#my precious girl so full of bitterness

[thelesbianluthor]

The way you can see and feel the jealousy in Robin's voice and face when she talks about the history class she had with Steve.

If you look at it superficially you miss it and think of it as the usual, loser girl having a crush on a popular boy, but the tone of her voice when she describes him is so different from the one she uses when she starts talking abt the class.

She gets so venomous when she calls him "mr cool" and talks abt being obsessed with him.

And like yeah now she knows he is a good guy, now she likes him. But the jealousy and bitterness are still there.

[ohbueckers]

HEART OF A WOMAN. i put the blame on me for giving you chance after chance … it’s my mind and my soul versus your pride.

00, PROLOGUE. AND THIS IS JUST THE INTRO.

ju speaks. finished this quicker than expected so thank you to that anon for getting me on it early LOL. find the masterlist link to all parts on my blog. lmk your thoughts! pairing. wnba!paige bueckers x fem!oc. warnings. language, angst, toxicity, cheating, etc … general warning!

flashback, april, 2025.

paige: i love you 3:49am

nailea: ?

i love you too

is everything good?

read 4:02am

paige: yeah i’m good baby

missing you ao baD

paige edited a message: missing you

nailea: i’ll see you so soon

i’m sorry i couldn’t make it today

i’m really proud of you

read 4:09am

you’d think by now i’d be numb to it. that i’d learned the script—memorized the lines, the rhythm of it. but as i sit here, scrolling through her saved chats with her, i don’t feel numb. i feel fucking dumb.

it’s not even the months i spent doubting her, the nights i’d start an argument because i just knew she was lying, only for her to stare at me with those wide, innocent eyes and make me feel like the problem. no. it’s knowing that three nights ago, when she texted me after the game, telling me she loved me, that she missed me—that wasn’t real. that was just her guilt talking, a cheap cover-up. because that night, after winning her precious championship, paige found someone else to help her celebrate. and all because i couldn’t be there.

i don’t even have it in me to appreciate the short time she wasn’t doing anything behind my back. we’d had a conversation, a serious one, and it was enough for a bit. but there’s pictures, videos, a few from that night, and i feel sick.

the door opens behind me, and i barely flinch.

“yo, i forgot my—“ my bloodshot eyes meet hers, still holding onto the faintest trace of a smile. she has to notice i’ve been crying. has to see what she’s done.

it’s only been ten minutes. the breakfast spot’s close, maybe two blocks. she must’ve turned around. guilt? instinct? doesn’t matter now.

“nai.”

i glance down at her open phone, and so does she. i can’t see her reaction, but i’m sure it’s anything but pleasant. “oh, i can’t even fucking look at you,” i spit, letting out a breathy laugh as i push myself to stand, heading towards the door.

before i can even take a step, she’s in full defense mode. paige tosses her keys onto the bed with a clatter, closing the door behind her, planting herself firmly in front of it like she’s ready to block my any attempt to walk out. “you’re not leavin,’ bro. hold on.” she furrows her eyebrows, mumbling more to herself as she pulls me away by my arm. quite effortlessly might i add, i couldn’t really fight it.

“move, paige,” i demand. i just want out. want to be anywhere she isn’t.

“nah, we’re gonna talk. sit your ass down.”

“about what?” i laugh, cold and bitter, as i wipe my face again. she’s stupid for thinking i’ll listen to anything she says now, i know that much. “about how you played in my face, yet again? how you kept telling me to trust you when i knew better? or maybe we’ll talk about how the second i wasn’t here, you went right back to her.”

she wasn’t special. she isn’t. i’m sure paige doesn’t even know her middle name. she was just… there. someone to sex her up the way i couldn’t from across the country. it wasn’t like we didn’t see each other every chance we had, but i’ll be damned to let her live a double life. i wish i wasn’t so in deep.

paige steps forward, her hand reaching for mine, eyes softening in some pathetic attempt at damage control. “look, it was one night, alright? it was a mistake, nai, you gotta chill.”

chill.

i yank my hand back. “how many times does one night happen with you, huh?” i squint. “because this isn’t just one mistake, paige. this is you, every time.” the word tastes sour, and i spit it right back at her.

i’m not a doormat. i’m not one of the girls paige bueckers happened to pick up on her way to the top. i was here from the very beginning, and i couldn’t fathom how that wasn’t enough for her. all you could ever want is to grow into love with someone, but paige and i only go backwards, and i don’t think i’m capable of sitting around and letting that happen anymore.

paige’s mouth twists, some shadow of remorse that’s barely visible as she shifts from foot to foot. her hair’s still tousled from last night, strands falling across her forehead, a disheveled mess that somehow makes her look both beautiful and utterly wrecked. it makes my stomach turn—how i’d been unknowingly in the same spot as another girl just a few days ago, her hands roaming through that same hair, leaving their mark where mine should have been.

“let me get it right this time then.” paige’s head tilts back slightly, her eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that’s almost hypnotic, like she’s daring me to believe her, to give her yet another chance. i hesitate, against all logic, caught up in her. for a second, the anger knots itself up, caught in my throat, tangled in the remnants of whatever feelings she hasn’t managed to destroy.

we just stand there, inches apart, eyes locked, her breath barely steady, mine coming in tight and shallow. her hand lifts again, just slightly, as if she’s about to reach for me again, and i feel that familiar pull—like i’m right on the edge of giving in, of letting her words undo the mess she’s made.

my eyes glance down at her phone in my hand, and i can’t help but think about how sick i am of fucking words.

before i can second-guess myself, my hand jerks forward, and i launch her phone across the room. it skids across the floor, clattering against the wall, and she turns at the sound, head lolling against the door.

paige’s hand slides down her face as she lets out a low, humorless chuckle, her shoulders slumping back. her gaze flicks from her phone again, undamaged but undeniably thrown by an angry girlfriend ex, and then back to me, all narrowed. “you throwin’ my shit now?”

“fetch it. matter fact…” paige’s mouth opens, then closes as she watches me rip her oversized tee off like it’s some dirty rag. the shirt hits her chest and slides down to the floor, and she just stands there, staring at it with her jaw clenched so tight i can practically hear her grinding her teeth. “you can take all your shit back with it. i’m done,” i seethe.

paige looks back up, scoffing. “oh, you’re done?”

i turn on my heel, making my way to my suitcase. paige doesn’t move as i fall to my knees, throwing one of my own shirts over my head. i’m packing my things up frantically, silently, and i can tell it makes her feel unsettled.

“you’re not leaving, nailea.” she doesn’t sound so sure of herself now, and that only makes me move quicker.

i sniffle, even though i’m way past being sad over this. “i’ll stay with az until i can catch a flight. and i’ll ship all your stuff to storrs once i’m back.” i’m declaring my plan out loud, though i’m sure the mounds of her belongings that’ve accumulated in my apartment over the years is the last thing on her mind.

but then she moves, steps around the suitcase, stopping me with a quiet urgency, her fingers reaching toward my face. i pull back instinctively, turning my head, but she follows, her hands slowly cupping my head, steadying me as if i’m the one slipping. “paige, stop.” i mutter, shrugging my shoulders, trying to shake her off. but her fingers tighten, her eyes softer, pleading.

“c’mon…” she whispers. and then, slowly, she sinks down to her knees, meeting me there, her eyes desperately searching mine.

i swallow, hard, stopping my movements. “quit—“

“lemme fix it.” she mumbles, the words laced with something i can’t decipher, something that might’ve been real if it didn’t come too late.

i look up, and for the first time, i see something that almost looks like panic in her eyes. her thumb is focused on tracing the tear streaks on my cheek, and i have to force myself to think about why they’re there in the first place. because of her.

i don’t give her a chance to say another word. “you should’ve thought about that before there was anything to fix,” i say softly.

i turn away, reaching to grip the zipper of my suitcase. the metallic sound rips through the quiet, and it’s the finality of it that makes it feel like the right choice, like i actually just let go.

but with paige, nothing ever stays that simple, that clean.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | DIVINE WHISPERS: Fateful Tides DIVINE WHISPERS: Fateful Tides | divine whispers: fateful tides⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽

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Hermes left Ithaca with an unusual weight resting in the back of his mind, his sandals lifting him effortlessly from the palace grounds and carrying him up, up into the ether, past the clouds that shimmered with the dusk's final blush.

The night had only just begun to lull the world below, but Olympus was always alive—eternally vibrant, eternally gilded.

Hermes sighed, tugging at the edge of his red cloak, his gaze flicking toward the horizon, where the golden halls of Olympus glowed like a promise. His sandals' wings fluttered lazily as he landed without a sound on its marble steps.

It wasn't long before he found Apollo reclining as though the universe revolved solely around him.

Hermes had a knack for timing—always arriving right when it would make the most impact, and this night was no exception.

Apollo was reclining on a golden chaise, a nymph at either side feeding him grapes while a third played a soft tune on a reed pipe. His eyes were half-lidded, his dark curls glistening with a faint golden sheen, falling artfully over his forehead, and the lyre he had conjured floated above him, strings moving on their own as if he were still playing it.

The god of music looked every bit the picture of satisfaction—utterly self-assured, basking in his own splendor.

Hermes couldn't resist.

"Oh, brother dearest," Hermes called, a mischievous glint lighting his eyes as he strolled forward, his staff clinking softly against the marble. "I see you're surrounded by your usual entourage. Good to know you haven't let your ego grow too much in my absence."

Apollo's eyes snapped open, annoyance flickering across his features for just an instant before it melted into a smirk.

"Hermes," he drawled, waving off the nymphs as he sat up. "What brings you to Olympus this fine evening? Shouldn't you be off delivering things?"

Hermes let a slow grin spread across his lips, letting the silence stretch for a beat before speaking. "Oh, nothing of much consequence. Just thought you'd like to know..." He paused, watching as Apollo head lolled in bored, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "I finally delivered that little gift of yours. You know, the one for your favorite mortal."

The effect was instantaneous.

The lyre dropped, Apollo's eyes widening with excitement, and he pushed himself off the chaise, his curls bouncing slightly. The nymphs backed away as Apollo's full attention focused on Hermes, his face a mixture of delight and urgency.

"Really?" Apollo almost beamed, his eyes alight with a golden fire. "Tell me, brother, what was her reaction? Did she love it? What did she say?"

Hermes' brow arched, the corner of his mouth twitching as though amused by the sudden fervor. He shrugged nonchalantly, turning his staff between his fingers. "Oh, you know," he said, voice lazily drawling. "Mortal tears, the usual overwhelmed gratitude—I'd say you did pretty well."

Apollo's grin widened, his eyes sparkling. "Ha! Of course, I did. I chose it, didn't I?" He crossed his arms, his chest swelling with pride. "No doubt it moved her to tears. I knew it was the perfect way to lift her spirits after that vile princess shattered her precious lyre."

Hermes' smile froze, just slightly, as he tilted his head, feigning indifference. "Oh? So you knew about that?" He tried to sound casual, though there was a sharpness hidden beneath his words.

Apollo's features twisted, his expression darkening, his golden brows furrowing as a scowl marred his perfect face. "Knew about it?" he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "I saw it. I felt it. The moment that girl dared to touch what was mine—I wanted to come down there and smite her where she stood, to wipe her from existence for daring to make her cry."

He ran a hand through his golden curls, exhaling sharply. "But alas," he added with a bitter edge to his voice, "Ares has his hand over Bronte, and we've an agreement not to meddle in each other's territories unless mortally provoked."

There was a pause, a flicker of something raw in Apollo's eyes before he continued, softer now. "She doesn't deserve that pain—she's too... fragile for it." His words lingered, his voice dipped with a strange tenderness. "Do you know, Hermes, how rare it is for a mortal to move me? They sing of us, praise us, offer sacrifices at our altars, but it's hollow. Empty gestures driven by fear or tradition."

His gaze shifted, a faint, almost reverent glow lighting his features. "But ____? She feels every note, every string, as if it were a part of her soul. She gives her music freely, without pretense or expectation. It's not just beautiful—it's pure. Untainted by ambition or arrogance." He leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes blazing. "How could I not protect that? How could I not claim that for myself?"

Hermes hummed in acknowledgment, but his gaze was sharper now, watching the way Apollo's fists clenched at his sides, how his eyes gleamed not just with irritation, but with a glint of something else—something possessive. He leaned casually on his staff, the air around him relaxed, though his mind was racing.

"Yes, yes, of course. I remember the pact, yadda, yadda," Hermes said, waving a hand dismissively, as if trying to defuse Apollo's seething anger. "It's just... well, you know me. I took my sweet time getting there, and I thought perhaps..." He trailed off, his eyes narrowing in a calculating manner, seeking a hint of truth behind Apollo's bluster.

Apollo's gaze snapped back to Hermes, his expression softening once more, the rage dissipating like a storm that had never really formed. "She's fine, right? ____?" he asked, the softness almost boyish, a strange contrast to his earlier fury. "Tell me she's happy now."

Hermes blinked, the corners of his mouth twitching upward again. Interesting, he thought. He let a small chuckle escape, reaching out to pat Apollo's shoulder. "Oh, she's happy enough, dear brother. You've made quite the impression, as always."

Apollo's eyes gleamed again, his smile returning as he nodded, clearly satisfied with himself. "Of course I did. She is my favorite mortal, after all." He said it with such casual conviction, the statement almost lost in the grandeur of his words.

Apollo's gaze grew distant for a moment, as if lost in thought. "Imagine the joy she must feel now, holding such a divine creation," he murmured, his voice softening. "The strings that echo the music of the heavens, the craftsmanship beyond any mortal's imagination... Surely, she must be overwhelmed with delight." He spoke as if he could already see it all, his eyes glinting with a mix of pride and longing, like the scene played out vividly in his mind.

If only you knew, Hermes internally scoffed, his smile fixed and unreadable.

His mind flickered back to the quiet room in Ithaca, the way your fingers had clung to the old, splintered lyre as if it were more precious than ambrosia. He could still hear your voice, trembling with raw emotion, speaking of its memories and warmth.

Your mortal sentimentality baffled and intrigued him all at once—a creation so divine cast aside, eclipsed by something far humbler, yet infinitely more cherished.

With a sigh that barely reached his lips, Hermes made up his mind. He wasn't going to get anything more out of Apollo. No revelations, no genuine answers—just endless rambling about his muse, his divine creations, and, of course, himself.

So, with a lazy flick of his wrist, Hermes' feet lifted from the ground, and he pushed off, a breeze carrying him away from Apollo's favored grove.

Apollo, for his part, didn't even notice Hermes' departure, too busy preening as he spoke of his sweet mortal—a fact that caused Hermes to roll his eyes.

No sense talking to someone more interested in his own reflection, he thought as he ascended past the clouds.

But instead of returning to his duties, Hermes decided there was something else he needed to do—someone else he needed to see. He wasn't quite done with his curiosity about the mortal girl Apollo had taken such an interest in.

He hadn't missed how even the smallest mention of her seemed to light up the god's entire demeanor. And if Apollo was this obsessed, then Hermes figured there had to be something more to it.

It didn't take him long to reach Athena's chambers, her owl-faced guards recognizing him and allowing him through without question.

He pushed through the heavy wooden doors, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on the goddess herself, bent over a scroll, her attention locked onto whatever she was studying.

"Athena, my dear," Hermes called, his voice carrying across the room as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "You look as radiant as ever, deep in your thoughts, I see."

Athena turned, her silver-gray eyes narrowing slightly, though her lips quirked into something almost like a smile. "Hermes," she said, her tone tinged with the familiar mix of mild exasperation and fondness. "What brings you here? Surely you have duties to tend to—deliveries to make?"

"Oh, don't remind me," Hermes groaned dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest as though wounded. He took a few playful strides toward her, leaning casually against a nearby pillar. "But I have to say, something much more interesting has caught my attention lately. I'm here to ask about someone—A mortal, to be precise." He raised an eyebrow, waggling his brows in that unmistakable mischievous way.

Athena's brow arched, her eyes sharpening, though a flicker of curiosity flashed in her gaze.  "A mortal?" Her voice was laced with dry amusement. "And why would you be interested in a mortal, Hermes? Should I be worried?"

"Not at all, dear sister. No mischief this time..." Hermes tilted his head slightly, pausing for effect. "...well, at least nothing that involves me." He crossed his arms over his chest, fingers tapping rhythmically against his bicep, watching her closely for any sign of a reaction. "It's about our dear brother, Apollo, actually."

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes flashing with curiosity. "Apollo?"

Hermes nodded, his expression growing almost conspiratorial. "Indeed. It seems our radiant brother has been somewhat preoccupied lately—obsessed even. He finally got me to deliver one of his divine lyres down to a little mortal he's been watching." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "A mortal from Ithaca, if that rings a bell."

Athena's eyes widened slightly, and Hermes didn't miss the flicker of recognition that passed across her face. "Ithaca, you say?" she mused, her gaze drifting momentarily.

Then something clicked in her expression, and her lips parted slightly in understanding. "Ah, yes... Odysseus and Telemachus," she said, the names laced with a faint nostalgia, her tone softening almost imperceptibly. "They've spoken of a servant before—Telemachus, particularly. I do recall him mentioning someone once or twice in our past conversations... "

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "A sort of musician. I suppose that's the one Apollo's so taken with?" She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she seemed to recall something else. "I also believe I gave them an enchanted music sheet... I think. I'll have to retrieve it back at some point."

Hermes grinned, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "The very same." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if trying to shoo away the absurdity of it all. "Can you imagine, our mighty Apollo, all aflutter over a mortal girl? He's been rambling on and on about her as if she's the next muse born unto the earth. Though, admittedly, he did make quite the scene when her lyre broke—if I'm not mistaken, he was moments away from descending and turning her little enemy into something very unpleasant." He glanced sideways at Athena, gauging her reaction.

Athena gave a small shake of her head, her eyes half-lidded in a mixture of amusement and something more guarded. "Apollo and his passions," she murmured. "They burn bright, but often far too hot. I suppose it's fortunate, then, that he didn't act on that impulse," She sighed, her expression growing more reflective. "Though I imagine his obsession won't fade anytime soon. Such things rarely do when it comes to Apollo."

Her gaze sharpened then, fixing on Hermes with a weight that silenced the humor in his smirk. "And you, brother? What business do you have meddling in Apollo's affairs? You aren't planning on interfering with another god's favored mortal, are you? You remember what happened last time."

Hermes lifted his hands in mock surrender, his smile widening into a playful grin. "Dear sister, you wound me! I am nothing if not a law-abiding god." He placed a hand over his chest, his face the picture of feigned innocence. "I would never think of getting involved in something as serious as that—I simply wanted to understand what has Apollo so enchanted. I mean, really, me, meddling? When have I ever been known to get myself tangled in anyone else's messes?"

Athena's gaze didn't waver, her silver-gray eyes cutting into him like a blade. She let the silence linger, her expression unreadable as if weighing every word. "You may convince yourself of your innocence, Hermes," she said finally, her voice calm but edged with steel. "But curiosity is a dangerous thing—even for a god. Apollo is not known for his restraint when it comes to those he holds dear, and you would do well to tread carefully."

"Just know, I'll be watching both of you, just as I watch over those who bear my favor." Her lips quirked into something faintly resembling a smile, though her eyes gleamed with warning. "And remember, the rules of Olympus apply to everyone... even you."

She turned back to her work, her fingers lightly brushing over the edge of her scroll. "Even the gods cannot see every thread of the Fates. So if you decide to get involved, be sure you're ready for the consequences, Hermes. Gods do not take kindly to interference, especially when their favorites are concerned."

Hermes looked at her for a moment longer, his usual grin softening into something more deliberate. "You worry too much, Athena. It's just a harmless bit of curiosity," he said lightly, though there was a glimmer in his eyes that spoke of more than mere curiosity. "Besides, trouble and I have been well-acquainted for millennia, and I've always made it through in one piece."

"Of course, you have, but the line between chaos and calamity is thinner than you think."

Hermes chuckled, pushing himself off from the pillar. "True, but thin lines make for the best balancing acts, wouldn't you say?" He turned on his heel, making his way back to the door before turning back to give an exaggerated bow. "Still, I suppose I should thank you for indulging me, dear sister." With that Hermes made his exit.

"Curiosity," Athena murmured under her breath as the trickter god lefft, her tone both knowing and resigned. "The beginning of far too many stories."

As soon as Hermes made it out of her chambers, his winged sandals lifted him off the marble floor of the temple. The wind caught under his feet, propelling him forward, out into the vast expanse of sky.

Hermes smiled to himself, his curiosity far from satisfied, but his mind already shifting gears. He had learned enough for now—at least enough to know there was something worth keeping an eye on.

The mortal from Ithaca—Apollo's favorite—you were certainly more than you seemed. And whatever Apollo had planned for you, Hermes was sure it would be entertaining enough to keep his attention—for now.

Athena's warning echoed faintly in his mind, but he shrugged it off with a smirk. He wasn't sure if it was going to lead to trouble, but then again, trouble was what made his life interesting.

With a grin and a flash of his winged sandals, Hermes took off across the sky, the shimmering landscape of Olympus disappearing beneath him as he sped away, laughter echoing in the wind. "Besides... when have I ever backed down from a little chaos?" he muttered to himself, the corners of his lips curling in anticipation.

A/N: here's a bit of extra scenes/plot to 12 ┃ 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞  i didnt know where to put without making word vomit, lolol anywho hope you guys enjoyed the insights in the gods, might start doing this a bit more to fill in missing pieces/info lolol

[enhypencores]

Bleed Me Dry

Lee Heeseung X Y/N

Genre: Yandere Romance/ Thriller/ Stalker

Prompt: "If I carve you into my blood, will you believe my love?"

Word Count: 7K+

WARNING⚠️: Explicit content, profanity, sexual harassment, heated make outs, female stereotyping, use of a derogatory word, violence, lots of blood, aggression, toxic masculinity, yandre, manipulation, mentions of self exit, unhealthy relationships and mental health issues. Y/N described with long hair and brown eyes.

Cameos: Jake, Jay, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Yeji, Karina, Jaemin and Jisung

A/N: Please read the warnings carefully before proceeding. There's heavy discussions and complex character dynamics. None of it is healthy. This is a work of fiction, please read it as such. If I missed out any, lemme know.

Heeseung watched you, mentally tracing the curve of your bottom lip as you awaited the bus, your nose scrunching in disgust at the passing smokers. The fullness of your cheeks flushed red as the scorching heat streamed through your hand’s barrier, and the silky strands of brown hair cascaded down your neck as you climbed up the bus. Your forehead wrinkled as you leaned down to scan your card, and your nimble steps took you to the end row. Sweat drops trickled down the bony line of your collarbone, dipping into your white collar, dampening the fabric as your eyes rolled back and your head fell slack against the teetering glass window.

This was his sign.

He strutted through the door and beelined towards the back. He was so close to settling down, just another step, and he'd be enveloped in your presence when all his plans fell through the window. He halted, his eyes widening in disbelief as a boy settled beside you, unaware of the fury he had just unleashed within Heeseung's blood. Heeseung swallowed the colourful words itching up his throat and forced himself into the seat behind, away from you.

He stared at the gap between your shoulders, bitterness pooling in his chest. Each time the boy's arm brushed against yours, Heeseung's restraint wavered, his nails digging into his palm as he envisioned tearing the boy's joint off for daring to feel you. His temper flared when he spotted your oblivious frame, still, sound asleep like a princess in the comfort of her sheets. You were so perplexingly naive, falling asleep in a bus full of men waiting to pounce on meek girls like yourself. It usually took around forty-five minutes for you to reach home, but you could've at least placed your bag on the vacant seat so no one—except him—would take the spot beside you.

Heeseung trained his gaze on his wristwatch, every tick of the short hand's movement making him lose his mind. He could've been the one pressed against your shoulders, bathing in your essence, had that loser found another spot. Fortunately, he didn't have to dwell in misery for long because at the very next stop, the loser grabbed his bag from the floor, preparing to leave. Heeseung analysed his watch.

Ten minutes. Gone.

Ten minutes he could've spent right beside you.

The boy stood alert, pressing the button, and the bus came to a standstill. As he stepped through the aisle, his foot landed against a round object, throwing him off balance and sending him tumbling to the ground with his jawline scraping against the hard floor. The entire bus gasped in unison as the boy sat up, his frantic gaze searching for the perpetrator.

A round basketball swirled by his feet.

"Shit, that slipped. My bad," Heeseung muttered, standing from his seat and holding out his hand with an apologetic smile, which the unsuspecting boy accepted with an embarrassed grin.

Heeseung watched the boy rub at his injured chin, confused at the ball's magical appearance as he tugged on his bag's strap and stammered out of the bus with an obvious limp.

Hopefully, that injury lasted ten days to account for the ten precious minutes of Heeseung's life.

Immediately, Heeseung turned back, glancing at your limp frame. His heart raced at the sight. He took small, calculated steps before gently lowering himself into the seat beside you. At the first brush of your elbow, Heeseung's body grew warm, heart drumming faster within his chest. He itched to press his entire body against yours. For now, however, he slightly edged closer, letting your clothed shoulder graze his arm, his eyes rolling shut at the subtle contact.

For the past month, he was a silent observer, watching you walk from your university to the bus, bus to your house in a disciplined schedule. It became part of his very routine. He would wait around your campus at 3:00 sharp to follow you onto the bus and spend the next blissful forty-five minutes watching you sleep away. Heeseung would climb off at your stop, ensuring you crossed the road safely. Only when your back disappeared into the villa and yellow lights at the right-end corner flickered to life would Heeseung return to get a bus back.

He was watching over you to keep you safe. The world lurked with dangers, and you were so innocent, so beautiful, so mesmerizing, so agonizingly weak like a frail flower in a garden full of cacti. He had no option but to take on the role of a silent guardian, protecting you from the world. He told himself he valued your safety. But deep down, he knew it was more than that. He needed to be near you, to feel your presence, to submerge within your life and become a part woven for your pleasure.

Usually, he stayed a safe distance away to admire your presence. A week ago, he stared at the empty seat with longing. Like an addiction, his tolerance had grown. Seeing you from afar wasn't enough. He wanted to feel your presence. His body automatically followed his yearning, getting up and climbing into the seat beside yours.

And since then, he couldn't get enough.

All of a sudden, Heeseung's focus wavered as the bus came to an abrupt halt. He impulsively brought his arm around your frame, viciously eyeing the driver for his rash turn. As he felt something drop against his shoulder, Heeseung froze. He gulped carefully, turning to inspect you.

His insides twisted in joy. The sight of your sleeping frame leaning against him with your head on his shoulder was enough to make him forget his annoyance at the bus driver. Heeseung shifted closer to let your head rest in the crevice of his neck.

His breath hitched at the contact; your face pressed firmly into his bare neck. Flesh on flesh. His hand clenched into a strained fist, nails digging into his palm, leaving indents as your warm breath nuzzled down his collarbone and spread to his chest. He looked down at your unresponsive frame and realised he had never seen you so up close.

With the closer angle, he noticed washed-out freckles like sand dust trailing down your nose. Your eyelashes were curled black, resting low on your cheeks angelically. Your mouth was cutely pressed into a light pout against his top, your nose squished into his collarbones, making his hairs rise.

Heeseung urged himself to calm down. If you heard the frantic pacing of his heart, you'd wake up before he had the chance to revel in your skin's warmth. He breathed in the scent of fresh vanilla, something inside his abdomen stirring as he realised how you might leave him smelling like yourself, like a protective feline, marking their territory. Heeseung smiled, his body automatically turning towards you, eyes shining in anticipation.

Your body craved him just as badly as he craved you.

Thirty-five minutes passed by in the blink of an eye. He didn't even register the familiar streets treading along the window, his sight and mind filled with images of your pretty face when suddenly your phone beeped, jerking you awake. Heeseung swore under his breath, body recoiling in complaint as you pulled away, grabbing the phone in your jeans pocket and shutting off the alarm. He forced himself to look the other way, his breathing unsteady as he restrained the urge to yank you back.

Roused awake, you quickly stood alert, pressing the button, your knees accidentally bumping into the stranger's legs as you proceeded to step out of the aisle. You turned back to look at the masked man. 

He watched, breath-held, heart thudding.

His wide eyes met yours, and you gave him a suppressed smile before walking off.

Goosebumps. His head felt like jelly, mind straining to grasp at the smile you sent his way—a smile meant for him—not the kind one you give the shopkeeper when he hands you your groceries—not the empathetic one you flash to the older citizens slowly climbing the bus—not the patient one you give to the raucous bikers outside the campus—a soft, sweet, and memorable smile. Only for him.

Heeseung was so dazed that he simply forgot to get off at the stop with you. Instead, he sat rigid, attempting to process the burst of emotions within his chest. He looked down and—thank fuck he did because he might’ve missed it if he was preoccupied in following behind. There, on his grey flannel, an inch lower from his collar, was a wet mark that belonged to you. Not only did you leave him smelling like your vanilla body wash, but you also stained him with your saliva.

His heart thrummed. He pulled his mask down. With his lower region tingling, his hand instinctively grabbed at the collar to pull the wet fabric into his mouth. Head dropping back, his vision blurred, his body tightening at the first taste of your mouth.

He lapped at the spot like a starved man, his legs pressing together to relieve some of the tension in his painfully hard centre. Sweat built up in his clenched fist as he sucked the fabric and rolled his tongue against it, wishing he could feel it directly from your mouth rather than the brittle cotton of his shirt. His desires had climbed up a new ladder; nothing was enough anymore. He needed to lap at the delicate roundness of your lips, suck off your taste from inside, and drown his tongue in its heat.

He needed you, physically, emotionally—unabashed and unhidden.

It was time.

—.—.—.—.—.—.—

Extracurriculars were starting to take a toll on your mental health. You were already part of the university’s student advisory council and head of the reading club. With exams looming and Miss Sol’s exhaustive dance training sessions, you were certain you would either fail all your exams or get home on a stretcher. For the past week, you had been getting home around sunset, but today, you finished training earlier. Giddily, you jumped onto the bus, excited to get home and munch on ramen before your older brother got his hands on it.

You sat in your usual backseat and immediately fell asleep.

When your alarm blared, you quickly silenced your phone and got up, pressing the button to alert the bus driver. You glanced to your side, expecting to see the masked man who had unknowingly become your bus ride companion, but his seat was vacant. Confused, you glanced around, but only saw aged faces and school students. 

Strange. You assumed he was a college student like yourself, never skipping a day.

You shrugged, climbed off the bus and made your way across the main road toward your house. As you strutted inside the villa, a blinding object flashed past your vision, clashing against your torso and shoving you to the floor. You looked up furiously.

The culprit, your smug brother with his blonde hair falling against his eyes, kneeled down to grab the basketball. “Weren’t you supposed to get home late?” His accusatory tone made you want to scratch the smirk off his mouth.

“Oh, sorry for colliding into your ball.” You smiled sarcastically, standing up. His sardonic smile widened.

“Don’t do it again, little sis,” he grinned, and your patience flew out the window. You jumped up to grab his hair, but as if anticipating your attack, he dodged, sprinting down the hallway with the ball cocooned in his embrace.

“Sim Jaeyun!” You screeched, chasing him through the lounge and out the backdoor toward the inbuilt basketball court. 

You never hated your short height, but in moments like these, you wished you had inherited your father’s long legs. As you watched him speed up beside the basketball court, you frustratedly changed your route, dashing into the square-shaped arena, running diagonally, hoping the Pythagorean theorem would help you reach Jake faster.

With your gaze trained on your target, you saw Jake dribble the ball ahead as you blindly ran down the court, so blind that you didn’t notice a taller figure standing in your way. You collided into a frame, slamming against a hard chest, sending you both tumbling to the ground. You gasped, eyes bulging out as a pair of brown eyes stared at you, wide with panic.

You muttered a rushed apology, attempting to get up when you noticed his arms were locked around your waist protectively.

“Get off Heeseung, you midget!” Jake yelled, nearing your limp frame. You gave him a scorned glare, sitting up as the man’s arms slowly fell away. You stood up together as Jake dribbled his basketball, an amused grin on his features.

Sourly glaring, you didn’t hesitate to whip Jake with your bag. He groaned, almost flinging the basketball at you when the black-haired man pushed ahead immediately, blocking your brother’s aggression.

“She’s a menace. Let me deal with it,” Jake bitterly told the stranger.

“Shut up, Jake! You’re the menace in this household,” you huffed, glaring at him.

Then, your gaze settled back on the brown-eyed man, and your cheeks flushed red as you surveyed the stranger’s features. Ethereal. Big eyes as naïve as a deer’s, a peculiarly sharp nose, plump, wet lips, and dark ebony hair—the man was majestic. Dressed in a grey tank top and trousers, sweat clung to his tan skin, dripping down his well-built biceps like honey. He seemed to have walked straight out of a sports tournament.

“Who’s this?” You blurted out, eyeing the handsome man with flushed cheeks.

“Heeseung, a friend. Heeseung, this is Y/N, unfortunately, related to me.” You smacked your bag into his stomach, pushing him back as he doubled over and clutched his torso, glaring at you through his gold bangs. 

“That’s no way to treat your younger sister, Jake,” Heeseung's stern voice oozed masculine charm—almost giving you whiplash. His reprimanding made your brother’s temper dissolve, and he unclenched his jaw, nodding obediently. You stared, baffled at the sudden shift in his demeanour.

You had never seen your older brother submissively agree with anyone—not even your parents. Having a one-year age gap, the older child's privilege, and spoiled treatment from your parents really did a number on him. His friend group consisted of boys who worked like dogs to gain his acceptance, and your brother bathed in the glory. He wasn’t overtly arrogant, but good grades and amazing basketball performances would make anyone feel like they owned the world. Not to mention, his faked kind personality had everyone running laps. You can’t even count how many hearts he’d broken from middle school to university. 

Watching him listen to Heeseung, you could tell he was someone important to your brother.

You glanced back at the towering man. He even carried himself with an air of indifference, intimidating yet undeniably attractive, commanding everyone’s interest. Under the sunlight, his pupils glowed like lit candles, growing small into a crescent shape as a warm smile grazed his lips, his gaze softening. Tousled strands fell into his dreamy eyes as he nodded. Baffled, you wondered how one second, he seemed like an intimidating adult, reprimanding the kids, and the other moment, he appeared boyish and charming, his eyes brimming with youthful energy. 

“Y/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue like butter, making your insides curl.

The night you met him, you stalked your brother’s account to find that intriguing man. You scoured through hundreds of Jake’s irrelevant followers, desperately searching for an account starting with the letter H. To your disappointment, no such account existed.

You wondered if Heeseung was old school and went down a rabbit hole, searching through the depths of Facebook. Lee Heeseung—his name in itself was traditional and old, so you didn’t even come across any likely accounts. You gave up and tried asking Jake; however, your brother rarely answered any of your questions. You had no choice but to wait for another encounter. 

—.—.—.—.—.—.—

Like a surprising miracle, the next encounter came earlier than expected. A week later, you were buried in exam questions, struggling to absorb the entire pharmacology textbook, when the doorbell rang. You tried to ignore it, but after several insistent rings, you begrudgingly stomped to the door. You weren’t expecting anyone; your parents were at a dinner party, and Jake was at a cram class. You mentally prepared yourself to scream at the neighbour’s kids who frequently stood outside your door to mess around. 

You flung the door open, ready to unleash your frustrations, when your jaw dropped. The familiar round eyes met yours, kickstarting a joyous flutter of butterflies in your stomach. Heeseung stood as handsome as the first day, wearing a black hoodie and jeans. He carried a bunch of hefty books, his gaze searching behind you.

“Y/N,” he called your name, and your ears reddened. He enunciated each syllable as if he knew you for ages, called you it for ages.

“Jaeyun left some astrophysics books at my place.” He peered at the stack in his hold.

You smiled apologetically because, of course, your forgetful brother did. 

“He’s out right now,” you told him. “But that’s alright, I’ll take these.” His smile softened as he held out the books. You stepped closer, circling your arm around the stack, but your weak arms failed to carry the weight, embarrassingly almost dropping them to the floor. 

Heeseung quickly tightened his hold on the books, pulling back with a teasing smile. “I’ll take them in,” he stated. Before you could reject his kindness, he stepped inside, pausing in the hallway.

You led him to the lounge, where he kept the books on the wooden table. You offered him a smile as your heart beat frantically. Watching him stand close in your vicinity when you were home alone felt like all your prayers had been answered.

He turned to look at you, pulling back the strands that had fallen against his vision. A smile stretched his lips. “You were studying?” He asked, his voice low yet echoing in the empty hall. Your lips parted, eyes wide in shock.

“How’d you know?” You questioned incredulously.

His smile morphed into a grin. Wordlessly, he reached out and gently pulled the pencil from your hair. The hair bun unravelled, brown strands running down your neck, grazing his fingertips as something flickered in his gaze. He watched the soft layers frame your face. You giggled, face warming up. You tried to grab the pencil, but Heeseung pulled it away, smirking at your embarrassment.

“Let me guess, pharmacology is kicking your ass?” He scoffed, and you gasped in retaliation.

“Now, how do you know my degree?” You stared in confusion.

He chuckled. “Your brother says it’s your worst decision.”

Fucking Sim Jaeyun. Always ruining your reputation everywhere with his big ass mouth.

You sighed, rolling your eyes in frustration. You somewhat disliked your crush knowing about your crisis with that god-awful degree.

“I’m doing fine,” you bitterly claimed. “I ace Biochem and almost every other module. Anatomy is just from the depths of hell,” you spewed some irrelevant achievements, immediately cringing at how self-indulgent you sounded.

God, you were pathetic. You wondered if Heeseung saw through your façade.

Heeseung shifted his weight onto his right leg. “I can help,” he offered, a flamboyant grin flashing across his features as he nodded at your shocked expression. “I ace Anatomy all the time,” he mocked your tone, lips twisting in a teasing smile.

You huffed. Guys usually scored seventy per cent and flaunted it like they won a Nobel prize. “What’s your highest test score?” Your overconfident-self asked, folding your arms over your chest with an egoistic smile.

He watched silently for a moment before returning that sharp smile.

“3.9.”

Pfft. You rolled your eyes, grabbing at your hair in frustration. Was Heeseung as annoying as Jake? “Real funny,” you scoffed, wishing you could erase the smugness off his handsome face.

“3.9 GPA in premed.”

Oh.

Your overconfidence deflated like a balloon. Heeseung smirked and stepped closer, arms folded over his lean chest, mocking your demeanour.

“So?”

You nervously gulped, stepping back from his overwhelming presence. This tall, gorgeous man had casually revealed his Einstein-level intelligence, and now, you felt utterly stupid, crying over some basic anatomy. Even Jake struggled to maintain a decent 3.5.

Your eyes widened as you registered the situation again. Heeseung was offering his help. Even if he thought you were stupid, you could change that, prove him wrong and possibly gather more information about him through a tutoring session, for example, unearth his socials. You could probably get closer and know more.

With your decision made, you nodded at him.

“Alright.”

Heeseung felt like he’d plummet to the floor in relief. He watched the curiosity in your doe eyes gleam as you determinedly stepped towards the hallway, walking up the stairs. He took the first step, his knees trembling as he watched you peppily jump to the right-end door. You were showing him the way to your bedroom.

Your bedroom.

Heeseung’s body fired up like an overheated kettle, his muscles tensing against the railing. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, turning to wait for him. How naïve. How fucking naïve. You had opened up your home, welcomed him inside, and now you were leading him into your personal space, the small corner in this massive house that belonged solely to you, the corner he was used to seeing from outside the house. 

Were you that stupid?

He had seen your parents leave in glamorous attire with a bouquet of flowers, indicating they'd be gone for a substantial time. Jake wasn’t home, attending cram school from 6:00 to 8:00 pm. That left you… vulnerable and alone.

Despite his resolve to wait a good two weeks before visiting again, Heeseung’s patience had worn thin. That initial meeting, feeling your soft curves press into his chest as you toppled over him, had ignited a craving in him. Your scent mingled with his, your body fitting perfectly against him—it had all transcended his tolerance. He had felt his internal organs shift with momentary bliss, his body reacting as if you were made to be felt by him.

Now he was here, in your house, in your presence.

He knew the moment he stepped into your room, he couldn’t leave until he made you his, in some way, in any way. Anticipation bubbled in his veins as he rushed up the stairs.

“Heeseung?”

He froze, his body whipping around to face the intruder. His gaze turned to steel, jaw tightening at the sight of a confused Jake standing in the doorway.

Sim—Fucking—Jaeyun, the brother who wasn’t supposed to be home for at least another hour.

“Jake?” you inquired, stepping back out and shutting your door. Heeseung’s fists clenched as he stared at the closed door, frustration churning in his stomach. So close. He had been just a step away from entering your room.

Beneath that door lay the key to your heart. Access to your room meant understanding your interests, habits, likes, and dislikes, transforming himself into the man you dreamed of. Jake was a limited source. How much does a brother really talk about his sister?

“What’re you doing here?” Jake questioned as Heeseung and you descended the stairs.

“He was here to drop off the books you read as a useless hobby, so I asked for help with Anatomy,” you explained, smiling at Heeseung, who now seemed oddly stern.

Jake snickered, pulling off his baseball cap to let blonde locks fall into his eyes. “You’re pestering my friend for anatomy?” He chuckled as you rolled your eyes.

“No, I offered,” Heeseung replied, his tone sharp and cutting through. You turned your head in confusion at his sudden change in demeanour. “Don’t you stay for an extra lesson?” Heeseung raised his brow, seemingly well-versed in Jake’s schedule.

“Yeah, but they let us out early since we’ve covered the semester,” Jake responded, indifferent to Heeseung’s tone, as he tossed his bag onto the floor.

“Up for a round of LOL?” Jake rubbed his palms together in excitement.

Heeseung’s cold gaze changed with a hint of amusement as he nodded. He turned to you, his smile languid. “Sorry Y/N, League of Legends will always be my first choice,” he declared.

“It’s cool, I’ll survive,” you scoffed, jogging back up the stairs and closing your door to resume studying.

Dropping into the armchair, your thoughts drifted to the sudden shift in atmosphere at Jake’s arrival. Jake and Heeseung’s friendship seemed...strange. Your brother followed Heeseung’s lead without question, even overlooking his friend's occasional indifference. Jake, a softie, who would give you the silent treatment for calling him a nerd, yapping about ‘she called me a bad word’ to your mother, seemed unfazed by Heeseung’s intimidating nature.

Shaking your head, you forced your attention back to your studies, determined to focus despite the lingering curiosity.

—.—.—.—.—.—.—

Another round. 

Another one.

One more.

Heeseung was losing patience, hectically pressing buttons on the Nintendo Switch, his fingers straining to match his brain’s pace. With a hazy vision, Heeseung turned to inspect Jake. Finally, the blonde had lost his will to play, dropping to the couch as snores wracked his frame. It had taken five gruelling hours of continuous rounds, but it would all be worth it.

The opportunity had presented itself, Heeseung internally reasoned. He didn’t sneak into your house or anything— he had greeted your parents when they returned and even ate some snacks your mother had lovingly offered. He was not an intruder. He was a guest, and now the guest was wandering in search of a bathroom. He knew Jake’s bathroom was down the hall, but he purposely overlooked that route, opting instead to tread up the staircase. With every step, rugged creaks whispered in the darkness, but Jake’s tumultuous snores helped mask his motives. 

Soon, he was standing before your door. And this time, he was unstoppable because no one would bother you at 3 AM.

Breath held, lips pressed in silent tension, he pulled at the handle and slipped inside. A thicker blanket of darkness clouded his vision. Freezing against the door, Heeseung blinked rapidly, determined to accommodate his vision. Streaks of streetlight treaded inside from the edge of the curtain, letting him finally see his surroundings, and he turned to inspect the room.

A study desk toppled with bulks of books and papers with sharpies and pens laid at the edge. Heeseung quietly stepped towards it, his finger grazing the neat text, written with keen attention. His chest tingled when he imagined you pepped up on the swivelling chair, jotting down intricate notes with such pretty handwriting. By the look of it, he could tell you were at the top of your studies, a beauty with brains.

Heeseung noticed your phone charging on the edge of the table and quickly grabbed a hold of it. He didn’t know enough to unlock your phone, but he could easily download his new software without a fuss. Heeseung pulled out his phone, automatically airdropping the relevant file to yours. The new software wasn’t an ordinary tracking device, but it even synced your live activity. Now onwards, all your texts and calls would go through him. The only drawback? He needed time for the syncing to finalise.

He put your phone down, but his gaze caught the back cover, and he immediately inspected it. You kept a Polaroid inside the cover, a beautiful smile lighting up your features as you stood next to your best friend at what seemed like Disneyland. Heeseung wanted to cherish your smile, but noticing the arm your friend easily draped across your waist, fury seethed beyond his pupils.

Why were people so effortlessly a part of your life? Why did it come so easily to everyone but him? To him, you were so distant like a dream. He had to bide his time, pretend to be patient, and even befriend a narcissist like Jake, just to make you aware of his existence.

Why couldn’t he just have you?

Heeseung turned away, his mood soured, his gaze searching for something to get his mind off the bitterness. The room was… perplexingly simple. Most of your personality was huddled on that desk; the walls were empty with just a cuckoo clock in the centre and a bean bag resting against the wardrobe. Dispiritedly, he allowed himself to gaze at the bed.

A master bed served with your petite frame wrapped like a sushi roll on a platter.

Heeseung’s body grew warm at the sight. You were in dreamland, the sound of slow breathing now clearer to his ears as he crept closer. He stood at the edge of the bed, his gaze running over your frame. To his displeasure, your face was hidden from his prying eyes, strands disorderly shadowing your features, evoking his irritation.

He couldn’t help it. He found himself getting nearer, your scent getting stronger, soft vanilla teasing his nostrils. Placing his knee on the white sheets, he leaned forward and brushed the strands off your face.

Long lashes rested against your tinted cheeks, round parted lips with a hint of drool running past the corner. Heeseung didn’t even notice when he had dropped himself on the sheets’, his torso completely resting beside your sleeping frame. 

Heaven. The sheets were warm and immersed in your scent, giving him the illusion of your embrace. 

His palms itched to touch. His tongue felt heavy with appetite. He had memorised every inch of your beauty to see you behind his eyelids, but his hands still didn’t know your touch.

Heeseung impulsively reached out, his index finger grazing your bottom lip. Instantly, heat spread from his chest down to his centre. His fingers trembled as he traced the rose petals. Your slow breaths coupled with the softness of your lips made his hunger flare up. He trailed the finger down your chin, collecting your drool, and he transferred it to his mouth, impatiently sucking in your taste. 

He couldn’t help the urge to lower himself, stick his tongue out and slide it against your bottom lip.

His toes curled, his eyes falling shut.

Euphoria. 

Suddenly, he felt like a teenager sharing his first kiss. Your saliva was like sugar melting on his tongue, a taste so delectable that his insides curled in starvation. Heeseung wasn’t a fan of desserts, but your flavour humbled him, making him realise what he’d been missing all his life. He preferred the taste of wine and burnt spices, believing his palate was too mature for anything so juvenile. Yet, god—your lips were like the first shot of his high. Suddenly, sweet things became irresistible.

His lower region tingled as his flicks became harsher, his mouth wide open in mindless hunger, his drool messily spilling on your lips. His mind buzzed, body twisting into the sheet in urgency; your taste had rendered him so weak that he was willing to disrupt his entire plan just from the heat of your mouth.

He felt his arousal strain through his trousers as he tried sliding his tongue in the small gleaming gap in your lips when suddenly he felt you stir. He jerked away, breath heaving, lips drenched with spit. Narrow-eyed, he surveyed your features.

Please not yet. Please, baby.

Instead of ruining his plans, you simply tugged the blanket low. He saw your tongue peek out and run over your bottom lip and gulp down his saliva. It was unintentional and child-like, maybe, one of your sleeping habits. But Heeseung’s blood burned at the sight, his mouth drying up, pupils darkening.

His gaze chased lower, and he spotted a silver of skin, peaking through the cover. The blanket was tangled low on your waist, exposing your brunched-up shirt to his hungry eyes. He didn’t even bother fighting his lascivious thoughts, abruptly tugging up your shirt to reveal your stomach. Heeseung crawled down, his lips immediately pressing into the golden skin, trailing restrained kisses up your waistline. His restrain wavered when he was presented with the sight of your tiny belly button. His mouth salivated as he observed the little hole. Instantly his tongue lashed out, dipping into the curve. His body hummed, his vision blurring as his hips involuntarily thrust into the sheets. He wanted to fill—every hole—every crevice that let him invade. If there was a part he couldn’t physically access, he wanted to stab holes and punch his essence in every corner to mark you as his.

Saliva pooled down his jawline, drenching your abdomen as he protruded his needy tongue into your warm button. He flicks become hungrier, needier, his hands scrambling to grope something—anything. With cheeks pressed flat against your damp stomach, he bit down on his lip to silence the groan itching up his throat as he squeezed your waist.

Fuck. You were made to be touched. You were made to be his clay. You were made to mould into his favourite plaything. You were made for him to love.

Inhale.

Heeseung’s gaze darted to your face, his muscles tensing at the sharp inhale.

Fuck—shit—fuck—your eyes were half open.

Survival instincts kicked in, and Heeseung rolled off the bed at lightning speed, slithering beneath it, pressing his lips together to steady his breathing. The bed creaked as you shifted and sat up. He could almost picture it: your heavy-lidded eyes widening in alarm, the image of a flushed Heeseung gazing up at you—poof—gone, like a mystical encounter. You’d wonder if seeing him there was a figment of your imagination. You’d gulp and rub your template, accepting your insanity.

Heeseung envisioned it all—and he was right.

You were going crazy, thinking about Heeseung, your brother’s best friend, doing sickening, revolting, absolutely heavenly things to you. You didn’t recall dreaming of him, but you might be a stage two schizophrenic because you were now hallucinating his presence. Your body was overly indulged in the hallucination, feverish and covered in goosebumps. You kicked off the blanket, noticing your shirt pooled up, your stomach warm, limbs shaking.

Heeseung waited, his heartbeat steadying as you showed no sign of suspicion. Just like he had imagined. Your insecure mind probably convinced you otherwise. Sometimes, even seeing doesn’t translate to believing—especially for someone as pure-hearted as you. You’d rather doubt your own soul than accuse anyone else of foul play. He’d have to teach you to believe in yourself more than this world—he’d force you to grow a thorn in that beautiful heart, so no one could taint it. Except him.

He lay there, flushed—dazed. He laid there for hours until your laborious breaths morphed into sweet lullabies.

As he slid out the bed, he turned towards you, his heart throbbing with adoration.

You were back to being a little sushi roll, covered with a blanket, your hair sticking to your face as you slept like a log. The mere thought of someone else seeing you innocently asleep made his blood boil. He'd gladly crack open their skulls, extract their hippocampi, and flush them down the toilet to erase any trace of you from their minds.

Heeseung stepped closer and gently kissed your head. He inhaled deeply, savouring your scent from your flushed frame. Reluctantly, he stepped back, grabbed his phone and ensured the sync was complete before heading out the door.

He had to speed things up; the wait was becoming unbearable.

Straight away, Heeseung took a cab home. There was a solid hour before his morning lecture, so he immediately threw himself into his bed and analysed the synced files on his phone.

Details from your phone helped him understand you, but he didn’t know everything just yet. He scrolled through your notes. You liked watching dramatic sitcoms about housewives and divorces. Your YouTube was just a diverse cookbook: most watched clips were recipes ranging from brownies to egg soufflé to Arabic hummus. He chuckled as he noticed some dance tutorials. He would love to see you dance one day.

Your social media presence was barely a drop in his research. You had zero posts, and mostly followed celebrities and high school girlfriends. Looking into your teenage years, to Heeseung’s relief, you had been to an all-girls school. He scoured your followers for any guys, but except for some male actors, you didn’t seem to have anyone worth noting.

The syncing only allowed access to a specific set of photos you had downloaded from your PC onto the mobile. There was a total of six pictures— three of those were of the fucking sunset. The rage he felt as he patiently waited for the pictures to download only to be met with an ugly ball of yellow light was unfathomable.

As he scrolled, he found a picture of a younger girl in a white sundress sitting beside a boy who proudly held up a fishing net, occupied with three mackerels, a memory of Jake and your childhood. His heart felt warm as he zoomed into your features. Unknowingly, he was tracing the line of your smile, the shape of your eyes on the screen, a dumb smile playing on his own lips.

He snapped out of it and scrolled ahead. The following picture was a group photo from— high school. You were the centre of attention, your hair up in a ponytail, a vivid smile glossing your features as girls huddled around you. He felt the magnetic pull exuding your frame even from lifeless photos— making him wish he had opted for your area, so he could have found you earlier. He believed whatever time frame he found you, he would have pounced to get you to himself.

Heeseung forcibly clicked off and opened the last photo in the synced album. His smile wiped off, his body sitting alert, his gaze narrowed and fixated on the screen. Your university’s back entrance had a swing where he noticed couples hanging and making out.

In the snapped photo, you were perched on top of the wooden swing, eating an ice lolly with a man behind you, his hands on your shoulders, a shit-eating grin on his face whilst pointing at the camera.

Heeseung’s grip on his phone tightened. From the outskirts, he hadn’t seen that face anywhere near you, but then again, how much could one know as an outsider. 

No.

Jake’s mocking insults about your love life were proof of your singularity.

He hated knowing such little about your world. He hated someone so undeserving and irrelevant could touch you so easily when he had to watch you from the shadows, dwell on small encounters.

He had to find this guy and ensure your protection before he could even think of disclosing his love for you. Whatever this man was, Heeseung had to know more.

[haziwritesstuff]

But can't two people reconnect?

Based off Olivia Rodrigo's song 'Bad idea right?'

Modern! Aegon x reader Wordcount | 2.5k Warnings | smut, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), creampie, slight praise?, Aegon is a fuckboy but what else is new

You knew you shouldn't be here, but your heart wouldn't listen. Your hands trembled as you rang the doorbell of Aegon's house, the same house where the two of you fell in love. You felt a mix of excitement and fear, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you dreaded to see him again, yet somehow yearned for him too. Your heartbeat quickened as you waited for the door to open. You felt a wave of relief when it finally did. You stepped inside the house, not knowing what to say or do. You were flooded with memories of the good times you had with him, all the laughs and kisses. But now it was all gone, all those precious moments had ended in heartbreak...

You were startled by how nonchalant Aegon acted, as if the two of you had never broken up. You felt frustrated by this, and suddenly you felt all the anger that had built up inside you since the breakup. "Aren't you going to say anything?" you asked, your voice laced with bitterness. "I invited you, don't be so angry buttercup." "You invited me? This was a mistake," you said tartly. "I shouldn't have come here, and you should've stopped me." His calling you 'buttercup' triggered more anger within you. You wanted to lash out at him now, to punish him for his indifference. "Oh, I'm sorry buttercup. I forgot your feelings were so fragile. Maybe I should wrap you in bubble wrap next time so you don't bruise so easily," he said mockingly.

You scoffed at his comment, angry at him for making light of your feelings. "Don't act like you don't care, Aegon. You know exactly how much I've tried to move on without you. I've done everything in my power to forget you," you snapped. "And you know what, I'm leaving. This was a bad idea." "Leaving? Just like that?" he replied, smiling. "You're not really going anywhere. You always come crawling back to me in the end." "That's not true, I just made a mistake by coming here. I'm leaving now," you said firmly. You turned around to leave, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him.

"Aegon, let me go." "No, I'm not letting you go until you admit that you love me," Aegon said, his voice thick with desire. "I don't love you," you insisted, trying to pull away from his grasp, but he was too strong. "Then why are you here baby girl?" "Because I made a mistake. Now let me go," you said, pulling away from him. "Let me go or else," you threatened, your patience running thin. "Mhm... Or else what baby?" Aegon was clearly enjoying this. He's playing with you like you were his personal doll.

"Or else I'll do something drastic," you warned him, trying your hardest not to lose your temper. He knew how much power he had over you, and he was taking full advantage of it. "What are you going to do, buttercup? Cry and scream like a little girl? I'd love to see that," he said, taunting you. Your anger and frustration grew as he laughed at you. "I'm not going to cry, you bastard. I'm going to leave," you said, finally breaking free from his grip. "Go ahead and leave, baby. It won't take me long to make you come crawling back anyway," Aegon called after you, mocking you like he had always done.

"I'm not coming back to you, ever," you said as you went toward the door. "My friends were right to warn me not to come here. I'm an idiot for believing that anything would have changed between us." "Oh, I changed, baby," he said, following you to the door. His voice was softer and more sensual than it had been before. "I've changed just for you. I've changed my whole life to be with you. I would never do that for anyone else, just you. Don't you realize how much I love you?"

You froze, your anger and frustration turning into confusion and doubt. He was saying all the right things, all the things you wanted to hear. You could feel your resistance slowly melting away as he spoke to you in his familiar seductive tone."See? I knew you couldn't stay away from me," he said with a smug grin. "You're like an addict, and I'm the perfect drug. You'll keep coming back to me again and again, because no one else can give you the rush that I do." "I hate you."

"You hate me?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But it doesn't take away the fact that you're attracted to me like a moth to a flame. You may hate me, but you can't deny the passion that burns inside you for me." Aegon came closer to you, his voice now low and husky. He caressed the side of your face with his hand. "See? Everything we had was real. We are meant for each other. No matter how many times you leave, you'll always come back to me, because you know that I am the only one who can truly satisfy you." You hated him. But you mostly hated that he was right. No matter what happens, you always seem to find your way back to Aegon. "That's right," he said, still caressing your face with his hand. "I know you better than you know yourself. I know what you need, and I can give it to you. Let me take you to my bedroom, and I'll show you just how deep my passion for you runs." "Is that all you can think about," you rolled your eyes at him. "It's what you need, isn't it?" he asked, his voice now a sedative lullaby. "I can give you the rush you crave, the feeling of pure ecstasy. You will forget about all your troubles and worries, and just surrender yourself to me. Let me take you away from your worries, and take you to a paradise where it's just you and I".

You could feel your willpower crumbling, as Aegon's words wrapped you in that familiar trance. You wanted to fight against his words, you wanted to fight against him, but it was as if your body was frozen. Your mind was trapped in a fog of ecstasy. The sensation was intoxicating, and you felt yourself being pulled deeper and deeper into Aegon's arms... He gently lifted you in his arms, carrying you into his bedroom. He laid you down on his bed, his hands brushing your neck and shoulders, sending shivers down your spine. Your every nerve was on edge, pulsing with desire.

"We can't keep doing this Aegon..." "But why not?" he asked, his voice now a whisper in your ear. "We love each other, we can't ignore the passion that binds us. Don't you want to feel that rush of adrenaline again? Don't you want to let go of your worries and just surrender to me once more?" He began kissing you softly, his lips grazing yours. You could feel his hands exploring your body, sending shivers of pleasure through you. You wanted to resist him, but you were helpless against his charms. He knew just what you wanted, and he was taking you to that dark place again. "Aeg..." you whimpered, you were almost pleading.

"Shh..." he said, his voice laced with seduction. "Don't deny this, don't resist me. Just let go and let me take control. "He slowly started taking away your clothes, his fingers trailing along your skin. You felt his lips caressing your neck, his breath stirring your hair. Your body was overwhelmed by his touch, your senses flooding with pleasure. Everything around you melted away until there was only you and Aegon. All that mattered was this moment, only him. He was on top of you, his lips grazing your neck, sending a wave of shivers down your spine. His hands caressed your body, his touch sending fireworks of pleasure through you. His breath was hot against your neck, your own breath becoming labored as he kissed you more passionately. You wrapped your hands around his neck, gripping tightly as if to make him understand that you weren't going to let him have his way with you so easily. You were tired of being at his mercy, of being under his spell. This time you were going to take control. He was still kissing you deeply, but he seemed unphased by your grip around his neck. It was as if it only excited him more. "That's a good girl," he whispered. "I like it when you're feisty, it makes the game so much more stimulating. But don't mistake your defiance for strength. You can only resist me for so long, until you finally give in like you always do.."

You knew he was right. You were only fooling yourself if you thought you could resist him for long. You tried to tighten your grip, but he just laughed and pushed you down on the bed. He pinned you against the bed, his body covering yours.  "You always surrender to me in the end," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck. "You can't resist my charm. You can't resist my love." You tried desperately to resist him, but he was too strong. You felt like a weak, helpless thing as he looked down on you with those deep, hypnotic eyes. His smile was intoxicating, his breath hot against your neck. You were helplessly at his mercy.

You were slowly losing your grasp on reality, as his kisses and touches sent waves of ecstasy through your body. You began to tremble, your heartbeat increasing as he began to explore your body. You felt his hands caress your legs, grazing the edge of your underwear. He slowly undid your underwear, the anticipation and the feeling of being exposed sending shivers through your body. You were now completely vulnerable, your body a mass of nerves, as his hands caressed your skin, touching everywhere but the places you desperately wanted him to touch.

You shivered, the feeling of his breath in your ear sending waves of ecstasy through your body. He was now touching all along your upper body, but his hands refused to go any lower than your neck. "You're being such a good girl," he said, his lips caressing your neck. "I like it when you try to resist me, it makes things more fun. But I know you're weak, you can't resist me for long." Your body was now a mass of shivers, your heart beating frantically as he teased you. He was finally touching everywhere except for the one place you were desperate to have touched. He was driving you crazy with anticipation. He was playing with your desire, testing your limits and seeing how much he could get you to beg. "Please..." you said, your voice laced with desperation. "Please what baby?" "Please..." your voice was trembling now, your fingers tightening around his neck. "Please don't make me beg. I can't take it anymore. Just fuck me..."

He kissed your lower stomach and then moved onto your pussy as you begged. Your body was now a burning mass of desire, your breathing becoming labored. He was teasing you now, taking his time before he finally chose to touch you. One lick was enough to cause a wave of pleasure that sent you to heaven. “That’s my good girl,” he praised you as he circled your clit with his tongue. He slowly slipped a finger inside your folds. You were completely flooded with sensation. Your mind was foggy and relaxed, and all that existed was the feeling of his touch. “Look at you baby girl, you’re absolutely soaking.” He licked his finger clean before entering two this time. He kept kissing your delicate pearl as his digits were working your sensitive folds. Your eyes closed tightly, your entire body quivering with pleasure. You were dripping with sweat, your breathing heavy and shallow. Your body was drenched in a rush of adrenaline, the feeling of pleasure flowing throughout every inch of you. You were a panting mess, utterly consumed by Aegon. You grind your pussy against him, using him to gain even more pleasure. You felt a familiar burning sensation building in your abdomen. Everything around you was slowly turning blurry. The feeling of Aegon working your folds expertly was almost overwhelming. “Cum for me baby, I want to taste you.” His words send you over the edge, your body trebling uncontrollably.

He kept licking your clit, Aegon wasn’t fully satisfied with your response yet. He wanted to taste everything, all juices. He wanted you to be a complete mess before he took you. “Aegon, fuck me!” your voice wasn’t soft anymore, it was loud, needy, demanding. He didn’t need to be told twice, quickly took off his clothes. His body was now exposed to you, and you couldn't help but stare. He grinned like cheshire cat when he noticed you staring. “You’ve been such a good, good girl.” You nod at him, wanting him to reward you for being such a good girl. Being his good girl. His cock was rock hard with precum leaking from the tip. Your mouth slightly watered at the sight.

“I want you on all fours,” you quickly did as he told. You felt the tip of cock at your entrance, he circled it there. “Aeg…” you whimpered. He pushed the head of his cock inside, stretching you oh so lightly. He pushed the head in and out in a slow rhythmic pace. Soft moans escaped your lips. He slid out completely and then he pushed back inside completely. Your eyes rolled back from pleasure. It has been a while since you felt this full before. Aegon began fucking you in a fast, unrelenting pace. You drove your hips upwards to meet his trusts. “You’re so tight, squeezing me like that.” He groaned. “God…” Yeah he knows… Aegon knows. He was fucking you brutally, each trust harder than the one before. You’d be sore and bruised tomorrow. His hand found your hair, pulling it back. “Such a good whore for me.” He grunted between gritted teeth. His cock was hitting all the right spots and soon a surge of pleasure shot through your body again. Aegon would follow you soon. He thrusts a few more times before he comes, painting your walls with his seed.

As you lay in Aegon's arms, enjoying the aftermath, your phone began to ring. It was Baela, wondering where you had been. She was concerned, but you didn't want to break the moment. You’d tell her you fell asleep, no need to tell her who’s bed you slept in.

[sasagehoes]

Our Shared Grievances

R. lupin ; P. rosier

Survivor’s guilt makes even the most alive souls turn bitter and cold.

CW: post- first wizarding war, death, death, and some more death, angst no comfort (ouch) violence, sad flashbacks, i think thats it!

wc: 1.5k

master list - Ao3 link

The morning had arrived, and Pandora woke up, noticing the side of her bed was cold, her husband gone. As it was a matter of life and death, she bolted out of their shared bed and down the stairs she went. Her rapid heart beat slowed at the sight of Xenophilius who was decorating the tree all while some breakfast was steaming on the stove, on the couch sat a small Luna cooing at the sparkle of the christmas lights all while slobbering all over an ornament, sensing her agitated state Xenophilius walked up to her with a hug.

“Goodmorning my love” his tone full of love as he inhaled her scent, she only hummed and relished the moment. “Xen the stove will catch fire” her words muffled by the hug reached the blonde man causing him to bolt out to the kitchen to flip the french toasts making the lively infant to giggle at her father’s antics. 

Steadily as if stalking her prey, Pandora creeped up to her child and tackled her with kisses and raspberries to her rosy cheeks, making the little girl shriek with glee, Xenophilius could only smile fondly at the sight of his most precious girls. Pandora had Luna on her hip as she finished placing the remaining ornaments on the tree.

The snow covered the green grass outside of their tower-like home, and little Luna couldn't wait to go outside to relish the cold. Feeling under the weather, Pandora decided to stay indoors as she watched her husband and child play outside.

She stared at the blinking Christmas lights all whilst holding a cup of warm tea, when suddenly she felt something call out to her. The invisible voice was warm, warm like the summer’s she spent with her family out in the isles, although all the elders would speak of was words of disgust towards non magic folk, Evan made it feel like a warm vacation, made everything feel genuine.

She walked up the stairs following the warmth and found herself in front of her closet door that had seen better days, to say the least. The warmth grew more intense as she caught sight of the leather briefcase that had multiple initials carved into it

RAB, BCJR, DM, ER, PR

The warmth slowly traveled to her eyes, as tears threatened to spill, taking down the suitcase and setting it down on the floor as she sat in front of her only made it worse, all those fond memories came flooding back in her mind. The fights, the pranks, the lunch breaks, all the classes together. All of it gone before graduation, all of it gone because of prejudice and hatred

At this point Pandora was a puddle of sadness, tears streamed down her cheeks as the first thing she saw upon opening the briefcase was a polaroid of the five of them enjoying their last trip to Hogsmeade. Barty held two pints of butterbeer as his arms trapped Evan's waist, Evan who had the biggest smirk of all, Regulus had the most diminutive and subtle smile he could muster for the photo, herself could be seen with a toothy grin holding a peace sign in both hands, and Dorcas looking at Marlene, who was taking the photo instead of looking at the lense.

How much did she missed them. Oh, how she wished she would've told Sirius that Regulus had a change of heart, yet not even him knew that she had knowledge of his change of heart. All a fruit of her pesky visions. How she wished she could have stopped Dorcas to go on that mission with Marlene, and maybe they would be with her, and so would their families.

Yet she knew better than to speak about her visions, it would alter fate, and fate is not to be meddled with.

It wasn't long before Xenophilius returned from playing with his daughter, once he did he saw a smiling Pandora that awaited Them both with a cup of tea and some biscuits, eyes a slight tone of pink from the tears but no one could see. Luna,ever the empath, had one look at her mother and started sobbing. 

That's when it hit her, she may Have lost people to the war, but she wasn't alone, she had a beautiful daughter and a loving husband. Her being disowned from a family of hateful people was the best thing that could have happened to her in order to be happy.

Not too far from the Lovegood's residence, on a flat in muggle London sat on his sunken in couch, was Remus Lupin, the coffee table in front of him had an array of mugs that reeked of coffee and liquor, ashtray full of cigarette butt's and old newspapers of the countless canceled trials of of Sirius Black. Next to him laid a letter addressed to the Dursley residence, stamped and all awaiting its delivery. 

The clock strikes midnight, meaning that Christmas was here, and he looks at the phone propped on the wall, it hauntingly stares back at him, taunting him. 

Was he really expecting a phone call? From whom exactly? Everyone was gone.

He decided to ignore the red telephone and turned on the telly, the only light that illuminated his flat. The news reporter began talking about about the death of an entire family, whose cause of death is still unknown

“On a more livelier note, we have received word that something is cooking in the Wembley Stadium, which involves not only popular rock band Queen, but also David Bowie!, fans have never been this exited about an concert since-”

Remus could only stare at the screen as silent tears streamed down his face. Slowly those tears became less silent, erupting into violent sobs.

His mind went back to the time hum and Sirius stayed behind from a Hogsmeade trip to finish a history of magic essay. The dorm now deserted and essays forgotten, Sirius laid on Peter's bed while eating crisps, the crumbs all landing on the sheets “C'mon Moony, it's only a matter of time ‘fore Queen and Bowie have a concert together, or even better A SONG!”

Remus from James bed only laughed “let's see if we're still alive to see that” 

“You'll see, I'll buy you tickets and you can buy the snacks and discs” Sirius smiled at him. “So I'm stuck spending the most money? Real classy of ya mate” he said with a fake scowl.

Sirius being Sirius, quickly switched to his animagus form to avoid confrontation, the fluffy dog jumped from bed to bed and reached Remus, settling himself on the boys chest before changing back “I'm the classiest” he said looking at Remus's eyes, present time Remus only snapped out of it once Sirius pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead, and all his other friends barged into the room at that moment.

Having enough he sprung into action, grabbed all the mugs that had been laying there for days and took them to the sink. He washed them one after the other before halting at the sight of one in particular.

A dark brown mug with the word Mars written in red, a gift from Mary. It started as a joke that she was going to get him a gift that combined his two favorite things tea and chocolate. So she opted for a mug that looked like his favorite chocolate brand. He had kept it even after moving.

Putting the now clean mug on the dish rack he looked back at the red telephone, looked back at the soap that covered his hands, back at the telephone, then back at his hands, now covered in blood.

He groaned, throwing the sponge at the floor, as if it's to blame. He stormed his way to the wall who's wallpaper had started to give out on it and grabbed the taunting telephone. Using the phone book he looked for the letter M, and looked and looked until he found her address and number. Shakily he spinned the dial to the corresponding numbers that showed the page. It rang once, it rang twice, just as he was about to give up the voice of a woman could be heard on the other side of the line

“Hello?” She asked, Remus sighed, relieved “Who is it?” She asked once more “Oh, yes it's me Mary, Remus. I just wanted to say—Merry Christmas” The silence was deafening. He heard a light giggle from the other line making him think that maybe, just maybe the spell she casted on herself was wron- “I'm sorry love, I think you've got the wrong number– I don't know any Remus”

Oh

“Still, merry Christmas to you too love, it's quite late so you should go sleep” with that she hung up

His heart felt like stopping all over again, his back slid down the wall as more tears streamed down his face. He was alone, fully and utterly alone.

What he didn't know is that not far away from his apartment sat Mary Mcdonald in the same predicament, only she did not know why her eyes cried and her chest felt heavy.

Year after year they only hoped that by the next all wounds would heal, Pandora only had nine, Remus seventeen. Never did they close, never did they healed. up until death granted them one last breath. Mary on the other hand never knew why these scars never healed, not knowing when they bled or scabbed.

⭒๋࣭ ⭑ DO NOT;; RE-UPLOAD, TRANSLATE NOR COPY MY WORKS!! This belongs to;; -SASAGEHOES

[reixtsu]

Chapter 1: Banter and Bites

Synopsis: You enjoy a peaceful morning at your favorite café with your friend, Layla, until Kaveh and Alhaitham, two charming scholars, interrupt with their playful argument. After offering a food suggestion, you have a brief but memorable encounter with them, leaving you flustered-only to remind yourself that you already have a boyfriend.

wk: 2k

Taglist: @kaeyasrose

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Notes: I stared at my computer for a while before writing this. I was willing myself to just write something, anything, and after an unnecessary all-nighter full of stress, I got the first chapter done! Let me know what you all think! Also, Happy new years! Hope you all have a wonderful year this year!

Just when the sun began to rise, painting the sky with golden streaks, you liked to make yourself a nice cup of coffee. The comforting warmth of the cup rested between your palms, like a gentle wake-up call-a reminder that you were alive and well. At least, as well as one could be.

Today, however, you weren’t drinking coffee alone. Instead, you found yourself at a cozy café with your best friend, Layla. Her usual baggy eyes and constant yawning were absent, replaced by an unusual spark of energy that danced in her gaze.

“Finally got a good night’s sleep, huh?” you teased, glancing up from your notes from last class.

The blue-haired girl hummed in agreement, her head bobbing slightly as she cradled her coffee cup. “I did. I found this pill that really helps with sleep. I haven’t felt this alive in months!”

You chuckled, relieved to see her looking more vibrant. “Good. I’d hate to see you walking around like a zombie again.” Taking a sip of your coffee, you let the bitter taste linger on your tongue before melting away.

The caféwas bathed in the soft glow of morning light, golden rays filtering through wide windows and dancing across polished wooden tables. The quiet hum of conversation mingled with the faint hiss of an espresso machine, creating a gentle rhythm that matched the start of a new day. Potted plants adorned the corners, their vibrant green leaves catching the sunlight, while the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries lingered in the air- a tranquil haven before the day’s chaos began.

“Any progress on your side of the project?” Layla asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Yep. Finished the math part and made some notes that might help with your portion. Here.” Setting her coffee down, she reached into her bag and pulled out a neatly rolled scroll. You arched a brow, smirking as you took it from her hands.

“You always take care of me, you know that?” you teased, unrolling the scroll and scanning her meticulous notes.

The project focused on astrological predictions for climate shifts in Sumeru—analyzing how the positions of the stars could influence the seasons and weather patterns. Layla’s calculations were, as always, precise and impressive.

“Thanks for this, Layla. I’ll draft the essay tonight,” you said with a wink, setting the scroll on the wooden table between you.

Layla’s cheeks tinted slightly as she nodded, her shyness creeping in. “Thank you for being my partner, Y/N. You make work so much easier.”

You laughed softly. “No problem!”

Later, the hot Sumeru sun blazed down your back as you fanned yourself. Lunchtime meant you had a precious thirty minutes to grab a bite before your next lecture.

The campus around you bustled with life. Students of all ages moving through the towering, forest-inspired buildings. In the heart of it all was a familiar spot: Ametsuchi Bistro, an Inazuman-inspired restaurant nestled within the campus mall.

As you stepped into Ametsuchi Bistro, a wave of nostalgia washed over you. The warm glow of lanterns cast a soft, golden hue across the room, reminiscent of the evenings back home in Inazuma. The gentle hum of traditional shamisen music played in the background, blending seamlessly with the quiet chatter of patrons.

The air was filled with the familiar aroma of freshly brewed tea and sizzling takoyaki, instantly grounding you. Wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, their dark, polished surface gleaming faintly in the light. Delicate paper screens partitioned the room, creating cozy little nooks that reminded you of sitting around the kotatsu during chilly evenings.

Your gaze drifted to the walls, adorned with hand-painted depictions of Inazuman landscapes-stormy seascapes, serene cherry blossoms, and the towering silhouette of Narukami Shrine. Each detail whispered of home, evoking a comforting ache of familiarity.

Sliding into your usual seat at the bar, you felt the worn but sturdy wood beneath your hands. It reminded you of the weathered countertops of your family kitchen, where you once sat, listening to the sound of rain against the windows. The chef greeted you with a subtle nod, his voice steady and calm, adding to the sense of quiet belonging.

This place wasn’t just a restaurant. It was a pocket of home nestled in the bustling heart of Sumeru, a refuge where the past felt close enough to touch.

“The usual?” the chef asked as you started getting comfortable on your seat.

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

After a short time waiting, you settled on a simple yet flavorful dish: freshly grilled teriyaki salmon served over a bed of steaming rice and crisp vegetables. The aroma alone made your stomach rumble, and as you sank your teeth into the first bite, the flavors unfolded beautifully. The salmon was tender and perfectly glazed, the sweetness of the teriyaki sauce balanced by a subtle smokiness. Each mouthful melted on your tongue, and the warm, comforting blend of rice and savory juices made you close your eyes in bliss.

For a moment, it felt like nothing could ruin your peaceful lunch-until voices broke through the gentle hum of the restaurant.

“I told you I was paying today!”

“No, you didn’t. And even if you had, your budgeting skills are atrocious.”

The bickering grew louder, pulling you from your meal. Lifting your gaze, you spotted two familiar figures near the counter. Alhaitham stood, arms crossed with an exasperated look, while Kaveh gestured dramatically, holding his wallet as though it were a shield in an impending battle.

“I’m not letting you pay! You’d pick something boring to save mora!”

“And you’d overspend on something ridiculous again.”

You sighed, setting your fork down and awkwardly watched the scene unfold, your once-perfect moment of solitude now thoroughly interrupted.

You watched their back-and-forth, a small frown tugging at your lips. Despite the playful bickering, you couldn't help but feel a little sorry for Kaveh. He was clearly trying so hard to be the bigger person, yet Alhaitham’s calm, almost indifferent attitude kept shutting him down. You couldn’t help but think Kaveh deserved a little more credit for his efforts.

Though it annoyed you that your peaceful moment was now caught in the middle of their argument, you decided to step in before it escalated any further. You placed your napkin down gently, taking a deep breath to calm yourself, and made your way to the counter.

As you approached, both their eyes turned to you, a slight pause in their heated exchange. You smiled politely, not wanting to seem rude. "Hey, I couldn't help but overhear, and…” you hesitated just slightly, wondering if you were intruding. "It seems like you're both pretty passionate about food, so if you’d like, I can recommend a few dishes."

Kaveh’s expression softened slightly at the suggestion, though he still looked a little flustered. "Oh, really?" He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I could use some backup here. He’s impossible when it comes to meal choices."

You chuckled quietly, your tone light and nonchalant. “I totally get it. I’m a big fan of the chef’s special miso soup… it’s savory without being too heavy. And if you want something sweet, their matcha tiramisu is amazing.”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking upward ever so slightly, or was it your imagination? "I suppose I could try the tiramisu... if it’s as good as you say."

Kaveh beamed at the shift in the conversation, a golden aura of pride surrounding him. "See? You do have a soft spot for sweets!"

You smiled again, feeling a bit more at ease now that the tension had loosened. "I hope I didn’t interrupt anything too important. I just thought I’d offer a little help." You felt a small blush creep onto your cheeks, worried you might’ve come off as too forward, especially two two handsome tall men who have a name in Sumeru.

Alhaitham, however, just nodded in acknowledgment. "Appreciated. We can’t argue about everything, I suppose."

Kaveh winked at you. “Thanks for the suggestions. You saved me from another pointless battle."

A blush started to paint on your face but you simply just gave them a small bow. “It’s no problem, really. I'm a regular here… so… I know all the food.” You let out a little laugh, nervous.

A blush started to paint on your face, but you simply gave them a small bow. “It’s no problem, really. I’m a regular here… so… I know all the food.” You let out a little laugh, nervous, but trying to stay calm. You hoped you didn’t come off as too awkward.

Kaveh’s gaze softened slightly, noticing the slight flush on your cheeks, and he leaned a little closer, curiosity piqued. "A regular, huh? Guess that explains why you seem so comfortable here. And you’ve got good taste in food too." He tilted his head, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before though. You sure you’ve been coming here a lot?"

You nodded quickly, trying to reassure him. "Yeah, definitely. I just usually grab takeout or come with a friend. It’s rare I sit down, but…" you glanced around, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. “It’s nice to sit here for a change."

Kaveh raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Hm, well, I’m glad you decided to stay today. You’ve got a nice energy about you." He grinned, leaning back slightly. "I’m Kaveh, by the way. And this is Alhaitham," he added, nodding toward the other man, who was already flipping through a small book of notes he had pulled out from his bag, seemingly unimpressed by the exchange.

You gave them both a small nod. “Nice to meet you both.” You could feel your nerves kicking in again but tried to push it down, smiling softly.

Alhaitham, never one for small talk, glanced up from his notes and nodded. “Alhaitham,” he said briefly, his voice neutral. “We’ve taken up enough of your time already. We’ll finalize the order now.”

With that, Kaveh grinned and pushed Alhaitham toward the counter, the two of them ordering their meals, their light banter continuing in the background. You watched them for a moment, their effortless chemistry apparent. Once they’d placed their orders, Alhaitham handed over the payment, and Kaveh, still in high spirits, waved a final farewell.

“Take care!” Kaveh called over his shoulder as the two of them left the restaurant, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You returned to your seat, a flurry of emotions swirling inside you. Your heart was racing a little faster than usual, and you couldn’t help but replay your brief interaction with them over and over. Both Kaveh and Alhaitham were so... striking. Kaveh’s flirtatious energy and teasing smile, Alhaitham’s calm, collected demeanor-they were two sides of a coin that seemed to complement each other effortlessly.

Blushing slightly, you took a bite of your food, hoping to focus on something other than those two handsome scholars. The comforting taste of the miso soup soothed your nerves, but your mind couldn’t help but wander back to their faces. Kaveh had been so charismatic, and Alhaitham-well, Alhaitham was the type to catch your attention without even trying.

But then, just as quickly as your thoughts began to drift, a wave of realization hit you. You already had a boyfriend. You had no reason to let your mind get tangled up in the allure of two people you barely knew.

You groaned inwardly, taking another spoonful of soup, trying to force the thought away. “Get it together,” you muttered under your breath, a little annoyed with yourself. You were here to enjoy your meal, not to daydream about someone else.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the thoughts of Kaveh’s teasing grin and Alhaitham’s intense gaze from your mind. You sighed, realizing this would probably be the last time you’d be able to enjoy a peaceful lunch for a while before life became chaotic with schoolwork again.

Next

[tinytalkingtina]

Illusory Courage

Written for the @steddiemicrofic July challenge prompt #2, using the word "one" and 1,111 words.

In the same universe/same characters as my other DnD microfic, but intended as a standalone story showing how they met, no prior reading required.

1,111 words | Rating: T

CW: Dead Chrissy Cunnigham, brief description of a Vecna'd body

Tags: Fantasy DnD AU, Tiefling Steve Harrington, Anti-Tiefling racism, Steve Harrington has bad parents, Half-elf Eddie munson, pre-Steddie, past Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson, first meetings

Ao3 link

Stephen Harrington, heir to the barony of Loch Nora, left Lord Carver’s manor scowling. This fief was the same as the previous one. A dead body, found with the eyes gouged out and limbs twisted into unnatural angles. Except unlike the previous poor peasant boy, this time a noble had fallen victim to some sort of dark magic. It was certainly unusual for a Lord’s wife to vanish during the night, only to be discovered amidst the cows come morning. Unfortunately, Lord Carver had precious little to give them, beyond claiming the Lady Christine had been acting “distracted” as of late.   “Why are you so upset Steve? We were a full day’s travel out. It’s a tragedy for sure, but it’s not like you could have foreseen this happening.” Dustin urged his pony forward as fast as the old girl could go, laden down as she was with all of his contraptions. “Dustin, it’s Lord Harrington when we’re in public. You’re my official squire, we have to keep up appearances. And it’s not entirely that the Lady died, it’s how Lord Carver spoke about her, like she was some sort of trophy. He barely knew her. Now come on, I want to see the field she was found in before it gets too dark.”  Steve indulged in a ruffle to his squire’s hair. He reflexively pushed down the twinge of guilt; no one could possibly notice his horns hidden inside the matching decorations on his helm, or feel his claws when he kept them filed short and blunt. His tail remained tucked out of sight beneath layers of chain mail and plate. Even so, the thought of detection sent a trickle of fear down his spine. He needed a chance to perform penance for his family’s misdeeds. If he could snuff out enough evil, perhaps he could outweigh their crimes that proclaimed themselves for all to see on his body. And maybe, just maybe, his mother might look at him with something other than bitterness and disgust when he forewent his illusory magical mask at home.

Shoving his feelings aside, he herded Dustin towards the pasture as the last rays of light touched the tree tops. “Just as a precaution, you should set up an alarm spell. Don’t want to be caught unawares by anyone—or thing.”  Dustin nodded and scrambled off to set up a perimeter. Steve had sat through an explanation how the spell-infused gadget used stones attuned to the correct magical frequency before, but the engineering went over his head. He trusted his squire to do a good job though, and thanks to Dustin’s contraptions, he had an easier time swinging his weapons at monsters. Steve made his way to the center of the field, stopping short when his ears picked up someone singing. The tune, full of grief and longing, was nothing short of enchanting. He spied the singer, crumpled onto the ground next to the scorched crater marking where the Lady had been found. Steve approached slowly, one hand on his sword. But the clanking of armor alerted the singer, and he startled. Oh, the singer was beautiful. Even dimmed by tears, those big dark eyes were just as expressive as his voice. Steve caught sight of an ear that gently tapered to a small point poking out from the riot of curls atop his head. Oh, an elf. That certainly explained the features. Summoning upon long-ago tutoring, Steve managed to offer an only slightly clumsy greeting in Elvish. But the elf just blinked those wide eyes at him in confusion. “I don’t understand whatever it is you just said, but you should leave, stranger. There was a death here last night, the Lady of the manor, she—” His voice cracked. “She’s dead.” “Yes, we have been advised of the situation, my good elf. We were the ones sent to investigate.” “Of course he thinks I’m an elf,” the singer muttered to himself as he ran a hand through his hair.

As he did, a glint of metal caught Steve’s eye. Looking closer, he spied a thick silver band inlaid with a dark stone. One that looked suspiciously like the ring Lord Carver had raged about losing to petty thievery when they recovered Lady Christine’s body. “And it appears we have something to investigate. Care to explain how the late Lady’s ring ended up on your hand?” The would-be thief’s pretty face hardened as he took a challenging step forward. Steve stepped back in equal measure, a practiced look of haughty disinterest on his face. Any discomfort perfectly hidden away beneath the mask. His father’s voice echoed in his ear: Keep your distance Stephen. Despite your…affliction, you’re still of noble birth. “I know it’s hard for you nobles to consider this, mi’lord”, the thief said, spitting the word out as if swearing. “But whatever you’ve been told, not all us common folk are out to steal whatever our grubby little hands touch. Chrissy—the Lady, gave this to me. She engraved my name on it, even.” He brandished the ring, and sure enough, in delicate handwriting, an “Edward” was scratched onto the inside. “Fine then, my apologies. If you were truly close to the Lady, perhaps you can assist me in questioning the Lord further.” This Edward lifted his chin defiantly. “Don’t think I’m going to help you give that hollow bitter man any closure. Or did the noble sitting in his fine manor not tell you? He officially banished me from these lands a full month ago for ‘enticing his sweet Lady’ to wickedness. Wasn’t supposed to stick around much longer, but it seems that freaks like myself don’t get happy endings with those we love, do we. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Edward began to retreat without looking. Before Steve could warn him, he stepped directly into the crater. As soon as he crossed the boundary, a chill wind circled, carrying with it distorted bell chimes and chittering. Steve’s sword glowed: some sort of necromancy was afoot, and now this half-elf was its target. Steve gritted his teeth. “I’m not about to turn you in. But unfortunately for you Edward the Banished, you’ve just been marked by something evil, and I can’t permit that evil the opportunity to hurt you or any others. But I promise, by my oath, I’ll do everything I can to protect you and try to avenge your Lady.” Edward blinked those large eyes at him, his expression full of fear and anger. Steve sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy, adding an unwilling soul to his party. Hopefully, this man would continue to keep his distance until the evil was dispatched.

Tagging some folks who've shown interest in ST DnD AUs, feel free to ask to be removed!

@augustjustice @hornedqueenofhell @puppy-steve @devondespresso

[venusandsaturnsrings]

ringing my lil bell… every1 round up!! dilf tartaglia!!

he’s tall, muscular with a bit of chub, and the perfect amount of stubble lining his face. with big hands and a cock to match how could you ever resist him? only a fool would pass up a man such as himself!!

one of his favourite things to do was bury his face between your thighs after a long day. sometimes it was work got the best of him or his adorable daughter or the long process of his divorce; he’s a hardworking man yet life still got the best of him occasionally. regardless, using his tongue and fingers to spread you open and drink the delightfully bitter juices from your cunt was the perfect end to all of his days. to him you were a fountain of pure pleasure and undivided bliss. for you and your pussy to be ready for him to unwind gave him a feeling of fullness and satisfaction nothing could ever compare to.

he’d take his time stripping off the fancy baby pink lingerie he bought you. all of the ruffles and lace were just so sweet and endearing he had to save them for you to lounge around in, ripping them apart would take away such a beautiful sight from his grasp. with one finger he’d ease you open while his mouth suckled softly along your labia and clit. your own wetness was more than satisfactory but he loves it messy so adding liberal amounts of his drool to the mix made you impossibly more enticing. he’d work you up to taking two of his thick fingers all whilst delivering the most delightfully strong pleasure to the rest of your precious cunt with his mouth. his goal was forever and always to end up with you squirting generously onto his face. with rough stubble rubbing against your thighs you’d certainly end up with marks for days to come but the way the pain intertwined with the pleasure would make your stomach churn in delight.

he’s a busy man with much on his plate but he always had time to abuse his sweet girls pussy.

[inkykeiji]

Sweet cream w/ flawless Tomu hehe ^-^ sending you love on this Sunday evening <3

prompt: sweet cream warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, cum feeding/eating, snowballing, daddy kink words: 1k

also hehe thank u so much anon bb <33 sending u lots of love back!!

“Is baking with cum possible?” 

It’s probably one of the dumbest questions you’ve ever asked, uttered with a sleepy curiosity only a few moments after Tomura’s stuffed you full of his own, your head rising and falling with the erratic breaths of his sweaty chest. 

“Anything is possible,” he snorts. “It’s more a question of why you’d want to.” 

“Because s’just…It’s just leaking outta me,” you whine, pout weighting your voice, hips wiggling a little in accentuation. “Seems like such a waste.” 

It’s true—you can feel it, dribbling out of your fluttering little hole in drooling dollops, thick and sticky cream smearing across your inner thighs as they clench in a feeble attempt to halt more from escaping. 

Tomura chuckles, the sound somehow both fond and patronizing, his voice vibrating against your ear. 

“Well, I don’t think there’s any way for me to scoop it out of you and save it for later use,” he begins, shuffling your body a little so he can nudge your head with his shoulder, gazing down at you with twinkling eyes, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But I can feed you some, if that’s what my baby really wants...”

And, oh, the gasp you emit is absolutely precious, airy and light and full of want. 

“Yes,“ your breathing out, voice barely above a murmur. “Yes, please, Daddy.” 

And it’s so intimate, Daddy foregoing using his fingers like he normally does to favour his tongue as his tool this time, head settling between your spread legs to scatter a few kisses along your pubic bone, sure to press an extra gentle kiss to your still swollen clit.

A cute squeal catches in your throat when his tongue prods at your hole, almost hesitantly so, as if testing the waters before it delves in, working its way past the tight ring of muscle and into your sweet cunt. It coils in on itself, forming a small hollow and using the tip to fill it with what’s left of the viscous substance. 

Your hips push towards his face, instinctive and eager for more—get it all, Daddy! I want it all!— and he growls into you, large palms flattening over your hipbones and pushing, pressing you back into the mattress. 

He takes his time, diligent and dedicated in his quest of licking you clean, of giving his baby every last drop of what she’s so desperately craving, what she’s so desperately needing, the point of his tongue digging into your silky walls and scraping them clean. 

Finally, he’s sitting back on his heels, chin and jaw a shimmering mess, and you push yourself up on your elbows, yearning, mouth opened wide and waiting.

With a playful roll of his eyes, he leans forward, fists dimpling the mattress on either side of your body, and slots his mouth against yours. 

The flavour is strong, so tart and bitter it borders on sour, a stark contrast to his inherently sugar-infused saliva. But it’s good, too, tastes twining together to create something new, something so distinctly him.  

Your tongues flatten, grinding against one another in slow, rhythmic motions, languid and lazy as his cum stains your mouth, as you soak him up and swallow him down, starved for everything he can bestow to you.

And it’s so messy, drool oozing from the corners of your lips to slick your chins, rendering everything sticky and slippery, skin gliding against one anothers. Thick threads of saliva hang heavy between your mouths, glimmering in the dim light as he eventually manages to pull his tongue away from you, smirking a little at the discontented whine that sounds at the back of your throat.

“It’s, um...O-On my thighs, too, Daddy,” you tell him, stuck somewhere between dreamy and shy, cheek half-hidden in the mattress as you gaze up at him through lidded eyes.

“Greedy girl,” Tomura says, but his voice drips with adoration, head dipping between your legs again to drag his tongue along your inner thighs, thick muscle sopping up the half-dried strokes of cum, the outer layers of each smudge having begun crusting from the cool air, the heat of Tomura’s mouth melting them again. 

There isn��t much left on his tongue, but he gives it to you anyway, laughing a little behind sealed lips at the cute grabby hands you make as he rises again, fingers clamping over his shoulders and tugging. 

Your mouth is already open again, little tongue stuck out as far as it can be, entitled and expectant, and Tomura allows his own tongue to unfurl from his mouth, tinged with his essence, leaning down to drag it, slow and purposeful, against your own.

Your tongue curls, wrapping around his and sucking it between your teeth, lips puckered and cheeks hollowed. It pulls a soft noise of surprise from him, crimson eyes instinctually snapping open before his lips spread into a smile against your own, mouth going lax and allowing you to continue your suckling and slurping, swallowing every last drop of anything he has to give you. 

—

As it turns out, baking with cum is indeed possible, and the internet is full of interesting recipes, stumbling across one for cummy crepes that utilizes semen in it’s sweet cream filling and deciding that it sounded good. 

Tomura isn’t nearly as into the idea as you are—Whaddya want me to do, jerk off into a bowl for you? Well, can you help me?—but is willing to give it a try anyway, allowing you to pump his cock hard and fast until he’s spurting ropes of cream onto a small mountain of powdered sugar (You cum so much, Daddy!).

The crepes are a miserable failure—you could’ve really used Kurogiri’s guidance, but there’s no way he would’ve approved of your special ingredient—the batter too thick to be spread into an even, thin pancake, but the cream filling itself turns out pretty magnificent, whipped and light and oh-so-sweet. 

Lounging on the balcony as the sinking sun paints the rippled clouds in shades of magenta, you and Tomura take turns dipping your fingers into the fluffy mountain of filling and gathering peaked dollops on the tips, letting one another suck the other’s digits clean. 

“Alright,” Tomura’s saying as he swipes an index finger along the bottom of the bowl, collecting the last bit of remaining cream on the pad, sticky tongue running along his bottom lip, chasing phantom sugar. “Maybe we should try cooking with my cum more often.” 

[rosesloveletters]

Jawbreaker Heart - Prologue

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Audrey Benedict (Fem. OC)

Word Count: 7,226

Warnings: no major content warnings apply.

Summary: At the height of its popularity, the Wonka brand had become a household name, synonymous with the whimsical and imaginative creations of its enigmatic founder, Willy Wonka. Yet, despite the brand's immense fame, Wonka himself remained a mysterious figure, preferring to spend his days immersed in the boundless realms of his own creativity. Wonka's carefully guarded solitude was shattered when his precious candy recipes were stolen, a devastating blow that transformed the once carefree and capricious chocolatier into a bitter, cynical dreamer. No longer able to trust in the blind faith of the public, Wonka is forced to navigate the complex and often treacherous channels of both business and creative endeavors, learning to trust again as he comes to accept that he cannot shut out the world forever, nor the prospect of love. As he grapples with these newfound challenges, a young woman captures the reclusive chocolatier’s eye and reawakens long-dormant memories, reminding Wonka of the true purpose that has driven his life's work - to bring joy, wonder, and a touch of magic to all who experience the fruits of his labors.

[ A Gene Wilder Wonka fic. ]

Author's Note: Welcome to my very first Willy Wonka chapter fic! I've been planning this for a full year and was finally able to get it started. A few notes before we get started: this story takes place well before the events of the film. In the prologue, Willy Wonka is 28 years old and my OC Audrey is 15. There is NO romantic interest or involvement between the two at that point. Throughout the rest of the fic after the prologue, Willy Wonka is 38 and Audrey is 25. The timeline between when Wonka closed his factory, reopened and held the golden ticket contest is a bit vague and left to interpretation & may be a bit fuzzy in comparison to the film, just for the purposes of the events of my fic. I also wanted to examine the darker aspects to Willy Wonka and the more flawed side of him, especially how it must have affected him to have been taken advantage of and nearly ruined when his recipes were stolen. Please bear with me as I begin to tell this story and understand that updates may be infrequent due to the fact that I am a working adult with lots of responsibilities. Thanks and please enjoy!

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika-graphics on Tumblr.

I had longed to touch his soul, to feel its rich, chocolatey essence, from the moment I first tasted him on my lips. 

He is the embodiment of delicacy, fragile as butterfly wings – a single caress and I must lick away the guilt and sweetness, reverently tracing his wounded spirit.

Our love blossomed slowly, taking time to germinate and bloom. 

I had survived without him, but the thought of a world he no longer occupied sent me spiraling, a twisted peppermint for my sickness and heartache, never quite enough to quell the nausea.

In the beginning, I counted his sugared glances, sensing they held a meaning I didn't yet understand. But if forced to be honest, I'd say I'd hardly thought of him in years.

True appreciation is born of inspiration, and perhaps he inspired me to cultivate my own imagination, to become something so pure and real that not even the loftiest dreams could keep me from reaching it.

If love this profound exists only in dreams, then dreams can indeed come true. 

For all the years I waited, the hope I claimed to have lost, while secretly harboring a modern romanticism to rival Shakespeare's most devastating tragedies – good things do come to those who wait.

Endless dreams and connections await me. Yet, in this moment, I have all the time in the world.

His heart is a jawbreaker; real love is meant to be savored.

***

The chocolate factory offered a rare respite from the exhausting effort of pretending to be someone I was not. As an introverted "quiet girl" struggling to navigate a world that favored extroverted success, I felt perpetually out of place among my peers, barely keeping my head above water in social situations. Maintaining the facade of obscurity and avoiding ridicule at school was an arduous task, but what I craved were the fleeting moments when I could shed those layers and let the true me bask in the sun, unencumbered.

As I grew from adolescence into young adulthood, I was a rather timid and insecure person.

Some hid their insecurities better than others and I aspired to emulate their poise.

Despite exhibiting clear signs of insecurity, my father, a young single parent, never questioned it, as his primary focus was on providing for our family through his work.

As one of the administrative assistants at Wonka Industries, he would sometimes take me to the office on my school days off, providing a welcome escape from my daily routine.

He seemed reluctant to leave me home alone, though I didn't stop to consider if this was out of kindness or pity that I had few friends to spend time with.

Consumed by my own thoughts, I gave little consideration to the motives behind his, or anyone else’s, actions.

While other children eagerly anticipated time with friends, I instead relished the solitude.

I resented the assumption that my quietness meant I was self-absorbed or impolite.

However, I had more productive pursuits than trying to change strangers' perceptions of me. Their judgements and preconceptions about my character were not my responsibility. 

Instead, I immersed myself in the worlds I built in my imagination - a passion that fueled my voracious reading and budding creative writing. Literature had long been a source of joy, and when not with a book, I would put pen to paper, spilling my thoughts onto the page to unclutter my mind.

My imagination painted colors far more vibrant than the dull hues of the real world.

At fourteen, finding fulfillment in a factory's monotony seemed peculiar, but it wasn't the bleak setting that nourished my soul - it was the people around me.

Though I was trapped in a windowless factory, surrounded by cold cement, I found fulfillment in the company of my father’s coworkers. Their warmth and camaraderie illuminated my world more brightly than even the sun could.

In my father's presence, as well as with the rest of the business staff, I felt safe and free to simply be myself without having to put on an act. Here, I could exist as the confident girl I wished I could be. 

To any outsider, my life likely seemed ideal - after all, what child doesn't dream of spending a day in a chocolate factory? I got to sample the latest products, each one more incredible than the last, and I understood why my father believed so deeply in the company's success. However, I could tell that this venture distressed him, as he hoped to move on and start his own business rather than continue investing in someone else's dream.

Developing a close connection with my father gave me insight into his mindset. He was a fiercely independent man, possessing the slick tenacity of a panther ready to pounce and make the next move that would propel him to success.

Working under someone else was merely the first step - a rung on the ladder that every successful businessman had to climb before reaching the top.

It would be a bittersweet farewell, but I had a feeling that whatever came next would be just as grand, if not more so, thanks to my father's drive and ambition.

As a child, I had little control over my life; I simply had to adapt to the changes that came with a life that was not yet my own.

After closing my book, I glanced over at my father, who seemed deeply engrossed in his paperwork.

His dark eyes were hooded and ringed with purple circles of exhaustion, betraying his tireless work ethic. He toiled relentlessly, driven more by machine-like efficiency than human need, yet his exceptional output ensured his status as a highly valued Wonka employee.

As my father's pen scrawled cursive letters across the invoice form, I watched intently. 

After my gaze bore into him for some time, he lifted his head and peered at me over the rims of his reading glasses. He glanced my way several more times before finally setting down his pen and addressing me.

With a teasing grin on his face, he asked, "Bored?"

I shook my head. "No."

Crossing to his desk, I leaned against the oak surface and scanned the paperwork spread out before him. The Wonka logo, emblazoned in flowing script across the header, drew my eye. "What are you working on?"

With a skeptical tone, my father replied, "Oh, just a few invoices." He then added, "Mr. Wonka has asked my department to be more prompt in sending invoices to our clients."

This response was unusual, as my father was always diligent about keeping up with invoices and the flow of money into the business. For Wonka to request more prompt invoicing suggested there may have been an issue, though I doubted the famous confectioner was hurting for cash.

My father let out a heavy sigh, his voice laden with conflict and unease.

He turned to face me, taking both my hands in his. "Darling," he began solemnly, "there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

His words were laced with palpable suspense, and I fought the urge to appear too eager to learn what he had to say. My father only shared such matters on his own terms, especially when it came to his work.

I examined his words and the pauses between them, my eyes widening subtly.

Just as he was about to continue, the phone rang, startling us and cutting our conversation short.

I cursed the caller as my father held up a finger, picked up the phone, and started talking - ending his moment of openness.

Despite my close relationship with him, there were certain matters he took very seriously. 

His unwillingness to open up was frustrating, as I wanted to help him but was unsure how. I suspected financial troubles, but my father kept that information private.

I sensed an impending storm approaching rapidly and it was closing in - for every 5-second interval, it advanced 5 miles. 

Time was running out.

When lightning struck, the thunderclap would follow immediately.

***

My father was on the phone for a long time. 

As he spoke to the caller, I returned to my reading but found myself unable to concentrate.

The tension was cloying, creating a mental haze so dense I struggled to think clearly.

As I eavesdropped on the phone conversation, the low, gruff timbre of my father’s baritone voice conveyed a sense of concern, though the person on the other end seemed unaware of any issues at the Wonka factory. 

While the conversation provided few concrete details, I trusted my instincts that something was amiss, even if snooping would yield no answers. Adults, I knew, were skilled at concealing information, but I was adept at listening between the lines.

I would have to listen closely and fill in the blanks myself if I wanted any insight into what was happening. However, my father would likely share more information with me if I just waited.

The person my father was speaking with seemed to have only business-related motives, so I didn't think I'd miss anything important by stepping out of his office for a bit.

As I exited, I was careful not to make too much noise, gently pulling the door shut behind me without letting it slam.

I strolled leisurely down the hall.

The office area of the factory had a generic, nondescript appearance.

Although I doubted Mr. Wonka would welcome an unsupervised child roaming his factory, I couldn't say for certain, as I didn't know him well.

Despite residing in the same town and occupying the same building at times, I had never personally met the elusive and enigmatic Willy Wonka. He maintained an air of mystery, much like the legendary Santa Claus or Easter Bunny. On rare occasions, I had caught glimpses of Mr. Wonka from afar, and once even exchanged a polite wave after he acknowledged my presence, but we remained virtual strangers. Understandably, with a confectionery empire to oversee, employees to manage, and an endless array of sugary wonders to invent, Wonka's time was monopolized by the demands of running his famous chocolate factory.

Despite his regular factory visits and care for his workers, Willy Wonka's abstract leadership style led to whispers about his managerial abilities. In fact, despite his reputation, Wonka lacked the business acumen to effectively direct and manage a large workforce.

Willy Wonka was a candy-making virtuoso, a true inventive genius. However, his mastery of the craft was only one piece of building a successful business. While a brilliant idea could set things in motion, it required strong leadership to fully get any concept off the ground. 

Though Wonka was not a poor leader, his priorities lay elsewhere.

Willy Wonka maintained meticulous oversight of his factory, closely monitoring every aspect and detail. He effortlessly recited facts and figures, tracking the company's finances, production data, and operational logistics with unwavering precision.

Despite his keen eye for detail, it seemed unfathomable that Mr. Wonka could be involved in so many business ventures. Yet, this very improbability was the essence of the man himself - for Mr. Wonka was, in every sense, an impossibility.

Years ago, he had founded the Wonka brand and opened his own candy shop. His venture quickly became a runaway success, allowing him to establish a massive chocolate factory, hire hundreds of workers, and bring to life dozens of unprecedented candy creations that had previously existed only in his imagination. Despite the rapid growth, he maintained both a managerial and ownership role, keeping a close eye on operations across nearly all departments to keep up with surging demand.

At just 28 years old, Willy Wonka had already become a world-renowned chocolatier and founded one of the most successful companies of our era.

Indulging in a Wonka chocolate bar would unveil the secrets behind Willy Wonka's extraordinary confectionary creations and illuminate the reasons for his remarkable success.

Willy Wonka possessed an unrivaled mastery of chocolate, achieving wonders that no other human could replicate.

He was destined to become the legendary "Candy Man," just as others were born to pursue callings like teaching or public service.

I was profoundly grateful that the world recognized Willy Wonka's unparalleled genius, granting me the privileged access to savor his chocolate creations in a way that few other children could, as I stood at the very heart of the Wonka factory.

Despite never having met him personally or expressed my appreciation for his work, the public had undoubtedly made the right choice in elevating this man to fame.

I continued down the bustling hallway, passing a mix of open and closed doors on either side. Offices hummed with activity, but no one seemed to notice the lone girl wandering unattended.

Though I was strictly forbidden from going near the heavy machinery for safety and liability reasons, I doubted I was even allowed to wander on this side of the building.

Mr. Wilkinson, Mr. Wonka's personal assistant, would not hesitate to swiftly return me to my father and reprimand me if he discovered me trying to explore. 

He was the sole individual I genuinely feared encountering during my attempts to get away for a short time because the embarrassment of being caught was too great.

On multiple occasions, Mr. Wilkinson had observed me leaving the bathroom and instructed me to immediately return to my father's office.

As Wonka's right-hand man and a direct extension of the enigmatic company founder's power, the older Mr. Wilkinson commanded an air of authority.

Mr. Wilkinson served as both a general manager and personal assistant.

With his imposing presence and distinctive scar, Mr. Wilkinson could have been the stuff of children's nightmares, shattering their fanciful visions of the Wonka factory.

The angular glasses perched precisely on his wide nose emphasized his stern expression and his formal, buttoned-up appearance suggested a disciplined, authoritative presence that inspired fear or at least deference in most children.

Yet, Mr. Wilkinson was surprisingly amiable.

As the saying goes, appearances can be deceiving.

I had refrained from inquiring about his scar or staring, as I did not want to be impolite, given his kindness towards me.

I sensed he strategically leveraged his imposing look when needed. By cultivating an aura of intimidation, he commanded respect, which I grudgingly admired.

Whenever I passed Mr. Wilkinson in the hall on my way to my father's office, he typically greeted me with a warm, gentle smile.

From time to time, he would offer me a piece of candy or a small chocolate, which I assumed were provided by Mr. Wonka.

Given Mr. Wilkinson's kind demeanor, I had no reason to fear him, just the consequences of my own poor decisions. 

I was confident that Mr. Wonka would not employ anyone who could pose a threat to his customers or his employees.

The sense of safety I felt within the Wonka factory likely contributed to my comfort in wandering its halls.

However, I knew I shouldn’t be wandering and I felt a twinge of guilt as I disobeyed orders. 

Typically, I stuck to the rules and stayed firmly within my comfort zone, but this situation felt distinctly different - almost like an out-of-body experience.

At times, I felt trapped in my own body, a captive observer as someone else clumsily operated the controls.

As I reached the end of the main hall, it branched off into two longer corridors. Pausing, I pondered which path to take, wary of getting lost and being unable to find my father's office again. However, I reasoned that if I didn't venture too far, I should be able to find my way back.

With that reassurance, I proceeded down the hallway to the left.

Despite my forward movement, my mind kept circling back to the conversation with my father that had been interrupted. 

I should have stayed and waited for him to finish his call.

Weary from exhaustion brought on by that situation, I had no desire to speculate about the adults' hidden agenda. 

I trusted my father would fill me in when he deemed the time appropriate. Though he wouldn't conceal the truth indefinitely, I fervently hoped the secret was benign. 

As I mulled over his reluctance to speak to me, I aimlessly roamed the factory corridors, lost in silent contemplation, until I suddenly realized I had become lost...

I frowned with disappointment, for this was the exact outcome I had hoped to avoid. It was my own fault, as I had not paid close enough attention to my surroundings.

I could retrace my steps, hoping to recognize something familiar that would guide me back. Failing that, I could stop and ask for directions. After all, I couldn't possibly become permanently lost.

I paused and looked back, trying to gauge how far I had traveled. The hallways in this part of the factory were indistinguishable - standard gray walls, wood chair rail and wainscoting, and a carpeted floor.

This hallway, like many others in the factory, ended at a single door. However, this particular door stood out from the rest. While the other doors had a more corporate appearance, this one was surprisingly different.

The door's exterior was divided into eight distinct sections, similar to the segmented design of a chocolate bar, allowing it to be easily broken into sizeable rectangular pieces.

My brows furrowed in bewilderment.

What on earth possessed the designer to make this lone door look like a chocolate bar, when all the others were plain and ordinary? Was this perhaps Mr. Wonka's private office? No, that couldn't be right, for the hallway seemed completely abandoned.

The other doors were tightly shut, and a closer look revealed no light peeking out from underneath, indicating they were empty; I expected Mr. Wonka's office to be situated in a more central, populated area.

The faint scent of chocolate wafted down the hall, luring me forward. 

Squinting, I made out that the door at the far end was open.

With my senses ensnared, I felt the door beckoning and I answered its call.

With each stride, I advanced further down the path.

Halting abruptly, I cast a glance to my left and squinted, not certain at first whether my eyes were betraying me.

As I had proceeded down the corridor, I unexpectedly found my gaze level with the top of the doorway.

To my surprise, I had encountered yet another anomaly.

As I scrutinized the door to my left, I was perplexed - was I growing taller or was the hallway shrinking? Somehow, this particular corridor had been designed to give the unsettling illusion that the person traversing it was increasing in size. Puzzling over this optical trickery made my head spin.

I should have simply turned around and acted as if I had never been there.

This felt like one of those moments some might mistake for divine intervention. Though naïve, I didn't blame anyone else for my decision - it was likely a poor one, as I was known to make, but I couldn’t just walk away even though it might’ve been the wisest option. 

I took another step toward the open door.

Surprisingly, the usual sinister aura surrounding a bad decision, like a foul, rotten stench, was absent in this case.

Time stood frozen as my pulse thundered in my ears and my heart pounded, sending tremors through my fingers and toes. Sweat drenched my shirt, my ears burning with the strain. The slightest sound or movement threatened to send me into a panic. Laser-focused on reaching the door, I'd lost all awareness of my surroundings, oblivious to the very real danger of being caught if I lingered too long in the open.

As I approached the door, the aroma of warm chocolate, previously faint, now permeated the air, filling my senses. The strength of the scent suggested the presence of tantalizing sweets beyond the threshold.

Despite the unlikelihood that no one else knew of this location, I found myself unsure of how far I had strayed from the main offices since the silence suggested there was one else around. 

Surely I couldn't have wandered too far from my father's office, and the hallways themselves couldn't have changed. I must not have been paying close enough attention to my surroundings. In the future, I would need to be more mindful, lest I find myself in a predicament from which I cannot as easily walk away from.

I was mere steps away from the tantalizing door, my curiosity and anticipation building with each stride. The prospect of uncovering the hidden treasures within had my imagination racing and my mouth watering in eager anticipation.

For years, I had longed to see the inner workings of the candy factory. My father had repeatedly promised to take me on a tour, but his busy schedule always seemed to get in the way. Caught up in one project after another, he simply couldn't find the time.

I had dreamed of witnessing the chocolate-making process firsthand, but the factory's sheer size and popularity made that unlikely. As a bustling commercial enterprise, they couldn't afford to offer free tours to every curious child when so many paying customers were eager to visit.

As I approached the door, I counted my steps - one, two, three - moving ever closer to what awaited me inside.

As I stood in the doorway, the frame was within arm's reach.

I hoped this room was not Willy Wonka’s office, as I had no right to intrude upon his private affairs, but even still I couldn’t stop myself.

As I approached the threshold, the intoxicating aroma of warm chocolate and sugar grew stronger with each step, hinting that beyond lay a veritable wonderland of confectionary delights, not a private workspace as I had initially suspected.

My fingers delicately gripped the door's edge as I craned my neck to peer into the room. 

Several moments passed as I contemplated the scene before me.

The room itself seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. In the silence, I could no longer hear my own breathing as I took in the unfolding scenery.

There was no turning back now. With a deep breath, I forced my leaden feet to carry me through the parted doorway.

I stepped out onto the landing and found myself in a vast, brightly lit space. The blindingly white recessed lights in the high ceiling almost made me mistake it for an open courtyard. But the windows lining the walls, perched atop towering rock formations, betrayed the true nature of this grand chamber.

My eyes wouldn't focus because there was far too much to look at.

The sheer scale and complexity of the scene overwhelmed my senses, leaving my eyes struggling to take it all in.

For the first time since I had become a teenager, I had the feeling of being a small child again, rediscovering the world with a sense of wonder as I gazed upon the vibrant masterpiece sprawling the length of the room.

As I crossed the threshold, I left reality behind and stepped into a fantastical world. Rather than the expected whir of machinery and conveyor belts churning out sweets, I encountered something that exceeded my wildest expectations - a scene so wondrous that I couldn't even begin to describe it.

This fantastical woodland landscape, brimming with magic, madness, and mastery, was conjured into existence by the most refined and visionary of minds, who elevated a single idea into a realm of pure majesty.

A cataclysmic collision of fictional and real worlds had taken place, and the victor was clear for all to see.

From my vantage point above, I admired the mesmerizing scene unfolding before me. 

Realizing I could gain an even more immersive perspective by moving closer, I decided to make my way down for a closer look.

I approached the railing and reached out a hand to steady myself. I was unwilling to tear my captivated gaze away from the enchanting garden below and didn’t want to lose my footing and tumble down.

Descending several flights of stairs, I emerged into the dazzling wonderland, a riot of colors beyond anything I could have imagined.

The air was thick with the scent of candy, making it a wonder that sugar had not crystallized on every surface.

Pausing at the bottom of the steps, I felt my eyes widen in stunned disbelief.

Though the distant décor had already seemed overwhelming, up close the sugar valley revealed an astonishing sight - everything appeared to be crafted entirely from candy!

I had stumbled upon a veritable child's paradise.

My confusion deepened since first discovering the door.

What was the purpose of all this?

The unfinished state of the setting was evident.

The sparse greenery included bare "candy-cane" trees, and what appeared to be capless mushrooms lining a riverbank. Pipes descended from the ceiling, and an incomplete dock was being built along the bank, suggesting this area was intended to hold water.

Weeping willows drooped their tendrils toward the ground, but instead of leaves, their branches bore oversized gummy bears. Fences of candy garland and jawbreaker boulders lined the area, while lollipops sprouted from the earth like vibrant flowers. This fantastical room was clearly a work in progress, a labor of love poured from the heart and built by the hands of a visionary.

“What do you think?”

The unexpected sound startled me, and I spun around, but froze when I recognized the source.

Emerging from behind a candy bush like a charismatic cryptid was the elusive, whimsical Willy Wonka, the renowned chocolate maker himself, adorned in purple and a kind smile.

Despite his friendly smile and clear blue eyes, a wave of fear and nausea washed over me as I stared at him, my eyes wide with panic. I was swimming in calm waters, yet my anxiety spiked at being caught trespassing on his property. Unsure whether to inquire about the space or apologize and excuse myself, I stammered nervously as he awaited my response.

The room was clearly Mr. Wonka's personal space, though not a typical office like anything I had ever seen before. 

I feared I had committed a grave error.

He pressed his lips into a serious line as he watched my face pale with distress, then glanced over his shoulder as if he was checking to see if my reaction was because of him or something else. 

Confusion knit Mr. Wonka's brows as he observed my horrified expression. "My dear, you look positively terrified. What has given you such a fright?"

I had to muster what little courage remained after making the poor decision to enter this room. My stubborn spirit always refused to back down, so I called upon it now to carry me through this mess. "I...am so sorry, Mr. Wonka. I didn't mean to barge in like this," I apologized.

I had committed the very act I knew I should not have, and I knew the consequences would soon follow. I deserved this outcome for violating someone's privacy.

With a light chuckle, the gracious smile returned to his lips as he said, "Please, call me Willy, my dear. It's quite alright."

Wonka's gentle, soothing tone began to ease the anxious grip on my heart. Surprisingly, he did not appear the least bit offended by my unsupervised arrival, even though he must have realized I had snuck away from my father to find my way here.

Wonka simply observed me, his gaze transfixed, as if mesmerized.

This first encounter with the famous chocolatier had surpassed my wildest imaginings, yet the young man before me was not at all what I had envisioned.

Though he stood several inches taller than me, his stature was otherwise unremarkable - of average height and build. Yet, it was not his physical appearance that left me impressed.

His piercing blue eyes shone like glittering jewel chips encrusted with the wisdom and mystery of a lifetime's experience. His rounded jawline and aquiline nose gave him a youthful, handsome appearance, yet his humble demeanor and polite manner suggested an old soul within.

His outfit was a whimsical, eclectic ensemble, eccentric by design. The plum-colored velvet tailcoat provided a bold splash of color, framing his body down to the knees. Complementing this was his flowery vest, a fitting accent piece that added playfulness to the look. Khaki trousers, brown dress shoes, and an oversized beige bow tie completed the ensemble, giving him the appearance of a storybook fantasy hero come to life.

The chocolate brown hat he wore did little to contain his wild, frizzy curls, which stuck out at odd angles and bounced with each movement.

The more I observed him, the less he resembled a master chocolatier and company executive.

Sensing my hesitance, he spoke again in a friendly tone.

With a casual flourish, he recited, "There are no strangers here, only friends who have not yet met."

Puzzled, I furrowed my brows, wondering where the quote came from rather than what it meant.

Amusement danced in his blue eyes as I failed to recognize the quote.

"What do you think of my chocolate room?" he asked.

Uncertain whether he intended to reprimand me for snooping, I reflexively responded to his question with another question, "What's it for?", though I hadn't meant to answer in that way.

With a casual glance around the room, he replied, "Inspiration, mostly, but only because I dare to dream." The depth of his gaze held me captive, exceeding my understanding. 

Yearning for answers, I resisted the urge to question him, but I knew I could only uncover the truth by delving deeper - a challenge he seemed to anticipate.

"It's not complete yet," he continued, his words trailing off.

Crossing the grassy expanse, he paused beside the dry riverbed, gazing at it with a pensive expression. I could see the gears turning in his mind as he envisioned the space, visions dancing across his brain of the room's untapped potential, waiting to be realized with just a little more imagination.

He turned to me, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Do you know what this is going to be?" he asked.

I shook my head. 

Straining to hear, I leaned in as his voice faded to a whisper. "Chocolate," he murmured. I didn't question him, as nothing else would have made sense in that context.

His captivating charm caused my world to feel smaller the longer I stayed in his presence. 

Despite my introverted nature, I surrendered to the alluring sensation, dipping a cautious toe in before fully immersing myself, as if sinking into a soothing hot bath.

A hint of a smile played on my lips as I marveled, "A chocolate river."

"And a waterfall," he said, gesturing toward the distant stone wall, "churning my chocolate. This will be the only factory in the world that will mix its chocolate by waterfall."

I let out a soft chuckle, and he tilted his head with a lopsided grin in response. 

"That's rather ambitious, don't you think?" 

"Aha!" he exclaimed, gesturing grandly. "My dear, I'm dreaming dreams, and the dreams I dream like pearls in the darkness gleam."

The worry and fear that had initially consumed me had now vanished.

This young confectioner was every bit as captivating as the world had made him out to be.

"So, is this the realization of your dream?" I asked, gesturing to the room.

"This room," he nodded, "is where my dreams become reality and my realities transform into dreams."

This room was a manifestation of Willy Wonka's boundless imagination, a breathtaking love letter penned by one of the greatest creative minds of our era. Each intricate detail filled me with newfound awe and respect for the sheer brilliance of his vision, leaving me in a state of wonder. Truly, every element here was a living ode to his unparalleled creativity.

Willy Wonka, a master of diverse talents and trades, had perfected the art of invention.

Wonka's inventions were utterly all-encompassing, far beyond the comprehension of my limited understanding.

"I'm at a loss for words...it’s truly beautiful."

"Thank you, miss…" Wonka said, his voice trailing off expectantly.

"Audrey," I replied, "Audrey Benedict."

"Miss Benedict," Wonka said, his smile widening as he addressed me by name.

His warm handshake caught me off guard. 

"Wonderful to finally meet you, my dear," he said, suggesting he already knew who I was.

I let out a soft laugh, masking my surprise. "I can say the same about you, Mr. Wonka," I replied.

"Willy," he gently corrected me.

A soft, pink blush dusted my cheeks as I repeated, "Willy."

In this room, Wonka's boundless creativity roamed freely, dreaming up fantastical elements like the flowing chocolate river.

Wonka was an anomaly, for he didn't merely envision his fantastical dreams, but relentlessly strove to manifest them. He meticulously sifted through his imagination, unearthing every whimsical detail to breathe life into his visions.

Though I aspired to Wonka's imaginative brilliance, I lacked the ability to transform my own visions into reality except with words on a page.

"Everything in this room is edible…eatable," he said, pausing briefly to consider the proper tense. "In other words, most of what's here can be consumed. Of course, that will be the case once it is finished."

“How long have you been working on all this?”

"Too long," he replied, his tone dripping with displeasure, suggesting something was keeping him from finishing his masterpiece.

I observed as he reached towards a nearby tree, plucking off a handful of berries. Motioning to me, he indicated that I should hold out my hands. I cupped them together, and he carefully dropped five peculiar, spherical objects into my palms. These "orbs" were swirls of vibrant, multicolored hues, resembling peppermints but without any white coloring and with a perfectly round shape.

“What are they?”

He popped one of the "candy berries" into his mouth and shrugged. "Each one has notes of two different fruits - like strawberry and banana, blueberry and raspberry, or kiwi and watermelon. They're some of my favorites."

The first bite was a revelation - a burst of genuine strawberry flavor that filled my mouth, as if I had sunk my teeth into a ripe, juicy berry rather than a mere confection. But just as quickly, the strawberry notes gave way to the unmistakable taste of fresh banana, its potent essence overtaking my senses. "Oh my, that's incredible!" I exclaimed, a delighted smile spreading across my face.

Wonka watched me enjoy his candy, laughing delightedly. "Isn't it wonderful?" he asked.

"I just finished the prototype. It took months to perfect, but I think I've got it just right. I'm hoping to have these on the market in the coming months."

As I savored another piece, I was mesmerized by the illusion of eating fresh, ripe fruit.

"I hope you enjoyed the chocolate room," he began, "but I'm afraid I have some business to attend to. If you'd like, feel free to select one more item to take with you before you depart."

I expressed my gratitude, saying "Oh, thank you!" then added, "Willy."

He grinned charmingly and remarked, "You remembered."

I maneuvered around him, searching for another treat to take with me.

After some time, I sought his guidance, looking to him for any suggestions.

Though he initially remained silent, his mischievous blue eyes sparkled as they darted towards a secluded grotto brimming with delicate chocolate flowers, silently beckoning me to pluck a small bouquet. Captivated, I carefully bent down to admire the candy garden, selecting a few sweet-petaled blooms.

Blurting out the unexpected phrase "butter cups," I surprised even myself, unsure of what had compelled me to speak those words without any context. Yet, I hoped he would somehow grasp the meaning behind my random utterance.

Struggling to find the right words, I attempted to explain, "you could make…yellow flowers shaped like teacups. They could be made of chocolate or..." I trailed off, the thought slipping away.

I had never spoken so freely and openly with a stranger before, but as Wonka had said, there were no strangers here - only friends yet to meet.

Willy Wonka's harmless yet endearing eccentricity filled me with a comforting sense of wonder. As a young candymaker, his vibrant imagination inspired the entire industry, and even though I was not a confectioner myself, his creative vision bled into my own mind, prompting me to say the most peculiar things.

"Clever," he nodded thoughtfully, his mind churning as he considered the idea.

His face betrayed no emotion.

Beneath his disarming smile lay layers of mystery. Though I had many questions, I doubted he would be willing to answer them. Still, he had been surprisingly forthcoming so far.

 As my time with him drew to a close, I knew I likely wouldn't get another chance to speak with him privately. I had to accept that he was simply being polite, showing me around the room where he worked and found inspiration, rather than opening up on a personal level.

I didn't feel a personal connection to him, but I intuitively grasped his perspective.

I questioned him not because I doubted his knowledge or abilities, but out of genuine curiosity to understand his perspective and process. 

I was eager to learn what made him so captivating to the world, beyond what I had observed so far.

He was a grand, chaotic force - a one-of-a-kind entity clad in purple, embodying the whimsical madness of chocolate. This singular quality was precisely what made him so special and captivating.

He embraced his true self, a testament to the creativity and inventive passion that defined him.

Gripping three chocolate flowers, I stood and looked at him again. "Willy?"

He tilted his head slightly, awaiting my question. "Hm?"

"Thank you for your time. I apologize for the unexpected visit; it won't happen again."

His smile widened as he replied warmly, "You're very welcome, my dear. There's no need to apologize - you were simply curious, that's all. Now, come along, don't linger. I'll walk you back to your father, as I'm headed in that direction anyway."

He hurried towards the door, taking the steps two at a time.

Pausing on the landing, he gestured for me to exit first. 

I stepped through the open door, with Wonka close behind. He shut the door, ensuring it was locked, before quickening his pace to walk beside me back towards the main office area.

I deferred to him to lead the way, as I was unsure of the proper direction. He moved with purpose, having traversed these corridors for years and committed them to memory.

"I apologize again," I said, which prompted him to chuckle.

Then, he remarked, "You really must stop apologizing. There is no need, as you have done nothing wrong."

I was confused. 

Wonka had found me trespassing in one of his private rooms, after I had been wandering the factory without permission. Yet now he was telling me I had done nothing wrong. 

Perhaps the rules set by my father and Mr. Wilkinson were not enforced by Wonka. 

But if that were the case, why did those rules exist in the first place?

"My father's office is just down the hall to the left," I said, turning to Wonka as I now begun to recognize where we were. "I can find it from here if you need to be elsewhere."

"Nonsense, my dear," Wonka said, his pace unwavering. "I must speak with your father. He has requested a meeting with me."

Willy Wonka walked beside me, his shoulder a hands-breadth away, as we proceeded in silence down the lengthy corridor.

The absurdity of the situation did little to calm my thoughts as more and more questions arose. Yet, I remained silent, unsure how to articulate them.

Wonka was the first to break the silence as we turned another corner, heading left toward my father's office. 

Through the open door, I could just barely see my father sitting at his desk, filling out reports.

"I should be the one apologizing," he said, his tone contrite. "I should have introduced myself long ago."

I couldn't hide my surprise. "Really?" I responded, puzzled as to why Willy Wonka would want to speak with me.

I opened my mouth to respond to him but was interrupted by my father.

After seeing Willy Wonka and I walking down the hall, Mr. Benedict emerged from his office and waited by the door to greet us. 

"Audrey, where did you run off to?" he asked me, before turning his gaze to Wonka. "I hope she didn't get into any trouble," he added.

"Not at all," Wonka replied, shaking his head. "You've raised a very well-mannered young lady, Mr. Benedict. I was just telling Miss Audrey how honored I am to have finally had the chance to formally introduce myself."

With a stoic expression, my father replied, "Well, thank you, Mr. Wonka. We are both very appreciative," a faint smile briefly crossing his face, before his brows knit together in concern.

“I hope you have a chance to meet with me today, Mr. Wonka. There’s a situation that has just come to light – it’s about our competitors. It seems there’s some discrepancy over how our unpatented products are already being found on the market and-”

Mr. Wonka’s broad smile faltered somewhat as he cut my father’s words short to avoid inquiry on my part, "Yes, well…shall we discuss this matter in my office?" he asked.

"Very well," my father said, turning to me. "Audrey, why don't you wait in my office? Mr. Wonka and I won't be long."

As my father and Mr. Wonka continued down the hallway, I nodded and went into his office. 

Just before Wonka disappeared from view, he waved at me, and I politely waved back. 

Something about the situation struck me as peculiar. Wonka had seemed to imply that he had been intending to meet me for some time, which wouldn't have been unusual except for the unexpected nature of the encounter.

Despite my father occasionally bringing me to work at this expansive factory, the supervisor likely paid me little mind. After all, what interest or value could I, a young child, hold for him beyond being another spectator to his daily operations? I doubt I had anything meaningful to contribute beyond serving as an additional audience member to his lifelong work.

I was uncharacteristically skeptical, as something about the situation with Willy Wonka seemed peculiar - beyond just our previous interaction. I couldn't determine what he knew or how much of this was staged. It seemed highly unlikely that he had planned for me to wander through his factory, since he couldn't have predicted where I would go or what I would discover. Perhaps there was more to it than met the eye, or perhaps I was reading too deeply into a situation that was straightforward. In any case, I found myself unsure of the true nature of events.

I had overheard a conversation, but what did it mean? Earlier, my father had wanted to discuss something with me before I wandered off. And now, it seemed there was some complication brewing between Wonka and his competitors.

Despite my lack of knowledge, one thing was certain - Willy Wonka possessed the answers I sought. 

I should have asked more questions.

[according2thelore]

okay so your es/ls verse is making me lose my mind omg!! I check everyday and every little snippet heals a part of my soul I am not even kiddinggg! This last one about es!sam missing was so so so on point, I finally have the courage to send you an ask - what if es!sam or dean or both at the same time see ls!sam and dean uhm...um...doing what they are yearning for, kissing or spooning or straight up boning...what happens then? Does ES!Dean freak out and bolt? Does ES!Sam feel hopeful about the future for the first time since coming? Do ES!Sam&Dean evade each other forever?????? Do they accept it or try to play up their wtf reactions as if they havent been dreaming of this forever???

PS - odd detail but I love how adorably you write "kisses you on both cheeks" - english isnt my first language so forgive me if this comes as weird but this phrase of yours always me laugh because it is so cute haha?! I hope ES!Sam kisses Cas on both cheeks? Did I use it right???

EEK! thank you, anon! MWAH MWAH!

and please send me all the asks in the world! i cradle all of these asks in my hands like a duckling, lol!

OKAY ANON LMAO I TOTALLY READ THIS WHOLE THING COMPLETELY WRONG!!!! i read it as: what if LS!Dean&ES!Sam walk in on LS!Sam&ES!Dean kissing, and wrote this big long terrible thing about it!!!! my mistake!!!!!!! i was about to click publish then read it again and realized my error! if y'all ever want that lesson in angst and torture, lmk lol.

but GAH!!! your BRAIN!!!! i had to write a narrative little thing about it, i hope you enjoy!

sam doesn't know where the hell anyone is.

he checks the kitchen. nope. the armory, no one. the library? empty. he checks everyone's bedrooms, the garage, the war room, the dungeon (still can't believe there's a future where he owns a dungeon), and they're all completely empty.

sam is starting to suspect that they all went out without him, despite the fact that sammy had immediately established the ground rule that no "same" winchesters can go out together without a pretty extensive disguise.

that rule had been established when they all went out to the bar to drink their collective problem away (with the younger winchesters in big-billed trucker hats) and a drunk girl had stumbled straight from older dean's unwilling arms into younger dean's infinitely-more-willing arms and did a double-take. then a triple-take. then she saw The Sams, and they got the hell out of dodge before things could get ugly.

twins exist, for sure, but identical twins separated by 10+ years? not really.

sam's walking down another of the infinite hallways when he spots dean--his dean.

he had given up on finding anyone and gone to do some more archiving work. it was one of the only things that kept him sane in this new reality, and he enjoyed the quiet, satisfying work of logging complicated artifacts in his older self's laptop.

it was outside on of these rooms that he finds dean.

sam is positive there's nothing on these floors but dusty, mostly unopened rooms full of non-sharp, lore-heavy papers and gadgets and pottery, so he's confused why dean is here at all.

(and another, more bitter part of him is surprised to see him here without his precious sammy)

dean's pressed against a door, and sam's steps slow, because he's seen this exact scene in that one movie about the blair witch that terence made him watch at stanford. they had all jumped and laughed and rolled their eyes, but sam had sat straight as a board, beer sweating and unopened in his hand.

dean is clearly not looking at him, face pressed into the doorcrack like he's trying to smell or something. sam creeps forward, listening, but can only dean's quick breathing.

is he hurt? sam picks up his pace.

when he's directly behind him, he leans his head in close. he can smell his own shampoo in dean’s hair.

“dean!” he says suddenly, because it’s his big brother, and sam is legally obligated to be a little shit about it.

dean jumps like he just took a bullet to the kidney, and he slams both hands over his mouth. he whips around with glaring eyes, but he’s clearly shocked by something. something not-sam.

“what the hell?” dean asks, sharply, voice barely above a whisper.

“what are we doing?” sam asks, lowering his voice, too. is something wrong? what’s in the room? sam makes a step forward, but dean reaches a hand out to sam’s chest, keeping him there.

dean raises his other hand to his lips, motioning for sam to be quiet. sam hunches instinctively, and creeps forward quietly.

he and dean are sharing space next to the door, and sam presses even closer so dean’s back brushes his chest with every inhale. there’s a few-centimeter crack in the door, just enough for light to come through, but they can only see a sliver of a shelf from here.

there are voices, sam realizes. behind the door. they’re faint, but one is getting steadily quieter and louder, like they’re pacing back and forth from the door.

"--leave, already?"

a soft laugh. "you don't mean that."

a groan. "yeah, sammy, i kinda do. i don't like this. that we have to hide this."

sam knew it was their older selves, but the confirmation of it shoots a spark of nerves all the way down to his toes. why are they here?

“we’ve hidden this before. we hide literally everywhere. all the time.”

“but it’s us, y’know?”

“even more reason. could you imagine telling dean that this is how we end up?”

“kid’ll wet himself in glee, promise you that.” a silence. “what?”

“nothing. just…”

“d’ah, stop lookin’ at me like that.” dean grumbles. and his voice stops moving back and forth.

“or what?” challengingly. sam flushes, because he knows that tone of voice. he flirts with that voice. keep it together, man, he wants to scream to his older self. dean shifts in front of him.

“or i’ll come over there and make you,” dean says, and sam can feel the dean in front of him tense up.

there’s silence in the room for a second, and sam can feel the ragged inhales of the dean in front of him. sam’s palms are sweating.

“how long have they been here?” sam asks quietly, and if he didn’t know better, he would say dean shudders as his breath hits dean’s scalp.

“i don’t know. i just found them a few minutes ago. they’ve been talking about us.”

sam can feel dean’s voice rumble, and he closes his eyes, tight.

the silence reigns, and sam leans forward even more,

“what are they doing?”

sam reaches forward to push the door open. dean makes a wordless hushed sound of protest, but sam has already knocked the door open an inch. it’s silent on its hinges.

sam leans over dean, and his blood runs cold.

sammy is sitting on a table, facing the door. dean’s waist is pressed between his thighs, and one foot has hooked around dean’s calf to hold them close.

they’re kissing.

they’re kissing.

sam can hear the wet sounds their mouths make as they part and connect. tongues flash in the yellow over-head lights.

the dean in front of him makes a noise, shocked and…and something else.

“hate that i have to have you here, sammy. want to fuck you on the kitchen table, make them watch.”

sam watches his own face contort into a groan, watches older dean bite kisses down his throat. sammy’s lips are swollen and wet, and sam flushes hot because oh my god oh my fucking god—

“you like that idea, don’t you? spread you open for me, make your little favorite hear what a slut his older brother is? make him know you’re mine?”

younger dean’s hand flies to his mouth. sam desperately has to press a hand to his cock, and does so, praying that dean doesn’t turn around.

“no bites.” sammy pants, and tangles his hand in dean’s hair, pulling him away.

sam is shocked by the pure want and adoration on his older self’s face, and aches down to his very bones.

“can’t believe we wasted so much time.” he says, voice rough. his eyes are soft. older dean’s hand bunches in sammy’s shirt, and sam can see the tips of his ears go pink.

younger dean stumbles back, and slams into sam. sam jerks back with a yelp, throwing his hips away because he is terrified that dean is going to feel the hard swell of his dick in his jeans.

dean is panting, and his hand shakes on his mouth.

“oh my god,” dean whines. “they’re—together—they—“

“they’re fucking.” sam confirms, nodding and not knowing why. “they fuck. they fuck each other.”

“stop saying it!” dean whisper shouts, bending at the waist and standing up again, pacing in frantic little circles.

“together,” he’s muttering. “they’re—they—holy shit.”

sam’s heart is pumping in his ears. he can’t help it—he can’t—his eyes fall to dean’s crotch. there’s a bulge in his jeans. sam’s mouth goes dry. his whole body goes hot.

does…does dean—

“i don’t—“ sam says, but he doesn’t know what he’s going to follow that up with.

“yeah, i know.” dean says, laughing breathlessly. then his eyes get wide and he grabs a fist of his hair. “oh fuck. what are we gonna do?”

“pretend we didn’t see anything?” sam suggests.

“we were going to—y’know! to you!!! y’all!” dean says. he’s panicking. sam’s hope starts to curdle.

“say it—fuck. they’re fucking!” sam hisses. dean groans like he’s going to be sick.

dean put his hand over his mouth and starts muttering again. sam catches a few words. “kiss—how could he do that—little brother—we promised—can’t believe—“

something strange shifts in sam’s chest. since he was freshly 11—hell even before that, when he found out his kindergarten teacher was engaged, and sam found out what “marriage” meant, he had grabbed dean’s hand excitedly when he came to get him from the classroom and elatedly told him “we’re gettin’ married! i’m gonna marry you!” dad had later disabused him of that, and dean had crawled into their bed later that night and kissed sam’s tear-streaked cheeks. “it’s okay sammy,” he said, “i’m gonna be at your weddin’ anyway. standin’ right behind you.” sam’s stomach had curdled. “but if you’re really, super old—like 29–and you’re still not married, we can talk about it.”

sam had thought about it when he was 13 and watching dean press the girl of the month against the side of the impala from the motel window. 16 years to go, he had thought with all the tone and life of someone counting down the years of a terminal diagnosis. he had been rotting with this for years.

and they—future they—did it! are doing it? they…they’re together. in all the ways. in every way.

“i gotta go,” dean mutters, and sam catches one look at his overwhelmed expression before dean takes off. sam blinks after him, still processing.

together. he and dean together.

“dean,” sam calls. he’s shocked by how breathless he is, and clears his throat. “wait up!”

he follows his brother, like he’s been doing since he was six.

but for the first time in his life, his chest swells with a tentative, frantic hope. he’s afraid the weight of it—of them—will choke him. he doesn’t know what’s going to happen. dean probably won’t talk to him. but sam—he—it’s starting. this could go either way, but whatever this is—love, family, whatever—is starting.

and he can’t wait to find out.

~~~

“do you think they’re talking about it?” sammy asks later, washing his face before bed. dean is sitting on their bed with a cleaning cloth, freshly showered. “do you think it was enough of a kick in the ass?”

“knowing us, not a fucking shot.” dean says blandly, cleaning his gun. “at this rate, i think i will actually have to suck your cock in the library four times a day to get it to sink in.”

sam rolls his eyes, and dryly says, “romantic.” he adjusts his collar and his eyes land on a couple of splotchy bruises on his neck. “hey!” he leans out of the bathroom. “i think you actually left bruises.”

dean looks up, face purposefully placid.

“whoops. let’s hope pipsqueak doesn’t see those.”

sam scowls.

“you’ve got issues.”

dean lifts one shoulder up in a coy shrug and tilts his head.

“aw, baby. only for you.”

“you’re an ass!” sam calls as he steps back into the bathroom. he looks at his and dean’s toothbrushes sitting side-by-side.

he smiles. yeah.

they definitely got them.

~~~

PS - aw! thank you so much!!! it’s not weird at all! and yes, that's completely correct, haha! ES!Sam is for sure kissing Cas on both cheeks!

LS!Dean is the guy running up and trying to stop it but the poor fool is too late! they are embracing!

(I DO NOT KNOW WHY THE ONLY OTHER EXAMPLE OF THIS IN TUMBLR'S GIF LIBRARY IS FROM GABRIEL'S INFERNO, PLEASE IGNORE THE CONTEXT OH MY GOD AHAHAH)

anyway!!!

i am kissing you on both cheeks! so now we're both laughing! thank you for this ask, anon, it made me giggle! have a great day! <3

-lizzy

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

These Violent Desires

Pairing: Yandere! Risotto x reader

Description: You never really had much of a love life. Not for lack of trying on your part, thank you, it just never really happened. Of course, like most people you wanted it: a romance so sweet and comforting it swept you off your feet and left you on cloud nine. But between working full time, being chronically online, and not to mention a depressed mess, you didn't see that happening any time soon. Perhaps its good timing, then, that your ASMR channel starts to take off. Just the distraction you needed from your day to day monotony!

Content Warning: Depression, more depression, minor intrusive thoughts, parasocial behavior, use of female titles (queen, girl) and female reader (will come up more in other parts), I wasn't kidding when I said she chronically online, ask to tag, other parts will different/darker warnings

Rating (fic as a whole): NSFW Rating (Part): SFW

Word Count: 3640

Ao3 Link: These Violent Desires

Notes: I am SO excited to bring this to you! You guys remember the original these violent desires? I sure do! As much as I love that fic, that little series I realize... I really went in to it with not a clue of what my end goal was. Not a great way to write a story. With it being two years since then, and me reading a FANTASTIC FIC from @kneelingshadowsalome (DOG, on their Ao3) that inspired me to reconsider my whole characters and motivations I bring you... this mess (affectionate). I'm actually really excited to bring this back and im gonna start writing the next part as soon as I finish this draft. Also, note: I suspect tumblr isn't gonna respect all the formatting and fun stuff I did so feel free to check it out on Ao3!

Part: One | Two

Sometimes, you really hated your job.

Hated seeing all the cute, happy couples out on a date night. Hated seeing all the happy families and precious little babies. Hated seeing people be so effortlessly happy and carefree. Hated that you had to pretend to be just as enchanted. It made you bleed with jealously, and want to scream and hide in shame.

Although you did feel bad about your burning envy, you hated that it was somewhat malicious; it was just you wanted that same kind of love, someone you were best friends and lovers with-- who you had been together with for years and knew you as much as you knew yourself. Someone you could be yourself with, through thick and thin…

Thinking about it just made you bitter. These things don’t just pop out of nowhere. Relationships had to be worked for; love didn’t just appear. It had to be made, to be cared for and nurtured. So even if you wanted (cried screamed begged) that fairy tale romance to come of sweep you off your feet, it wouldn’t happen. Not unless you find yourself a prince charming awfully soon… And at your current rate well, it wasn’t likely too happen.

You were notoriously bad at dating and getting close to people. Of course, you tried dating apps and meeting new people through your friends but nothing really seemed to click… It didn’t help that you were incredibly dense, as well; with little insight on how dating even worked in the real world you were left just as clueless (and alone) as you came in.

You had a sinking feeling you knew what it was, too; beyond being dense or clueless. You had been struggling against your depression for the better part of your adult life. You got by with plastic smiles and laughs that didn’t really meet your eyes, living life just on the outside looking in. Maybe, people could tell. You always had felt a little different, anyways. Maybe one day you would get better. Maybe one day, you could find something to be happy for. Someone to be happy with.

Today, however, you have a job to do. Rent to make. Jealousy to stew in while you smile and nod and play the perfect little hostess at work. And then you would come home, numb and tired, and not be able to fall asleep. Just to do it again tomorrow.

Work is the same as usual. You’re the only support staff-- no back server to be seen. The servers are too busy with their tables to help you. Seat the table. Water the guests. Grab them bread. It’s all monotonous, said with a sweet smile and voice high and kind. Wait for the guest to leave. Bus the table. Set it back up. And wait for the next guest. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Its one of those moments in-between, where your gaze is lost far off in the hotel and your thoughts are getting darker by the moment. You wonder if anyone would notice if you just left right now. Walked out into the night, took the wrong bus home, and see what happens where ever you end up.

The shrill sound of the phone ringing catches you out of your stupor. You glance at the phone in surprise, looking down at the screen. Private. Not entirely unusual in your line of work, but just interesting enough. With a gentle hand, you grab the receiver and speak.

“Thank you for calling the Mountaintop Bar and Grill, this is _____ speaking. How may I help you?” Talking on the phone was always easy-- no one could see your not as happy as you sound. Strangely, the line is silent a moment, so you repeat. “Hello, is anyone there?” You wait a few moments again, only hearing faint breathing on the other line if anything. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t hear you. Goodbye.” You hang up the receiver, frowning at the phone before looking at the time.

It was so slow tonight, your surprised to find its nearly time to close. You put up the close sign, take back the last tray and make sure the tables are wiped and reset for the next day. You make careful small talk with your coworkers, make sure that they never think to question what lies beneath the surface of you, and check out with your manager.

You walk slow to your bus, taking the time to put on your earbuds to drown out the world around you. You board the bus, scan your card, and take the same seat you do every time you ride. The same as you always do. The same playlist you always listen to plays, but you don’t really hear it as you open your phone and prepare for the bus ride home.

There was one thing that made you smile, though. Explaining it made you feel kind of silly (mostly strange), but you had a youtube channel. It was kind of small, less than 1000 subscribers really, but the community you built really made you happy. The type of content you created was kind of… niche, to put it nicely. You made asmr videos. Stuff like “Your shy girl friend asks you to spend the night during a big storm (she’s so scared! 🥺🥺)” or “Your roommate asks for your help with her homework (but maybe she wants something more 👀)” or even things a little more raunchy like “You accidentally summon an inexperienced succubus!!! (You Are A Dark Mage Looking For A Familiar)”.

Making them was kind of fun, but what you really enjoyed was your fans. Even if you had never shown your face, (some) of the people in your comments were downright simps. You really only lived for the attention at this point. You even got kind of parasocial with it, talking with some fans in your members only discord.

You scroll through the comments, reading them all and responding to a few while you had the time. Most were sweet, telling you how much they liked your voice and content, others talking about how much you made them blush and giggle. You can’t help but notice you have a new commenter, too. From the looks of things they’ve been following you a while, but have only just now left a comment.

@metal_metalica5

Next time, let me take care of you

It almost feels out of place, with the fully black icon next to it. It’s not like you haven’t had people leaving frankly strange and concerning messages in your comments, but this one rides the line. You wonder who could be behind the comment for a moment. Maybe someone just as depressed and lonely as you, seeking comfort they find in your stories and voice. Someone who just wanted to return the favor. You don’t want to consider anything else, really-- you’d like to think the best of this new commenter.

In the end, you like the comment, smiling to yourself. You check your members discord, seeing the server is a little more abuzz than usual. It was relatively small, with only around 60 people, many of which were lurking themselves. You’re not surprised to find its the same name as the comment left on your most recent video. Your mods and a few members have already greeted them, but you make sure to as well.

work work work today at 9:17 pm

Hi @/metal_metalica5!! Thanks for joining the server, and commenting on the latest video! It’s nice to have your support <3

You don’t wait for a reply, checking out your ats and whats happening in all the other channels. Interacting with everyone brings a smile to your face, and you find yourself grinning as you thank the bus driver and get off at your stop. Cool darkness greets you as you walk down the street to your apartment. Things seem okay-- its your weekend, and you think you could finish recording the last bit of your next video.

Safely indoors, you set your coat and purse down, and make haste to change out of your uniform into something more comfortable. Once you have on some comfortable clothing, you take a seat at your desk and open your laptop. Discord pops open there as well, but you minimize the window for now, opening your recording app. You had been teasing your followers about a 1000 subscriber special for a while, but the idea still made you nervous.

Your plan was to do a live stream/face reveal. It would mostly be talking and playing games, but people could donate to you and you would read out their message. You were still working out the logistics, but you suspected that you would breach 1000 soon so you had better hurry.

“You haven’t ate any food today.” You jump a little at the voice beside you.

“Glory.” You scold, looking over to your stand, Glory and Gore. “I’m not hungry, and I’m busy. I’ll eat before I go to bed.” You turn back to the screen, reading over your transcript for any typos and bad wording.

“It’s not a good idea to neglect the needs of your body.” You can see a frown reach her perfect, pretty lips. You always thought it was unfair your stand was prettier than you. You also thought it ironic that the literal ghost of you was better at taking care of you than the real, physical you (that often felt like a ghost). “You’re already suffering from a few vitamin deficiencies, which aren’t helping with your depression and anxiety at all.”

“Why are you worse than a doctor.” Truthfully, she was right. You should take better care of yourself. You knew that if she could, Glory would fix these things for you. She was a healing stand, able to fix any injury or disease from a person. But vitamin D deficiencies, your stupid little brain chemicals being imbalanced and giving you the Big Sad? Nope. Out of her hands, unfortunately. Ironic that you would have a healing stand and suffer from one of the things she couldn’t fix.

“I just want to see you better.” You look to her, even if she doesn’t have eyes to really see you also, she frowns. Funny, how she was also much more logical and level headed than you.

“Fine, fine. I’ll find some food.” Her hand stops you as you reach for your phone, a stern look taking over her. “Finnnnne, no doordash.” You sigh and place your phone in your pocket, and stand to go to your kitchen. Seeing you head that way, Glory de-manifests, content in knowing you would try to find something to eat.

“...Need to go grocery shopping.” You sigh as you look through the fridge. You really didn’t mind her looking after you. You were aware just how stands were manifest of a users soul and desire-- you wanted someone to take care of you, since you seemed to be failing to do it all by yourself. But at this particular moment, you didn’t have that: what you did have was cheese, and butter. And… turning around, yes, you still have some bread, not yet moldy. Grilled cheese dinner, queen.

You’re even lucky enough to find a singular can of tomato soup in your barren cupboards. Hell yeah, that’s a whole meal. And one you can make in less than 10 minutes. Look at you, being all self sufficient. Queen of mental health over here, cooking her own meals.

As you butter bread and let the pan warm on the oven (soup uncondensed but not quite in the microwave yet), you read more discord chats, surprised to find you have multiple ats all in the gen chat (and a few in the mod chat as well). Everyone is abuzz, with “several people typing” showing up on the bottom of the screen. Gen is moving too fast so you move to the mod chat to see whats happened.

The Best Mod (Jax) today at 10:22 pm

holy shit work work work get in here

Ya Boiiii (Niko) today at 10:22

@/work work work ‼️‼️‼️‼️

work work work today at 10:23

why is everyone going crazy lol whats up

Ya Boiiii (Niko) today at 10:24

smh she don’t even know

The Best Mod (Jax) today at 10:24

you’re over 1000 subs 😤

was like 1010 last I checked

Ya Boiiii (Niko) today at 10: 25

just keeps going up ‼️

work work work today at 10:26

wha

am grilling chesee hold up

You put your phone down, placing the bowl of soup in the microwave and setting the timer with beating heart. Over 1000 subs already? You take a deep breath and place the bread, butter down in the hot pan, placing a generous handful of cheese on top and then the next piece of bread. You pick up your phone barely hearing the sizzling of the bread, instead closing discord to open youtube.

Sure enough, your creator widget shows it: 1013 subscribers, at least a hundred or more than when you last took a look at it. The number was indeed still going up, as when you refresh the page it now reads 1015.

“Where are all these people coming from?” Is all you can wonder. You send a quick “holy shit” to your mods, but quickly return to your food when the beeping microwave calls for your attention.

You pull your soup out quickly, and realize your grilled cheese is starting to burn on the first side and flip it over, relived to see you got to it before it got too bad. Little burnt never hurt anyone anyways. Even as you feel renewed energy and excitement moving through you, you make sure your food is all ready, make sure to turn off the stove top, and fast walk back to your desk with your dinner, eyes quickly going to discord again.

You make sure to send a message in the gen chat, telling everyone thank you and that you’ve seen the good news. Reading back on messages, it seems another popular asmr youtuber (a guy, one you actually follow yourself) had brought you up. He was apparently live streaming (right now), and one of his followers had sent a donation, asking about his thoughts on you. And apparently, he loved your content-- was excited to see what you would do once you hit 1000 followers and not so subtly encouraged his (thousands) of followers to check you out.

work work work today at 10:31 pm

holy fucking shit!?!?! fuckging,,, golden experience likes my content ⁉️⁉️

I can die happy now

im dead

Ya Boiiii (Niko) today at 10:31 pm

nooo don’t die

work work work today at 10:32

joining his stream rn

gonna try to lurk but also I wanna thank him 🥺

The Best Mod (Jax) today at 10:32

im already in lol

I’ll tell everyone you’re here :)

work work work today at 10:33

wait nOOO

You tab out over to youtube to where the stream has finally loaded, to see Mr. Golden Experience ASMR himself smiling.

“Oh, look, it seems our new favorite has joined us. Hello, Gore Gone Wild.” He smiles, sweet and serene at the camera and you feel your heart pound a little.

@/Gore_Gone_Wild

omg hiii!! My mod told me you gave me a little shout out, thank you so much :D

You try so hard to be normal. All the sudden, you’re the fan interacting with your fav. Your dinner goes ignored, soup and grilled cheese cooling as you focus your efforts on Golden Experience's stream.

“It was a donation from your mod that brought the topic up.” He laughs soft and sweet. When you look to the top donations of the stream, you can see Niko’s youtube (@onionthepaladin) at on the top of the banner, having donated $100.

@/Gore_Gone_Wild

omggg that’s… literally so sweet of him. And you!! I’m also a big fan of yours <3

That’s it, you have to kill Niko. You have to travel across the united states, kill your mod, and make sure he never pulls this shit again. You suddenly feel so embarrassed, so light and free.

“Don’t be too rough with him.” Another sweet smile reaches him. God, he’s literally so pretty and perfect. Like, the opposite of you really. How could someone so put together like anything about you…? Oh yeah, you were hiding behind a screen. That’s why. Super easy to keep up the charade… “Truth be told, I’ve been your fan for a while. I was also excited to see what you would do for 1000 followers.” You smile wide as his chat echos his excitement.

@/Gore_Gone_Wild

welll… since its you… I guess I can let you in on my secret :) but only you! Not even my followers know yet so… I’ll dm you :3c

You feel so giddy when you see his eyes widen, see his smile widen a hair.

“Well, I look forward to seeing it.” He chuckles again, and returns to the conversation from before your arrival. His stream is nice noise to eat your now cold dinner to, as your heart hammers a bit when hitting up his dms on twitter. You send him a cute little message, telling him your plans: how you wanted to do your first live stream, reveal your place, and just chill with your followers, playing some games and taking read requests for him. But if he had suggestions, or tips for live streams, you would love to hear them.

You hear a buzz on stream, and watch as Golden Experience picks up his phone. “Looks like miss Gore just dmed me.” He smiles as his eyes scan your text. “I don’t want to seem desperate chat, should I wait to respond?” You watch as chat moves a little faster, some people spamming “simp”, others saying “she’s still here lol”. A few people leave actual advice, to which he reads a few aloud.

“Hmm, you’re right, shouldn’t leave a lady waiting.” He winks at his face cam and you nearly die. You’re gonna have to watch something else, now. Quickly leaving his stream, you take a moment to simply breath at your sub feed, heart pounding fast. You hadn’t been this excited in forever… Guess now it was time to tell your followers for real what what happening.

It’s actually your weekend, you have the next three days off… So with that in mind you go about telling everyone your plans. Your mods (Jax, Nico, and Sammy, whose probably already sleeping), already know, but after Golden Experience, you tell your discord your plans to host the live stream in the next two days.

Then, take a teasing little picture of your setup, with just a little plushie sitting next to your screen. “Excited to see you all this friday :3 Here’s to 1000!” is all the post itself says, but you make a live stream reminder on your page just so everyone knows what happening. You’re so excited you refresh all the pages, seeing at the night owls commenting on your posts with excitement. Now, you aren’t surprised to see a familiar name among them.

First comment on your youtube belongs to you newest member, @metal_metalica5, with another kind of ominous, but not quite out of line comment that simply reads “I know you’re perfect already, bella.” Second comment belongs to Golden Experience himself, commenting from his own account that says “Look forward to seeing you! I’m happy to see you’ve grown so much”.

You tear yourself away from your phone screen, and have to close your computer not to end up just replying to comments on that. You steel yourself to take your dishes to the sink, and actually wash them, too excited by the nights events to even realize that you were. You’re even too excited to review your writing, or record it for that matter, so in the end you end up pacing around in your nerves.

Pacing only wears you down so much, so you decide to lay down with your phone pulled close to your face. Curiosity gets the better of you as you look to the comments again. You click on the profile of @metal_metalica5, curious to see if he has anything on there. He hasn’t posted anything to youtube, nor has he created any playlists for that matter. With the pure black icon, it seems like he doesn’t want anyone to really notice or see him.

You recall he joined your discord as well, and open that up (to tell everyone goodnight, you convince yourself), only to find yourself scrolling through your members to find him offline, with the same blank icon and user name. He has no server profile, no custom status, no banner nor nitro. But… interestingly, it says he joined discord today: member since April 3 rd , 2024, joined April 3 rd , 2024. He must have created discord just to join your server. Perhaps even, he created a youtube account just to comment on your stuff. The idea has you smiling. That someone liked what you created so much, they had to subscribe. Wanted to be closer to you. Were interested in getting to know you beyond what you posted…

Soon, you grow too tired to keep your phone up. Your eyes slowly close, phone cuddled to your chest. Tonight, you sleep tight, content and happy with your online life. When you woke up, it would be the same, gray world as the one you woke to today, but it would be different, better-- because there was something to look forward to. Something, if even for just a little while, to stave off the monotony and sadness and jealousy. For a little while, you could be Gore_Gone_Wild, and everyone will adore you.

Oh, and you'll have to read that DM Golden Experience sent you too! You got so excited you nearly forgot you messaged him.

[vintageaustin]

baby blues

pairing: Austin Elvis or just Elvis x reader

summery: you find him cheating and rage takes over

warnings: angst cheating mentions of drugs pregnancy Elis needing a serious self check fighting cursing light slaping reader knowing her worth uh lemme know if i missed anything

you were currently seven months pregnant with your first baby. you were over the moon and so was your husband Elvis. at least you thought he was,  but lately he seemed to change. it almost seemed like you weren’t enough for him anymore.

how was that fair? you were the girl that has been there through everything, but lately he’s been pushing you aside,  you didn’t deserve it tho heel you did anything for your husband you just wanted a little more respect, especially now that you were pregnant.  

you were grocery shopping with your mom,  as you  came home you noticed a strange pair of shoes, next to your husbands you put the bags on the counter and slowly made your way up the stairs.

you opened the door and let out a loud gasp, as you saw your husband snort.

whatever he was snorting off the other girl's chest. Elvis looked up and got off the bed running after , as you made your way down the stairs.  “no no no baby wait baby let me explain cmon mama i c-'' he pleaded. 

Once you got down the stairs he tried to get a hold of you and you shook him off as he fell back against the. wall you walked over to him. 

you could see the girl leaving your home in the corner of your eye, “dont fucking call me that,  the only one who’d be allowed to call me that rom now on would be our UNBORN CHILD Elvis.”

you said and slapped him, “how could you, you’re not fucking up my life, or MY child their life, HOW COULD YOU” you yelled, 

when you noticed Elvis wasn’t even looking at you, you grabbed his jaw and made him look at you. ”look at me when i'm fucking talking to you king” you spat looking at the man you once loved full hatred tears threatening to slip.

but you weren’t gonna let them, you weren’t gonna give him that pleasure. 

“ i gave you EVERYTHING, everything is always about elvis, always making sure Elvis was okay,  it’s all for you everything i do, BUT WHAT ABOUT ME ELVIS YOUR PREGNANT WIFE” you yelled he looked at you and spoke up

“baby i can fix this please, let me fix this i want to fix this y/n” he pleaded. you shook your head and chuckled dryly.

you’re blood boiling you knew it wasn’t good for your baby and you tried to calm down but you just couldn’t look at him. not when he was looking at you with those pleading eyes,

“i don’t give a fuck about what you want Elvis, it’s about what i want for once,  your’re gonna get help.” you said and in pure honesty you’ve never felt this bitter before.

Elvis looked at you and nodded his head “and you are gonna be there for your fucking child if i’ll even let you see them, hell you’re lucky if i don’t divorce you” you saw him.

looking away from you again you grabbed his jaw tighter and moved his face back. “I SAID LOOK AT ME, you can’t even look you’re own fucking wife in the face “ you said and let out a small laugh. 

“i hope you’re happy because if you don’t fucking change and get the help you need, they can have you, you’re gonna lose me your precious girl do tell me did you call her that too.”

you said never have you sounded so cold before, and honestly you didn’t wanna have to sound like it again ever. 

Elvis shook his head and choked out an “you’re my precious girl”. you chuckled and shook your head and slapped his face softly mumbling an “get out of my face” before walking away.

i am a sucker for female rage and there's allot of it in this slaayyy

[tamurilofrivendell]

Life’s Purpose | Elrond x Reader

read on ao3

pairing: Elrond x (female) Reader

summary: Your beloved pet cat is unfortunately coming to the end of his life. Elrond finds you in the garden and offers you some comfort.

content warning: pet loss, grief, depression, suicidal thoughts.

a/n: forgive me for this because it is the most self indulgent thing I’ve possibly ever written but I’m truly going through it at the minute with this 😔

You were sitting out in the garden on the grass. A cat was curled up asleep in your lap, snuggling up into the folds of your skirts. Tears were shining in your eyes despite the fact that you had already wiped about a hundred others away by now. It seemed to be never ending, the well of grief within you, and you didn’t understand how you hadn’t cried yourself completely dry by now. As soon as you thought you had it under control, a fresh wave would hit you and you would lose all control all over again, another round of sobs or tears bursting forth no matter how hard you tried to push them down.

The reason for your utter sorrow was that same little cat that lay there with you now, just as he had so dutifully done for the almost thirteen years that made up the sum of his precious life.

Once so strong and full of life and adventure, the little creature seemed to be growing thinner by the day, and sleeping almost all of the hours away. He was still eating and drinking some, and still purred with delight when you paid him attention, but an animal healer had told you that the tumor that was growing in his little head, somewhere right between his eyes, was untreatable.

He was coming, more quickly than you could ever wish to admit, to the very end of his days and you simply could not bear the mere thought of it.

This cat had been your constant companion through some of the worst years of your life. Where there had been naught but anguish and despair, his bright green eyes and utter adoration of you was a constant light in the darkness. Your life raft in the neverending ocean of bitterness.

And now he was leaving you and all you felt was an agony so deep and so overwhelming you did not know what to do with it. How to shoulder it.

A sound from somewhere behind you caught your attention and you quickly lifted your hand to wipe away the tears. However, you were too late to cover it as Elrond moved into view with a soft hum, immediately noting the unshed tears and the sadness shining in your eyes.

“My dear girl, whatever is the matter?” He asked gently, coming to a stop by your side. You said nothing but you did not need to as his gaze fell upon the familiar little black and white cat half hidden in your skirts. “Ah.” Elrond sighed, his expression shifting to one of sadness as he moved to ease himself down onto the grass beside you. “I see.”

He sat beside you in silence for a few long moments, lithe fingers reaching out to ruffle the fur between the cats ears. The purring was almost instant and Elrond smiled sadly as he watched the creature shift in your lap, its eyes still closed.

“Do you remember what you used to tell me?” Elrond asked softly, his attention moving from the cat back up to your face.

Sniffing, you shook your head, reaching up to catch a fresh wave of tears before they could fall, angrily wiping at your eyes in both frustration and embarrassment. “When?” You managed.

“When you used to come to my office and sit in that big chair, and tell me how unhappy you were.” He murmured, brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear as he continued. “When you and I would traverse those unstable paths of your past, seeking the way that would lead you out the other side.”

You nodded because you remembered those days, of course you did. There was a time when Elrond had taken it upon himself to act as something of a therapist for you. Your past had been a rather complicated one, the journey fraught with hardship and suffering... yet you had endured - if only so that little animal would not be left alone.

Then had come Elrond’s guidance, his steady presence, and his healing words of wisdom as he had helped you navigate your depression. Your suffocating troubles eventually became something you could carry and you no longer needed to struggle through each day, treading water as you tried not to drown. You no longer yearned for the solace death might bring.

“You told me that this little creature.” Elrond went on, reaching back out towards the cat and lavishing his gentle attentions upon it once more. “Was the one thing keeping you going. The one reason you opened your eyes every single day and did not give in. The one thing that kept you alive.” His gaze lifted back to your face, studying you. “Do you recall this?”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut to try and prevent the fresh wave of tears from escaping. They did anyway, trailing down your cheeks as a sob ripped itself from your throat. You could not speak but he didn’t truly expect you to.

Elrond shifted closer and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to him. He wiped away your tears with his thumb. “Yet you no longer feel such.” He stated gently. “You no longer wish to be taken into deaths bitter embrace. You no longer wish not to live...”

He leaned away slightly and gently tilted your chin up with his fingers so that you were forced to meet his eyes. “...thus, this little soul has fulfiled his life’s very purpose. He can now go and he can rest, safe in the knowledge that you, the only thing he loved and lived for in this whole world, will be okay.”

The words undid you then as sobs completely overtook you. You fell against Elrond, pressing your face into his tunic as you wept uncontrollably, and he held you tight in his arms and simply let you cry it out for as long as you needed to.

[zmediaoutlet]

What's your opinion on the fandom rhetoric about how Sam lacks bodily autonomy but Dean has it? I personally think it's weird that it's such a widespread idea when it's just blatantly untrue. A big theme for Dean's character is that his body is seen as a weapon or tool for others to use, so it's strange that people claim that he has full bodily autonomy.

(...okay, that the gif is by 'unfuckablebogtroll' is somehow very fitting.)

I think my main opinion of the fandom rhetoric is that there are a lot of batshit bitter sam girls who screech that dean is a meanie meanerton who doesn't respect sammy's presh 'tonomy and there are a lot of batshit extreme dean girls who wail about how sam is a meanie meanerton who, idk, waterboards dean in his spare time or whatever they're complaining about this week (I've unfollowed as many as I can of both camps), so for the most part both groups can be completely flushed down into the sewers of 'jesus christ, do you guys ever actually watch the show rather than circlejerk the same four arguments about it? ...no? oh. well, at least you're honest.'

So, with that said.

Yeah, obviously Dean lacks autonomy. But there's a difference between autonomy and agency, and I'm not going to pretend to have a super solid grasp on either (since a lot of philosophical debate [especially by fangirls] makes me want to jump into the aforementioned sewer just not to hear it anymore), but I can at least kind of make a stab, since you asked.

At least in the way I understand it (do you see all the caveats), bodily autonomy is literally getting to decide what happens to your body, including where it goes and who's inside it and what's done with it, and agency is general decision-making of like the brain sort -- what decisions will I make, who will I be, and so on. Both Sam and Dean are assailed on both fronts alllllll the time. Fandom folks tend to exaggerate those assaults on their preferred brother (because, for some reason, egregious victimhood is the only way you get to be a cool character?? what is that about.), but as with a lot of things in CW's Supernatural, the actual facts are a lot more balanced than fandom weirdos will admit.

Sure, Sam's got a bunch of autonomy assaults. Torture, possession, etc. Most of the time, though, I see his agency as pretty intact. He may not necessarily want to do some of the things he does (childhood hunting comes in here), but he chooses to do them. Is he manipulated sometimes? Sure. Lied to? Obv. But there's an essential steel pillar at the center of Sam and whether they're good choices or whether they're bad choices, he is the one who makes them, and he lives with those consequences. This is part of why the s9 thing with Gadreel is troubling: yeah, it's about bodily autonomy on one (more boring) level, but the much bigger problem is that Dean overrode his agency -- part of why I tend to believe that Sam's biggest objection is that Dean lied and then couldn't apologize for it, when Sam's agency is the most precious thing he owns. Now, he's a smart guy, and there are times his agency does take a blow because of some canon circumstance -- he doesn't want to do X but the world will end if Y, so X it is -- but for the most part Sam's solid and he can live with what he has to do. Though he won't pointlessly die of blue balls about it. What a silly stand on agency that would be.

Dean, meanwhile, doesn't actually have his bodily autonomy violated too much. By which I mean: of course, Dean-as-object is one of my favorite tags, of COURSE he's used as a meatsack and a weapon and a fuckdoll and all those lovely things. But he's very rarely literally possessed; he's holding the blade or the gun or what-have-you. That said, his agency is in the fuckin' gutter, haha, and that's more often what I mean by Dean-as-object. From childhood he's fully expecting to be told what to do, to be used as a pawn, to be used in other ways, to take on someone else's responsibility and make it his own and subsume his actual desires and wants for the good of... whoever. Usually John, but not always. This is something Sam doesn't really... do, that often. Sam might hate that he's making a choice but he does seem to understand that he is the one making it, whereas on Dean's part it so often feels like the choice is automatic -- of course he'll do what John says, of course he'll sell his soul, of course he'll... kiss some lady so the Qareen chases him instead. Now, are all those things tied to autonomy, too? Of course. But with Dean I feel like it's a bigger issue that his agency has been taken out at the knees ever since he was ~5 years old -- the autonomy problem is very much secondary.

Agency and autonomy are tied together and assaults on both happen relatively equally to both characters. What matters more is their attitudes about it, and their natures (whether they're essential or if they've been nurtured into acting a particular way). And, of course, there are different times in canon where these tendencies shift or even flip, e.g. in late s8 where Sam's certainty wobbles, or in s10 where Dean's autonomy w/r/t the Mark of Cain is really dicey.

Violated vs violable, victimized vs victim. A ton of it is in the eye of the beholder and OBVIOUSLY fandom will just sail off in its own directions any ol' way, depending on what shipping mood someone is in, how much projection is going on, what the phase of the moon is, etc. But generally speaking I find that Sam has a lot of agency in his life but often his autonomy is imperilled; Dean has a lot of autonomy but his agency is practically nil. At least for a while. What's nice is that Sam does have agency and he uses that agency to choose his own path in life, decide what he wants, and what he wants is -- a life with Dean. Dean maybe never really had a choice in the matter, but so what? He can stay in his bunker, and fight the monsters he needs to fight, and -- lucky for him, there's a strong hand covering his left side. What more could a cat ask for.