of hair across his chest.

“Terrible, really.” He responds.

“I’m sure though,” And he holds you a little tighter at that, “Next time, I want the whole thing.”

“Don’t worry baby,” He says quietly, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, “You can have whatever you want next time.”

[hvseung]

unspoken truths - (p. sh)

pairing: skater!sunghoon x skater!reader (f)

genre: childhood friends who grew apart, ewb??

warnings: explicit smut, angst (just a tad), profanity, oral (m recieving), rough sex, cum eating, minor mouth play, fingering, degrading, unprotected sex🫣, minors DNI !

wc: 10.4k

🎵 now playing: love my harder by ariana grande

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The cold air inside the ice rink felt refreshing, a stark contrast to the sticky heat of the summer sun just outside the doors. The crisp clack of metal against ice echoes through the rink, polished blades gleaming with the promise of precision and grace. Today was another day of practice, another opportunity to perfect this routine and another chance to prove yourself. It was early, just after dawn, and the rink was almost empty. Almost.

Gliding effortlessly across the ice, Sunghoon was already practicing. His movements were fluid, each glide and turn a seamless display of expertise. They’re flawless, but there’s a certain detached precision to them. He didn’t seem to notice you at first, too focused on his routine, his breath measured, and his eyes fixed on some invisible point ahead. You tightened your grip on your skates and walked to the benches, trying to ignore the knot of tension that always formed in your stomach when Sunghoon was around. You hated Sunghoon, and Sunghoon hated you.

Sunghoon, with his effortless charm and silver-spoon origins, had always been surrounded by luxury. His path to the top was paved with privilege; he never had to struggle or scrape by, his every need catered to from an early age. He glided onto the ice with an air of nonchalance, his routines executed with the kind of polish that came from years of top-tier coaching and expensive training facilities.

In contrast, your journey to the elite level was marked by grit and determination. Each routine was the result of countless hours of practice on less-than-ideal rinks and under the scrutiny of a modest budget. You had worked tirelessly, often sacrificing personal comfort and financial stability to reach the same heights as Sunghoon. Every jump, every spin, was a testament to your resilience and relentless effort.

Off the ice, tensions were even higher. Sunghoon's casual arrogance clashed with your no-nonsense attitude. While he was used to people bending over backwards to accommodate him, you often felt you had to assert your value and demand respect that should have been freely given. Conversations between the two of you, when they happened, were laced with hostility, each remark carefully measured and barbed.

Things weren’t always like that though, in fact, they were the complete opposite. You and Sunghoon used to be very close, a rock to each other on the rink. He was your partner, after all. But as the years went on and pressure to be perfect rose, you grew apart. The distance between you caused a sour taste in both of your mouths, but you stayed supportive to each other nonetheless. Until Sunghoon decided to do a complete 180 one day. He began throwing petty remarks at you whenever he could about whatever he could, and after a while, the remarks turned into forward insults, which you would then reciprocate. You’re not even sure where things went wrong between the two of you, some stupid rumour apparently. But that obviously wasn’t the case, not that you were going to get the truth out of him now.

"Again," Your coach snapped, his voice carrying an edge that cut through the silence. "You need to nail this lift."

You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes as you approached him. "Is this really necessary? I mean, why can’t he just do this routine with someone else?"

Sunghoon shot you a look that was heavy and that carried opposition. "Maybe if you actually listened for once, we wouldn’t be stuck here."

You planted your hands on your hips, trying to ignore his gaze. "Oh, right. Because clearly, it's all my fault that you keep messing up the timing."

The two of you faced each other, locked in a silent battle that spoke volumes. This wasn’t just about figure skating; it was about clashing wills and unspoken grievances. You both knew that you needed each other to succeed, but the ice was a battleground where that truth was often buried beneath layers of resentment.

Sunghoon's eyes narrowed, and he skated back to the starting position. "From the top, then. And try not to mess up this time."

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, focusing on the smooth, fluid movements that you both needed to execute flawlessly. It was a routine you’d practiced countless times, but today, each misstep felt like a personal affront.

As the music began to play, the same haunting melody you had grown to loathe, you couldn't help but wonder if the real performance was not the one on the ice, but the one you two were constantly rehearsing off it: the delicate dance of patience and frustration, the unspoken challenge of learning to work together, despite the discord that seemed to define every practice. But once again, one of us messes up one too many times.

“This is ridiculous!” Coach pinches the bridge of his nose, obviously at widths end. “Can’t you two just get along? For the sake of the routine.”

“That’s like asking for blood from a stone.” Sunghoon scoffs. Coach lets out a defeated sigh, holding his hands in surrender.

“I’ll see you both next week.” He turns on his heel “And those cones need to go away, can you both put them in the locker rooms?”

Sunghoon grumbles under his breath, not liking the idea of having to be in an enclosed space alone with you, even if it only was for a few seconds. But knowing better than to argue with the coach, he picks up the cones and heads towards the lockers. He can feel you trailing closely behind him, your presence making his skin crawl. He quickens his pace, trying to put some distance between the two of you as you approach the desolate space. You push through the double doors, placing the cones down in the far corner before getting changed. It was the closing hour, so Sunghoon was in a particular rush, and knowing he couldn’t lock up without you was pissing him off.

“You can hurry up, you know. I don’t have all night.” He leans against the wall, folding his arms. But his impatience only makes you move slower. He huffs loudly, annoyed at your attempts to spite him. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Obviously.”

Sunghoon pushes himself off the wall, taking a few steps closer to you. “Why do you have to be so difficult, huh? Can’t you just do what you’re told without being so annoying?”

“Not when you piss me off and rush me. Do you think I’m gonna listen to someone who’s rude to me?” You turn around to face him

He glares at you, his frustration growing by the second. “I’m rude to you because your no better.” he scoffs lowly “You act all sweet and innocent, but I know you, you’re just as stubborn and spiteful as I am.”

“Shut up.” You grit your teeth, turning away from him again to pack your bag.

“No, I won’t shut up, not when you won’t accept the truth.” He tsks, smirking slightly “You’re not the perfect little princess you pretend to be, it’s quite pathetic actually.”

“And your nothing more than a sad loser who thrives off of daddy’s money, isn’t that right?” You coo. This isn’t the first time you’ve brought up Sunghoon’s upbringing to gain the upper hand in an altercation. Sure, it’s a little low, but you deserve to poke at him after everything you’ve done to get here.

Sunghoon’s eyes darken, his jaw clenching. Calling him a loser was one thing, but to bring up his family and his background? “You know I hate it when you bring up money. You think I’m just some spoiled rich kid who had everything handed to him? You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit Sunghoon. You should be grateful, some of us didn’t have money to aid them to where they are now.” You dig.

“You’re just jealous, aren’t you? Jealous that my life was easier than yours and your spiteful because I had money and opportunities you didn’t.” He laughs bitterly, stepping uncomfortably close to you. “You’re jealous that I’m better than you and I’ll always get further in this field than you ever will because I have actual talent. Talent that money didn't buy.”

“Fuck you.” You spit, shoving at his chest to create some more space between your heated bodies.

“Watch your mouth, princess. You don’t get to swear at me because you can’t accept the truth.” He closes that gap between you once again, pressing your back against a wall.

“You’re a lowlife Sunghoon and I fucking hate you.” You spit your venom at him, throwing your bag over your shoulder as you attempt to leave.

“You hate me, yeah? Well, I hate you too! I hate that you think you’re a perfect, good girl when all you do is put others down and tear them apart. You act all nice and innocent, but your just as cruel as I am. You can call me a low life all you want, YN, but at least I’m not a fake, two faced bitch!” He’s visibly angry, his eyebrows furrowed, and his pointed canines show as he retorts back. “don't push me.”

You scoff loudly, trying to cover up the obvious hurt in your voice as his words burn a hole in your chest. Part of you knew he was right, but another part of you knew that you only acted this way towards him because he made you like this. “Or what?”

“Or I might do something we’ll both regret.” Sunghoon’s eyes rake over your features as he pushes you further against the wall, completely closing any gap left between the two of you as his chest presses against yours, gripping your wrists. The tension between you was palpable, the air around you thick with anger and… desire? For a moment, his eyes flicker down to your lips before trailing back up to meet your eyes again, anger still present in both of you.

“Try me.”

That was all it took. All it took for Sunghoon to capture your lips in a rough and forceful kiss, a kiss fuelled by years of anger and pent-up need. His hands release your wrists, moving to grip your hips instead. Once your brain had fully processed the situation, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, kissing him back.

He grips your hips tighter, pulling you closer and swiping his tongue along your lower lip. The simple action elicits a soft moan from you, allowing his tongue to greedily explore your mouth. His fingers begin to trace the outline of your curves and up the length of your arm before settling on your cheek, holding you in place whilst he tilts his head to practically swallow your tongue. The kiss was sloppy and messy, if anyone walked in and witnessed it, they might have internally retched. But it was perfect, every ounce of anger and hatred seemed to dissipate in that one moment, replaced only by the raw and primal need that had been building for years.

“God, I hate you,” He mumbled against your now swollen lips “I hate you so much…”

“I hate you too.” I mumble back, playing with the hair on the back of his nape as he pulls away fully

“Prove it.” Sunghoon can’t help the wicked smirk that forms on his lips, moving his hands back to your hips to allow his thumbs to trace small circles on the skin.

“Prove it?” You push him down onto the bench beneath you, landing with a soft grunt. “You really can’t play nice? can you?”

You hover over him, leaning down to kiss him softly, almost ghosting over his lips. Sunghoons breathe hitches. Despite the tension earlier, even the gentle brush of your lips against his causes his body to react involuntarily, his head tilting back slightly to give you better access. He lets out a soft, almost meek noise at the feeling, his hands brushing against your thighs. But the pleasure is short lasting, as its not long before you’re pushing him away and sinking to your knees. Sunghoon opens his mouth to protest, but the words die in his throat as he gazes down at you, your head dangerously close to his growing bulge.

“Want me to show you how much I hate you?” You whisper breathlessly, his eyes darkening at your compromising position.

“Yeah? You gonna show me, princess?” He tries to control his body’s reaction as you reach for the drawstring of his shorts, but its futile. He lifts his hips up, letting you pull them past his thighs and down to his ankles, only the thin cloth of his underwear separating the two of you. The hardness between his legs was visible, and fuck- were you even going to be able to take all of that?

You lean up a little to kiss the outline of his prominent v-line, causing him to shiver a little. Your finger finds its way underneath his waistband, pulling it back before letting it snap against his skin. He whines, leading your hands to push them down. Without the fabric in the way, nothing was left to your imagination. Sunghoon’s breath hitches as his fingers thread through your hair, tugging on it lightly to encourage you. He can’t quite believe that this is actually happening, and that he’s just letting you do it.

You grasp his dick in your hands, the length making them almost look smaller. Pre-cum leaks from his red tip as he hisses, tipping his head back at the contact he has craved since the second he stepped foot in the locker room alone with you. You circle your finger over his tip, smearing the sticky fluid around before flattening your tongue, lapping up the mess you just made and teasing his sensitive slit. You swirl your tongue around his hot head, making him buck his hips up against your tongue.

“Fuck, YN,” he hisses, gripping your hair a little more to push your mouth closer to him. You close your lips around him, sucking and teasing his tip a little more, eliciting soft whines from him. “Take it deeper”

You open your mouth to protest, to tell him to have some patience, but instead he pushes your head down a little, shoving him further into your mouth and taking advantage of your relaxed throat. You gag at the sudden intrusion, your hands lifting to grip against his thighs. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Sunghoons eyes widen as your mouth envelopes him, a strangled gasp escaping his throat at the sudden sensation. His hips involuntarily buck upwards, his head falling back against the bench once more as he lets out an involuntary moan of pleasure.

He groans as you hollow your cheeks, trying your best to fit every inch in your mouth. Every AGONISING inch. You wrap your hands around his base, rubbing your hands up and down whatever you can’t fit in your mouth. “Yeah, that’s right baby.”

You moan as he tugs at your hair, bucking his hips a little faster to gently fuck your throat. His balls slap against the underside of your chin, causing your eyes to flutter closed as you focus on trying to keep his whole length down. He wraps his palm around your hair, creating a makeshift pony to pull you back.

He slaps his dick against your lips, watching as drool spills past and onto your chin. "You're enjoying this aren't you? You say you hate me but you love sucking my dick, isn't that right?" He pulls at your hair again, making you whimper and nod your head. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

He pushes you back down again, forcing you take every inch this time. Tears brim at your eyes as you slap his thighs a little. "Take it. You can take it, can’t you?"

You moan, his dominance making your pussy clench around nothing. You relax your throat even more as your nose presses against his lower abdomen. Tears spill past your eyelashes as you gag, bobbing your head up and down even more. You're determined at this point, determined to taste him.

You lift my hands to his balls, massaging them softly. Sunghoons head falls back, his breath escaping him in a sharp exhale. The sensation is overwhelming, his body shuddering at the contact. He lets out a soft, strangled moan, his hands clenching at the bench in a desperate attempt to keep himself anchored. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his body coiled tight with tension. His fingers grip your hair more tightly, his breaths coming in sharp gasps as he struggles to hold on. 

"Dont stop, fuck you're so good-" He pants out, fucking into your mouth relentlessly. At this point, you're completely wrecked, drool spilling down your chin and onto your chest as hot tears sting your cheeks.  

You cry out around his dick, your tongue swiping the underside. You feel his balls tighten in your hands. "Im- fuck im-" he whines a warning (barely), practically ripping your hair out and his head falls back and his back arches. "Fuuuuck! Fuck YN!" he cries out. Who knew Park Sunghoon was so vocal?

You almost double your efforts as his orgasm hits, desperate to milk him for everything he has. His hips jerk forwards as he shoots his load down your throat, the salty liquid overwhelming your tastebuds. He collapses bonelessly against the bench, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His mind is hazy with pleasure, his body thrumming with aftershocks as he tries to regain his composure.

You pull your mouth from him, swallowing his cum with a soft moan. You push yourself up on his thighs, dusting your knees. Sunghoon watches, dazed, his body still sensitive and raw, as he stares up at you from his crumpled position on the bench. "That was- shit YN."

"Yeah, exactly. Fuck you." You snarl, grabbing your bag.

Sunghoon watches, his body still buzzing with the aftermath of their encounter. He manages to sit up, albeit a bit shakily, and looks up at you. His expression is a mixture of anger and confusion, his mind still reeling from the events that had just transpired.

"You... you're just going to leave? After that? You're just gonna walk away like it didn't happen?" He finally manages to find his voice, the anger and confusion evident in his tone.

"What else were we gonna do? Prance around and hold hands?" You scoff, almost laughing bitterly.

Sunghoon's jaw clenches as he considers your words. He knew you were right, that they weren't going to become some sappy couple after one moment of weakness. Still, the thought of you leaving after what just happened was irksome. "No, obviously not. But... we can't just continue acting like we normally do after this."

"Sure, we can. This was a one-time thing to settle some tension. We still hate each other..." You roll your eyes.

His gaze narrows. He's tempted to argue, but he knows deep down that your right. One moment didn't erase years of tension and animosity between the two of you. "Fine. It changes nothing. And I still hate you."

"Good, I still hate you too.”

──────────────────────

It had been almost a week since... whatever the fuck happened in that locker room, and Sunghoon couldn't stop thinking about you. He found himself unable to focus on virtually anything; training, schoolwork, his friends - nothing was able to keep his mind of those 15 minutes you had shared in the locker room. He couldn't understand why it was affecting him so much, why he couldn't shake the memories of your touch? He hated it. He hated that you were able to get under his skin like this. He was a rational person (mostly) who didn't let emotions get in the way of anything, yet here he was, his mind consumed by thoughts of you. It was so frustrating, so infuriating that he couldn't seem to push you away, no matter how hard he tried, especially after everything that had happened in the past. 

He tried throwing himself into training even more than usual, hoping the sheer exhaustion would drive you from his mind. But no matter how hard he pushed himself, no matter how much his muscles burned and ached, he couldn't find the peace he was looking for. You were like a ghost, haunting him at every turn. 

"Again!" The rink echoed for the tenth time today. "This is ridiculous."

Sunghoon watches with a critical eye as you attempt the jump again, his arms crossed over his chest. He can see your balance is off, your form flawed, and he feels the familiar irritation bubbling up in his chest. How can’t you get that right? He doesn't know why he's even irritated, your form on your jumps doesn't affect him whatsoever. But it's as if he can’t help it. Everything you do just stirs some sort of negative emotion within him.

"Im trying!" You snap back at coach, running your hand through your hair. Your facial features are etched with exhaustion and frustration. This jump was getting to you, and you didn't know why.

Coach's expression turns stern at your snappy reply at him. "Trying isn't good enough, YN. You cannot be skating with that kind of mistake. Focus."

Sunghoon's eyes flicker between you and coach, remaining quiet for the time being. He's not surprised you're exhausted already; your form has been off all day, and it's beginning to wear down on your stamina. He can’t help the shit-eating smirk that plasters his face as he watches you try and fail.... again.

"I think that's enough for today." Coach huffs. "Somethings obviously throwing you off. This needs fixed before regionals, got it?"

Sunghoons arms are still crossed as coach calls it a day. He can see the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin, and a small twinge of sympathy pulls at his heart. He quickly snuffs the feeling, replacing it with his usual stoic, unreadable expression. But as you make your way the locker rooms, he can’t help but glance in your direction, that sympathy rearing its head again.

He trails idly behind you, his eyes watching the slump in your shoulders. Despite his best efforts, he can't seem to shake the feeling of sympathy gnawing at him. His usual irritation that he feels whenever he's around you are strangely toned down, replaced with the unsettling feeling of concern. He silently follows you as you push the double doors, watching as you start pulling your gear off in silence.

He stands by, watching as you start stripping off your gear. His eyes linger on your sweat-soaked figure, taking in the way the droplets cling to your skin, gleaming under the artificial light of the locker room. You're hyperaware of Sunghoons presence behind you as you strip yourself of your gear, but instead of the usual feeling of discomfort and irritation, knowing you weren't alone in the room was comforting? Especially after today's events.

Until he opened his mouth.

"You were a bit sloppy out there." The smirk evident in his tone. "Your form was horrendous."

You sighed loudly, almost groaning at the sound of his voice cutting through the comforting silence just to spit venom at you. "Not today Sunghoon."

"What? It's the truth. It's pitiful, really. Your jumps were pathetic. You're really going to compete in that state?" He chuckles bitterly

"I said not today." You snap, finally turning to face him. "Can’t you just shut the fuck up, for once?"

He leans against a locker, a smug smile plastered on his face. Your irritation only serves to fuel his amusement. "Why are you being so sensitive today?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. "I'm just pointing out the obvious. You're tired, you're distracted and your form is shot to hell. You're going to embarrass yourself if you don't figure it out before the competition."

You don’t answer and turn away from him, the slump in your shoulders becoming more prominent. You pick your bag up, slinging it over your shoulder before walking to the doors silently. You don't have the patience, nor time for his bullshit today.

"And now you're running away." Sunghoon mutters, unable to stop himself from speaking. "You always do that. I point out an obvious flaw, and you run like a coward." He can't help the hint of irritation in his voice. Despite the sympathy thats clawing at his chest, he can't let himself show weakness. It's just who he is. 

He steps in front of the door, blocking your way out. He's unsure why he's even stopping you in the first place. Maybe it's the concern he feels deep inside, maybe it's his own stubborn pride. Whatever it is, he can't seem to stop himself. "Where are you going?" He asks, his eyes narrowing as he looks down at you. "Just ignoring me? Not even going to defend yourself?"

"Please Sunghoon." You avoid his gaze, not wanting to betray the obvious troubled look that’s etched into every line on your face. "Just let me go home."

Sunghoon's irritation falters for a moment as you speak. There's something in your voice - a mix of exhaustion and pleading. It tugs at that sympathy inside him like a fishing rod

"But..." He starts, his voice gruff, his eyes glued to you. "You can't just-" He cuts himself off, not fully understanding his own motivations, not wanting to admit the truth to himself. He lets out a frustrated, resigned sigh, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down.

"Can you at least tell me what's been going on with you, lately? Why you're so... off your game." It's an olive branch, more sincere than anything else he's said to you.

"And why would I do that?" You scoff "So you can make fun of my personal life too?"

Sunghoons irritation flares back up at your snippy response, but then he looks at you, really looks at you. He sees your pained expression and the defeated look in your eyes. For once, he can't find it in himself to match your snark with more snark, can't find it in him to kick you while you're down like he usually does. 

"Look, I promise... I won't make fun of you. I just..." He takes a deep breath, his expression unusually vulnerable. Is he really going to say this? "I just... I don't like this.” He motions vaguely to you, trying to find the right words “I don't like seeing you like this. It's..." He hesitates, as if he's admitting something he'd rather keep to himself. "It's pissing me off."

"Pissing you off?" You finally look up from the ground. He holds your gaze, his eyes uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable. He's not used to being this open with you - hell, he's not used to being this open with anyone. It's new and unfamiliar, but for some reason... it feels right.

"Yeah, it's pissing me off." He repeats. "I don't like seeing you like this. Exhausted, frustrated, down on yourself. You're... you're supposed to be putting your all into the competition... into being better than me." He adds the last part quietly, almost as an afterthought.

"My parents are divorcing." You sigh, admitting quietly.

"Ah." Is all he can manage to say at first, unsure of how to respond. He's not a naturally comforting person, but his irritation at the situation shifts. He feels... sorry for you?

"There. Happy now?" You roll your eyes, waiting for the snarky comment or dig about your situation, like he always does.

"No," He says bluntly, not even trying to hide the compassion in his voice. He knows, instinctively, that you're trying to push him away, that you're waiting for him to throw some smartass remark or mean response. But he can’t bring himself to do it, to want to. He steps forward, slowly closing the distance between the two of you. He lifts a hand, hesitating for a moment before placing it gently on your shoulder. "I'm sorry." 

You tense at his touch. You weren’t expecting any sort of compassion from him, never mind physical comfort. But the comfort makes it real. You look away again as tears sting in your eyes, batting your eyelashes to push them back. He moves his hand from your shoulder to your chin, tilting your face back up. 

"Hey, don't look away from me." There's a hint of a command in his voice, but he keeps his tone soft, uncharacteristically comforting. He gently angles your face back up to him, his eyes searching yours. "You don't have to act so tough, you know. Not with me."

"You're the only person I have to be tough with." Your voice cracks, betraying your lack of control when it comes to your emotions. You were about to break.

The sound of your cracking voice has a strange effect on Sunghoon. Instead of the usual smug satisfaction that would accompany your emotional turmoil, he just feels... an aching in his chest. Seeing you so vulnerable, so open and bare, and knowing that you're only like this with him does something to him, and he's not sure how to handle it. He lifts his hand to your cheek, cradling it gently. "You can let go. I won't think any less of you."

As soon as the words of permission fall past his lips, a soft sob escape yours. It's as if your heart tore in half to allow all the emotions, all the frustration and anger that had been building up, flow out freely. You lift your hands to your face, almost shielding yourself from him, hiding from him.

The sight of you crying, the sound of your sobs echoing through the empty locker room- it goes against everything he knows about you. You're supposed to be strong and fierce, always giving as good as you get. He's never seen you like this before, completely shattered. But he's also the one you've decided to show this side to. Despite everything, you trust him enough to bear it all without judgement.

He steps even closer to you, gently pulling your hands away from your face and taking them in his own, his thumbs brushing against your knuckles in a soothing gesture. A strange, almost protective feeling washes over him, urging him to comfort you further. So, it's as if his arms move on their own when he reaches out to pull you into his chest, gently rubbing your back with one hand and threading his fingers through your hair with the other.

You don't know what even possessed you to allow yourself to be this vulnerable in front of him, and after a while, you calm down. You attempt to pull back, but it's as if he can’t bring himself to let you go. He's not sure if it's the vulnerability that you've just shown, or that damned aching in his chest, but he just needs to hold you for a little longer. 

And you don't resist. You relax against him completely, nuzzling into his chest almost. You needed this. You needed this comfort, and if Sunghoon was the only person willing to give it then so be it.

He feels you nuzzle against his chest, and his grip on you tightens slightly in response. He can almost feel the tension leaving your body, the way you're completely relaxed against him. And it feels good. It feels right. He's never felt this protective, this intimate, with anyone before. But with you... it feels natural. Almost easy.

"I'm sorry." You speak softly, lifting your head to meet his gaze. He's pitiful, and it's genuine. The sorrow on your face sparks a pang of guilt deep inside him. He's never really seen you look this this broken.

"Don't apologise." He says, his voice gruff but gentle. He lifts his hand from your back to brush away some of the tear stains on your cheeks. "You have nothing to apologise for."

He holds your gaze, his eyes searching yours, taking in every detail. The way your lashes are still wet with tears, the way your hair falls over your eyes, the way your bottom lip trembles slightly. He's not quite sure why he's still holding onto you so tightly, why he's still caressing you so gently. It's like his body is moving on its own, responding to all his confusing, new feelings.

Your arms practically move on their own, lifting to cup his cheeks, the intimacy of the situation stirring an in-ignorable need to touch him, to feel him. "Sunghoon..."  

The sound of his name falling from your lips, whispered so softly, sends a shiver down his spine. The new, almost unfamiliar vulnerability in your eyes, the way you're suddenly touching him so gently... it ignites something within him, that same protective, almost possessive feeling that's been stirring in his chest for the past 20 minutes. And as your hand presses against his cheek, he finds himself leaning into it, seeking your touch. His eyelids flutter shut as he savours the feeling of your fingers against his skin.

Your body fights with itself. It fights the urge to push him away and never show your face to the world again, and the opposing urge to lean in and do something you will probably- no, most definitely regret. But Sunghoon can practically feel the turmoil warring inside you, the conflicting needs playing out on your features. 

He knows he shouldn't act on these unfamiliar feelings, shouldn't give in to the need that's threatening to overcome him. But the way you're looking at him, the way you're holding onto him so mildly, it's as if he loses all control over himself. And then he's moving forward, closing the already diminished distance between them. 

He mirrors your touch, cupping your cheeks to smoothly guide you closer. He pauses for a moment, giving you a chance to pull away if you want to… but you don't. You stay exactly where you are, looking up at him with an expression he's never seen on your face before. And then he leans in, closing the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

This kiss was different to the one you shared in this exact same spot just last week. That kiss was filled with anger and sexual frustration, but this kiss was meaningful. It was romantic, an intimate connection between the two of you that went beyond physical at this point. Sunghoon doesn't care about the context in which you've kissed before. He doesn't care about the hatred and hostility that usually exists between the two of you. In this moment, all he cares about is the feel of your lips against his. Nothing else matters.

He pulls away after a while, his lips parting from yours with a soft, wet sound. He keeps his face close to yours, his breath warm against your cheek. He gently runs a thumb over your bottom lip, the pad of the digit tracing the soft, plump flesh.

"YN..." He whispers, his voice hoarse, his breathing ragged. It almost sounds as if he's in pain, as if he's struggling to control his own emotions. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something. He's not sure what he's looking for, but right now, with you so close to him, he feels... desperate. Desperate for something he can't even name. "What the fuck are you doing to me?"

"I could ask you the same question." You mutter, before pulling his lips to yours once again.

──────────────────────

Sunghoon's mind wouldn't shut off. Every time he closed his eyes, images of you flooded his mind. He relived their moment over and over, the memories replaying like a broken record in his head. He tried counting sheep, meditating, even reading a book - nothing worked. He was exhausted and losing his fucking mind.

He couldn't believe he was doing this; can't believe he was so desperate that he's resorted to texting you. He knows it's a bad idea, knows that it's bound to lead to more hassle than it's worth, but he can't seem to stop himself. He types out a quick message, his thumb hovering over the send button for a few moments before he finally presses it.

Part of him is hoping, no- praying that you're asleep and won't respond. But another part, a small, traitorous part, is hoping you are awake and might answer him. He doesn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he craves your attention. It doesn't matter what kind of attention he's getting; he just needed it. 

The notification jolts you a little as you just settle into sleep. You groan, reaching for your phone to turn the ringer off, but the contact on the notification momentarily stops me. You stare at your phone screen, eyes zeroing in. You hadn’t expected him to text you. You never texted each other, unless it was for information about training. Seeing his name causes something in you to stir, a mix of confusion, and as much as it pain you to admit it, hope.

SH: Hey, you awake? (12:18am)

You bite your lip, opening the message. You debated answering, weighing out the pros and cons. Which was ridiculous. It's just Sunghoon, what’s the big deal? But you had opened the message now, and you weren't heartless enough to ignore him, even if you wanted to.

YN: Unfortunately, what do you want? (12:20am)

Sunghoon lets out a sigh when he sees that you're awake, typing out a quick reply.

SH: Don't sound so enthusiastic, I could almost mistake it for kindness. (12:21am)

He leans back on his pillows, waiting for her response. He can't believe he's actually doing this, actually talking to you like your friends or something. But now he's stumped, he hadn't expected the conversation to get this far. 

Should he just be direct and ask you to come over? Should he come up with some stupid excuse to lure you to his apartment? He hesitates for a few more moments before sending another message.

SH: Come over. (12:25am)

You mentally curse yourself as the back of your knees press against the cold metal of the bed frame as your feet dangle over the edge of the mattress. Why did you even get up for this? "Are we just gonna sit here?"

Sunghoon eyes you silently from the other side of the bed, his expression giving away nothing. He's not sure what possessed him to text you, let alone ask you to come over. But now that you're here, he can't deny the thrill that's coursing through him. "Do you have anything better to be doing?"

"Yeah, actually, sleeping?"

He rolls his eyes at your response. Even now, you still irritate him. But then he notices the way you dangle your legs over the edge of the bed, looking small and almost vulnerable. His eyes rake over your form, taking in the way your oversized sweater swallows your slender frame. You look softer like this, less like the stubborn girl he's used to seeing every week. 

"You could've slept. No one forced you to come over." He pats the space next to him on the bed. "But now that you're here, you might as well make yourself comfortable."

"What do you think this is?" You scoff a little.

His eyes flash with a mixture of annoyance and amusement at your response. "You always have to argue, don't you? I'm just offering you a comfortable place to sit. Nothing more." He pats the bed again, gesturing for you to come closer.

You scan his face for something... anything? A smirk, a falter in his gaze, but his face remains stoic. OH, SO HES SERIOUS. "Im fine over here."

Sunghoon lets out a huff of frustration at your stubbornness. Why couldn't you just do as your told for once? "Come. here." He pats the bed a second time, his voice taking on a commanding tone. He doesn't understand why but right now, he wants you closer. Closer than the width of his king size bed would allow.

You roll your eyes, crawling over to sit next to him cross your legs and letting your knees brush against his thighs briefly. You and Sunghoon had known each other for years, even if most of those years weren't pleasant, but you had never been in such an intimate space like his bedroom before, and it nerved you. "Happy?"

He tries to ignore the way his chest clenches as your knees brush against his thighs. He tries to tell himself it's just a physical reaction, an involuntary response to the feeling of your body against his, but he knows deep down that there's something more to it. 

When you finally settle next to him on the bed, he leans back against the headboard, eyes studying your face, noticing things he's never noticed before. Your eyelashes, the way they fan out against your skin. The delicate curve of your nose, the rosy hue of your lips. "Yeah, I am."

"Well, I’m glad you're enjoying yourself." Your voice shakes a little at the proximity. This is normal, right? Giving your sworn rival a blowjob in the locker rooms, breaking down in front of him in the same said locker room, then coming to his house 5 days later? You try to convince yourself, but your attempts are futile. 

He reaches out, his fingers grazing your arm, feeling the softness of your skin. He's acutely aware of the fact that you're in his bed, that he has you this close, this vulnerable, and for once, he doesn't feel the need to provoke you. Instead, he's content just sitting in silence with you, his fingers continuing to trace your skin, feather-light.

He lets his fingers trail up your arm and across your collarbone, tracing the line of where your sweater meets your skin. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, the faint scent of your shampoo filling his nose. He wants to lean closer, to bury his face in your neck and just stay like that indefinitely, but he reigns in the impulse.

"Sunghoon what are you-"

He doesn't answer, his fingers continuing their path up your body. His hand moves up to your neck, gently wrapping around your throat. He applies just the slightest pressure, his thumb grazing against your pulse point. He can feel your heart beating faster under his fingers, and he loves it. Loves knowing that even with your tough exterior, you're just as affected by him as he is by you. So affected that it pisses him off. He wants more. He wants everything. "You're so confusing, you know that?"

"I-I'm confusing?" You can’t help but trip on your own words, the feeling of his fingers wrapped so delicately around your throat making your palms sweat. "You're the one touching me like this..."

His fingers tighten slightly around your throat, his hand now fully encircling the length of it. He can feel your breath hitch and sees the flutter of your eyelashes, the only indication of your discomfort. His eyes lock onto yours. He's always loved how expressive your eyes are, how they seem to mirror your every thought. They're filled with a mixture of confusion and desire, a combination that makes something in him stir. "And you're enjoying it, aren't you?"

You open your mouth to speak, but it's as if the words die on their way out, a meek "No" being the only thing that falls from your lips. 

"No?" He repeats, the word practically dripping with mockery. He tightens his hold on your throat, using his grip to tilt your head up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes roam over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and widened eyes. He sees the mixture of defiance and vulnerability in your gaze, the way your lip trembles slightly under his grip. His own body responds to your helplessness, a heat pooling in his gut as he imagines all the things he could do to you in this state.

"Hoon..." You whine softly, the heat between your thighs too much to ignore now. Your panties were practically soaked through at this point, and as much as it killed you to admit it, this was affecting you.

He's unable to suppress the shiver that runs down his spine when you whine his name. Hearing his nickname in your voice, so soft and needy, practically drives him crazy. He tightens his grip on your throat again, relishing in the way the pressure makes your body squirm. "Yes, baby-girl?"

He lifts his thumb, ghosting it across your bottom lip again. He can't help but notice the way your lip trembles and parts slightly at his touch and he can't resist the urge to press his thumb deeper into your mouth. He wants to hear more of those little whimpers, wants to see you completely undone. He runs his thumb across your tongue, feeling it swirl around the digit. He can't believe you're letting him do this to you, that you're submitting instead of your usual resistance. It emboldens him, makes him want to push you further, to see how far you'll let him go.

"You have no idea how pretty you look like this." He murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire. He releases your throat, bringing his other hand up to cup your chin instead as his other thumb still rests against your tongue. He forces your head back, angling it so that your neck is fully exposed to him. You whimper softly, your lip quivering underneath his finger as he pushes it a little further into your mouth, your tongue flicking up to meet the salty digit. 

Sunghoon can't believe the sight before him, can't believe that he's seeing you like this, the tough girl that reciprocates his hatred, reduced to nothing but a whimpering mess from just a finger in her mouth. He can see the conflicting emotions warring on your face, the part of you that wants to fight back, to resist the desire that's coursing through you. But he also sees the way your legs shift restlessly on the covers, and he knows you're only holding back because you're stubborn and prideful. He pushes his finger deeper into your mouth, forcing you to take more as he leans in, his lips hovering just above your ear. "That's it, give in," 

You curse at the way your legs involuntarily and almost instantly spread the second his fingers meet the plump flesh of your inner thigh, the fabric of your pants riding up to reveal the expanse of smooth skin that's usually hidden underneath layers of clothing. You can’t help but let out the shaky breath that you didn't even realise you were holding as he traces small, delicate patterns, dangerously close to your pussy that was practically leaking through onto his bedsheets. 

Sunghoon can't help but relish in the fact that he's the one who's making you react like this, that no matter how much you push him away, you still subconsciously crave his touch. His fingers continue to trail up your inner thighs, his touch deliberately light, drawing soft noises from your throat. He loves the way your body betrays your attempts to keep some semblance of control, no matter how hard you try.

"Sunghoon, please-" You whine as he retracts his finger from your mouth.

"Please what?" He teases, his fingers still tracing patterns around your sensitive inner thighs, always stopping short of where you needed him the most. He knows exactly what you want, he can hear it in the way you whine, but he wants to hear you say it. He wants to hear you beg him; he wants you to give up your pride for him.

He gives your inner thigh a quick smack, his hand coming down harshly on the sensitive flesh there. You jolt forwards at the sudden contact, moaning softly. "Touch you where?"

"Touch my pussy Hoon, please." You whimper.

He pushes you down onto the mattress, manoeuvring to hover about you. He reaches one hand down to spread your sticky thighs, pressing his other palm beside your head. "That was easy, wasn't it?"

His hand finally connects with your aching core, teasing you through the thin material. "Fuck, baby. You're so wet, you're practically drenched through"

He pushes the material to the side, instantly slipping a singular digit into to your pulsing hole without giving you a second to register his actions, ca8using your head to spin. But he doesn't move the digit. "Beg for it."

"What? No-" 

He gives your thigh another harsh smack, making you slam your legs closed around his palm, whining. "I said beg for it. Beg for me to touch your pussy."

"Please don’t make me-"

He gives you another smack, harder this time, and relishes the way your legs clamp down around his hand, trying to get some friction, any friction "Do you really think you're in a position to make demands?" He scoffs. "Beg."

"Please Hoon... please touch my pussy." You whine meekly. As soon as the words leave your lips, he moves the finger thats buried deep inside you, plunging it in and out.

"Thats a good girl." He smirks, his bottom lip tucked snuggly between his pointed canines. You can’t even reply, your mind too clouded with pleasure to come up with a response to his praise.

Sunghoon lets out a huff, taking in the look on your face, the way your eyes are squeezed shut in pleasure, your mouth open and panting. It's a satisfying sight, and one that he wants to take advantage of. He continues moving his fingers inside you, adding another thick digit and applying a little more pressure to your clit, enjoying the soft gasps and moans that escape you.

He can tell by the way your body trembles and the whiny, breathless noises falling from your lips, that you're close. He can feel it in the way your thighs squeeze around his hand, the way your walls clamp down on his fingers. "Thats it," He increases the pace of his fingers "are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me?"

"Mhm- wanna be a good girl." You whine, arching your back.

He lets out a moan, his fingers starting to work a little faster. He can feel the way your body starts to tense up, preparing for it. He wants to see you fall apart completely, wants to feel you come unraveled under his touch. "Then cum"

Your orgasm hits you like a ten-ton truck. Your hips stutter forwards and a guttural moan rips from your chest. "Fuuuck!"

Sunghoon watches the way your face twists in ecstasy, the way your eyes roll back, and your hands clawing at the sheets beneath you. He guides you through it, his fingers slowing until you come down from the high. He reluctantly pulls his fingers from you, bringing the glistening digits to his plump lips and sucking them clean with a chesty moan.

But he isn't done, not even close. 

He brings his hands to the bottom of your top, his fingers slowly tracing the hem, teasing the exposed skin of your stomach. 

"This needs to come off." He mutters, his hands pulling at the material, trying to lift it over your head. He's impatient, his desire overriding any attempts at gentleness. He wants to see all of you, wants to feel your bare skin against his hands and lips. 

As he finally gets the top off, he lets his eyes rake over your exposed body. He can't help but let out an appreciative moan, his hands coming up to grip at your waist, his fingers almost indenting into the soft flesh. He looks at you, the way your chest is heaving with each breath, he looks at the way your cheeks are still flushed from your previous release, and he knows he needs more.

You can’t help but shift uncomfortably under his heavy gaze, practically feeling the holes being burnt into your skin. And Sunghoon notices the way you shift, how your body tenses under his scrutiny. He's not trying to make you uncomfortable, he's just trying to take in every bit of you, to memorise every inch of your skin, to commit it all to memory.

"You're so beautiful" He whispers, his voice full of reverence, his fingers tracing the curve of your bra. He leans down, attaching his lips to your collarbone, his mouth trailing a path down your chest. He can hear your breathing pick up again, can feel your heart hammering in your chest. He's gentle, his lips and tongue exploring every inch of your skin, and his hands following suit.

He pulls himself further on top of you so that he's almost completely covering you, his weight pressing you down into the bed. He continues his path down your body, his mouth and hands working in tandem, every touch and caress designed to heighten your pleasure. He can't help the possessive desire that rises within him. He wants to leave his mark on you, wants to claim you in a way that no one else ever will. He bites down on the skin above your breast, enough to leave a small bruise, causing you to arch from the bed with a soft whine.

He can't get enough of the way you respond to his touch, the little gasps and whimpers that escape your lips fuelling his desire. He moves lower, his mouth now on your stomach, his tongue tracing the dip of your belly button, his teeth scraping across the sensitive skin. He wants to take his time, to savour every moment, but the need in his body, the need to claim you completely, is growing harder to ignore with each passing second. 

"Sunghoon," you whisper with soft moan, grabbing his attention "I can’t wait any longer."

"Neither can I." He mutters, his voice low and rough. His lips find yours, his tongue delving into your mouth as he kisses you hungrily, his hands roaming your body, everywhere he can reach. His hands slide down to your hips, hoisting them up so that you're pressed even closer to him, his bulge poking against your throbbing pussy as he kisses you feverishly. You tangle your hand in his soft lock, tugging at the roots.

"That's it," He moans lowly, mumbling against your lips. "Pull harder." He grinds his clothed dick against your clit, making you hiss and tug at his hair again, harder this time. 

He lets out another low moan, the feeling of your hands in his hair and your body against his almost too much to handle. "Keep pulling." He instructs you, his voice low and rough. He ruts against you harder, watching as your juices stain a wet patch on his sweats. It's so dirty, filthy even, but he fucking loves it.

You continue to tug on his hair, arching into his touch, the combination making his head spin. He lets out a strangled noise, his hands gripping at your hips as he starts to grind against you harder, faster. 

"Fuck me Sunghoon, need to feel you deep inside me" You pant, rolling your hips gently against his as you grow more impatient by the second.

Sunghoons breathe hitches at your words, the raw desire behind them almost too much to handle. He lets out a low, guttural groan, his eyes trailing over the curves of your body once more, his hands leaving bruises on your hips.

"Are you sure?" He asks, even though his body is already screaming to take you, to claim you completely. 

"Please." You meet his gaze, biting your lips as you continue to gently roll your hips against his. He doesn't waste another second before pushing his sweats down, his hard cock springing up. 

His tip was angry and leaking pre-cum. You whine at the sight, swiping the beads the continued to pour out before bringing it to your lips. But before you can do anything more, he rolls over so that you're on top of him, your body straddling his. His hands move to your waist, holding you in place as he bucks his hips up, running the veiny underside of his dick between your folds.

He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, rutting against you like this a few more times before positioning his tip at your soaking hole. He slowly guides you down onto him, his eyes locked with yours. Sunghoon felt big when he was down your throat, but fuck, he was practically splitting you in half right now. He groaned as you sucked him in, watching as you tip your head back with a loud whine.

"Are you okay?" He mumbles, trying his best not to moan and ruin his moment of concern. 

You nod, manoeuvring yourself to your knees to sink down on him more, taking him deeper. Sunghoon, bucks his hips up involuntarily, causing you to jolt forward with a loud moan. 

"Fuck, you're so tight," he hisses, parting your legs to watch his dick disappear inside of you. "You feel so good."

You moan loudly, biting your lip to suppress any whines or whimpers that might give away your slight discomfort. He felt good, really good. But he was so big, big enough that it was a little painful. 

Despite your best efforts, he can tell that you're having a hard time taking him, that he's bigger than you're used to. He lets out a low moan, his hands moving to gently soothe your hips, trying to help you ease onto him carefully. His eyes are locked onto yours, taking in the way your face twists with the mix of pleasure and pain. He tries to go slow, to be gentle with you, not wanting to cause you any unnecessary pain. But he can only hold back so much, his body begging him to just lose control and take you as hard and fast as he can.

You gasp once you're fully seated on him, deliciously stretched and full to the brim with dick. You circle your hips, trying to adjust to him before lifting up a little and bouncing on him. You were slow at first, almost painfully slow, but once you had become accustomed to his size, nothing was stopping you.

“Oh fuck,” Sunghoon groans, tilting his head back as you slam down against his thighs, the wet squelching noise that emits from you almost making him dizzy. His back arches against the mattress, his eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of your hot walls wrapped so snuggly around his dick. “Ah, that’s- yeah just like that.”

You moan loudly, muttering soft curses under your breath as you continue your vigorous movements. Sunghoon lifts his hips, thrusting them up to meet yours, causing your body to jolt as he reaches that one pressure point deep inside you that sends you reeling. “Right there!”

“Yeah? Right there? Is that the spot baby?” He groans, gripping your hips to keep them still as he thrusts up into you relentlessly. You practically fall limp, your chest crashing against his as his tip kisses your cervix over and over again. “Fuck you feel so good, so fucking good princess.”

“D-don’t stop- gonna cum!” You cry out, reaching up to claw your nails at his bare chest, leaving red and angry bumps in their wake. But Sunghoon doesn’t have the time, nor the ability to care about the pain.

“I'm not gonna stop, not gonna stop.” He groans, before flipping you both over. He positions you on your hands and knees before pushing your chest against the mattress and slamming back into you, knocking the breath straight out of your lungs.

He continues his onslaught and you can feel the tightening in your stomach become almost unbearable. “Fuck I’m cumming!”

“No, your not.” He slams his palm down on the soft, plush skin of your ass as it jiggles against his lower abdomen before stopping his movements. You whine as you feel your release slipping from you.

“No!” You cry out, almost choking out a sob.

“Beg.”

“What?”

“Beg me to let you cum.” The shit-eating grin plastered on his face is prominent. Even if you can’t see it, you can hear it in his voice. He was loving this. Loving the power that he had over you and loving the fact that as much as you don’t to, you will follow his commands.

“Please let me cum.” You whine

“Oh come on. That was pathetic. Beg like you mean it.” He slaps your ass again, making you cry out.

“Please! Please let me cum! Please Sunghoon!” You circle your hips against his abdomen, causing him to hiss.

“Good fucking girl.” He slaps your ass again, harder this time, before moving his hips again. He pounds into you, his balls slapping against your clit. You’re teetering on the edge of release, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold back.

“Can I cum? Fuck, please! Can I cum?” You plead, gripping onto the headboard in front of you.

At this point, Sunghoon can’t even deny his own release, never mind yours. “Cum baby. Cum for me like a good girl.”

At that was it. You shriek as he slams into you one last time, hitting your g-soot deliciously and sending you completely over the edge. Your pussy clamps down on him before fluttering as you cum, your juices spilling down your thighs.

“Fuuuuck!” Sunghoon cries, shooting his warm load into you. Into you. He stays nestled in the warmth of your velvety walls before reluctantly pulling out with a filthy squelch. He watches as his cum almost instantly pools out of you, also running down your thigh. He smirks, using two fingers to scoop up the liquid before leaning over and shoving the fingers into your mouth.

You gag at the unexpected intrusion, but once you realise what he’s doing, you clamp your lips down, sucking and swirling your tongue around the digits, letting the salty liquid flood over your tastebuds. You moan at the taste, almost craving more. He slips his fingers out and swipes the saliva down your cheek.

“Now this. This is not a one-time thing to settle tension.” He says, flopping down onto the mattress beside you, running his fingers through his sweaty hair that’s clinging desperately to his forehead.

“No way.”

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@ hvseung, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway. thankyou :)

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[ozzgin]

A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.

Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out

Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave

Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)

Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?

[Part 2] | [More original works]

Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror

You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow

He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.

Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.

“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”

It’s you.

He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.

You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.

“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.

“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”

He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.

A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.

The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.

Only at night does it become unsettling.

“Going for a walk?”

You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.

“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.

To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.

You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.

With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.

When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.

Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.

“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.

Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?

You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.

Fingernails.

“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”

It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.

“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.

“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.

“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”

He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.

Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.

“I’d like to go to my room now.”

“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”

Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”

“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.

“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”

You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.

You want to cry.

He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.

“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”

“I just wanted to lay in bed.”

He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.

“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.

“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.

“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”

You briefly look at the drawer and nod.

“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”

The man ponders his next words with a hum.

“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”

The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.

“Eat up!” He encourages you.

You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.

“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”

He gazes at you in disbelief.

“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”

You return the smile without responding.

“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”

“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.

“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”

[chainofclovers]

I think there’s too much on my mind in just about every category of life because trying to do my work is even more challenging than usual. My work is going fine, but I swear to god I’ll be setting out to do a task that involves checking an email for a link I needed, and then I’ll end up replying to a totally different email, and then that’ll set off a chain of 8 other things I have to write down or otherwise take care of, and I’ll be able to force myself to do maybe 3 of those, and then I look back at my other monitor and realize I still didn’t fucking get that original link. So then I get the link, I do the task. Whew, that’s done. But actually I was just doing that one very specific task so I could procrastinate on a larger, more challenging thing that I literally need to be ready to discuss with my boss in 3 hours, half an hour of which will be taken up with a meeting that could absolutely be an email, and all the time I spent doing these more minor work things while also getting distracted by the rest of my life means I really just screwed myself over.

It’s possible, of course, that this is yet another manifestation of undiagnosed ADHD or whatever. I respect those diagnoses, I respect how real ADHD is, I’ve personally never felt the need to seek anything specific w/r/t that condition…and I also wonder if I’m just too keen to distract myself even from actually sitting down and thinking about all that more seriously LOL.

And the rest of life? My marriage, my friends, my family, all the intricacies there, the very welcome obligations that nonetheless require time and thought. The election. Global conflicts/feeling sick over it. Busyness with volunteering, some of which I do both because I love it and because it feels like a carbon offset of some of the most destructive things related to corporate job. Fandom stuff (I’m still processing how I’m both excited and wary of what an s4 Ted Lasso experience will be like, and trying to actually READ INFORMATION about this “developing story” of the options being picked up and what that actually means), which as always is a source of both creative fun and community and also means exposure to some drama and bullshit, which could skitter off into a million distracting thoughts about whether my own levels of sensitivity, my relationship to my own logic, etc. are within a reasonable range for me. Health stuff, mine and others, although (thankfully!) nothing currently threatening the ability of my loved ones to stay alive. Nursing hurt feelings and the humiliation and obsessive self-questioning that always accompanies any sort of rejection, no matter how much I intellectually get it.

I always feel like I have stretches of months where things are largely going very well, my default is happiness, and then anything negative feels more like an additive, something to process, something I can accommodate because of the calm center of my foundation. And then there are little stretches like this one where my anxiety and distractability have leeched into the foundation and I have to figure out how to rebuild it. (And the weirdness of knowing that feeling sometimes lasts only a few days, sometimes much longer.)

My life is so charmed and so simple and so complicated and so privileged and so exhausting and I should really finish up this deck since I now have only 2.5 hours until I need to have something concrete for my boss.

TL;DR has anyone on this planet figured out the relationship between situational depression/anxiety and the rest of their life? 😆

[twst-drabbles]

Just for clarification. Caretaker in both Pet and Sanctuary show love through actions? Like spending time with the guys or helping them with tasks, etc.

Or is more like the caretaker feels responsible for them? Like their “name” implies, they are just a caretaker.

If the caretaker didn’t need to take care of the guys in the Sanctuary Au, what would they do?

Yup, the Caretaker definitely shows love through mostly action. Words are nice but they never quite felt "enough," for the Caretaker, if that makes sense. Being in the same space feels very nice and chores are easier to deal with when you have someone to bitch at and who will probably bitch back.

At first, it was just a general "I have to take care of them, they're not my pets," kind of deal. They treated it as a job since they are getting paid for it, but then the pets were being their silly little selves and it was difficult for the Caretaker to stay emotionally distant so they ended up indulging in their silly little antics.

A habit that shows that emotional distance is that the Caretaker actually didn't give them any names for the first year, simply because in the the back of their head, there's the possibility that someone will take an interest in them and would want to adopt them out. Which, as you can see, didn't happen so the names were given.

Funnily enough, there will come a time when the Sanctuary Pets will probably all leave out of their volition to cultivate their own living space. When they gain their bigger form, they tend to attract the tinier little pets that haven't quite gotten their intelligence yet. They're all social pets by nature and don't really do well being completely alone, as you can see by cases such as Jamil's who gets so easily stressed out. Sure, he likes his alone time but that naga has spent too much time alone with his thoughts. Which is why Najma decided to move in. Under the excuse that she wants to bother him, which is also true but that's besides the point.

Sure, the pocket dimension is nice, but that's the thing, it's a pocket dimension. It needs to be maintained by the mage that created them and can only be accessed by the mirrors in the Caretaker's main home, so in the event the mirrors are damaged or the mage dies, that space will continue to exist but then it will fall apart.

All this to say that the big pets, the familiars will pack up and go off with their groups. They say their goodbyes, parties will be had.

And then they move like, not even 10 minutes away. These fuckers. They all had the same idea and they didn't know it. Honestly, they all thought they had an original idea, but nope, they all wanted to stay near the Caretaker and didn't figure it out until they bumped into each other.

There goes their pride.

And the Caretaker, well, I would imagine that they would do the same thing as they always did and end up expanding their house and converting it into a Pet Inn with Neige as the vet on call if things go wrong. Honestly wouldn't shock me if Neige just straight up moved in with his seven other roommates since the Inn is so huge and can accommodate for quite the number of pets and people. Sam probably opens a gift shop in there somehow. Divus has the occasional little mock-fashion show for them. Vargas helps them out with exercising if the pets need it.

Just, a little slice of paradise there in the Pet Inn. And the Sanctuary pets? Oh they crash that place whenever they please. They have so many little pet admirers and will end up taking some pets that was relinquished to the Caretaker, if the relinquished pet so chooses that is.

[moodywyrm]

the origins of farmhand/farmer Sevika

@pinknightsinmymind this is my take on how it all starts!

thinking of farmhand! sevika. comes back to her small town in the valley, sick and tired of the constant hum of the city. has no idea where she'll live, since her family has since moved away.

she's walking through the town square the day she comes back, heading for the inn, when she sees this lil pink note on the notice board. (before u ask yes this is basically a stardew valley au leave me alone)

"Farm-Hand Wanted" it reads, with a few extra details about a farm that Sevika knows to be owned by a sweet, if a bit weird, old man. The note says something about accommodation provided, so she decides to take it. She assumes it'll be the old man, probably needing help taking care of the farm in his old age.

so can you imagine her surprise when she knocks on the door of the mildly dilapidated farmhouse, only for it to open and show you: a sweet lil thing, dressed in dirty overalls and pink flannel shirt, covered in scrapes. a pretty girl with some meat on her bones, who seems to be around her age.

"Uh, I'm here about the farmhand posting?"

"Oh! Yes, perfect, hi!" You introduce yourself, explaining that you inherited the farm from your grandfather but you honestly don't know much about how to tend a whole farm, so you need the help to get it back up and running.

Sevika is ... apprehensive, at first. You're sweet, but clearly not used to this life, and she doesn't know how you'll handle it. Lucky for you, she's got about 18 years of experience working on a farm before she up and moved to the city, so she decides why the fuck not?

She starts as your farmhand! You surprise her when you show her all the planting you've already done, wanting to get crops in before you got too late into the season. It's spring and she sees you have little plots of parsnips, rhubarb, potatoes, garlic, strawberries and tulips all going.

She's about to ask what you need her for until she sees the rest of the farm, completely overgrown and in need of some serious TLC. The full condition of the house is somehow worse, with the plumbing to the kitchen almost completely worn down and some holes in the walls that need to be repaired.

"Yeah it's... he couldn't really do much by the end, in the way of taking care of the house. He either ate at the saloon, or someone would bring him food. I'm doing the same, at least until I can get the plumbing up and running and the fridge fixed."

Sevika see's your pitiful bed, really just a mattress held up by a few pallets and an unreasonable amount of blankets, and that's what really convinces her. As much as she hates to admit, there's something about you that makes her sympathetic.

"Yeah, I'll help you out. Looks like you need it."

"Really!! Oh you're the best, thank you so much - uhh-" "Sevika." "Thank you so much Sevika!"

The way you say her name, the way your eyes sparkle in the low light of the kitchen, it all makes Sevika a little bit fuzzy. She's known you for less than a day, but there's something there. Fuck if she knows what.

When she asks if she'll be staying in the farmhouse with you, you giggle and wave her off. "Absolutely not, would never make anyone else live in here, especially when we just met. Let me show you your cabin."

She's half convinced her place will be just as bad, but when you lead her to the humble cabin, it's surprisingly cozy? All the walls seem to be repaired, there's an actual bed and table, an attached bathroom and a lil kitchenette. It's all dark wood and cozy linen, everything immaculately clean. It's so nice, Sevika is half convinced you've been living in here instead of the house, she asks you as much.

"No, no, I've been up in the farmhouse. I just wanted to get this place all situated in case someone took me up on the farmhand offer."

Sevika thinks that's both sweet and stupid, because you've clearly been struggling and yet here's this nice lil cabin you fixed up on the off chance that someone would come help?

You let her settle in, which is really just unpacking her one big suitcase, a duffle bag and a backpack of the shit she took with her from her apartment, consisting of clothes, shoes, books, personal use items, etc. etc.

That first night, you two don't talk much. You eat at the saloon together and head back to the farm in silence, because honestly how are you supposed to navigate this situation? You put up the notice in a half-assed attempt to not have to do all of this alone, and now that someone answered, it's this gorgeous, muscular woman who looks ... mean? she looks mean, but you're sure she isn't. or at least you hope she isn't.

and sevika, meanwhile, is still so fucking confused as to how she got here. 24 hours ago she was packing up her life in the city, racing to get out of her shitty little apartment. now she's got this lil cabin on a farm in her hometown, about to be working under an absolute sweetheart of woman, and fucking terrified.

she goes to sleep that night hoping, half-praying to god she never even believed in (or really just whoever is listening), that this would turn out well. she had no clue just how well it would turn out.

this is shorter than I wanted it to be but this is the most I can come up with, just to set up how Sevika comes to be a farmhand for you <3 farm au vika has my whole heart and I love her to bits <3

[russenoire]

18, 25, 27

from this ask: weird questions for writers (because writers are weird)

18. choose a passage from your writing. tell me about the backstory of this moment. how you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. spicy addition: questioner provides the passage.

Teruki Hanazawa’s tousled bottle-blond mop pops in first, followed soon after by the rest of him folding itself around the open door. ‘You know something?’ ‘What?’ He blinks. Hard. Then matches Teruki’s positively perverse grin with one of his own, not entirely devoid of mirth: ‘Do enlighten me.’ ‘I just... think your space would feel so much more like an actual home with some art on these walls. Or some, mmmm… décor in here. Don’t you agree...?’ He fails to suppress a groan at this; it stretches out much longer than he would like. ‘If you’d… maybe let me help…’ No. Teruki needs to be stopped. And he’s never had much use for an abundance of stuff. What else would he keep in here, anyway? Here, under the black sofa he picked out because it was the least complicated on the show floor, an ivory sheepskin rug, ample enough to accommodate his full height and then some: the bare wood planks chill his toes painfully in winter, even with socks. Sleep finds him sprawled out on it from time to time, its wispy but dense curls like late spring breezes spun out of cotton candy against his skin. At the moment, said curls are flirting shamelessly with his fingers. There, on the far wall, a sizable flat-screen television. As a joke, Teruki actually insisted on framing it for him with a silvery rococo border that wouldn’t look out of place in a Parisian museum. It felt garish to him at first, but it’s grown on him since. That… that was enough. Except for a clock and a calendar on the wall closest to the door? These walls are otherwise empty. He doesn’t mind. From across the room, the arrangement of his limbs on the sofa obeying a logic all their own, he counters the man’s impish glee with the most antarctic deadpan he can conjure up. Teruki’s grin refuses to budge. ‘Well. We can stay here, or go someplace…’ he shrugs, ‘more home-y.’ Perhaps his well-honed death glare loses a little something with him inverted like this. Twisting his mouth instead into a resigned little smile—this time genuine, but still upside-down—he looks up at the man quite literally brightening his doorway. ‘Your call.’

so, uh, i'm a pantser when it comes to writing.

a scene *poofs* into my head; i run with it. i shape it until it feels right, or i discard it because it's not working. this moment here, where teruki cracks shigeo's door open partway and slinks around it into his genkan, just For Teh Lulz, and shigeo meets the shit-eating grin he's wearing with one that belongs on a shark? that idea, along with much of the dialogue, was the first part that sprang to mind for this chapter.

at this point in the story, shigeo has weightier concerns on his mind than yesterday's big talk at work. so weighty that he's sprawled upside down on his sofa and staring down the walls. he figures teruki's puckish, tireless cheer might help and asks him to come over.

i wanted to describe shigeo's minimalist-ass living room here. (remember his bedroom in canon? how... empty it is, compared to his brother's room? that struck me, and it didn't feel like his parents imposed that starkness upon him at all.) teruki also might have found that notable, i thought, and originally i wrote this description from his perspective as a flashback leading into the present. but i couldn't find a good justification to shift away from shigeo there, and the extra description kinda dragged this scene out. so i shed a tear and cut it. i'm proud of the language i used; perhaps i'll find another use for it someday.

framing it through shigeo's eyes instead gave me the opportunity to focus on his character more: the simple things he really likes, why they're present in his space, and why he's being kinda stubborn here. information teruki wouldn't have access to.

the rest was just polish: crawling inside shigeo's head a bit and sitting with this part of him that can be prickly but still needs company, then seasoning the language until it tasted good to my ears. (i know i've apparently written shigeo 'smarter' than he is in canon; in my AU he becomes a halfway decent student in high school with a lot of help and outside tutoring. his language in japanese is already not 'simple' so i don't treat him that way.)

25. what is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

itō ryōsuke, shigeo's senpai and office-mate, is in his sixties. he has two daughters he adores, naomi (not pronounced 'nay-oh-mee') and atsuko. one is a successful rakugo performer and a gender trailblazer. the other is an architect. neither is married, which bothers him a little bit.

27. who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? why?

reigen arataka. he's so stressful to write that i've only alluded to him thus far. i'm planning out a fic with him and i'm... dreading writing it...

i like him as a character, but not as a person: he acts out his self-hatred in ways i find deeply unpalatable, and i have too much personal experience with another someone who has to be forced to, y'know, actually respect people they love. (and winning that battle with them only teaches respect for a single person in a single circumstance. the next person they come to love and exploit will need to 'earn' their respect, too.) i don't want to swim in that headspace any longer than i need to.

[roguemonsterfucker]

My poor younger sibling is the only member of my family that actually wants to see people. Like. In real life.

They get so excited when extended family may come visit.

So uh. Yesterday, a somewhat distant relative said they were coming to town and wanted to make plans to meet up with us. Now, making plans to go somewhere for my family is. Complicated.

My younger sibling has a lot of disabilities that make getting out of the house quite the production (wheelchair, medical equipment that has to travel with us, etc, etc). But uh. People don't usually understand this. They don't really process the fact that leaving the house takes real effort for us.

But we were gonna do it because my younger sibling really wanted to meet up with this person! Because my sibling is a fucking weirdo who actually likes people for some reason. 😂 Very much the black sheep of the family. We're all anti social losers.

Anyways, so this person last night says that they'll get back in contact with us to make plans to meet up today.

So my sibling gets ready for the day as if they're gonna be leaving the house.

And then we wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Finally my mom is like, no. It's too late in the day now. It's an hour drive there and traffic will be bad and we can't be out late in the evening anyways for reasons. So she texts the person that they'll have to cancel.

And uh. The person texts back basically saying that they're at the airport right now, leaving town, so they wouldn't have been able to meet up anyways. Plans got changed so they didn't end up staying as long as originally thought.

🙃

So uh. Yeah. My younger sibling is really upset. They even said "This is gonna turn me into you!" lol. 😂

This person had all fucking day to let us know plans changed. But didn't say anything until we had to cancel.

Odds are they just forgot about the plans they'd been making with us. But fucking hell.

I'm very angry on my sibling's behalf because they actually like spending time with our extended family! They like hanging out with people! And this happens to them all the fucking time.

And then *we* get labeled as the people that don't make an effort to spend time with family. Because no one understands how much fucking effort it takes to even leave the fucking house and no one's willing to accommodate for that. They always expect us to be the one to drive an hour. They expect us to be the one to stay over at their house (with a fucking ventilator no less 🙄).

We can't just jump in the car and go anywhere we want. Just getting my sibling into a car is a long, hard process because of their mobility disabilities. Then if where we're going requires them to get out of the car again... Oh boy. That's a lot of moving around that is very difficult. That's not even mentioning the like three bags of medical equipment my sibling has to have nearby at all times (some of which is attached to them!).

And yet. My sibling loves going places. They love meeting people.

My sibling, the one of us who physically can't go places too much both because it's difficult and because they're prone to getting sick.

And the *one* time in months that we were gonna put forth the effort and take that risk... and the person doesn't even have the courtesy to let us know they needed to cancel.

anyways, i'm kinda pissed off if you couldn't tell. I figured a lot of y'all might be able to relate to part of this struggle at least.

I don't have my sibling's physical disabilities but I have a lot of my own issues that our extended family over the years has thought they could fix by just forcing me to do what they wanted me to do. I've had people just not understand the depth of my problems and never care to accommodate me or even just accept that part of me. But I also fucking hate people and don't care to talk to any of our extended family if I don't have to, so it's whatever. It just breaks my heart to see my sibling be so excited for something only for that person to be an inconsiderate jerk and crush their excitement.

[3terna15unshin3]

Then Because She Goes

Cry, I will love you, love you, love you

★ Chapter 13 of 15, 3498 words

★ Matty Healy x Original Female Character

★ warnings: angst, descriptions of grief and depression

<< 12

18 September, 2019

Matty was right. Everything was okay. Until it wasn’t, and Este got the call.

She dropped everything to catch a plane to London. A train would be too slow. She had to be with her family. The two weeks she spent there felt like some of the longest weeks of her life.

There wasn’t a moment that the universe let her mind rest—it was a constant buzz of anger, sadness, release. She was mad that bad things happened to good people. Sad that there was so little time left. And eventually, two Mondays later, it happened. Este thought that when it did, her emotions would peak and then she’d be on the comedown—slowly, she guessed. But it wasn’t. Every day felt like the worst of what was to come. And the worst kept coming.

The clothes draped on her body remained the same for too long. Even their musty stench that grew as time passed couldn’t inspire her to change, so Cate had to force her out of them. She’d been helpful through those horrid weeks, constantly checking up on her best friend, even coming down to London a couple of times to take Este’s mind off of things and attempt to bring her back down to earth.

Two days after the dreaded Monday, they came back home to Manchester to grab some more of their things. Enough to last them through the weekend and however long Este felt she would need to stay. Work was a worry, but it didn’t matter to her as much as it probably should have.

After helping her flatmate pack another bag and essentially petting her head to sleep, Cate considered how intensely Este’s life had been put on hold to make room for her grief. There was no time to make new memories when she was all consumed with trying to cling to the ones with Florencia. Este was terrified of the reality that one day she’d struggle to remember them as brightly as they once were.

Cate thought about the increasing number displayed in the red notification bubble at the corner of her Messages app, and the people waiting to hear from her. The plans Este must have had, and their inevitable rain-checks. That’s when Matty came to mind. She decided that sending him a text would aid in planning their accommodations back in London, in case of some small chance that he’d have time to be there for the rites.

Matty Healy (famous)

Yesterday at 20:50 PM

hey. i thought i’d let you know that the funeral is on saturday morning. wasn’t sure if este invited you out but i know she’d want you there

i also have no idea where in the world you even are rn

so if you can’t make it then don’t worry

Today at 06:04 AM

Funeral????

I haven’t heard from her since this past Saturday

What’s going on

oh my god. she didn’t tell you

i’m so sorry you had to find out this way and that it isn’t coming from este but her nan passed away on monday.

Shit

I don’t know what to say, I’m so sorry

Can I ask what happened?

she’s been in remission for a couple of years, but in mid august ish she got super sick again. everything happened really fast and there weren’t any treatment options.

so at the beginning of september este went down to stay with josé in the house. the whole family went. they at least got to be with each other for her last couple of weeks

Is she still there in London or are u guys in Manchester

she just arrived back to the flat to pick up more of her stuff and figure out her leave from work and stuff with sam

we’re staying the night but heading back tomorrow. wake is on friday morning and the funeral the next day

Was just trying to figure out if somehow I could make it but I’m in Auckland

Would take days on a plane and we have a bunch of Australian shows coming up

I don’t think theres a way

it’s ok matty. she’ll understand

sorry for loading this all on you out of nowhere

No, thank you for telling me

Please let me know if there’s something I can do. Even from all the way out here

Anything

Today at 11:29 AM

i will

but also, just as a heads up, este really is not in a good place. she’s in good hands, so you dont have to worry or anything, but maybe just wait for her to reach out first before saying anything. hopefully you can understand why i ask that of you

hope your shows in australia go well x

Of course I understand x

Thank you Cate

Matty’s heart broke for Este and her family when he read the texts sitting in his notifications after his long plane journey out to New Zealand. In the car ride over to the hotel, Hann took note of how unusually his mouth was pressed into a flat line as he furiously typed away on his phone, eventually asking him what was up.

“Cate’s just told me that Este’s nan just passed.” he explained, “She was just super vague at the start about a funeral and I haven’t heard from Este at all, so I panicked,”

“Did you think she was inviting you to Este’s funeral?”

“Dunno, really. ‘Funeral’ is just a scary word.” Matty continued typing as Cate’s responses came through.

“Shit. Sorry, mate.” said George, giving his condolences. “How old was she?”

“75. Cate’s saying it was cancer.” As he read more texts, the further it was explained.

“The nan with the gallbladder?” Ross asked, a contained amusement sitting on his face as he brought up the story he shared when the guys had first met Este and Cate.

Matty threw him a grimace. “Yes, Ross. I’m sure she had a gallbladder. But if you mean the one who was my nurse after I got mine removed, then also yes.” Despite how inappropriate his joke seemed, Matty was glad the mood lifted when it gained a couple bittersweet chuckles from the rest of the guys. “Este never told me about any of it, so I’m just a bit shocked,”

He’d been frozen with grief before, so he didn’t blame her for not saying anything. Letting her heal was necessary—and his feelings couldn’t matter less in this situation. Plus, the idea of sending a message was too scary. He didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, or want to overstep. So Cate suggesting he let Este come to him first helped him with the internal dilemma.

She almost regretted reaching out to Matty after discovering that Este hadn’t told him about Florencia. It felt like crossing a boundary; like something that should have been shared on her accord instead of by her best friend over text. To clear her conscience, Cate confessed what she had done as they sat on the train back to London the next day.

“Hey,” she started, to break the silence and grab Este’s attention. Her sad eyes looked up to acknowledge the conversation and her curious eyebrows raised.

“Yesterday I was thinking about where I’d be staying this weekend and if there would be enough room at your grandparents’ house. Which I know you said there would be—but it just had me thinking about everyone who may need accommodations for coming in from out of town—and I thought of Matty. Which in retrospect, was stupid in the first place, since his literal house is in London. Impulsively I just sent him a text without even asking you first, and I feel really guilty for intruding, especially since he let me know that you hadn’t told him or anything. So I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking in the moment, I just—“

A reassuring and gentle hand was felt on Cate’s forearm. It was Este’s, as if to say, ‘It’s okay’. She gave a soft smile and Cate showed one similarly, still holding her breath from the anticipation of what reaction the fact she revealed may conjure.

All she did was swipe away Cate’s auburn hair before leaning her head on her shoulder—where the hair once sat—so that the weight wouldn’t pull on it, sighing quietly. Este didn’t feel strongly about anything at that moment, letting the clunky sounds of the train and the presence of her best friend envelop her numbness.

It wasn’t an active decision to keep Matty uninformed. It was probably due to her refusing to believe it would ever come to the point of relevance. That if she didn’t admit that Florencia was sick again, then the gut-wrenching inevitability couldn’t be real life. And once it was—as much as Este craved the comfort she knew he’d provide her—she couldn’t be rational. It was an all-consuming paralysis.

The air in the house was heavy. Endless paperwork screamed for attention from the dining room table, so her parents and granddad were busy dealing with that; not saying much to the two girls as they entered. A touch on the small of Este’s back was given by José, who didn’t usually use his words to show his love for her anyway. The warmth from where his hand brushed against her lingered for a couple of long seconds.

Before Cate and Este reached the spare room they’d be sharing for the weekend, her mother stopped them.

“You should look at the flowers on the counter, E. They’re beautiful.” said Percy.

Setting her bags down, Este agreed and stepped back out to the kitchen. The bouquet that came into her view was huge. They had received flowers from a couple of people since Monday, mostly dainty and affordable and easy to look at. But this one took her by surprise; its full shape made up of the most colourful foliage she could imagine. Her Lola would have loved it.

You could sense Florencia’s kookiness from the loud and maximalist decor throughout her house. Este acquired the hoarding habits from her. She could recall a couple of times her nan commented on how boring she found pre-made bunches from the supermarket, and how she wished she could combine every different type of bouquet to have one that actually interested her. If someone told Este that her grandmother picked the flowers sitting on the counter in front of her, she’d believe them.

“Wow, they are beautiful.” She mumbled, about to ask her family if they knew who had sent them.

But, a note card stuck out of the top. Este flipped it open.

‘For Este-

Life is just as precious and beautiful as it is unfair. I am so sorry it has been unfair to you. I feel both lucky to have even briefly known Florencia, and also terrible that I can’t be there to support you. Thinking of your family always.

All my love

Matty x’

Her shaky hand grabbed the card and slipped it into the pocket of her sweats for safekeeping—her question now answered. One day she would be able to accept how thoughtful his words were, and even send him a message to say thank you. But that day wasn’t today.

-

23 September, 2019

Sam knew he had to hire another employee at Greenhouse to make up for Este’s absences.

Over the years, there had been many occasions where time off was needed by either her or Oliver or even the owner himself; so there were a few solutions they’d usually jump to. A couple of close friends of the store had been kept on the store’s payroll to jump in when needed. But, Sam had a feeling that he’d be in need of something more. Meeting Este when she was a mere nineteen years old, he was aware of the tightly knit family she possessed—and he had never seen her in the state she was in now. This was clearly world-shifting for her.

She tried to insist on coming back to work that Monday morning, only a week to the day of her grandmother’s passing. Sam could hear the quiet quiver in her voice when they spoke on the phone, already in the process of sorting through CVs and inviting potential hires for interviews. Not with the intent to replace Este, but to ensure she could take the full time she needed off without the pressure of letting the business down. Of course, he refused to make her travel all the way back to Manchester and firmly encouraged her to stay with her family for as long as she wished to.

So, Este stayed in London—for much longer than she expected to. Weeks went by and she was still there. Her mum and dad were forced to leave not long after the weekend of the funeral; on account of some dodgy conversation with their bosses about time off. It didn’t feel right to leave José alone in the house. Este felt his sorrow through their silence. They slept under the same roof every night, both shutting their eyes to be able to see the sparkling memories of Florencia that were painted on the inside of their eyelids.

She did a lot of sleeping, for that very reason. And randomly got really good at Scrabble. Her and her granddad had played a couple of times which sparked her interest, but it soon spiralled into Este playing against computers through an app on her phone for most hours of the day. She thought to herself, After this game I’ll get up and do something else. But she never got up and she never did anything else.

Her vocabulary expanded. Este even considered ordering a Scrabble dictionary off of Amazon. She paid for Prime, so it could even come tomorrow. It’s okay, she reassured, It’ll wear off. I won’t sit here and play Scrabble until the end of time.

But what if I do? she feared.

-

Percy came to visit quite frequently. To both make sure her father and daughter were holding up, all alone in London, and to feel closer to Florencia. The house still smelled like her. Sometimes, she’d have to remind Este to go out and buy groceries after seeing that they were running low; or convince José to pay his bills on time. He had a hard time remembering what day it was.

She brought Dano with her whenever she was over. It helped spike Este’s mood, though temporarily. Her voice would reach its excited high pitch when she heard his paws tap on the hardwood floor and shower him in the only love she had left in her.

Este liked letting her family’s golden retriever up onto her bed, even though the fur that he left behind sometimes made her sneeze in the middle of the night. She liked how warm he was and that the in-and-out of his breathing helped punctuate her thoughts.

One night, she took a break from resting her face against him and gave Cate a call. She was nice enough to come back from Manchester a couple of times to bring more of Este’s belongings from their flat, helping to make the spare room feel more like her own. Cate saw her grief for what it was and gave Este the rigidity that others were scared to. The words she had trouble saying to herself felt easier to believe when her best friend was on the receiving line. Gently petting Dano’s coat, her voice escaped with a tremble.

She talked about how after seeing a trailer for a film called The Farewell (that was coincidentally about a sick grandmother) on the telly a couple of days ago, she hadn’t turned it on since. How she thought rereading Little Women might comfort her, but then she reached the part where Beth dies and couldn’t finish it. How she dreamt of her Lola every night.

But alas, the ponderous energy of the air around her lifted slightly. And when Cate hung up, after both girls lost track of time and realised the late hour, Este leaned back down onto Dano like he was her pillow, surprised to find his fur all wet with her tears.

-

29 October, 2019

Following the release of the third single for Notes On A Conditional Form, Frail State of Mind, Matty and the rest of the band had a couple of weeks off before playing Pitchfork Music Festival in Paris. Though they were still busy writing, the time away from performing left Matty thinking about Este more often. Sure, he was sort of always thinking of her; but it felt elevated during their first long break since he’d last heard from her.

He had sent a couple of texts to Cate to make sure she was alright, but never felt entitled to know more than just that. So, he was shocked to see messages waiting for him, from Este. The sheer anticipation made his thumb shake as it clicked to open it.

E ★

Today at 18:11 PM

I know this is more than a month overdue, but thank you for the flowers and sweet message. They were the most beautiful we’d received. The whole family loved them, and I’m sure my nan would have too

Pls don’t feel bad about not coming in for the funeral. I remembered that you’d be too far and that’s ok. It’s me that should be sorry for not letting u know what was going on. You deserved to know. But I’d be lying if I said i was doing better. Things are still really hard

I hope u can believe me when i say that I really do appreciate you Matty. I know you would be there for me if I let you in. But im sort of struggling to let anyone in rn.

Sorry for spamming you, I will text soon x

Este theres nothing you should be apologising for

Losing my nan was one of the hardest things I’ve had to go through

I’m never more than a text away, just remember that xx

Congrats on the new song too, you can imagine I relate to it a bit. Lol

After those few messages, Matty stopped hearing from her. They gave him a bit of hope, so Este’s radio silence hurt him a little bit more the second time around. He gave up reaching out after just over a month of no responses. Once in a while he would send a text to Cate, just to snuff his fear of something worse going on, and she assured him that she was alive. Not necessarily ‘good’, but alive. Matty guessed that it was a sufficient response and eventually stopped pestering.

It felt odd to mix the song he wrote about her in the studio while they weren’t even in contact. With it only running for a couple of seconds more than two minutes, they didn’t spend an overwhelming amount of time on it. But, as Matty listened back to his buried vocals that sang the lyrics he wrote about Este and their short bursts of memories between dragging months apart, he couldn’t help but yearn for her.

He liked that the song was so short, and that the lyrics were hard to pick apart. It felt like a little moment. The final line, ‘Will you stay or wait?’ repeated through Matty’s head as they perfected the song’s shoe-gazey production, booming in his chest through its painful relevance.

When they reached America for their final leg of tour that year, her name was sketched into Matty’s ear whenever they performed I Couldn’t Be More In Love. But what about these feelings I’ve got, he thought—too literally.

He would meet a fan that had a dimple and would think of her. Or one that had a septum piercing. And think of her if he ever drove past a small book shop.

Then, inevitably, Matty could feel the brightest element of his life slowly dim to darkness—fading into a fleeting moment of his past. But the memory stayed, along with a small glimmer of hope. And he knew he’d be at her feet the minute Este wanted him there again.

14 >>

[ladylooch]

Soft Moments with Adrian Kempe

A/N: In love with all the Kempe requests I have been getting. Kempe as a dad content was what we all need on this writing Saturday. As always, happy to provide. Original request is from this ask.

Word count: 709

No warnings in this one. Just sweetness 🥰

Soft, pink cheeks puff out with a sigh as our two year old daughter snuggles deeper into her father’s chest. Adrian’s fingers trail over her back, eyes not leaving the hockey game playing on the TV. My feet are next to his side so his other hand can dig into the ball of my foot.

“Mmm.” I sigh, grabbing his attention from the game for a minute. His sweet smile wraps around my body, warming my chest and cheeks.

“Think I can bring her to bed?”

“Yeah.” I nod. She’s been fast asleep for about 40 minutes, meaning the transition from his body to her bed should be okay. She’s sleeping in a bed with mesh sides now because we had a scary Sunday morning when Adrian was out of town where she tried to get out of her crib.

Thank God for baby monitors.

Adrian carefully sits up, holding her close to him with each movement to prevent any sudden jostling. He stands, delicately walking down the dark hallway to her room. I watch him on the monitor as he enters, double checking the camera is online after an earlier issue during nap time. Adrian sets our baby in her bed, kneeling down to her level. A soft kiss is pressed to her cheek before he smooths her white blonde hair back.

“Jag älskar dig, prinsessan.” He murmurs. She stirs a bit and Adrian backs his hand away from her. He pauses, both of us holding our breath in separate rooms. Her breathing settles back into a steady rhythm. Adrian turns to the camera with wide eyes. “That was close.” He mouths at me.

He reappears in the living room. Sitting closer to me on the couch, he gathers both my feet in his lap to give me a longer, more attentive massage. 

“Keep that up and you’re going to get lucky.” His eyes drift to me, smirk on his lips telling me that is exactly what he is hoping for.

As the hockey game winds down, Adrian’s fingers work more into my skin, then higher up my leg until he’s massaging his thumbs into the outside of my right thigh. He hits a point that is especially tight and holds his pressure, releasing the knot there. I moan in appreciation. Adrian reaches for the remote, clicking the game off and crawling on top of me. 

“You and your pretty noises.” He says against my lips.

I smile. Gotchya.

My hands weave around his shoulders, gripping his neck. His tongue glides against mine as I hook my finger into the binder holding his hair in a bun. The strands fall down, brushing against my fingers holding his head. One of his hands runs down my side, pushing my thigh to spread my legs further apart to accommodate his body.

“Daddy.” A small voice floats in from the doorway. Adrian slowly drags his mouth from mine. Our eyes meet in disappointment knowing we are not getting what we both pulse for. He stokes his thumb along my jaw before looking over his shoulder at our daughter.

“Hi baby. You okay?” She shakes her head vigorously in the negative. A small pout extends my bottom lip as I watch her small feet carry her quickly to her protector.

Adrian wraps her up, engulfing her in his body until her face disappears into his shoulder. He gives me a frustrated wrinkle of his nose. I smile back, nudging him with my foot that it’s okay. I reach for the remote, turning the hockey game back on. We are quiet together. Our daughter threads her fingers through his hair like I just was, stroking the strands for comfort. Her little, blue eyes struggle to stay open until she seemingly surrenders again. Just when we think she’s done, little steady puffs of air moving her body, her eyes pop open again.

We both sigh heavily. Adrian opens his arm for me to crawl over to them, both of us giving up on any chance of getting naked tonight. I settle into his chest on the opposite side of our daughter, running my nails through her soft curls. Adrian’s steady heartbeat has my eyes unwillingly closing.

Nothing in the world feels better than this.

[jellyfishloveletterghosts]

No Bite Tonight

Prompt for day 3 of  @harringroveweek Lesley Gore Passing the Crown: Alpha/Beta/Omega

Also the second fic in my Hay In Your Hair, Mud On My Boots series but can be read alone.

No Bite Tonight

Billy knows something is up the moment he comes back from working the ranch that now belongs to Steve’s uncle and sees the omega holding up a beer like an invitation. He is hoping for a good something but the way Steve bats his eyelashes up at him and his sharp grin tell Billy he is not going to like it.

“You look particularly pleased with yourself.” Billy says as he takes the beer Steve holds up and shifts from side to side. The condensation on the bottle pools and drips letting him know Steve has been out here waiting for a while. That sets his suspicions up another notch.

“I’m always pleased with myself Bill.” Steve is still giving him that sharp grin as he flutters his lashes up at him some more. Billy sits in one of the heavy wooden chairs and takes a long sip of the beer, still cool enough to not be unpleasant. “Better drink the rest, sugar.” Steve’s hand reaches forward and presses against the end of the bottle as Billy gives him a suspicious look while taking another long sip. Steve’s hand does not move, keeping the bottle tipped until Billy has downed it all. It is either drink or let it spill over his chin and he does not like to waste good beer.

When the beer is empty Steve lets it go, Billy dragging the back of his hand over his mouth. His other hand moves to the little cooler between them that is old and cracked and he needs to get another one but it does well enough. The beer he pulls out is plenty cold, a few drips spilling over his fingers as Steve leans forward and removes the cap for him. He is being far too accommodating for this to be a good night for Billy. “What sort of unpleasant hell are you planning on unleashing on me?”

Steve smiles like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, flipping the cap between his fingers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m sweet as pie.”

Billy snorts so hard beer nearly goes up his nose. “Until it’s time to rattle and bite.”

Steve’s scent is bright as he laughs. “No bite tonight. At least I don’t think.” Going thoughtful.

“Just the rattle than?” Billy asks with a raised brow, better than bite but no less dangerous.

“Depends on you baby.” Steve is smiling again, scent awash with self satisfaction.

Billy huffs a sigh taking another sip of his beer. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”

Read the Rest on Ao3

For some reason the link version wasn’t showing up when you search the tag so maybe this will. (Edit: It looks like tagging the event page caused the issue for some strange reason. but I accidentally deleted my original post so this one gets to stay.)

[feralkwe]

in an effort to not succumb to a potential panic attack, i will instead focus on some fandom nonsense! i've had a little influx of new follows, almost exclusively people i've seen in the ffxiv tags and watched from afar for awhile now, so maybe i should do a little intro post.

i'm feral kwe (kwe means woman in anishinaabemowin) but you may feel free to call me just b. just a tired, queer, indigenous lady who is an eldritch being in tumblr years (my original blog started in 2008 or 09) and gets a little too lost in the blorbo sauce. the fandom i'm currently most active in is ffxiv, but i dabble in good omens, mass effect, a couple of the gay vampire shows, and have been in and out of marvel fandom. i'm a dragon age old, my first online fandom and the one i went the most hard in up until now, so consider that a blanket warning for the upcoming months, since i'm not sure yet where i'll fall into it again. for the foreseeable future, i'm quite happy in my ffxiv brainrot, and will happily go on and on and on (and on and on) about my wol, kit hareington given even a breath of permission to do so.

i write fic! i'm feralkwe on ao3, and have the highlights marked in a pinned post. i write original work, too, and have even sold and published some. it's easy enough to find, so i won't link it here, but if you are curious and want to ask me about it, please do!

speaking of asks! my askholebox is always open and i welcome people to just drop in unannounced. consider this open provocation to do so! i don't have anon enabled, and likely never will. my life is better for it. 11/10 do recommend as a life choice.

i don't follow a lot of people. i keep the number artificially low for the sake of not having so much go by that i can't keep up. that said, i do try to check in on the blogs of people who follow me from time to time. i don't really make mutual/non-mutual distinctions. since i block with abandon for any multitude of reasons, if you're here at all i already love you. that said, if you follow @yamisnuffles or @icescrabblerjerky you are likely to see a lot of overlap. they're my ride or die lifelong besties and we exist in a state of mutual whimsy that can best be described as 'lol ilu'. do with that information what you will.

i try my best to use tags consistently for things i know need it. that said i do my best to stay out of active dragon age main tags, and do not use any of those in original posts. the most pertinent one, the one i was asked to tag the most, and the one i've had the longest is #and that's jenga, my personal anders tag. if you need something tagged, please ask, and i'll try my best to accommodate reasonable requests.

i probably haven't read your blog description. i probably did not notice if you have a dni. i assume if you're here that i don't fall under any umbrella you desperately do not want to engage with. i do not vet the blog of every poster i reblog. if you think i've done something harmful, please give me the benefit of the doubt that i did so unknowingly, and give me a chance to correct it. i'm human, and so are you. i just ask that we try to be excellent to each other.

i think that covers everything! if i missed anything, like i said, ask! or just come say hi and introduce yourself!

[orangetintedglasses]

( Anyway in honor of the dawn of spooky month approaching, have some info about Vampire!Vash and the rules of how vampires work in my brain. Unrelated to the Astarianon stuff but it's something I've had kicking around in the back of my mind for a while. I'm not claiming any of these as particularly original takes in the slightest, either; this is just how vampires worked in the lore I'm recycling because we worked on it too long to let it go to waste. )

General:

Everyone has a gene that essentially acts as a switch if they're turned into a vampire-- literally all humans have this line of code in the genetics. It's what gives them their powers, and no one really knows what they'll end up with until it happens (unless like, your family has a history with it and obviously has a lot of the same power, you're likely to inherit it)

You have to be dying to be turned. No exceptions.

There are a lot of classifications of vampires, here are the ones I remember off the top of my head-- - Trackers (able to drink from someone and sense them up to a certain distance) - Tanks (beef. stronk. big appetite) - Dawnwalkers (don't burn in sunlight but get little other boons, seen as lesser by other vampires) - 'Red' (a genetic mutation thought to be completely culled due to an insatiable appetite, insane strength and aggressive tendencies. it was not culled.)

Certain lines of genetics were culled because of how dangerous they were-- think things like control over elements and anything that could do serious damage over time. This doesn't mean they're gone, but modern day vampires know better than to speak up if they get an ability like this

'Makers' have an innate control over anyone they sire, obviously. It's a tactic to ensure the newbie vampires don't all just go rabid and kill people to feed their new hunger-- this hasn't stopped makers from abandoning sired, though, so it ain't perfect

All vampires have the ability to glamour their prey. It helps make it hurt less (peaceful) or helps make them malleable (bad). Dawnwalkers are suspectible to another vampire's glamour

There's a council, you have to register new vampires and their powers, etc, I don't wanna go into vampire politics

Modern day has a lot of vampire-friendly spaces. Bars, clubs, a lot of restaurants and other faculties will stay open a lot later to accommodate, there are even specific vampire dentists and doctors that don't see humans at all... people even donate their blood to banks specifically for feeding vampires. Some bars even have feeding zones with willing human participants-- though the rules are strict in these places.

Vash specifically:

Vash, Nai and Tesla specifically are part of a line of progenitor vampires. Their genetic 'switch' can be found in a vast amount of the population thanks to some breeding quirks and passing stuff down

They're also more powerful than any vampire that came after them with some exceptions. They have a modicum of control over all vampires, as well, exerting the same sort of 'maker's command' that a sire has over their sired, though powerful-enough vampires can resist it with some effort

Tesla was staked after about 500 years, living in 'harmony' with the humans for only about 200 before it happened. Vash and Nai went into hiding after. Vash eventually decides to try and live among the humans again

His eyes are a very unnatural bright blue, so he wears special glasses to dull the color (obviously)

Vash's skin has a tan look to it compared to Nai's porcelain skin due to how many times he's been discovered and shoved out into the sunlight to try and burn him alive. Also many scars, because healing factor - proper blood amount to burn through it = improper healing and gnarly-ass scars

Obviously the boy prefers to feed off of animals, if at all. In more modern times, he'll drink from purchased blood bags if he needs to. He hates feeding off of live folks now

I like to think the Dawnwalker genetic trait comes specifically from Vash

[exsanguidus]

re headcanon: how do you think Astarion will go about marriage proposal? will he be nervous or smarmy. would he even want to marry at all?

This is going to be a long answer. Also, should note this is of course in reference to non-Ascended Astarion.

Since I headcanon Astarion as a Moon Elf, I think 3e and 3.5e lore on how elves view love, romance, and sexuality is probably pretty close to what Moon Elf culture practices, seeing as they're stated to be rather adventurous and tend not to stay in one place for too long.

3.5e Elves Reddit Citing 3e

This is also why I headcanon that Astarion is rather open-minded to the idea of Tav taking on another lover or having threesomes/foursomes together.

That said, I think that deep down he prefers monogamy, particularly because he's selfish in the sense he wants to have something of his own that he doesn't have to share. Especially after those 200 years he didn't have himself for himself and the fact he can't recall ever genuinely being loved just for being himself rather than what he can offer.

But so long as Tav reassures him that it won't affect their relationship negatively and he won't be neglected in love, affection, and care, he's not opposed. He trusts Tav enough to be responsible, honest, and communicative.

He also mentions, if you approach him about being with Halsin post-his quest, that while the idea of change has always sort of terrified him because it's an unknown, he's accepted that life happens and if Tav does end up falling for someone else, he's confident he'll eventually be ok because he has himself.

Now to get to the actual question at hand: how would Astarion go about a marriage proposal.

I'm sorry to disappoint you, but he wouldn't. At least not in the sense that Humans think of marriage and marriage proposals.

He's definitely read about them in the sappy and smutty romance novels he's read, but he personally doesn't subscribe to the idea that he needs to showcase his true love for his partner like that because his partner would know through actions and words they speak to one another privately exactly how Astarion feels about them.

Astarion would really just start referring to his partner as his Wife/Husband/Spouse one day. And then after that, just start using their surname along with his own like that's what his name has always been.

For example, I ship exclusively with my buddy Vex's Tav OC Annette Harlow (@knivesong). So, in our post-game verse Astarion refers to himself as Astarion Harlow Ancunín as his completely full name. He wasn't asked to and he doesn't just going around announcing it randomly to everyone, but he decided that on his own and tells people when its relevant to do so because that's how he decided he wanted to show Annie's place in his life while still respecting both their individualities and unique personhoods.

I also recently put up a headcanon that elves traditionally wear wedding bands on their right hand, if they choose to wear any at all. I believe Astarion would wear the True Love's Caress ring on his right ring finger. He originally didn't until post-his quest, I imagine, but eventually would have just quietly moved it to that finger of his own accord.

I also recently wrote a headcanon that post-game, rather than claim and move into the Crimson Palace (Szarr Palace), he gets himself a nice spot in Baldur's Gate where he can live in the apartments above his own perfume shop. He would legitimately just assume Tav was going to live with him, at that point, and put in furniture to accommodate both of them and take into consideration Tav's tastes in his decor choices.

All that is basically my long way of saying that Astarion would basically just marry Tav via Common Law Marriage. Basically everyone just recognizes those two as married even if they didn't have some big solemnized ceremony.

Astarion doesn't believe in any of the gods anyway. Acknowledges they all exist, since they literally do and can be physically seen, but he won't worship any of them ever. So he wouldn't really think it's important to have their relationship solemnized by an outside source as long as they both solemnize it via consent and mutual understanding of the perimeters of their relationship.

He doesn't care how others view their relationship because, to him, his relationship with Tav is strictly between them and no one else's business.

Of course, if Tav ever brought up that they actually wanted an official marriage proposal and a legitimate marriage ceremony with all the bells and whistles, he'd be all for it because:

I. It's a reason for him to dress up and be Extra.

II. It would make Tav happy.

In that case, he would be the most Extra of Extra about it. Not nervous because he already knows the answer would be yes, but nervous because he wants to make sure he does it right in a way his partner would be pleased with. He'd make a whole performance out of it and it'd be this massive grand gesture. Mind you, that doesn't mean it'd be this huge public display with like releasing doves and hiring a troupe of bards or anything, but something elegant that feels expensive and intimately grand.

It'd probably be so Extra that Tav would facepalm, but he'd just remind them that they asked for it and he doesn't go halfsies on things like that because he has standards for the both of them.

[acertainmoshke]

Now that I have a LITTLE more time, care to tell me a little about "Fae and Brownie Draft 4 (JMR edit)" from the WIP Files game? <3

It's been a while so here a link to your post LINK

Oh, thanks! It has been a while and this is my most recent ask/mention but it's the easiest to answer right now (I will get to reblogging/doing all those heads up 7 up games I promise).

So, Fae and Brownie is actually done. It needs a better title but it is all written and I used my tax refund to have it professionally edited (JMR are the initials of the lady I hired). I actually originally planned to make it a series like Ivy and Bean, so every subsequent book would be "Fae and Brownie do X," but now I think it will be a standalone. Unlike basically everything else I write, it is not SFF but a realistic middle grade kids' book.

To go into a little more detail than I did in my intro post, Fae is 10 years old and autistic and ataxic (a physical balance/coordination disability that I have a variation of) and the ONLY kid at school to be nice to her is the new kid, Brownie (who may or may not have ADHD, you decide). Then Fae promptly gets in trouble for a semi-violent meltdown when she's pushed too far and is suspended for a week. She has one fabulous day free of school, and then her parents drop it on her that the aunt she hasn't seen in years is getting divorced and moving in with them. Aunt Lillian doesn't get along with her sibling-in-law, Fae's parent she calls Kiki, for political reasons Fae doesn't really understand.

To put off the inevitable struggle with change, Fae is allowed to go to a sleepover at Brownie's house the first night Aunt Lillian shows up, which leads to a week of adventure, friendship, accommodations, and realizing that even adults might need to learn some things.

This is one of my favorite excerpts:

Now Ms. Luna is on the floor in front of me, bent down like adults do to when they talk to little kids. Not 10-year-old kids, except they still do it to me. Mama says that if I stand up tall and smile and talk to people using the big words I do at home, they won’t think I’m like a little kid. I think she doesn’t understand school.

“Fae, we’re going to work on spelling worksheets. Can you come back to your desk, please?”

Ms. Luna doesn’t look angry. She doesn’t look sad. She doesn’t look anything. But I’m still scared to say no, because that can get me in trouble sometimes.

“Fae, come on. I know you like spelling, and I need you to participate, ok?”

I wonder if teachers ever get annoyed when they’re stuck with the really weird kids.

She won’t go away until I use words, so I say, slowly and carefully, “I want to stay here.”

“I know, but you’ve been here for over fifteen minutes and you can’t miss a whole lesson or you won’t know the words for Friday’s quiz.”

I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I peek over her shoulder and all the other kids are looking at me. Their eyes feel like lasers. I want to go home. And suddenly I’m angry, because it’s not fair. It’s not fair that I’m supposed to do as well as everyone else even though the world hurts me and not them. It’s not fair that people still talk to me like I’m in kindergarten. And it’s not fair that they always look at me like I’m a puzzle or a slug and not a person.

I hate being angry. My anger is red and liquid and fills me up until it overflows. I scream without meaning to. I want to scream “I hate you,” but the words are stuck in my throat, and that makes me even more angry. I know better than to throw things, but all I want is to do what I’m not supposed to. I want Ms. Luna to hurt like I do.

I was going to make a separate post for this later this week, but since this gives me the perfect chance to do it: I am looking for beta readers. It needs new title suggestions and some feedback on plot and flow, but shouldn't have any glaring holes or grammar issues. I'd be happy to do a beta swap if someone prefers. My only requests are that you have some interest in reading children's literature and see this as a disability empowerment story and not one about her learning to "be good" (a disclaimer I always include now after a really weird comment I got the first time I tried to move towards publishing this story).