#near the yellow wallpaper

[teaghoulart]

"Near the Yellow Wallpaper"

Colored pencil

2024

[namorian]

reading old horror short story classics is like “this is pretty good. I get why it’s a foundation of the genre. Scariest part was how this dude thought that a fascist white nationalist country complete with free suicide booths was a utopian future for america tho.”

[monamipencil]

── 𝗠𝗥. 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗥𝗦. 𝗬𝗢𝗢𝗡 ft. jeonghan

⛧synopsis; an intrusion, a couple, a murder and a twist. — second fic of lola's spooktober

⛧ pairings; husband! jeonghan x fem! reader ⛧ genre; smut, gore, horror ⛧ w.c; 4.1k+ ⛧ warnings; hybristophilia, body worship, blood, murder/death, description of corpse, sex on the dining table lmao, HORNY fucking, unprotected sex, oral (f.receiving) creampie, allusions to cults, devil worship, etc etc. mentions of food ⛧ a/n; *clears thorat* *coughs* im so sorry for the delay lmao, i was absolutely not motivated to write. but anyways, enjoy!!

READ AT YOUR OWN CAUTION ⛧ MDNI

[ 07th October, 2024 ]

Thunder crackles, and lightning strikes. The heavy rain pitter-patters on the windows and roofs. Water flows, flooding the streets, making them inhabitable to unlucky strays. Chaos brews outside, and you observe it from within the safety of your home. 

A ‘meow’ shifts your attention. You smile at the cat you rescued from the storm and rub its head. It meows again and shuffles to the living room, black fur disappearing behind the couch. 

“-And everyone is requested to stay at home or take shelter till further notifications. Police’s investigation into the recent murders have been halted due to the storm. We request everyone to stay sa—”

The television cuts off and comes alive again, buzzing and glitching.  You turn it off with a sigh. Except for the pitter-patter of the rain, your home is silent. The silence lays heavy on the walls and floors. You can’t seem to fill it no matter what. Your hand involuntarily touches the pendant your husband gifted you. Muttering a prayer to Him, you ask for Jeonghan's safe return to you. 

[ ... ]

The gentle sizzle of the vegetables fills your ears, and you pour water into the vessel, turning down the flame. 

Your newly adopted cat nuzzles between your legs, purring with content at the warmth. You smile and coo at it. But before you can adore it further, the doorbell rings.

You wipe your hands, contemplating whether or not to attend it. It couldn't be Jeonghan. You sigh and walk to the door. The black furball stays in the kitchen, observing you with its yellow eyes.

Looking through the peephole, you see someone shivering from the cold and absolutely drenched. Your hands fly to unlock the door, and the person is startled at the force you open it.

“Come in, please!” you move from his way. He nods his head with gratitude and walks in weakly.

Quickly shutting the door, you lock it. The stranger turns to see you secure the array of locks on the door. You greet him with a smile. He smiles back.

“I'm sorry for the inconvenience,” he apologizes, but you assure him and welcome him into your home. “Oh no, It's fine. I don't mind some company.”

He removes his drenched coat and hangs it on the coat hanger. While doing so, he notices another coat on it. “Is it just you at home, miss?”

“Mrs.” You correct him and reply, “Yes, my husband is out of town for business.”

He also removes his shoes and places them near the door, noticing another pair of shoes. “May I ask you why you are out in such a storm?”

“Ah, I turned up for work and my friend who was supposed to pick me didn't turn up.”

You give him an apologetic nod and gesture towards your living room. “Please make yourself at home. I'll quickly put together a warm soup for you.”

He tries to protest, but you reason with him and disappear into the kitchen. He sits on the sofa with a sigh and thanks God for helping him at the right time.

The low purr of a cat catches his attention. A black cat sits in the middle of the living room. It stares at him, and he awkwardly smiles at it and tries to distract himself. It leaves eventually.

The interior of your home mesmerizes him, reminding him of those vintage homes. The teal wallpapers and the antique decors mesh well together and create a homely look. The myriad of pictures on the wall near the kitchen intrigues him.

He walks towards it and observes each photo. He sees you in all of the frames, along with a man whom he deduces to be your husband. He sees all types of pictures, varying from road trips to studio ones.

“Is your husband a celebrity by any chance, Mrs. Yoon?” He inquires after seeing a frame with the writing, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Yoon.’ A vague feeling of familiarity brews in him the more he looks at your husband.

“Ah, no, no. He's devilishly handsome and he could be a great actor but he only does business.” You voice from within the kitchen, but his mind drains you out. He's more fixated on the pictures, unable to shake the feeling.

He doesn't say anything after that, but you don't mind the silence. Quietly humming, you put together the soup. You smile to yourself, thinking of your husband. If he had been here, he'd be behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he peppers kisses on your neck.

Your daydream feels almost real as you feel a presence behind you. Chuckling, you shake your head and move to grab a bowl. But before you could, a voice shouts behind you.

“Did you kill him?!” The stranger yells, anger surging through his voice. Confusion strikes you, “What do you mean?”

You try to distance yourself from him and grab a knife. His hand catches your wrist harshly, and you cry out. Acting on your instincts, you fling the pot of soup at him. He yelps as the hot liquid makes contact with his skin.

With him muttering a plethora of curses, you run out of the kitchen. The cat observes the chaos, slowly wagging its tail. The stranger blindly moves to the sink and splashes water on his face to wash off the soup.

After gaining composure, he trudges out of the kitchen with a meat knife. He checks every door and room, eyes darting to all corners to find you. His skin stings and burns painfully. He winces but doesn't let it deter him.

The floor creaks beneath his foot, and he doesn't care if it alerts you. He wants you to know where he is, to be afraid of him. He wants to make you feel fear.

A smirk pulls his lips when he notices the basement door open. He stands in front of it, observing the steep set of stairs. As he descends down, a foul stench hits him, and he covers his nose.

He struggles to find the light switch and crashes into a few things. The stench is unbearable, and he cringes. After finally finding the switch, he turns it on.

Light illuminates the room, but some things are better hidden in the dark, like the dead guy tied to the wall. He can't find it in himself to scream or even utter a word. The only noise that escapes him is a gasp.

His horror intensifies when he recognizes it as his friend. “You fucking bitch! You killed him!” 

But it seems that there are far graver things than his dead friend. The red pentagram etched on the ground makes his skin crawl. A turn of his head also reveals a board pinned with a map that has pictures of people pinned on several locations.

His heart stops beating when he finds his own picture on it.

A noise from the cupboard pulls him out of his trance, and he stalks to it. Yanking the door open, he finds you there, cowering in fear. You push him off you and run away from him. But there's no way out with him standing directly in front of the stairs.

He runs to you, pinning you to the wall. “You bitch!” Then, he cackles, “Aww, can't run anywhere now?” His grip tightens, and dread fills your gut. He leans in closer, “You're going to be so sorry for what you did when I gut you.” 

You flinch and shut your eyes. The sound of a stab echoes through the room, but you don't feel any pain.

A heavy thud echoes through the room, followed by the sound of a body falling on the floor. Warm blood dots on your face, and some stain the cotton of your slip. You gasp and shudder, chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. Your eyes land on the injured body. Blood flows from his mouth and his chest. Three holes punctured through his chest.  

You don’t need to look at him to figure out who your savior is. “Jeonghan!” you cry, throwing your arms around him. The garden fork he yields in his hands meets the floor as he hurries to take you in his embrace. 

Your lips are on his instantly, kissing him with ardor. He matches your passion, both his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against him. You curl your arms around his neck, lost in the warmth of his lips. It isn’t long before his tongue prods your lips, and you’re more than happy to oblige. 

His tongue glides over yours like it has countless other times. He shifts his head to gain a better angle and kisses you deeper. One of your hands uncurls to caress his face—his flawless skin, his high cheekbones, the bone of his jaw before it slides down further. You glide your hand over his shoulders, his lean biceps, and finally his crotch. 

Jeonghan pulls away, out of breath and overjoyed. You mirror his grin when you find him rock-hard beneath his slacks. “Oh, how I missed seeing you kill,” you finish with a giggle. 

With a playful roll to his eyes, he retorts, “it’s been barely four days since I did it.” 

“And four days since I’ve seen you.” you pout, making him doe eyes at him. He melts instantly and cradles your face. “Always hungry aren’t you?” 

“For you? Yes.”

“And for blood.” he adds, making you both giggle. 

“Come on now, you gave me something to take care of.” With a pat on his bulge, you pull him up the stairs. Jeonghan happily follows but throws a cautious glance at the presumably dead body. He smiles, catching no sign of life in him, and trails behind you. 

You strut to the dining table that adjoins the kitchen and the living room and sit on it. He grins at your place of choice, and lust taints his visage when you spread your legs, inviting him.

He stands between your thighs, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty in front of him. Little drops of blood decorate your face, but the look in your eyes entrances him. A myriad of emotions swirl beneath your irises, but he recognizes all of them, mainly lust and hunger. 

His eyes dip down to the column of your neck, which he glides his forefinger over. His finger slowly ventures down and undoes the knot of your slip. He tuts, complaining about the blood on them. “That’s fine. It gives me evidence of your love.” 

“I’m right here. The living proof of my love for you,” he pecks your lips and pushes the slip off you. 

He pulls you to the edge of the table. His fingers ghost over the cloth of your underwear, brushing against the wet spot on them. His warm breath wafts down to your breasts when he kisses your neck and chest. “I can prove it now, if you want me to.” 

A breathy moan escapes you, giving him somewhat of a ‘yes.’ With another kiss to your jugular, he pulls away and kneels down. He kisses your heat through the cotton material and smirks, eyeing the wet patch formed by your arousal. In one sly movement, he removes your hipsters.   His lips are on your heat before you can process it. He kisses your little nub and gives kitten licks to your hole. His eyes dart to your eyes, mischief swirling under his dark irises. “Jeonghan! Please!”

“Please what sweetheart? You have to use your words.” You feel his smile on your core, and his warm breath wafts against it. 

“Please, eat me out!” 

He groans and obliges to your wishes right away. He dives right in, licking and kissing your folds. He moves above, wrapping your clit between his soft lips. He sucks on the bundle of nerves, tongue flicking at the bud softly. He makes sure to look at you the entire time he’s buried between your legs. 

You relax and lay back down on the table. He spreads your legs further and licks up stripes on your sopping cunt. His tongue provides you the utmost pleasure, and moans fall from your lips freely. He switches to a slower pace as if he’s making out with your cunt. 

His tongue prods your folds, licking and savoring your taste. His hand moves to spread your lips, and he places a wet, loud kiss on your clit. A gasp escapes you when his tongue slips past your hole. He slowly moves his tongue in and out while he thumbs at your clit, drawing circles. 

He tones up his pace, getting faster and faster. Your legs tremble around his head as the coil in your stomach tightens. You cum the easiest whenever Jeonghan touches you after a “long time”—which is three days at the least. He seems to have some magic hidden up his sleeve to bring you the utmost pleasure possible. And, of course, all your years of marriage add to it.

The pressure on your clit builds up, causing your entire body to shudder and tremble. Your back arches, lifting off the table, but Jeonghan pushes you down, holding you firmly. And now that he has secured a tight grip on your hips, there is no escape from his tongue.

“Jeonghan!” you moan his name, hand shooting to grip his black locks. You push his head further into your cunt and move your hips in sync with his tongue. He smiles lazily between your legs, eyes holding nothing but awe and mirth.

The coil snaps, pushing you over the crescendo of pleasure. Wanton moans fill the room, and you cum on his tongue, giving him all your sweet nectar. Jeonghan licks you dry, caressing your trembling legs before he stands up.

Though you achieved your climax, the sight of your husband undoing his belt warms you up again. You sit up eagerly, hands flying to unbuckle his belt and slacks. He only chuckles, patting your head and muttering a low coo of ‘that's my girl.’

He slips off his shirt along with his slacks and boxers. It prompts you to undo your brassiere, presenting yourself bare to him. With a grin, he approaches you. You fawn at his rock-hard cock and undo your legs unconsciously.

Overwhelmed with the urge to feel him inside you, you pull him to you. He crashes his lips on yours in the process, giving you a searing kiss that sets your body aflame with desire. Your hands don't stay put, eager to roam all over his body. He does the same, hands relearning the route of your body for the nth time.

The heat of his body on yours melts your brain, knocking every thought out of you. The only thing you remember is his name and the way he makes you feel. Not the dire situation at play now or the dead body in your basement.

The brush of his fingers on your nipples, the poke of his cock against your inner thigh, the sensation of your sweltering skin making contact with his, the glide of his tongue on yours—all of it pushes you over the edge, driving you insane. Your arousal drips down your core, and it throbs with desire.

“Hannie,” you whine his name, your desire burning with a rage only he can control. “Fuck me.”

“As you wish, dollface.” 

His cock slips past your entrance with ease, filling you up in an instant. You hook your legs behind him, your foot digging into his back to push him in further. Your gummy walls envelop him in a warm hug that makes him dizzy.

You moan in unison when he bottoms out, in bliss with how perfectly he fills you. Throwing your arms around his neck, you prompt him to move. The first thrust is easy, given how your cunt drips down with arousal. It fills you with a pleasure that makes your body tremble.

He sets his pace, fucking you with eagerness. Each slap of his balls against your ass makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you cling to him for dear life. Sinful moans rumble from your throat with each snap of his hips.

His lips find yours again, but this time the kiss is sloppy and messy, with moans passed between your tongues and erratic snap of his hips. You meet his hips with the same vigor. You fuck him with an animalistic desire in your veins, and he gives you back just the same.

“Ah—fuck! God, I love fucking after we kill.” you yelp between your moans. He groans, replying with a “fuck, yes.”

Jeonghan grips your hips firmly, driving his cock in and out of you with a vigorous pace that numbs your nerves. Your nails dig into his back, and you scratch his delicate skin, leaving red marks for him to admire. “Ah, ah, ah, ah!” you moan, unable to control your pleasure. The table squeaks in response to the vigor of his hips. You press your tits against his chest, desperate to feel more of his warmth.

You look down to where your body meets him. The sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt with a wet squelch each time makes you moan. A creamy ring forms at the base of his cock, and some of your arousal drips down to the table.

Jeonghan shifts one of his hands to harshly grip the back of your head, forcing you to look up at him. A grin decorates his face at the hazy look in your eyes. He keeps up his pace while moving his other hand to squeeze your mouth open. You push your tongue out eagerly, waiting for him to spit in your mouth. He does, and you happily taste him before swallowing it.

“Good girl,” he kisses your forehead, sliding his hand down to wrap around your throat. He grips your throat, squeezing it lightly. A chuckle erupts from his chest, watching your eyes roll back. He kisses your forehead again, only for him to deliver light slaps to your cheeks. Warmth pools in his chest when you whine and push yourself closer to him.

“Fuck, I love it when you go dumb on my cock.” He whispers into your ear, tickling you with his breath. His cock kisses your sweet spot, and you feel him twitching inside you.

You clench around him on purpose. He groans a low curse, and his movements turn erratic. You continue to do so till he eventually stops, whining a string of curses. “Stop it. Stop doing that,”

Obliging to his wishes, you observe him as he takes a few seconds to compose himself. His eyelids flutter, and his lips fall apart as he tries to regain control. A knowing smirk graces your lips, knowing the effect you have on him.

“Brat,” you only giggle in response, which is cut short when he thrusts with a force that has you shuddering. His tip kisses your cervix, sending shudders of pleasure through your body. Tears prick your waterline and eventually cascade down your cheek as you cry out his name.

All it takes is one more thrust to push you over the crescendo again. This time, it's more intense and mind-numbing. You moan his name over and over again, like a prayer for salvation. He follows suit and fills his load inside you, shuddering the same as you.

His hands wrap around you tightly and, yours around him. Leaning your head against his shoulders, you catch your breath and try to control the shivers through your body. His warm breath on your back calms you, and so do his feather-light touches.

Your eyelids feel heavy as slumber descends upon you. And, before you know it, you fall asleep in his arms. 

[ … ]

“We have to let the others know about this,” Jeonghan informs, stirring his cup of tea with a spoon. You nod wordlessly, sipping your own cup of tea.

Slumber hasn't left you completely, and the tiredness weighs down on your bones. Your eyes slowly close shut again, and you lean back on the loveseat. Jeonghan sighs to himself, setting his cup down on the coffee table. He takes away yours before you can spill it on yourself.

Your soft groans make his heart flutter, and you stir awake again. The first thing you see is your husband sitting on the floor as he massages your legs.

“Poor thing, you must've had a hard time.” The pout on his lips makes you smile. “Not really,” you chirp, feeling more energetic as the seconds pass.

“Oh really?” he muses, and you hum. He shakes his head, worry marring his features. “What if I didn't get here on time? Why did you even allow him in?”

“I was bored.” To which he glares at you, a tired sigh falling from his lips.

“And, He visited.”

Jeonghan stops massaging your legs and looks up at you, confused. You see the tinge of fear in the clench of his jaw and the hold of his breath. You point to the black cat that has made itself home despite all the chaos that went down a few hours ago.

He visibly calms down and bows his head at the cat meows in return. He looks back at your smiling figure, and it strikes him. “Right, I asked for your safety to Him.”

“He saw our pictures,” your words barely audible as you look at the big wall covered with all your pictures with him. A soft smile graces your lips when your eyes fall on your wedding picture. 14th October, 1949.

Then you cackle, recalling the realization and terror on that guy's face. “Oh, you should've seen his face.” Jeonghan laughs along with you and resumes his ministrations on your legs. You relax on the cushion and let out a blissful sigh.

He sighs and zeroes in on the blood spots on your vintage slip. One of his many gifts to you, and it's something you've treasured for over seven decades.

“Ugh, it's fine. You can always buy me a new one.” You say, and a smirk adorns your lips when your eyes fall on the Johnny Cash vinyl on the shelf. You stand and walk towards it, pulling it out gently.

You flash your husband a grin, and he mirrors your visage. Placing the vinyl on the platter of the vinyl player, you move the tonearms and set it on the vinyl.

The world tunes into a buzzing background as you dance with him. His hands are gentle on you, holding you delicately. The setting is all a little too familiar to him, and before he knows it, he takes a trip down memory lane.

But the only one he can remember is the time when he almost lost you to death. The image of your bed-stricken figure flashes through his mind. He holds you a little closer.

In his life plan, Jeonghan never even imagined that you'd be diagnosed with cancer fifteen years into your marriage. Nothing held out, and it was hard to be optimistic with his wife on the lifeline.

And as he was holding your pained body in his arms, he cried and cried. What kind of god would allow this? Why should you be taken away? He felt life slowly slip out of you, and he couldn’t stop it. 

They say to never pray to the gods that answer at night, but that’s all he could do. Turning his back on religion and righteousness. His love for you blinded all reason, and he yearned to be in your embrace once again. He could never live without you—what he feels is an immortal desire, lust, love. Even if he is to die, the ground around him will flourish and sprout your favorite flowers—an amaranthine yearning. 

So he did it. He prayed and prayed, and when He finally answered, he vowed to do anything and everything that He wished for. Immortality for the curse of bloodied hands. He cringed at the sight of blood staining his skin, but as your bloodied hand intertwined with his, all felt right and in place. 

His hands take purchase on your hips, holding you as you sway to the gentle hum of the music. You smile at him and lean on his shoulders, content in his embrace. He mirrors your smile and kisses your forehead. 

What a blessing it is to be here with you? To gently sway to some music in the living room of your home with your blood-stained slips and his stained soul? 

He kisses you, and you kiss him back. You bite his lips just enough to draw blood. A thousand ways to bleed, but you are his favorite.

⛧spooktober taglist !

@verogonewild @blancflms @chromequette @junniepookiedookie @kyeomiis

@jeonghnie @scoupsieee @xuminghaes @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @ririesna

@monstacheol @hoshiskimchi @miyx-amour @woozidanisms @choco-scoups

@cookiearmy @shadowyjellyfishfest @wonwoossecret @strxwberry-skiess @iamawkwardandshy

@merakilles @vitaminkyeom @okiedokrie @armycarat2612 @gyuguys

@idubiluranghae @goodforgyu @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @gyubakeries @nonuify

@aaniag @4cheezflatbred

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Tenacity

Pairing: Boston Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Joel Miller will never allow himself to take what he wants and you know that. How can a broken shower make him realize it's too late and he's already fallen for you? (Or Joel fucks you on his beat up couch in the QZ.) Warnings: Smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, riding, apocalypse birth control, old furniture doing old furniture things, a grown man dealing with feelings, apologies for the Tess erasure. Words: 2,300

A/N: @ohheypedrito mentioned couch Joel and I couldn't help myself, I am forever in her debt. Thank you to @jennaispunk for beta'ing

Masterlist

____

He knows he shouldn’t have let you in, he should’ve stayed silent and let you think he wasn’t home, but he can never say no to you, a fact you’re well aware of. Your shower has been broken for months, sure you can ask another neighbor, but Joel’s place is your first choice, never bringing a towel, always choosing to wrap yourself in his scent. 

You smirk that devilish look and without a word saunter into his bathroom. He settles on the couch, large body dipping in the underfilled cushions, his back aches after a long day of work. The last thing he needs to deal with is his budding erection pressing against the metal zipper but he just can’t stop thinking about your body dripping wet in that damn dirty shower of his. 

He’s exhausted, his head thuds against the floral wallpaper turning yellow with age and decay, he can only assume this miniscule apartment once belonged to a nice old woman who liked soft pretty things. Joel too likes soft pretty things, the one he likes the most just happens to be you, currently happily humming behind the bathroom door you refuse to fully close. His eyes focus up on the dingy ceiling above praying for a reprieve from the emotions that bloom within him whenever he thinks of you. 

The tap turns off, he steels himself, straightening his sore body. God damnit, he thinks throwing an arm to stretch across the back of the couch. The hand resting against his upper thigh nervously taps against his jeans. Funny that you’re the only thing in this world to make him anxious and yet your presence always leaves him tranquil.  He already knows where this will lead, he must be some sort of masochist, never feeling like he deserves your attention but still accepting anything you’ll gift him. 

The sound of your post shower routine floats across the small room. Curtain opens, curtain shuts, pitter patters of your feet to the towel rack, a woosh of the heavy fibers settling against your body, your contented hum that prickles against the back of Joel’s neck. You’re the only bright spot in this hellhole, a shining ray that blinds his mind and heart whenever he wonders how someone like you can exist in a world like this. 

The dim living room floods with a beam of light from the bathroom, steam billows out of the doorway, your form wrapped only in his towel steps out of the fog, he swears this might be what heaven looks like. There’s enough space for you to change into your clothes in the bathroom, but you never do. 

That smirk shows up again, heaven and hell existing in one crooked grin stretched across your mouth. Joel’s never been a religious man, sure he’s prayed during hopeless times in his life, but tonight, he prays to whatever being that will listen to give him the strength so he may provide you everything he has without falling even harder. 

Temptress… your foot rests atop the coffee table, delicate hands running along your outstretched leg rubbing sweet smelling oil across your skin. Joel knows his body is marred and battered, rough and calloused, he questions why in the hell you’d ever want your silken curves anywhere near him. You switch legs, if only the room was brighter he could turn his head just a bit and look up the towel. 

No need for that, a telepathic wave treads through his brain as he watches you unwrap the towel and toss it aside. Naked and standing only a few feet away from him, he knows it’s not voyeurism when you’re so eagerly inviting him to look but he still feels an inkling of shame. Sweet, sweet girl. Your oil coated palms leave a trail of sheen across the skin he can’t wait to taste. Silently, you saunter over, small bottle of oil in hand, he knows how your skin tingles from the peppermint after applying, he can almost feel it warming his lips. He leans forward, palm instinctively outstretched for you to deposit a few drops of oil into his awaiting hand.  

You turn around and kneel on the floor, his hands start at your shoulders lightly rubbing across your skin, tracing the path of your spine. He’s hesitant to put too much pressure, always afraid to deface the gorgeous individual you are, neglecting the fact that this always leads to you heedlessly asking him for more. The oil smooths his movements, your head bobs back and forth melting into his touch. There’s no type of divinity he’d ever worship in the apocalypse, but he surely finds devotion with you and the symphony of quiet moans that leave your lips. 

“Feels good,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

He takes a deep breath letting his lungs deflate a long exhale, your gratitude unlocking another long buried sense of ease. Manners are lost in this world, you’re such a rarity. 

He doesn’t count himself as a lucky man, but when you turn around and nuzzle your clean face against his soot and dirt covered jeans he just might feel like he’s won the lottery. You plant a kiss against his bulge before pulling yourself up to straddle his lap. Joel’s hands subconsciously station themselves against your back, fingers lightly digging into your damp skin. Suddenly his back no longer ails him. 

“When’s the last time you bathed Joel?” You’re still warm from your shower, you cover him like a velvet blanket. 

“This morning,” he croaks out, overwhelmed by the sensation of you.   

“Mm. Did you think of me while in it? I know you have a habit of doing that.”

He nods, your eyes pooling with desire at the confession. 

His denim shirt feels constrictive, your bare skin is too tantalizing, he fidgets underneath, restless from the sensation of his heavy clothes. 

No need for that, rattles through his lust-addled brain. Your hands begin deftly unbuttoning his shirt. He loves the way your mouth drops and your head shakes incredulously whenever you get the first glimpse of his bronze skin. He loves that he’s been with you enough to know exactly how you’ll react to him. 

His shirt lands atop the towel.

“Perfect aim,” you smile.

Joel chuckles. You’re the only being on this earth that can make him laugh. 

You lean forward, placing your ear against his heart, he takes the longest, deepest breath getting lost in the moment, forgetting how much he likes to think he can fight this feeling. He can smell your yarrow shampoo mixed with the peppermint, this world literally stinks, and yet here you are fragrant and pleasing. 

Your hand brushes back and forth against a patch of chest hair, the other dragging up and down his arm. He loves when you pet him, nothing calms him more. He still can’t come up with an exact reason why he refuses to let himself have you when you’re the only thing he longs for. You’re torturing him right now, he wishes you were clueless about the power you hold over him. 

He places a kiss on your hair, breathing in your scent, he just can’t help himself.

“Wish I had wallpaper this pretty in my apartment,” you muse. 

“No need for the wallpaper, you’re pretty enough,” it escapes his lips before he can stop it. 

“Oh really?” Pulling back and sitting tall atop his lap, your eyebrow arches. “You think I’m prettier than faded old lady wallpaper?”

God damnit, your mouth is too goddamn smart. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I do. You’re pretty too.” 

He wants to kiss that godforsaken smug smile off your lips. 

No need for that, crowds his mind, much like your lips do now against his. His mouth opens to accept your tongue. He groans against your mouth when you yank his hair, pulling his head back so you can lick into his mouth. He chases your mouth, sucking your lower lip between his plush lips. Your cunt finds the tent in his jeans and begins rocking against it. Your kiss turns sloppier, tongues rolling against each other, hot breaths intermingling. Your lips move down to nibble his chin, licking your way down to his neck. He growls your name when you clamp down and suck the tanned skin into your mouth. 

He needs to feel you against all of his skin. 

He’s never hated his belt more than right now as he clumsily unbuckles it between your writhing hips. 

“Christ,” he barks, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, you give him a temporary reprieve from your grinding as he raises his hips and yanks his pants down. 

He gathers you into his arms and leans forward, swiping the old books and magazines off the coffee table top laying you across it. 

He kicks out of his jeans, his knees protest as he sinks to his knees in front of you splayed across the oak. 

His eyes roll into the back of his head and flutter shut at the first taste of you. Tangy, sweet, all woman, all his, for as long as he thinks he deserves. 

Sweet, sweet girl.

Your coos and purrs dance through his ears twisting their way into his heart. He licks a stripe up your pussy, swirling his tongue around your clit and flattening against it. Your hands climb all over his hair, grasping and pulling, he loves when you take what you want from him. Forcing him to hand himself over to you, body, mind, soul, heart. Whether that be a shower or his tongue against your pussy.

He could stay here forever, the rest of his body still as a statue, just his mouth allowed to move against your sweet cunt, fucking you with his tongue, massaging your clit with his lips. 

Your hips thrash against his face, legs wrapping around his head, pushing him even farther into your searing pussy. 

He can feel you begin to dissolve into him, your thighs trembling against his ears, the pressure of your legs wrapped around him increasing. He’s encircled by all of your beauty, your slick pours into his mouth as your orgasm explodes into him. He drinks down everything you give him, never able to be greedy outside of his time spent with you writhing and naked under his touch. You unlock your legs, your body still quaking from your climax. 

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

His cock stands weeping between his legs, he gathers the precum and spreads it across his tip before pumping himself watching your eyes hungrily focus on him. 

You spread your legs farther open with an unspoken invitation for him to take your pussy for his keeping. He accepts it, his wide cock slowly engulfing in your wet heat. 

You gasp and smile at the sensation, he feels his walls crumble.  

God damnit, there’s that damn smile again.

He loves how you take him, drawing your hips against his, the two of you tangled in hedonistic harmony here in this hellhole of a quarantine zone. You’re the only reason he stays. 

He’ll never allow himself to say it, he fights like hell to not feel it, yet another battle he’s going to lose. 

He bends forward, your head pinned between his forearms, he sucks at your lips, you can taste yourself all over his mustache. His cock slides in and out, pace turning more punishing the louder you cry out. Neighbors be damned, you’re the only one he likes, at least they’ll know you’re his. 

His weight presses against you and the rickety coffee table, both shaking as he pummels into your pussy. A crack emits from the leg he’s been meaning to fix, the decrepit coffee table disintegrates underneath all of his power. He’d laugh at his luck if he wasn’t so fucking turned on by you. Joel gathers you in his arms, throwing himself back against the couch, his cock never leaving the heat of your entrance. You sink fully down on him, his cock hitting the gooey spot inside of you that makes you liquefy. 

Sweat drips down his face, he’s so fucking tired already knowing his body will protest everything he’s put it through, but you’re worth it, the strangled noises you’re panting out will soothe his sore muscles come tomorrow. 

He nips at your jaw, licking the sheen of sweat on your skin and tasting the prickling peppermint. His nails rake against your back, you’re so fucking smooth, the harder you ride him, the deeper his nails press into your skin. 

Your body grows tense above him, his lips crush against yours wanting to gulp down all of your screams. You’re shattered by him again, his cock feels like the only thing tethering you down to this earth. He’s close, so fucking close. His orgasm has been waiting for you to pulse around his cock, your softness squeezing his last bit of resolve. 

Joel pulls out, immediately bemoaning the cruelty of not being able to cum inside you. One, two, three, pumps and he’s cumming against your stomach, your head angling down, wide eyes watching as the white ropes drip down your skin. 

Your ear finds his heart again, Joel knows it’s racing and you can hear it. He kisses your hair, humming a satisfied groan. Little does he know this is your favorite part of your shower visits, knowing that for just a short period of time you’ve made him happy. 

“I guess you’re going to need a new table.”

“I’ll be able to fix it, used to be a contractor.”

He surprises himself at the divulgence, reminding him to keep you at arms length, you’re too good for him. 

No need for that.

[mayolive-writes]

The Love Plaza | Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x AFAB Reader

Summary: Needing to take a break from the long trip to college, you and Jungkook are forced to stay at the only lodging available within 70 miles, a love motel. And much to Jungkook’s dismay, there’s only one bed.

Wordcount: 4102

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Smut, Best Friends to lovers, Oneshot(?)

Warnings: Dry humping, mild awkwardness (these poor virgins), no penetration (this time), They’re so cute and down bad

Minors DNI

A/N: thought this would be a fun writing prompt to exercise my humor muscle. I often feel that my writing lacks comedic relief, so this was good practice! I wanted this to be goofy as shit, because friends to lovers is just that much sweeter when it’s goofy. I do have a couple other WIPs with this couple though!! One that’s fluffy and another that is significantly spicier.

Enjoy!!

The Love Plaza | Moonlight Trampoline Adventure | Labret

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

You must be shitting me.

Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. Jungkook reads the sign in disbelief. The only lodging in 70 miles was a damned love motel. The bright red neon “18+” sign mocks him.

Unbelievable.

"Hell no, I can keep driving," Jungkook turns to you, there's no way you'd be okay with this.

"Jeon Jungkook, we've been driving on and off for 14 hours in a cramped truck with enough leg room for a toddler. We're both exhausted." You flash him a stern look, "we were honked at five times because we were going off the road!" With a light smack of his chest, you giggle, "besides, maybe they have a room with separate beds!" Your voice drips with sarcasm, calm about the entire situation.

Except you weren't.  Inside, you were screaming. A fucking love hotel in the middle of nowhere? This is a sick joke. But despite your inner turmoil, you keep a humored face.

"You're sure?" Jungkook asks again, just to make sure.

Cocking your eyebrow, you give him an incredulous look, "the other option is getting into a crash. I don’t think coffee and 5-hour-energy can't help us now, bun."

He sighs. With every passing second, he can feel his heart losing years of life. This definitely isn’t healthy.

A bell sounds as you and Jungkook enter, catching the eye of a desk clerk. The shabby motel is surprisingly chic inside, with modern hardwood tile, and wallpaper patterned with soft wisteria, giving the space a fresh feeling.

"Hey there! Do you have a reservation?" The smile on the clerk's face is practiced, but falters when he sees the both of you in sweatpants and t-shirts. 

He concludes on his own, no, you don't have a reservation.

As you both walk awkwardly up to the desk, the clerk continues, "just the two of you?"

Jungkook answers, "uh--yeah." You spot a basket on the counter and tap Jungkook on the shoulder, pointing.

It's full of different sized condoms in every bright color imaginable. Pink, blue, orange, yellow, purple, green.

You both hold back silly smiles, doing your utmost to keep cool. 

"And do you perhaps--" you pick up a condom out of the basket and Jungkook chokes. He takes a moment before looking at the smiley clerk again, "have a room with separate beds?"

The clerk simply stares at Jungkook. Separate beds? In a love motel?

There's been very few moments in Jungkook's life when he was truly Flustered.

1. Confessing to Sandy Morrison in second grade. 

2. His first kiss in 11th grade.

3. Figuring out that maybe he wasn’t totally straight.

4. Seeing you, his best friend and crush of at least 6 years,  pick up a large condom, neatly packed in bright neon orange wrapping, and pocketing it for some ungodly reason.

Shit.

What are you doing?

You yourself don't know what the hell you're doing. There’s zero intention in your mind of using the condom, of course--not that you wouldn't like to. But you're just trying to have fun. What else do you do in a love hotel? With this thought, you promptly lose your shit when you sight a shelf near the clerk desk that displays a variety of items.

Lube, lace garters (neatly packed in plastic packaging, fancy!), satin blindfolds, fuzzy handcuffs (red, pink, blue, black, and orange!), and the cherry on top--a brochure of "The Best Positions For A Night of Passion!"

The cackle you hold in makes you shake. You hop over to the shelf and ask the clerk, "how much for these?" Pointing to the handcuffs.

The clerk is now thoroughly confused at the contrasting interests in both you and Jungkook, who is flushed in the face--both from embarrassment and holding his laughter in. "Um... They're all a dollar, the pamphlet is free."

The clerk looks back to Jungkook, "and, sir, I'm sorry, but we don't have rooms with separate beds," leaning forward to whisper, he continues, "if you guys are fighting, take the couch." 

Well, it was worth a shot.

Once you're both checked in, Jungkook is about to walk away. That is, before he sees you go up to the desk clerk with one of each item that was displayed on the shelf. 

Oh. 

My.

God.

The clerk looks at Jungkook, his expression screaming, "dude, I can't believe you wanted separate beds!"

You happily stride beside Jungkook through the motel hallway, kinky bag in hand while he carries the luggage. You must be insane. Having finally reached room 40, you both realize that Jungkook’s hands are full of your bags. Awkwardly, you dig into his front pocket, feeling for the card.

"Um..." you look up when he speaks up, "it's in the other pocket.”

Oh. Oops.

You dig through his other pocket. 

why are these damn things so dee--

What. Was. That.

Jungkook gasps.

You gasp.

Realizing what you’ve just done, you flinch away, “Oh my god! I’m so fucking sorry--" Jungkook is utterly speechless. This night just keeps getting more and more inconceivable. He says nothing as you dig more cautiously and finally yank out the godforsaken key.

One minute later you're finally in the room, with yours and Jungkook’s cheeks throbbing red.

Nice one, y/n.

As you both walk further in, you gasp. All other thoughts vanish at the sight.

Jesus Christ, what a night.

"Oh my god, Koo!" You drag him in faster and he sees you fall into a burst of laughter, and once he sees it too, promptly loses his composure at the ridiculous sight.

The bed is obviously heart-shaped, the sheets are red satin, and the blankets are pink velvet. The mattress is adorned with frilly heart pillows and lacy detailing, with a black headboard screwed into the wall (which is probably for the best).

You both share gazes of utter astonishment, only to fall over yourselves once more. The sheer ridiculousness of it all hitting you full force. Jungkook’s laughter only falters when he notices that there isn't a couch.

This leaves him with two options. Share the bed with you and sacrifice a sleepless night resulting in another 10 hours of hell tomorrow, or sleep on the plush black carpeted floor and spend the next week with achy muscles and a crick in the neck.

He's gonna have to sleep on the fucking floor.

Quietly, Jungkook goes into the bathroom, leaving you to your own devices.

One bed. God, what a cliché. Jeon Jungkook will not be brought down by some fanfic writer’s wet dream.

Despite the inconvenience of the motel, Jungkook is relieved as the hot water spews from the showerhead. He’s needed this all day. Each muscle becomes looser, and Jungkook finds himself relaxing as the sound of water hitting the floor puddles in his mind.

6 long years.

Jungkook was twelve when he realized he had a big, fat, disgusting crush on you. But he knew it wasn’t a big deal. Crushes pass and fade. It’s impossible not to have a crush at that age.

Jungkook was 16 when he realized it wasn’t just a crush anymore. The poor bastard was head over heels. Down for the count. Your smile made his heart burn—he’d do anything to see it. He’d pull up pictures of you on his phone on the rare occasion he couldn’t see you, just to make sure he could at least see your smile every day. He recalls feeling stupid for feeling so fuzzy about you all the time, but what’s shameful about wanting to see someone you love happy and smiling? Nothing.

At some point, it turned physical. Absolute hell. He felt complete and utter shame the first time he touched himself while thinking about you. It was deplorable how badly and how often he yearned for your lips on his body.  

Throughout high school, Jungkook could barely look at anyone else other than you. Others could tell, most didn’t even try making a move on him. Except for his first kiss, taking place after prom in the parking lot. He remembers apologizing profusely to his date the next day, admitting that he just didn’t feel that way about them.

During graduation, he almost slipped. Almost confessed that he wanted to give it a shot. The longing was becoming too much. But no matter how close he came to finally spitting it out he’d always chicken out. You meant too much. And it felt… wrong to spring it on you.

But this? He might break in two. He’s insane, he knows, but that millisecond where you accidentally touched him through his pants almost made him hydroplane, losing all traction on reality.

A knock on the door yanks Jungkook out of his murky thoughts. “If you use up all the hot water, I’ll personally annihilate you, Kookie.”

He can’t hold back a smirk, “yeah, yeah, I’m almost done.”

If hot showers were personified, you’d marry them. Specifically, the ones taken after your best friend, with his scent still lingering. This night has been one hell of a rollercoaster, and you take your time washing away the 14 hours of uncomfortable driving and cleanse your airways. Jungkook has always smelled like home to you. Years of friendship will do that to a person. Not even your own family can make you feel at ease like he does, with the way he shines. Bright enough to feel warm, but not so bright as to scare anyone away.

7 long years.

You were 11 when you realized you had a big, fat, disgusting crush on Jungkook. But you’d had countless meaningless crushes at that age, he was just a crush out of convenience, right?

Wrong.

You were 16 when you realized it wasn’t just a crush anymore. Something about Jungkook’s demeanor with you changed. He was always nice to you, but as Jungkook matured, his rough-and-tumble attitude crumbled away into something softer, cushier, and sweeter. It was unbearable. Whenever he put a secure arm around your shoulder, your heart would squeeze, and then release. First yearning, then comfort.

You wanted him. In more than one way. Never in a million years would you live down the shame from the first time you let him invade your thoughts alone at night. It wasn’t that long ago, really. Jungkook had turned 18, and He wasted little to no time in getting a lip piercing. You nonchalantly said it looked cool, but it kept you up that night.

It was becoming too much, but with graduation fast approaching you thought you’d finally have your out. You’d go off to college, and as much as you’d miss your best friend, you knew you needed to get away, and hopefully the love would fade with time.

Well, that was before you found out that Jungkook was going to the same college as you.

It was pure coincidence.

So here you are. Desperately trying to wash away your increasing desire on both fronts, romantically and sexually.

Regretfully, you step out of the shower into the cold bathroom air. In an instant you’re pulling Jungkook’s stolen hoodie over your head.

The room is dead silent when you leave the bathroom, and you spot Jungkook resting peacefully on the heart-shaped bed. His eyes are closed. It’s moments like these that make you want to give in and just tell him. So what if he doesn’t feel the same way? So what if he doesn’t fight back the urge to kiss you every day? So. Fucking. What.

He’s your best friend. That’s fucking what.

Losing him is not an option.

“Gook?” Jungkook is lightly startled, and you almost feel bad for waking him. “Hey, can you move over?”

“Huh?” He groggily looks around, then realizes, “Oh—yeah, yeah, just a sec.”

With sloth-like movements, Jungkook grabs a pillow and a blanket from the bed and lays them on the floor, but before he can slip down onto the carpet you stop him, “woah, woah, woah. What’re you doing?”

“Uhhh, going to sleep?”

“On the floor? We’ve shared a bed before, doofus.”

“yeah, when we were like, nine.” Jungkook retorts. Please, God. Don’t do this to him.

You know it’ll be hell sharing a bed with him, but you’d feel like shit making him sleep on the floor. “What’re you afraid of, catching cooties? Come on, bun, it’s not a big deal.” It is a big deal. It is such a stupidly big deal.

Jungkook takes a moment to read your eyes, only a feeling a twinge of awkwardness. With reluctance, he moves the blanket and pillow back onto the bed and climbs in first. He can do this.

You climb in behind him, settling in quickly. His back is to you, thank God, but warmth is radiating from his body. You can’t do this.

Deep breaths, deep breaths. Focus.

Focus on the patter of the rain outside. Focus on the whirring of the ceiling fan above. Focus on the softness of the sheets. Focus on the warmth of the blankets. Focus on the smell of the detergent. Focus on the smell of Jungkook’s shampoo.

Wait, no. Don’t focus on that.

Hell freezes over in the time it takes for you to get comfortable.

It feels like infinity has passed by as Jungkook lays deathly still. One movement and he’ll shatter. The bed feels smaller than it looks. The proximity is too much. He can hear your deep breaths, can feel them in how your back lightly hits his with every intake of air. His body feels like it’ll start vibrating. His chest feels like it might implode. His thoughts are spiraling. He just wants you.

Eyes. Closed. Mouth. Closed. Mind. A work in progress. Sheep, count sheep.

1…

2…

3…

Just fall asleep. Please. You tell yourself.

Closing your eyes, you count the seconds as they pass by into minutes. You’re on minute 28 when a haze finally begins to ease you. But some prick outside of your room drops something heavy and you hear them giggling and walking away. You hope they have a terrible night’s sleep. Even if they weren’t planning on sleeping anyway.

Being conscious again, it’s impossible to ignore it. You can’t take it. You can’t. His warmth, his smell. His smile, his laugh.

Him.

Something possesses you. Chest aching painfully, heart beating mercilessly.

You whisper.

“Jungkook,”

“Yeah?” He curses the waver in his voice as your body shifts around to face his back. It takes him a moment before he has enough courage to turn around.

Your eyes.

Your eyes are big and wide, you look scared and excited all at once. “Jungkook, I…”

What are you doing?

You must be insane.

Just forget it.

But there’s no going back.

Do it.

Just say it.

Say it.

Fucking say it.

You like—

No.

He gently reaches for your hand beneath the blanket. The mingling of your fingers calms your mind, eases your breathing. “Thanks,” a whisper is sent across the small distance that separates the two of you. “How do you feel about me?”

Jungkook stares. Huh? That’s all? He chuckles, “We’ve been friends since we were like, four. It’s a good bet that I like you.”

You blink. What an absolute dunce. “No, you stupid asshat, how do you feel about me?” All this courage makes your mouth keep moving, “I mean… I feel something, and sometimes it seems like you feel something too. Can you like, tell me if it’s just me?”

Jungkook’s eyes go wide, his warm hand slipping away.

Oh. You’ve made a huge mistake.

Or so you think before he’s crawling to hover over you, hands beside your head. “You like me?”

It’s your turn for your eyes to bulge, your face burning at the position, one that you’ve imagined at least a million times. Head turning away, you reiterate, “Unfortunately.”

His head falls to your shoulder, “Oh my god. Holy shit, oh my God. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this shit, holy fucking shit.” You patiently wait for his rambling to stop, but you’re confused now. He’s on top of you. This man is on top of you but hasn’t said anything about how he feels yet.

The only natural response is to flick his forehead, of course.

“Hey, ouch!”

You exaggerate the clearing of your throat, “’holy shit, I can’t believe this shit.’ Isn’t a super direct answer, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re mean?”

“Aww did I hurt you fee—” His lips touch yours softly, but it doesn’t last long enough before he falls back to his side of the bed.

“It’s not just you,” Your hands find each other again.

A thick silence rests over you, despite your staggering heart. You want him to kiss you again, desperately. You push yourself to ask, “kiss me again? Maybe longer this time?”

Jungkook obliges wordlessly, leaning over to press his lips against yours once more. It’s slow, cautious, unsure. Your body feels tense, making it difficult to feel excited. Not sure what to do, you pull him closer by his sweatshirt, forcing your bodies to touch.

It feels like he’s melting into you. His lips are still shaky, but he pushes forward, placing his hand on your hip as you wrap a leg over his body. Creating even less distance between you. There’s a heavy breath.

“Um… okay, pause.” Your eyes meet. He nods and his fingers brush through your hair, playing with it casually and awaiting your next request. In this wide expanse of time, the tingle of him playing with your hair lulls your mind and heart.  

“Again?”

Third time’s the charm, right?

With less hesitance than before, Jungkook finds your lips again, keeping his hand buried in your hair. This time, it’s more comfortable, and your lips tingle. Unsure of what to do with yourself, your hands grip his sweatshirt even tighter, and you find it in yourself to lean in closer, breath quickening less from nerves and more from pleasure.

How many times had you thought of this? Each scenario being different, passionate and fiery. And yet of the hundreds of daydreams, none of them were accurate. Despite the underlying awkwardness, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

All thoughts drift away when Jungkook’s lips leave your own, and before you can protest, they fall upon your neck. Far more astonishing is when he drags you on top of him, changing your positions.

A quiet gasp escapes. Woah, woah woah, buddy.

But your surprise doesn’t stop him from dragging his lips to the other side of your neck. You feel your legs go numb. With his stupid lips on your neck still, he asks, “Is this okay?”

There’s a lot of fumbling in your brain before you can answer, “mhm… I’ve thought about this a lot.”

“Oh really? How much of it?” This stupid bitch.

“Shut up before you ruin it, just keep going.” You have no clue, but to Jungkook, the breathlessness in your voice feels like kryptonite.

Slipping a hand beneath your hoodie, you jolt at his touch. “How far do you want me to go?”

You squirm, “Um… I don’t know yet, is that okay?”

“Good, cuz’ I don’t know either. We can stop at any point.” Becoming impatient, you only give him a nod before you guide his hand to slip further into your hoodie. The trail of his touch his tingly, unpredictable, exciting. The gentle nature in the way he feels you causes your body to take on a mind of its own as your hips sink into Jungkook, forcing a groan from his lips. “Fuck, do that again.” You follow his instruction, and he lets out another noise of pleasure. It sends a spark coursing through you, leaning in to kiss him again. It’s messier this time, the caress of his hand on your skin making the simple task of breathing complicated. Your hips push down again, and the bulge you feel beneath you makes you gasp. In quick succession, Jungkook’s fingers brush over the tip of your breast, and to your utter shock a whine flows out of your lips. Your legs lose more strength, and you follow instinct. One hand slips beneath Jungkook’s shirt, and the jerk has the audacity to cup your breast in retaliation, dragging another whine out of you. Your head falls to his neck, partially because you feel like jelly, and partially because you want to leave a string of kisses to match what he so generously left on you prior.

With each kiss your hands keep exploring his torso and chest. If he can play dirty, so can you.

Or so you thought.

He pulls the neckline of your hoodie down to gain access to your collarbone before leaning up and licking a bold stripe from your clavicle up to your neck, dragging your body closer all the while. And when he latches on to the crook of your neck, sucking hard and meeting your hips as they subconsciously grind into him, you release a moan.

“There you go.”

You see through hazy vision the smirk on his face. Different from any that you’ve seen in your countless years of friendship.

He does it again, latching onto a spot along your collarbone and sucking, harsh but loving. Easing the sting with another swipe of his tongue.

The room is soon a quiet orchestra of heavy breaths and stifled groans, whines, and moans.

Time feels nonexistent.

“I think I want you to touch me, koo--”

“You think?”

You whine, “God, I don’t know—I just need more.”

He groans, “Fuck, babe.”

His hands securely grip your hips, and guide them to grind down onto him, hard. His sweatpants barely getting in the way.

You gasp at first, but as he keeps guiding your hips you let out a moan, louder than the one before. You cover your lips, not wanting to be heard by anyone outside.

“shit babe, please don’t be quiet, please—”

As the rhythm of your hips continue, you lean down, resting your head beside Jungkook’s ear, hoping that the muffle of the pillows will prevent anyone other than Jungkook hearing you. You let go, letting your moans flow, as his hips meet yours. Each sound you let out into his ear brings Jungkook closer to his breaking point.

“Keep going Koo, I’m close.” You whisper, and the sounds Jungkook lets out sound almost painful.

“Fuck, I love you.” He whines. And with barley another thrust of his hips, he comes undone beneath you. He keeps his grip on your hips, continuing to bring your hips down onto him.

You can barely manage “I love you too, Koo” before you find release.

The butterflies haven’t subsided yet. You’re clean and warm in bed again with Jungkook, hands and hearts intertwined. This time sleep feels more possible, but you can’t help but want to talk.

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“some of that felt awkward, right?”

“Well, I don’t think anything is more awkward than when we were forced to take a bath together when we were toddlers just cuz’ we got all muddy in the rain.”

You giggle as Jungkook pulls you in closer against his chest. “Yeah, sex ain’t shit compared to that.”

The warmth lulled you into a comfortable silence. You can’t remember the last time you felt this content, and you never want it to end. Every night this is what you want. Hands fit together loosely, blanket tangled between your bodies.

Jungkook will process with time that this is his new reality. His new reality in which you fall asleep in his arms, in which he can pull you closer, hold you tighter, and play with your fingers as he drifts off into a dreamland that couldn’t possibly match what he has with you. No one knows what the future holds, but Jungkook sure as hell hopes that you’re a part of it.

This shaggy love motel did more good than he thought it would.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[lethalchiralium]

prizefighter.

Hand covered in blood, the other held a butcher’s knife - Simon kept a straight face as it came down, chopping the chicken breast in half. The brunt of the winter had long faded, the flower pot near the register blooming with every breath of spring air. His coworker, Al, bustled in the back as the meat delivery had arrived ten minutes ago and he refused any help, telling Simon to man the counter. He could hear the older man grunt and groan as he hauled the large carcasses in, Simon only shook his head in annoyance - he could’ve had his cigarette break by now, looking at the mess of bones and broken teeth in the alleyway. His bored stare could be felt from miles away and he placed the now two pieced chicken breast onto the weight.

Five ounces, just as decent as it was going to get nowadays. He mindlessly grabbed a sheet of paper, placed the meat on it, and wrapped it quickly. The only issue now was the twine - the fingers on his right hand hadn’t worked too well since he broke his hand during the war in the European Theater. He let his knife rest on the wooden countertop, brown eyes gazing down and examining his scarred hand - littered with white lines, divots, and notches. Just a little squeeze and he could feel the cold steel of a pipe, the pipe that an enemy soldier swung down, cracking and crushing his knuckles with a sickening crunch–

Ding!

It was a reflex, his response. With his back to the shop door, he loudly called out, “Welcome to Manchester Butcher-”

Bump, bump, bump!

He turned but saw no one in the sunlit lobby. There were only three chairs squeezed against the wall, a table with a singular magazine, all framed in the box that the cream wallpaper made. Maybe the bell went off on its own? He glanced at the door, where the bronze bell was still slowly swaying. His shoulders relaxed before he looked down to the glass case, and noticed a little girl with curly pigtails and a yellow dress. The frown on his face turned to a smile and a light chuckle as she giggled, stomping her feet and hitting her little hands on the case. “Dada!’

“Hello, princess. Where’s your mummy?” Simon reached for a clean towel, wiping his hands off as the bell rang again, he looked up and his smile grew wider. In came his eldest in her green dress, her hands clung to his wife’s own baby blue dress as the stroller was pushed in, out of the cool breeze. “Girls! What’re you doin’ here? This is a nice surprise.”

The baby was in her pram, he was instantly around the counter and kissing his wife, you, on the cheek, peering under the black canopy to his dozing infant. “We were just running errands, and the girls were crying about how much they were missing you today. I figured, why not stop in and say hello before we head home. Isn’t that right, girls?”

His toddler was quick to grab his pant leg, she squealed, “Dada, up!”

“Not right now, Mel. Daddy’s dirty.” He gazed down at his daughter as she clung to her mother, then his eyes darted up at you. His hand ached as his other hand held his dirty towel, he tried not to let you notice the pain. “What’s her deal?”

You glanced down to your eldest, Winnie, your hand curled around her chestnut ringlets before you looked back at him. “Nothing. She knocked a display over at the grocery store. She was embarrassed, and the grocer yelled at her.”

His back straightened a little, warm ichor-like anger ignited deep in his chest. “He yelled at her?”

Your hand gently brushed over the crown of Winnie’s head, she only moved closer to you as if to melt into your dress. “Yeah, and shoved her a little. Said she was in the way. I already had it out with him, Simon.”

“He shoved her? The one up the street?”

Winnie’s face turned down, and Simon was quick to kneel in front of her - all while ignoring his now clearly angry toddler. “Winnie, did Jim push you?” The girl’s face then looked away, buried in the blue floral print of her mother’s dress. He yearned to stretch his hand out, to cup her cheek and tell her that it was going to be alright now. But his hands were covered in chicken blood, and the feeling of being beaten over and over again still simmered beneath them like hot tar. “Sweetheart, just answer me. You’re not in trouble. It was an accident, yeah?”

Her brown eyes peered around the fabric to him, it damn near broke his heart to see the tears that welled in her eyes as she looked at him. She glanced up to her mother, hesitating, before nodding. His chest began to roar with red hot rage as he looked up at you.

“Simon, it just happened. He reacted. It’s not a big deal.”

“What do you mean, ‘not a big deal’? He bloody touched her. My daughter is upset. It’s a very big deal.” He didn’t ignore the tears in his daughter’s eyes as they felt like daggers into his chest. “Let’s go, pet.” He held out his towel wrapped left hand and Winnie didn’t hesitate to take it, he stood again, nodding as his coworker and almost instantly darted out of the butcher shop and ignored your sharp demand to leave it alone - Winnie barely struggling to keep up in her scuffed Mary Janes.

He moved through the people walking through the street, his right hand twitching with pain as he clenched his jaw. They passed three shops, his eyes trained on the green canopy with people bustling in and out of the door beneath it. Hunched a little to keep a grip on his daughter, he threw open the front door, leading her in first and beside the door before peering down at her face, “Stay right here, look at the floor.” Winnie nodded, little pearls of tears running down her rosy cheeks and that made Simon’s roaring anger sound like a train horn in his ear.

Weaving around red wicker displays and lines of patrons, he does his best to suppress his anger from the war, since it was his motivation to keep going. To fight, to win - he’s killed men from sunrise to sunset, from the coast of Normandy to Okinawa, all because it was him or them. Him or them. Him or them. It felt… overwhelming, the urge to protect more than just him, now that he was home again. He had sworn off fighting since Winnie was born six years ago, but it didn’t matter now, not anymore. This bumbling idiot could have hurt his darling girl and he would have never known if you hadn’t told him, so like any good guard dog, he showed his ichor stained teeth and claws with his bloodied apron in hand.

The blond haired grocer spotted him instantly, his back straightened as Simon struggled through the line of customers, backing away from the till with a loud, “Simon-”

“You touched my daughter?”

“I’m…sorry, but she knocked all of my apples to the floor. What was I–”

And after the first punch that sent the grocer flying to the ground, Simon’s right hand no longer trembled. “She’s six.” He knelt then, leaning over him. “Bet you wouldn’t’ve done a thing if I’d been here, would ya?”

Another punch sent his head crashing backwards into the tile, wailing, “Bloody christ, I’m sorry!” His lip was split, nose starting to become a few shades darker. He almost screeched in terror when Simon grabbed him by his collar with his right hand. The damn grocer should’ve known by now that Simon is not the man to lend mercy, and now, not even in front of his daughter, as he destroyed the promise he made six years ago.

“Get up.” He stood, effortlessly lifting the man and dragging him through the now parted line of customers, straight to his darling girl; she was rubbing her eye with the back of her hand, keeping her gaze on her shoes, swaying from side to side softly. Simon raised the man a little, so he could look at Winnie as she sniffled towards the tiled floor. “Apologize.”

The man’s head bobbed a little, Simon jolted him and he winced then looked at her, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“Better.” Without any grace, he unceremoniously tossed the man back on the ground, snarling, “And clear my wife’s tab.”

He didn’t even give the man the time to address him as he held out his wrapped hand for his daughter near her small field of vision, she took it after her eyes welled with tears due to his bloodied knuckles. He snatched a sweet from the shelf nearby, ushering her towards the door.

The grocer groaned out, “Y-Yeah, sure thing, Simon. Sure.”

The spring air felt like knives on his now split knuckle, walking her back to the butcher shop with a firm grip on her hand. He looked at the sweet he took, a Drumstick lolly. He huffed out a humorless chuckle before handing it to Winnie. “Here.”

She looked from the concrete up to him, her dress swishing with every step before quietly saying, “That’s stealing. That’s wrong.”

“Sweetheart, he owed you a candy for bein’ a right cunt. Take it.” She took it instantly, whispering her timid “Thank you.” before becoming silent again. The walk was longer than before, the adrenaline settling as quickly as it came. Simon could see you through the window of the butcher shop, gently rocking the small pram as the toddler’s hands and cheek were pressed against the cool glass. She began to squeal as she recognized them, pigtails and yellow dress bouncing with every step, Simon opened the door and led Winnie in like always. Have to teach manners young.

You cleared your throat, sitting on the only nice chair in the lobby. Simon shrugged and answered your cue. “Got it handled.” Your eyebrow raised, your eyes slowly blinked as your head tilted a bit to the side - some fraction of exasperation flowed from your glare into his chest. He chuckled to himself mentally, can always count on my wife to draw things out of me. “And the tab.”

“What did you do?”

A smug smirk tugged at his lips, Winnie let go of his hand to go run to her little sister and mother. “I defended my daughter.” He gazed at his little girls, Winnie showing the toddler the treat she had and the little one’s face grew a curious look. “Alright, I need to get back to work.”

Those were always the magic words for his toddler, as she instantly tumbled her way towards him, with a screeching, “Up!”

“Later, Mellie. Daddy’ll be home soon.”

“Say goodbye to him, girls.”

Your hand settled on his forearm, electricity ran through his body again. There would never be a time where he wouldn’t feel desperate for your touch, your voice, your presence. He gazed down at you, his smirk turned into a kiss to your cheek. He couldn’t see the pipe in his head now, his hand only trembled because such a creature was holding onto him - even if he knew he would be in trouble when he arrived home later that night.

“I’ll see you at home, sweethear’.”

[erwinsvow]

𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

summary: domestic bliss with agent hotchner is hard to come by. you take advantage of your time with him at home when you can.

word count: 1.4k

author's note: eeeeeee. cannot stop writing for this man. not bau!reader explicitly and also not smut explicitly, more in between. enjoy!!

The house you and Aaron buy is small, and in one word; picturesque. The outside panels are a soft, faded yellow and the shutters are brown.

It’s not a fixer-upper by any means, though Aaron talks often about the wood floors that will need to be redone in a few years, and the kitchen tile and backsplash that aren't in the condition he would quite like.

There’s other things too, like the downstairs bathroom with the peeling, floral patterned wallpaper and the carpet in Jack’s room. He worries about redoing the wallpaper—visions of hours of peeling it off and getting new sheets up and if there’s mold behind the paper, but you like it. It makes it feel like you’ve lived in this house your whole life.

Your shared bedroom is upstairs, down the hall from Jack and the first room off the stairs. You like the simplicity of this house most of all, nothing too grand or vain. When the realtor had taken you for a showing, Aaron was off on a case in Florida and Jack was at school. You felt silly touring alone, because it would have been easier to imagine living here with Aaron and Jack by your side, but you do it anyway.

You love Aaron’s apartment and you have more memories than you can count there—visions of making oatmeal raisin cookies with Jack and your first date with Aaron (a dinner that he cooked followed by a record playing softly and dancing in the living room) pop into your mind—but it’s running out of space, and it’s not quite like home. 

This house is home in all the best ways. A big kitchen with an island, where you can picture a cookie jar and a tall counter stool where Jack sits and eats his oatmeal before school. 

The living room has big windows and there’s a smaller playroom off the foyer, and in an instant you can picture the rest of your life here. You tell Aaron that night on the phone, and the three of you pay a visit the following weekend. You’re signing papers and packing up boxes two weeks later.

It doesn’t feel like it’s been much time at all, but you realize you’re coming up on almost a year of this house. Your house, the both of yours, the family house. This will be Jack and his siblings’ childhood home.

If you can ever get your husband into bed, that is. 

It’s eight-thirty on Friday night. Jack has been at a birthday party-sleepover night since about five. Aaron returned from a case in Michigan less than twenty four hours ago. You had been asleep, late Thursday evening, when he came back home.

He’d gone to the office today and then picked up Jack from school to bring him over to the sleepover. You had triple checked that he’d packed everything he needed—pajamas, toothbrush, his emergency Epi-pen—but forgot the birthday boy’s present in the back seat of your car. 

You and Aaron drive back over to deliver the gift, make polite small talk with the parents, and then rush out of there.

Aaron had set up a whole plan. Dinner reservations, dessert at the ice cream place near the house, and then a quiet night in, which was long awaited and desperately needed.

However, nothing goes as planned. You miss the reservation window by ten minutes trying to get Jack’s friend the stupid gift—a Lego Star-Wars kit—before they open presents and cut cake. The ice cream shop is closed due to renovations. You return home to missed calls from your boss and a stack of Aaron’s paperwork on the counter. 

“Take out it is,” Aaron says, rifling through the drawer next to the oven. There’s more flyers in there than he thinks, and he still can’t find the one he’s looking for. “Honey? Where’s the menu for that one Indian place-”

“Side of the fridge,” you call back, typing away on your laptop. He doesn’t have to finish his sentences anymore. It makes him smile every time. He locates the menu and brings it to you on the couch. 

“What’d you think? The usual?”

“I have a couple ideas.” You are starving, and not for food. 

You’re in Aaron’s lap before you can even think about it. He has big hands, very big, very strong hands, that grip you by the waist and hoist you on top of him in a moment. It takes your breath away, momentarily, and then he really takes your breath away.

He kisses you like it’s his first and last time ever being able to do so. His hands roam all over your body and it makes every part of you tingle in anticipation. He grabs your ass with both hands and then slaps it hard—hard enough that it hurts, but he knows you well enough to welcome the moan you emit into his mouth.

Your hands run through his hair and then focus on loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. It’s hard to think, though, with him beneath you and his hardness pressing against you in all the best ways. You want to stay here on the couch and grind yourself against him until you’re both sweating and cumming—but he has other plans.

Always a gentleman, always patient, he pulls away from the kiss and lets you catch your breath. Your foreheads are pressed together, noses touching, and you briefly take in that after so many years of knowing him, Aaron will always take your breath away.

“Why’d you stop?” you question innocently, and he thinks he’ll lose his mind. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“Why? I think this is perfect.” You lean back in to kiss him hard, losing yourself in the sweet taste of his mouth—always coffee—and his aroma, which draws you in no matter where you are. 

He laughs into your mouth, pulling away again. You make a soft noise of displeasure, but it all goes away when he lifts you up to carry you to your bedroom. 

He puts you down first, and gets rid of the tie you undid downstairs. You watch with big eyes while he hovers over you, until he finally leans down and your lips meet again. It’s all too natural to take off your dress and spread your legs and help him pull off his button-up, moaning into your kisses and enjoying the feeling of his hand in your hair, pulling softly. 

You like Aaron all of the time, but you’re incredibly biased when he’s like this. You’ve never had to ask for anything, and he somehow knows everything you like. He lines more kisses along your neck, down to your chest. Just as you hear him, low and heady, murmuring, “Tell me what you want,” and getting ready to answer, needy out of your mind and ready to tell him that you need to be fucked, hard, now, his phone goes off.

You exhale. Aaron drops his head in defeat against your chest.

“I’m sorry, honey, hold on a minute,” he starts, leaning over you to get his phone from the nightstand. 

“Who is it?” “JJ. It must be a case, I’ll just-”

“Wait, wait,” you whisper. “If it’s a case you can go in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?” he questions, eyebrow raised. You look back at him sheepishly.

“Okay, fifteen minutes. I mean, nothing’s gonna change in a half an hour, right? Fifteen minutes here and then fifteen minutes to get there.”

“Honey, I really shouldn’t-”

“I mean, think about it. Everyone else probably isn’t even there yet. You’ll just be sitting around waiting for them before you start. So really, I’m saving you time.”

You both lock eyes and burst into laughter. 

“I’ll get your go-bag,” you say, as he answers JJ’s call. You’re about to get up, looking for your haphazardly discarded dress and Aaron’s shirt, when you feel Aaron grip your forearm.

“Hotchner. Okay, JJ, thanks. I’ll be there in forty.” He hangs up and looks back at you, frozen in place. “You have twenty-five minutes to tell me what you want.” You squeal when he pulls you back into bed, kissing you hard.

He gets to the office an hour later.

[artinvain]

vampire!sevika x witch!reader who runs into you at the library when she’s returning books. (no smut … yet!??!) men and minors dni

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ:

Vampire!sevika who smells you, sickly sweet smell of a bakery, cigarettes and coffee. whose mouth starts to taste metallic. standing there and scenting the air, her eyes scrunched shut so no one sees the whites have turned crimson and her pupils are blown and black.

who tries to smile at you but feels her fangs extending a pain of hunger growing in her so she has to feed before she even comes near you.

vampire!Sevika who ignores all your advances with a smile and flippancy because she’s afraid she’ll hurt you if she gets too close.

vampire!Sevika whose hunting and spots you on a picnic, and has to claim she was hiking because she was caught staring.

vampire!Sevika who has to join you — seeing you alone in the woods too worrisome for her to leave you.

vampire!Sevika who then warms up to the idea of being around tou, not because she was dangerous but because she could protect you from things much worse than her

vampire!Sevika who starts leaving flowers at your work.

vampire!Sevika who is so used to providing she nearly cries when you send her your favourite book you “think you’ll really enjoy. It seems to match your old soul” with a plate of baked cookies on top.

vampire!Sevika who has her team watch out for you (as in stalk you 24 hours and report your movements back to her)

she thinks it’s the way you get to know someone — watch you , learn what you like so that she can anticipate your needs and be a good partner.

vampire!Sevika who thinks she’s ready to have dinner at your place when you offer.

and is stunned to see the sigils and candles, books and herbs inside, crystals lining the walls and refracting light into your living room.

When you stand silently at the door until she asks to be invited in, she’s immediately suspicious.

vampire!Sevika who’s been around long enough to realise you have a cloaking spell rune above your fireplace and knows she fucked.

because she doesn’t know anything about you — all her intel was messed with by your spell.

vampire!sevika who is now an entirely new level of nervous because not only are you intelligent and interesting and funny — you’re also more gorgeous than any face she’s seen in decades. eyes so unwarded and honest, skin soft and dewy. and your hands on hers — god it’s so soft—

and then she realises you’re asking about her daylight ring, you’re very fascinated you know about the type of rock that was used, it’s more popular century, the tiny runes inscribed de dismissed as aging.

vampire!Sevika who doesn’t stay for dinner when she smells your tea, the scent like burning razors in her nostrils. Vervain. A plant near deadly to vampires.

vampire!Sevika who excuses herself saying she has a cold and then receives a care package for her, which makes her realise the cookies you baked didn’t have any vervain in them. So she tries the food and it’s fine. more than fine it’s incredible. It makes her so hungry she has to feed.

vampire!sevika who only feeds on what she declared “scum of the earth,” she didn’t do it often at the risk of being caught but some nights, (like where she sees two men pulling a knife on a woman walking home from work — well with a knife it’s easy to make the deaths look … natural) she’s lucky.

vampire!Sevika who invites you over to her loft, it’s actually more dated than you’d expect. gold-yellow and red lilac and columbine flower wallpaper in the living room’s feature wall. With more modern pops in the furniture and essentials.

“A lot of your stuff is… antique,” you say smiling politely, a furrow in your brow. and Sevika laughs at the way you sit very very carefully on an old chesterfield sofa.

“I’ve reinforced them,” Sevika explains “they are old but, I can’t seem to let them go,”

“Family heirloom?” You guess, a lot of the stuff in here was too fancy to be sold at regular antiques in your area, which meant Sevika was rich, according to her furniture you guessed old money rich.

“that’s insane to have a family tree you can trace so far back you could have your own heirloom”

it was her brothers. they sat on it every night together in his first and only home, and talked in depth about nothing at all.

“My family is close, I am grateful,” Sevika says

the look in your eye. a twinkle of playful curiosity,

“and the ring is an heirloom also?” You ask, standing up to take another look around.

“this stuff if very english — your accent —“

”we moved when I was very little,” she interrupted quickly, that wasn’t entirely false. “I’ve lived here all my life,” that was lie.

you smile at her and quirk your head. she was so… guarded.

“what about your family?” Sevika asks, stepping toward you and guiding you with her hand on your lower back to the sofa. she opens a bottle of wine and pours it for you when she hears you say “salem” and nearly spills. you pretend not to notice and take the glass, thanking her.

“yeah, we fled during the salem trials, there was a much bigger pool of people then, than what’s documented,” you say and Sevika turns to you

”witches then,” Sevika says and lets a giggle slip when you say “of course, have you seen the way I dress?” so wooed by your boldness because yes, she has noticed the way you dress and she thinks you’re some kind of deity, the way your dresses and skirts fall over your thighs, and the way your jean overalls highlights your arms. she’s always mesmerised.

“you are a little whimsical, you sent me the metamorphosis by Franz kafka!” She rolls are eyes at the memory, she was kind of offended when she got it because really? but then when she read it with your note at the end she knew you were referencing yourself, explaining the way your mind works without really having to tell her. So Sevika is gentle with her words around you, makes sure your needs get catered to and makes sure that you always feel secure and loved. 🏷️ @archangeldyke-all @sexysapphicshopowner @iamaboringrattat @sapphicsgirl @sevsbaby @bimboprincezz @opropheticsoul

[fernpetals]

In This House #3

Masterlist

Yandere John Wick x Reader The library in the house is a place of solace. Perhaps not as comforting as the room dedicated to your skills with the pen, but close. The second-best. The library, though, has no line drawn to keep John out. No corner of the house has it.

Your personal study used to be but since your last attempt, John has broken yet another promise. He gave you his word, the study would be your space and yours alone. He promised he wouldn't step foot in it if you didn't want him to. But the promise, a 'privilege' as he makes all his false promises seem, was taken away.

So, it does not really matter whether you are in the library, the study, or the bedroom, John can walk in anytime, anywhere he pleases. "What are you reading?"

Of course, he is here. Looming over to catch a glimpse of the story that has kept her occupied all evening. "The Yellow Wallpaper." You respond quietly.

He hums before languidly rounding over the couch and taking a seat.

"Do you feel trapped?"

You do not answer, just glance at him. His deep, dark eyes try to read you, rip off your veils, and your walls like he has always done.

"Who's fault is that?" He raises an eyebrow

You are surprised at the lack of flare in you. No anger, no surprise, or even frustration. You are finally accepting that he will never truly acknowledge that he has brought the two where you both are.

"Keep telling yourself that," You whisper to yourself.

You feel him stiffen beside you, you feel the weight of his gaze. The glare that promises consequences. But you are not bothered anymore. How worse can it get?

-----

The Reader's Cafe.

A typical name, for a typical place. Stuffed with books at every corner except the counter, behind which the magic of teas, coffees and mocktails happens, along with little snacks like sandwiches, cookies, pies, fresh buns and every other lovely thing that goes perfectly with the suggested drink in the menu, put right before the price.

You like tea along with cookies, and sometimes, simply the beverage. This place is convenient---blocks away from your home, warm, cosy ---though stuffy during summers sometimes, the cafe is your little bubble where you can read.

You are halfway through Blake's 'Songs of Innocence', casually looking up at the shelves surrounding you for the 'Songs of Experience'. Reading every twin poem by Blake has a thrill of its own,. 'The Lamb' and 'The Tyger', for instance.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but there are no pets allowed in the cafe."

"I understand, but, it will take only a minute, I will keep him leashed."

Usually, you do not care. Usually. But you have been distracted all day, and this conversation floats in with a 'woof' in between an you find yourself getting up and following the voices.

Right at the entrance is the same man you stumbled across weeks ago, and his adorable companion.

"How about this, you take back this book, lend me the one I want and fill in the records? I will leave him home when I return."

He is a soft-spoken man, with perhaps softer eyes. Sweet whirls of brown. Dark, brown, almost matching his black hair. The woman hesitates before asking-

"Which book it is?"

"Songs of Experience."

You perk up at that, taking a few more steps forward and catching his attention.

"Uh..."

Well, even though his eyes seem soft...there's still something that makes you squirm.

"Actually, I was looking for that too,"

You are by no means an orator. But the way you struggle to hold his gaze, makes you want to dig up a grave for yourself. He hasn't spoken yet and your throat is parched.

"This one? I just wanted to return it. And get a companion book."

"Songs of Innocence? I was reading it. Here."

You take a few more steps, reaching him and offering the book with your finger still between the pages. His adorable companion his tail furiously as you near him, woofing and trying to reach you. Perhaps he remembers you.

"Oh, no it's alright, I can get it sometime later."

"I've read this before. Please, insist. I was searching for the other anyway. In fact, I suggest that you keep this one too. The twin poems are best read together."

You stop yourself just short of rambling longer. He seems to be a quiet man, and you might be weirding him out. But smiles kindly.

"Then you should keep them." You shake your head, ready to refuse but he beats you to it.

"The next time I find myself here, we both can read the companion pieces."

You do not even realise it when you agree, but you end up going home with both books in your possession. You are going to the bookshop every evening, you decide. Every evening until he appears again.

[fictionobsession]

devotion

Pairing: Alastor x f!Reader

Summary: She would give anything for him.

Word Count: 1,997

Warnings: blood, canon typical violence, Alastor being psychotic

A/N: okay friends, first time writing for Al. this was not beta'd or really edited at all so if something seems weird just... assume I meant to fix it. also, this was written as a QPR, but there's a little feelings on reader's side if you squint. I'm not 100% on how in character this is for Alastor, but we tried and that's what matters right

---

She plopped onto the shitty couch and pulled her knees to her chest, looking around the shitty house where they'd been hiding out in the middle of this shitty swamp for the last two shitty weeks. The wallpaper was peeling and yellowed, the floors covered in mold and mildew, the running water only worked half the time, and, more importantly, the refrigerator was empty as of six nights prior. Her stomach rumbled just thinking about a nice juicy cut. She sighed, closing her eyes and allowing herself to sink into the daydream of food.

She knew when she'd gotten into this hobby with Alastor that there was a non-zero chance she would wind up on the run someday. She just wished they could have put it off a bit longer, had a bit more fun. She laid her head back against the rotting couch until she heard the creak of the floor near the front door.

Her eyes snapped open and her brows furrowed as she took in Alastor's hunting attire.

“Al, where do you think you're going?”

“Well, my dear, unless you feel like us both starving to death in this dismal abode, I thought I'd better go get some food.”

“Alastor. You know we've heard the dogs nearby. You can't possibly go out there without getting caught, at least until we've had a couple days where we haven't heard 'em.”

“Again, starving is not on my agenda, so we don't particularly have another choice.”

Another choice. Her face hardens as she realizes what another option might be. She stood up and crossed the room, grabbing Alastor's arm before he could open the door. “There is a way for us to make it out of this without you leaving. Or rather, a way for one of us to make it out of this.”

He hummed, and she could see the wheels turning as he put together what she was implying. “I'm not sacrificing myself for you to get away, you know.”

“I know. That's why I'm just asking you to get it over with quickly. You'll get more time, and I – well, I'll at least get to go out on my own terms. If I have to go, at least it'll be for you.”

His eyes widened just a bit, more reaction than she'd usually get, before he shrugged. “Okay. Painless it is. Not usually my style, but I think I can figure it out.”

She laughed, a genuine, full laugh. “I know, Al, and that's why we've worked out so well. But I think you could at least do that much for me.”

He pulled his hunting knife from where he had already slid it into his belt. “Are you ready?”

And with one nod, everything went black.

-

It seemed instantaneous, appearing in hell. She looked around, taking in the chaos around her. Literal dumpster fires, public sex, casual street murders, Hell had it all. Of course, arriving in Hell wasn't a surprise for her. You don't kill that many people and expect to get into Heaven. She wasn't even sure she had believed in the whole afterlife thing until she was experiencing it. She shrugged it off, finding the closest place with a mirror she could use for free.

Her body was... different, certainly. But intact, and honestly, she was quite happy with it. Given the various types of demons she'd seen just in her brief time there, it could've been a lot worse. She wandered, putting together a plan of action for getting herself set up in Hell. It seemed she would need income to make most things happen, which made finding a job a top priority. She also needed a place to sleep, as it seemed unsafe at best to stay on the streets.

She got a job fairly quickly at Ozzie's, though she wasn't thrilled with the outfit they made her wear for the whole thing. But it was money, and easy work, so she stuck with it. Asmodeus offered her a fairly decent rate on rent nearby, as well, so she could have done worse.

Shortly after getting settled, she started feeling pressure on her body in random locations and at seemingly random times, almost like someone was grabbing or poking her to get her attention. Occasionally she'd get hot spots, which she at first attributed to it being hot in Hell. Little scrapes and cuts would appear sometimes as well, but they always healed up quickly. It wasn't until the final time it happened that she realized what had been happening over the past few weeks.

A perfect bite imprint appeared on her forearm, accompanied by a sharp pain, and she realized it must have been an effect of Alastor in the living world. She traced her finger over the mark, which had healed into almost a scar, but not quite. It was a bit pink, but wasn't angry and fresh. She smiled a little to herself, happy that her sacrifice hadn't been in vain.

As time went on, she found herself tracing the mark when she was feeling stressed, upset, or particularly lonely. It never healed all the way, making it always a bit sensitive to touch, and served as a reminder of why she was here. The mark always made her feel closer to Al, which brought a little comfort when things got crazy.

She had managed to stay within the same few blocks that she knew were heavily policed by Asmodeus's people. However, six months into her stay in Hell, she finally had to leave her little neighborhood to buy some things for the bar. She packed her gun, a knife, and made sure she was dressed inconspicuously – the rumors about the surrounding areas were very...detailed...about what might happen to someone who ended up on the wrong side of a fight.

Unfortunately, her preparation didn't keep her from getting spotted by some Sharks outside the store as she started back toward her apartment. She tried to hurry, sliding between demons and other sinners, before slipping down an alley to attempt to lose her tail. It was too late by the time she realized it was a dead end, and the Sharks started cutting off her only entrance.

She took one step, two, keeping them in her sight until her back hit the brick wall behind her. Her hand reached for her gun, ready to pull it when the lead Shark got close enough. Their glares were paralyzing, and she could smell the smoke and alcohol on them at that distance. She felt herself start to shake, taking a deep breath to steady herself before -

“You wouldn't want people to think you're picking on those of fairer means would you?” The sound and feeling of static crackled through the air like lightning as a dark shape enveloped the opening to the alleyway. A long, thin shadow ripped through the air, straight through the lead Shark, throwing him against the side of the neighboring building.

Green sparks shone through the seemingly infinite blackness, a pair of what could only be described as antlers growing from the approaching shape. Two more tendrils, picking up the remaining Sharks and tossing them into the air like dolls. She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn't look away from the gore. Sure, she had seen a lot of violence in her time in Hell, but she hadn't seen that level of overkill in quite some time.

As the last of the Sharks fled only to get a tendril through the skull, she pressed herself as far into the corner as possible, sliding down the wall and pulling her knees to her chest. There was only the hope that the demon forgot she existed, and the knowledge that if he hadn't, she would likely be next up for second death.

The shadow approached, darkness fading as he got closer until finally it revealed a man. A tall man, with horns, but just a man, nonetheless. He was straightening out his red coat, and twirling something around in his hands as he approached. “Always good to have an excuse to let off a little steam. Always good.”

He put a hand out to help her up. As she lifted herself off the ground, he was already vaguely shaking her hand, introducing himself. “Name's Alastor, pleasure to meet you. Quite a pleasure.”

His name hit her ears about the time he caught a glimpse of her bite, and both stopped dead in the middle of introductions. She looked up, eyes widening as she realized that yes, that was a microphone, and yes, in fact, it had been quite a while since she'd seen that level of overkill, one could even say since her living days. He looked different now, sure, but as soon as she looked into his eyes, she knew that was her Al.

“Well maybe don't wait so long to come save my ass next time, eh, Al?” She smirked up at him, waiting for him to process what was happening. His nails traced the pattern of his own bite on her arm. She caught sight of his tongue tracing across his teeth, as if he was just then realizing how different they'd really become. “I bet your imprint looks a bit different now, doesn't it?” She spoke more to herself than to him as she reached to pull her sleeve down over the mark.

“Why, I should hope so, my dear. I should very much hope so. Let's see just how much it's changed then!” Without any more warning than that, he pulled her arm to his mouth and bit, hard. The new mark bled, sure, but it healed up more quickly than it probably should have, covering his old impression with his new one. His ears twitched subconsciously, his ever-present smile nearly faltering as he watched the blood drip, drip, drip down her arm. He shook himself out of whatever thoughts were distracting him rather quickly before acting like no time had passed at all since they'd been together last. “Now, I don't think I should leave you alone again. It seems to me that you still can't stay out of trouble, my dear! Come along, let me show you where I've been staying!”

“But – Hang on! Al! I've got to go to work!”

“Ah, there'll be no more need of that anymore. We'll send a notice to... whoever you're working for when you get settled.” He raised an eyebrow, practically daring her to argue. She knew, though, that she'd never gone against what he'd wanted before, and she didn't particularly want to start now. She took the elbow he'd offered her and allowed him to lead her out of the alley.

Occasionally, as they walked, she would catch sight of a shadow that seemed to be following them.

“Oh, don't mind them. They're just keeping an eye on your wellbeing. You better get used to it! Having a friend like me, why, other overlords will just be dying to get their hands on you!”

She scoffed, a look of adoration crossing her features before she tactfully replaced it with annoyance. “I'm not going to get any rest now, am I?”

“Oh contraire, ma cherie! You're going to get everything you've ever wanted and deserved. I owe you that after what you did for me up there, wouldn't you say?”

“Oh I just can't wait to show you Cannibaltown! You've got to meet Rosie, yes. You'll get along very well, very well indeed. And she makes the most delectable little treats! Maybe we'll go by tomorrow.”

As he continued rambling, she hummed approval when appropriate, watching him out of the corner of her eye with a mix of caution and longing. As he led her down streets she'd never seen before, she realized maybe this was all her afterlife had needed after all.

[darkgodcomplex]

Home Sweet Home

Wally Darling X Reader

CW: Manipulation, Obsession, Horror, Psychological Horror, Violence

Word Count: 11,754

AO3 Link

Wattpad Link

Here's the story:

You stand with hands on your hips, the sleeves of your baggy old college sweatshirt rolled up as you admire your new house. This is it... a new start.

Tying your hair back into a ponytail, you get to work. This might be your dream, but it doesn't come easy. The house you've chosen was cheap and definitely a fixer-upper. You leave the U-Haul with all your boxes parked in the driveway while you head up to the door.

You step inside, which immediately brings you to a dimly lit mudroom. The wood paneling is rotting. It's going to have to be replaced.  You kick off your shoes onto the dirt-encrusted floor, leaning your hand on the doorframe. When you peel it away, it comes back filthy.

Ugh. You need a sink.

Going further into the house, you head into the kitchen. The outdated orange shag carpet alone makes you groan. Plus, who puts carpet in the kitchen?

You head over to the large metal sink set up on the bright yellow countertops to wash your hand of the dirt. You turn the handle of the faucet.

Nothing.

You turn it more. Then off again and then on again. Still, no water comes out. You sigh, wondering if the water was shut off or if the sink is just another of the busted household items this house will provide.

The living room offshoots the kitchen. What was once probably beautiful white and flowered wallpaper has now yellowed and peels off the walls in large stripes. Several windows are cracked, but it doesn't look like it's from force. You guess it's probably from improper care in the cold.

There's a bathroom. As you creak open the door, you see something dash out. You shriek, scrambling back wildly as you watch the mouse slip away into a crack in the wall. You breathe heavy. You're definitely going to have to go buy some mouse traps tonight. Still, you cautiously enter the bathroom. When you turn on the sink, you're relieved to find that it runs.

You wash the dirt away, then flick your wet hands at the sink. Even if there were towels in the bathroom, you wouldn't trust them to dry your hands.

There's an upstairs, which you expect that you'll set up your bedroom up there. The stairs themselves though are awfully steep and seem to be littered with staples that stick out from the floorboards. You opt to avoid that for now and continue to explore the ground floor. There's a small closet filled with spiderwebs and a door that leads to the basement, though when you flick the lightswitch no light turns on down there.

You sigh, leaning your head against the door to the basement. Can you really do this? This is going to be so much hard work. You've scraped together all of your savings for this?

There's one more door at the end of the hall. You discover it's an office. It's still rough around the edges like the rest of the house, but it has a large window that takes up almost the whole wall. It looks out into the neighborhood.

You stand in front of it, admiring the view. You can see many houses, each one brightly painted with jolly colors, their lawns perfect. Butterflies and hummingbirds float near the bushes of flowers that are planted under the window. The sky is a brilliant blue, clearer than you've ever seen it before. This place truly is paradise.

One thing the realtor really sold you on was the neighborhood. She said that the community bands together in a way that she's never seen before. Seeing it now, you can already tell that these people are special. How can they not be when they create such a beautiful environment?

Yes, this will be your painting room. Just standing here now you feel a rush of inspiration. You want to paint this moment. You rush to the front door, eager to grab your painting supplies before the mood runs out.

As you open the door, you jolt back, you had not been expecting any visitors. You have an entire welcome crew at your front door.

"Hello neighbor!" A man with a stunning blue pompadour steps forward, extending a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Wally Darling."

You gingerly take his hand, face flushing. He's clearly a charmer. His grip is firm but delicate.

"It's nice to meet you too."

"These are our other neighbors here, we have Julie, Eddie, Frank, Barnaby, Poppy, Howdy, and Sally!" Each one waves as he says their name.

"We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!" Poppy raises up a cake she's been holding. In fancy cursive font, it reads:

Welcome Home.

"Poppy is our resident baker." Wally grins. "She's who you want to cater all your events!"

"Oh, Poppy, will you do my birthday!" Julie chimes in.

"Of course." Poppy laughs at Julie, then turns back to you. "Here you are, dear." She hands you the cake.

You smile, this is so sweet of them! It truly makes this miserable house better. "Thank you! Um, my place is a wreck right now, but please, come in."

They all shuffle into your kitchen. Luckily the previous owners left you a kitchen table and some chairs so that your guests can sit. You set the cake on the table.

"So where are you from?" Frank asks, taking a seat.

"I actually came a long way." You give a nervous chuckle. "Wanted to start fresh... I'm from a little town in the middle of nowhere."

"Oh that's where I'm from too!" Eddie bursts out excitedly, then hesitates. "Wait, no." Frank pats Eddie on the back.

"This place seems like it needs a bit of work." Wally notices, hands in pockets as he leans on the counter.

Howdy nods along with him. "I have a bunch of supplies in my shop if you ever need anything." He says. "On the house for a new neighbor."

"Oh, I can help too!" Sally says. "I work on my sets all the time!"

"That would be awesome!" You suddenly have a bit more hope for this place. "Only if it's not an inconvenience for you guys of course."

"It's no issue." Wally promises, looking down at you with his half lidded eyes. "It's all a part of being in the neighborhood."

"When are we having cake?" Barnaby suddenly asks, eyeing it.

"Oh, um-" You glance around the kitchen. "All my kitchen utensils are still packed in the car..."

Everyone puzzles over this for a minute. Then, Barnaby reaches out and takes a handful of cake. His paws smear with frosting and he brings it up to his mouth to take a bite.

"What are you doing!" Frank demands.

"No plates and no utensils." Barnaby shrugs.

There's another pause. Then, you reach out and grab a handful too. The cake is squishy and messy between your fingers, but when you bring it to your mouth, it's delicious. Slowly, everyone is scooping up the cake, laughing as they play with it in their palms.

"This is ridiculous." Frank says, crossing his arms. "I refuse to act so childish!"

"Aw, come on, Frank." Barnaby says, leaning over. "Oh, you got something on your face."

"What? Where-"

"Right... there." Barnaby smushes some cake onto Franks face, smearing it down. Frank sits in shock for a second, then reaches a finger up to wipe the frosting at his cheek. He sticks the finger in his mouth, sucking at the frosting.

"Well... at least the cake is delicious." He admits. Everyone laughs, but soon it devolves into everyone tossing the cake. Julie and Frank team up to get Barnaby, Sally tosses the cake in the air while Eddie tries to catch it in his mouth, and Howdy and Poppy try to down as much cake as they can. Wally still leans on the counter, watching the chaos with a small smirk.

You slide next to him, cake still in hand.

"Sure you don't want a bite?" You grin, intending to smash it on his face. Before you can though, he takes his index finger and swipes it through the frosting, bringing it to your face and gently smearing the frosting onto the tip of your nose. He brings his finger back to suck on the small bit of leftovers.

"You can have it all, my dear." He says, returning to his casual, laidback position.

Eventually, all the cake the gone. Whether more is in your bellies or streaked along your floor, table, and walls, you're unsure. It's a mess, but somehow it makes the old house feel less dreary than before. Your guests head home, promising to come help with the house.

"Oh!" Julie turns back as she leaves, grasping at your hands. "We're having a barbeque tomorrow. You simply have to come!"

"I don't know." You chuckle. "I still have to unpack."

"Well, please keep us in mind." She lets go, giving a warm smile. "I had a lot of fun today." With that, she turns and scurries down the steps.

It's Wally's turn next. He gives you another one of his signature warm smiles. It makes your stomach flutter.

"I'm just in the Home over there." He says, pointing towards a peppy little red house down the street. "Come down whenever you need me."

"Thank you again." You say. He gives a polite nod before stepping away.

When everyone is out of sight, you sigh. It's already sunset and you haven't done any unpacking. One by one you bring the boxes in. Then, you puzzle over how you're going to get your larger furniture inside. In the end, you decide you don't need to bring in the couch, the desk, or the TV in tonight and that you can ask for help tomorrow, but you have to bring the mattress in now. It's a struggle, but eventually you manage.

That's it. That's all the work you're doing today. You can take all your stuff out of the boxes tomorrow.

However, there is one box that you unpack, labeled painting supplies. You set up in your new office, putting the easel in front of the window. It's pitch black out now, so you decide to paint the quiet calmness of the neighborhood at night. It seems as if everyone is already asleep, there's not a single window light on down the street. You throw a canvas on the easel, digging through your oil paints to find the right ones.

You notice Wally's house is right near your window, you have a perfect view of it. It only adds to your inspiration, using the darkness as a metaphor in your painting. It's the mystery... the curiosity... the intimacy. Despite being in two separate homes, you can't help but feel like you're glimpsing into his soul by painting his house.

It's nearly three in the morning when you finally finish your painting. It's crude and hastily done, but you enjoy it's charm. As you lay it on the floor to dry, you notice an odd detail that you don't remember adding.

There's a single light on in Wally's attic.

_____

Despite promising yourself that you'll get completely unpacked today, by midmorning you're already exhausted. You take a break, steaming yourself a cup of tea. So far in your packing, you've only uncovered one of your coffee mugs, so you're left sipping out of a chipped mug that reads: I DESTROYED THE UNIVERSE AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS STUPID MUG.

In the very least, a couple of things are coming along nicely. You hesitate to unpack everything right away, since you'll surely soon be tearing up carpet and painting over walls, but the essentials are out. Still, there is work to do.

Although...

You glance at the time. The barbeque is going to be soon... should you go? While they were all very king to you yesterday, you really don't know any of them.

Maybe this is your chance though. You'd particularly like to know that Wally fellow a little more.

You've decided it. You're going.

You glance down at your work clothes, a ragged old sweatshirt and worn out jeans with paint splattered all over. You're going to need to dress better than this. 

Which box are your clothes in?

You spend another while digging through boxes. While you don't find dress clothes, you do find your stash of mugs. You set them in the kitchen. Eventually, you opt to just wear your paint splattered jeans but with a hole-free tee shirt. 

You make your way outside. As you exit the house, the warm summer air hits you and you take a deep breath in, enjoying the season. It's absolutely beautiful in this town. You're surprised no one outbid on the house in a place like this.

Walking along the street, you spot a picnic spot set up in Wally's backyard. It seems you're the last one to arrive. The delectable smell of fresh meat cooking on the grill catches your nose. 

"Yay, you came!" Julie practically jumps into your arms. 

You laugh, "I figured I could take a lunch break." 

Two picnic tables are set up next to the large grill where Poppy and Barnaby flip meat patties and turn hot dogs. At one table is Sally, Howdy, and Wally while the other is Frank and Eddie. Julie leads you over, taking a seat next to Frank.

"Hello neighbor!" Wally pats the seat next to him. "Come sit with us." 

You take your seat, giving a polite smile.

"How was your first night at your new home?" Sally squeals excitedly, leaning over the table. 

"It was fine." You shrug. "A little uncomfortable since my mattress was on the floor because I haven't set up my bedframe yet."

"Oh dear!" Howdy exclaims.

"What?" Eddie asks from the other table.

"It's nothing, Eddie." Sally rolls her eyes at him. "So when do we get to come help! Oh! What colors do you want to paint your walls? I was thinking bright! We can magenta or chartreuse or turquoise or-"

"Easy there." Howdy laughs, patting Sally on the shoulder. "I think we'll need to do some repairs before we can get into the decor aspect." 

"What needs to be fixed?" Wally asks you in his usual chill manner. "So that we can help."

You raise your eyebrows, mind scanning through the plethora of problems in that house. "The sink doesn't run, there are staples in the stairs, the basement light doesn't work, there are mice and god knows what else, and some of my windows are broken." 

Those are just the ones you've discovered so far.

Howdy runs his hand along his chin, "Some of those don't sound too bad. We can take some pliers to the stairs, then hopefully the light just needs replacing and isn't an electrical issue..." He trails off in thought.

"Food is ready!" Barnaby announces. Poppy sets down plates while Barnaby hands out the food. 

"Hotdog or hamburger?" Barnaby asks when he gets to you.

"Hotdog please."

Barnaby loads up your plate, "Say, how does the enthusiastic man eat his hotdog?"

"Huh?" You ask, staring up at him.

With a large grin, Barnaby leans in and whispers, "With relish."

You blink, taking a minute to process the joke. Then, you laugh.

"Thank you, I'll be here all week." Barnaby prides himself while sliding Wally a burger.

"When can I get you on stage with me, Barnaby?" Sally bites into her hotdog.

Barnaby shrugs, "Alas, my stardom is meant for small crowds."

Sally shakes her head, "One day I'll convince you."

"I'd love to see it." 

You bite down on your hotdog. It's probably the most delicious you've ever had. Does everything in this town taste amazing or are it's residents just master chefs?

"We have to go play lawn games!" Sally yells as she finishes her food. "Wally, you're on my team!"

"What are we playing-"

Sally grabs Wally by the arm, dragging him out to the field before he can protest. 

"Want to team up?" Howdy wipes his mouth with a napkin. 

"I think I need to digest my food first." You tell him, patting your belly. "Sorry."

"All good." Howdy leans over to the other table. "Hey Edds, you and me?"

"You know it!" Eddie says through a mouthful of burger. He shoves the rest in his mouth, hurrying to stand up. Barnaby and Poppy team up as well, heading over to the group.

That leaves Julie and Frank. Neither seem interested in joining the games. You move over to their table.

"Why don't you just ask him, Frank!" Julie whispers as you sit down. 

Frank looks at you nervously, "Julie! There's someone else here!"

Julie sighs, looking over at you. "You can keep a secret, right?"

You nod.

Julie looks at Frank expectedly. He sighs, hands fiddling with a book he keeps in his lap. "Fine."

"Frank likes Eddie!" Julie giggles excitedly. "And Eddie SO likes him back!"

"You can't say that for sure." Frank fidgets. "I was reading a study where they found that people are very unreliable in determining if they are being flirted with or not!" 

"But it's so obvious!" Julie groans. 

You glance over at the game being played. It seems to be some weird hybrid of croquet and tennis. Your eyes can't help but wander over to Wally, who is holding his mallet like he's never played a sport before. His hooded eyes meet yours, giving you a dazed smile. You quickly look away. 

"I just want to wait." Frank shifts uncomfortably. "Just to make sure that he likes me."

"How many signs do you need?" Julie shakes her head. 

Frank doesn't answer, he's too busy staring. You look over at where his gaze lands. It seems as if Howdy and Eddie won, as Eddie is jumping up and down in excitement and Howdy is doing an awkward victory dance. They lock arms, swinging around happily. 

Eddie trots over to the picnic table, breath heavy from all the jumping. "Did you see that winning shot?" He taps his foot happily, eyes glancing around the table. 

"Oh, I missed it!" Julie complains.

"It was a good shot." Frank looks up at Eddie. "Are you good at geometry? The angle on that shot was quite amazing to see."

Eddie gives him a goofy grin. "Angels? No, I'm not really religious." He pauses. "But if you want to talk about it more I'd listen."

Frank perks up, then starts on a long winded explanation about math. You take the opportunity to slip away.

Wally waves you over, making your stomach do a somersault. It seems Frank isn't the only one with a stupid little crush. The way you're practically drooling over him has you embarrassed, it's like you're a middle schooler again. You jog over.

"Want to play?" He asks, holding up a mallet.

"I thought you were in a team with Sally?" You glance over to see Sally standing with Howdy.

"She didn't want to be on my team anymore." He says casually, looking up at the sky. "Apparently I couldn't hit a brick wall even if I ran into it."

You can't help but laugh. Upon seeing you laugh, he laughs along too.

"Well I don't know how to play either, so we'll be quite the team."

"You two ready?" Sally swings her mallet over her shoulder. Howdy has his baseball cap on backwards.

You and Wally line up. What ensues is the most pathetic beatdown you've ever seen. Not only are Sally and Howdy more acquainted with the game, they're also just quicker and more agile than you and Wally. The two of you also have absolutely no coordination skills, constantly bumping into each other and dropping the ball. Wally just plainly face plants several times. Somehow, he always manages to laugh it off though. 

When Sally scores the winning point, she leaps into the air, grabbing Howdy by the arms. 

"Yay!" She squeals.

"Two victories!" Howdy grins. 

Wally dusts the dirt off his clothes. He had tripped again. "I'm afraid I dragged us down." He says, tilting his head as he looks down at you. 

You shake your head, "Did you see me out there? I think we're a perfect match." You blush, realizing what you've said. "I mean... perfect match as a team, of course."

"Yes." He echoes. "Perfect match." There's a hidden smile in his words. 

You glance over to see Howdy and Sally still celebrating. 

"I want to show you something." Wally diverts your attention back to him. 

"Oh, should I get the others?" You turn, but Wally grabs your wrist.

"No, I want it to be the two of us."

You and Wally slip away. You feel slightly bad that you're abandoning everyone, but Wally assures you that it won't be for long.

"Right through here." Wally ducks through a small passage in the bushes. The greenery is absolutely stunning here. Are plants usually this green? 

As you step from the shrubs, you're greeted with more stunning scenery. Before you are acres and acres of beautiful apple trees. The bright red apples dangle from each tree while fallen ones scatter the ground. It feels like something out of a storybook.

"I like to come here." Wally reaches up, picking you a nice plump apple and gingerly setting it in his hands. "I thought you'd like it too."

"This is so pretty." You stroll through the trees, fingers rubbing over the apple in your palm. This is something you'd like to paint.

"So you're a painter too?"

You pause for a second, wondering if Wally can read your mind. "Huh?"

"Your pants." He points and you follow his gaze. Ah, that's right, you're wearing your shitty painting jeans. 

"Yes, I paint." You tell him, turning. He follows behind you as you walk, hands tucked respectfully behind his back. You feel like a fancy Victorian woman and he your eager suitor. "You do too?"

"I do."

"What do you paint?"

He ponders on this. "Still life, mostly." He shrugs. "Apples." He picks one up from the ground, then tosses it. "They're my muse, one could say."

"Oh I see, a muse." You tease him. "Most artists' muses are pretty women or handsome men, you know."

"Does a handsome apple count?"

You laugh, "No."

"Since you clearly have a strict idea of what a muse should be," He trots to catch up so that he walks by your side. "Who is the lucky fellow that is occupying your thoughts and paintings?"

"I don't have one." You tell him very matter-of-factly. 

He shakes his head, smiling. "Perhaps you just haven't met someone handsome enough to be your muse."

"Perhaps." You smile back and finally take a bite of the apple. It's ripe and juicy.

"We should paint together." Wally shoves his hands in his pockets. 

"Apples?" You ask, raising a brow.

He laughs, "No, not apples... well, unless you want to." 

You hold your half eaten apple in front of you, pretending to study it like it's a piece of modern art. "I don't know... maybe I'm starting to see the complexity of it."

"Look a little harder." Wally nudges you playfully. "Maybe you'll finally find your muse."

"This apple is starting to look a little handsome."

"I knew you would eventually see my side of things." He watches as you take another bite.

"Tomorrow for painting then?" You ask. "Apples as our muse?" 

"Sounds like a plan." 

_____

Beautiful emerald green paint rolls onto the wall as you work. Somehow, it's even more stunning than the sample paint swatch. Your living room is going to look positively royal.

Beside you, Sally leans up, jabbering away, "-And then Julie had to come rescue me from out of the dumpster! Not only that, but the lawnmower was nowhere to be found!" She finishes her story, shaking her head as she applies more paint. "I still wonder what happened to it."

Howdy is on the floor, removing staples from where the ugly shag carpet once was. When he peeled it up, you were thrilled to find out that there were beautiful hardwood floors underneath. 

"Do these crazy things happen to everyone in Home, or just you?" You ask with a smile. It's still funny to you how the town is named Home, just another example of how perfect the place is. 

"Oh you should see all the trouble some of them get into." Howdy rolls his eyes. "It's only if you're looking for it."

"Have a little adventure, Howdy!" Sally teases. 

Howdy pulls out a particularly difficult staple with a grunt, "I've had enough adventure, particularly from that Wally fellow."

You perk up.

Sally laughs, "Do you remember that time he tried to sew his own clothes and got caught in the sewing machine?"

"How did he do that?" You laugh along with her.

"The idiot thought that he had to sew them right onto his body." The corners of Howdy's mouth twitch up. 

Sally continues chatting, "There's also this weird thing about Wally, be warned he-"

Howdy cuts her off with a cough, communicating something with his eyes that you don't quite understand.

"Err, I mean, he's just so naïve sometimes." Sally says. 

"That's true." Howdy adds. 

A silence falls over the room, the only sound being the occasional splash as you and Sally dip your rollers into the paint. It gives you time to wonder what Sally was going to say. Wally just gets so... what?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud thud, making you jump. Then comes more thudding. You blink, processing the noise for a second before realizing that it's knocking. 

"Oh!" You set down your paint roller. "I'll go get it!"

You rush over to the door, slipping through the kitchen. You fling open the door, out of breath from your jog over. 

It's Wally, dressed just as dapper as usual. No, he seems more dapper today. His necktie a little straighter and his hair more precisely groomed. The minute his eyes lock on yours he smiles, glancing down at your clothes.

"Painting without me?"

"Well, only my living room." You say, slightly flustered to find yourself in indecent clothes around him once more. You wish you would've been able to change into something nicer. "I wasn't expecting you so soon-" You glance at the clock you had hastily hung in the mudroom. "Oh wait, it's already noon? I'm so sorry, I meant to be ready-"

"It's no worry." Wally assures you, as casual as ever. 

"Are you coming back?" Sally yells from the other room. 

Wally tilts his head, eyes casting towards the noise. "Oh? There's someone else here?"

"Yeah." You feel bad about losing track of time. You sincerely were looking forward to painting with Wally! "Sally and Howdy are just helping me paint." 

"Let me just step in and say hi." 

You invite Wally in, leading him to the living room. It's nearly finished. 

"Oh, hi Wally." Howdy plucks out another staple. 

"You should've invited me, I would've done quite a nice job with the paint." Wally says casually. "It looks nice though, you all did a good job."

"It was kind of a last minute thing." You explain. 

Sally sets down her roller, "We had fun doing it! You would've been more help by assisting Howdy with the staples."

"Hey! I can do it by myself-"

You laugh, "I really appreciate the help, guys."

"That being said, I think I have her claimed for the afternoon." Wally slides in. "We're going painting."

 Howdy and Sally both take the hint. 

"Oh! We can come back later and help." Howdy stands, stretching out his back.

"Bye!" Sally gives a cheerful wave as they exit. "We gotta hang out again!" 

You wave back eagerly and they leave through the front door. You turn back to see Wally leaning on the doorframe to the living room, watching you with his relaxed eyes. 

"You really did you a nice job on this living room." His voice is ever so soft. 

You sigh, placing your hands on your hips. "This place still needs a lot more work."

"I know you can breathe some life into this place." Wally's eyes seem to sparkle. "Homes are very special, you know."

You shake your head, "Are we painting at the orchard?"

"Best place to find apples."

It's not long after that you and Wally have your easels set up in the orchard, plenty of fresh apples on display for references. Wally stands across from you, paint at the ready. 

"I'm still not so sure that I understand apples as a muse." You tease, reaching up to tree to grasp an apple. It's just out of your reach. "I bet you think they're complex or something." You mock like you're some kind philosopher, " Apples... the thing that made Newton discover gravity, the so called forbidden fruit."

"Or maybe they're not." Wally reaches up and grabs the apple for you, placing it in your palm. "Maybe they're just apples. Simple."

You take a bite of it.

"I guess I'm getting too deep about apples." You say in between bites, smiling. 

He smiles along with you, "Perhaps we should just paint."

"Let's."

You pour over your canvas, examining the half eaten apple with rigor. They are surprisingly difficult to get right. The small spots and stripes make the work tedious. 

"How are you doing the shading?" You ask, trying to peek at Wally's work. He shies away, turning his canvas so that you can't see.

"You'll see." Wally smiles. "I want to see your own interpretation, no outside influences."

"Is my work going to professionally assessed?" You tease, still struggling over the shading. "Should I be nervous?"

"Oh, very nervous." Wally replies. After a brief pause, he speaks up again. "What do you think of Home so far?"

"I really like it." You tell him enthusiastically. "I love the views, I love the weather, I love the people."

"I'm glad you like it." He says. 

"It's quite lucky I got that house too." You say. "It's insane that there were no other bidders when it's such a lovely place. I'm sure that someone with more money than me could've easily fixed it up and loved it here."

Wally merely smiles and the two of you fall into concentrated silence once again.

You fall into the trance of painting. It's not a feeling you're unused to. There's something about concentrating on the details that just makes you lose track of time. Eventually, you tune back in, taking a step back as you finish your painting. 

You're proud of it, you think. You've painted a small, half eaten apple resting in the grass, the field of orchards sprawled out behind it. It's a simple but elegant painting.

"I'm done." You say with a breath, looking up to see Wally watching you carefully. "How much do you have left?"

"Oh, I've been done for a while." Wally beams at you. "I'm very curious to see what you've produced."

Wally saunters over to look at your canvas. His eyes scan the painting, noticing the small efforts you put in. There is truly something amazing about another artist studying your work.

"It feels... happy." He says. "A simple kind of happy."

You pause, then slowly nod. "That's how I feel here in Home, I think." You chew at your lip. "I like it."

Wally takes your arm, leading you over to his painting. 

It's... you. You're leaning over a canvas, paintbrush in one hand and apple in the other. Your hair spills in your face and paint covers your clothes. It's clear where he put the most effort in though, in your face. Your expression is one of focus and concentration as you're hunched over, eyebrows scrunched and mouth slightly agape. 

It feels happy.

_____

Wally walks you home after you finish painting. He gifted you his painting and you gifted yours to him. He seems quite proud to own your artwork, even if it inferior to his. You're in awe at his skill honestly. 

"I had fun today, Wally." You tell him as you reach your house. 

Wally lights up, "I had fun too." He lingers at the door for a second, hands shoved into his pockets and painting tucked neatly under his arm. "I'll see you again tomorrow?" He asks. "I'll even help with house, if you want." 

You laugh, "That sounds great."

He flashes you a charming smile, "Goodnight, then." He does a half bow, turning and trotting away. You watch him go, heart pumping in your chest. 

As you close the door behind you, you can't help but jump and squeal excitedly. This neighborhood is truly everything you dreamed it would be. Your house is coming together nicely, you've got wonderful new friends, and now you've got the attention of a handsome guy! 

Nothing could ruin this.

You walk further into your house, stepping into the living room. It's a perfect start, you feel a sense of pride. 

Picking up a hammer, you head to a free space on the wall, pounding in a nail. You hang your new painting up, stepping back to admire it. 

You turn around, patting the doorframe of the living room before heading upstairs to bed. You've had a long day today and you're sure that tomorrow is going to be just as busy. Your bedroom is less put together than the living room, but the fact that you've made progress prevents you from feeling bad. 

As you slip into bed, you hear an odd noise. 

You perk up, pausing and listening for the noise again. 

It almost sounds like footsteps. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you peek out from your room. The sound echoes up the stairs. It sounds like it's coming from either the kitchen or the living room. You grab the nearest heavy object, which just so happens to be a leg of an easel that you had taken apart for the move. It's a strong wooden beam. You hold it up high on your shoulder.

"Hello?" You call.

The only answer you get is more footsteps. 

Your hands tremble as you make your way down, placing your steps carefully. Your mind races through a million scenarios of robbery, kidnapping, and murder. 

When you reach the bottom of the steps, you decide to make sure you surprise this intruder. You come into the living room swinging. 

There's nothing. 

You stop and listen for a minute.

The noises are gone. No more footsteps.

You breathe a sigh of relief, running your hand through your hair. It wasn't even footsteps at all, must just be the old house settling. You laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you prepare yourself to go back to bed. Before you do though, you notice something amiss.

Wally's painting had fallen off the wall.

The next morning you're awoken by the sound of loud, unrelenting knocking. You groan, startled and tired. After the incident last night you hadn't gotten much quality of sleep. You know you're just being paranoid, but for some reason it really stuck with you. 

You roll out of bed, quickly throwing on clothes and heading downstairs. You wonder if Wally has come to help you fix the house up more. 

"Oh my god, hey!" Julie throws her arms around you, giving you a big hug. "I was worried you might not be home!" 

"Well, here I am."

"It's break time!" Julie tells you. "No more working on the house, you and I are going out."

You laugh, "Well, I would have to start working for it to be considered a break-"

Julie tugs on your arm, "Pleaseee go out with me?" She blinks up at you with wide eyes. "We'll have so much fun!" 

You glance back at your unfinished house, still reluctant to leave. Yet, you grab your coat anyways, stepping out into the sunshine. "Where are we going?"

Julie lights up, "You'll see."

You're lead through the neighborhood. As you walk, you're given the full tour by Julie.

"There's the supermarket." She points. "Oh and that there is Barnaby's house. He's still sleeping at this time of day."

You check your watch. It's nearly noon already.

"That's my house!" She points at a lovely flowered red house. "You're invited anytime, just so you know."

"How long did it take you to fix that up?" You ask, marveling at how elegant yet simple it is.

Julie thinks on it for a second, "Fix it up?" She asks. "It's just... always been that way."

You scrunch your face up, "You bought it like that?" 

"Bought it...?" Julie looks up, considering this. "I think... I've always lived here."

She seems confused, so you decide not to press it any further. Has Julie lived here her whole life? Where is her family?

That's when another odd thing strikes you. The entire town consists of single individuals that live alone in homes. You've never heard of such a thing. Sure, a few individuals here and there in homes is normal, but an entire town?

You notice Julie has gone quiet. It's an unusual change from her normally peppy self. You fear that maybe you pressed into something personal.

"This is the post office." Julie gestures, suddenly speaking up again. Her previous demeanor is forgotten now and her lively energy is returned. "That's where Eddie works."

You notice another familiar face poking about.

"Frank!" Julie bounces up and down excitedly, waving her hand. 

Frank jumps from the sudden noise, head swiveling to find the source. He relaxes slightly when he sees it's only Julie. 

You and Julie trot over to him.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, chin raised pompously. 

"What are you doing here is the real question." Julie teases. "Have you come to see Eddie?"

"No!" Frank tenses, eyes looking around nervously. "I just have a letter to send and wanted to make sure that it got here. Mailboxes and so unreliable-"

"Uh huh." Julie can't control her grin. "Sure, Frank."

Frank opens his mouth to say something else, but Eddie comes around the corner just as he does. You thought that Frank already looked nervous, but that is nothing compared to how he looks as he and Eddie make eye contact.

"Oh hey Frank!" Eddie gives a toothy grin, cheeks scrunched up and head tilting to the side. 

"Eddie!" Frank holds his envelope to his chest. "I-I've been looking for you!"

Eddie seems to perk up, "You have?"

"Yes!" Frank shoves out the letter. "I just needed to mail this."

"Oh." Eddie takes the letter. "Frank, you know I could've picked it up at your house, right?" 

"Well, he wanted to hand deliver it." Julie nudges Frank playfully and receives a glare in return.

"I'll take good care it, Frank, I promise." Eddie tucks the letter into his pouch. 

Julie coughs, "Well, we better get going, right?" She looks at you.

"Uh, right." You echo.

"You know, Eddie, I think Frank was talking about lunch?" Julie says. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he was hungry! You two should go eat somewhere!"

"Julie!" Frank hisses.

"That sounds fun!" Eddie inputs.

"Perfect!" Julie grabs your arm. "Have fun guys! Bye-"

The two of you quickly stumble away. You can't help but laugh at Julie's blatant matchmaking attempt, Eddie's innocent obliviousness, and Frank's adorable embarrassment. Julie giggles along with you, leaning on you for support. 

When you're both far enough away, Julie speaks up, "Do you think Eddie will ever take the hint?"

You shrug, "Only if Frank tells him directly."

"Like that'll ever happen." She lets go of your arm, standing up straighter. "Oh! We're almost there?"

"There?" 

"The reason I brought you out!"

"Oh." You reply, following behind her as she picks up speed. "I thought the tour was why you brought me out here."

"Don't be silly!" Julie suddenly stops. "I brought you out here for this!" 

You're not quite sure what you're looking at. The bright summer colors of Home are here. They are present in the brilliant green trees with fresh fruit and in the yellow dandelions and white daises and baby blue forget me nots. You've always adored the vividness of the neighborhood, but here...

It just stops.

It's like there's a line drawn in the forest. The fresh flora wilts and dies along it, the line marking there on out as dead. 

"Was there... a fire?" You ask.

"No fire."

Even the sky looks bleaker on the other side.

You step back, "Some sort of parasite?"

"No parasites. No fires. No droughts, floods, locusts, or diseases."

You step forward again, gaining a bit of courage. Slowly, you reach out, sticking it beyond the line.

Nothing happens. You feel normal.

"Why?" You finally ask. "Why is this here?"

"I can't say."

When you finally return to your house, it's later than you would've liked. It's past dinnertime and you haven't even eaten yet. As you approach, you notice a familiar face sitting on your porch.

"Hey!" Wally stands quickly, brushing off his pants. "I've been waiting for you!" He adds with a playful tease.

"I like to play hard to get." You prod him back, unlocking the door and welcoming him in.

His large eyes flick over you. You feel like you're being examined. "Where have you been?" 

"I'm sorry, Julie took me out on a tour of the town." You tell him. "I saw the market, the post office, Barnaby's house-"

"And you stayed in town the whole time?" He presses. "I looked for you, I didn't see you."

You chuckle, "You didn't have to come searching for me, I'm sure you have more important things to do." You avoid the original question. You're not sure why, but you feel like the forest is a secret between you and Julie. 

"You are the important thing." Wally follows behind you as you clean up the kitchen. 

You pause, then quickly resume your work. "Am I?" 

As you reach up to tuck a mug into the cupboard, Wally takes the mug from you, reaching up with ease to place it for you, "I would've imagined that you would've taken the hint by now, but it seems that I must take the liberties myself." 

Wally leans on the counter and faces you, "Do you find me attractive?" 

You're not sure what to say to that, you sputter out nonsense, "Well, err-"

"I find you attractive. Every part. I find your quips and teasing attractive, your laugh and the way your cheeks scrunch up when you smile, the curve of your lips and the paint droplets on your pants." He takes a second to breathe. "And honestly, there's nothing more in the world that I would like to do right now than to help you paint your house or whatever else you would ask of me." 

You wait a moment, processing his words. 

"Whatever I ask of you?"

He looks earnest, "Whatever."

You tug him into a kiss, closing your eyes. He seems surprised at first and the kiss is slow and hesitant, each of you too afraid to do much. You're slightly surprised, for such a smooth talker, Wally doesn't really seem to know what to do. Has he kissed someone before? 

You decide to take the lead. His lips are soft and gentle as you mouth over his bottom lip, tongue sticking out to play around. 

Wally's hands find their way to your waist, gripping you tight as if he's checking that you're real. His thumb rubs small circles at the small of your back.

He seems to mimic you, tongue poking out to prod at yours, eventually making it's way into your mouth to feel around. He's gentle, but he is slowly growing more confident by the second. Wally tugs your waist in tighter and tongue going deeper into your mouth almost possessively. 

The intensity of the kiss escalates quickly and you find yourself having to pull away to catch a breath. You open your eyes to find him staring down at you, his normally half lidded eyes wide open and exhilarated, a faint blush scattering his cheeks.

"I liked that." Wally says quietly. "We should do that more often."

_____

Life is great.

You've gotten quite a bit done on the house, mostly with the help of all the neighbors. The living room, kitchen, and bedroom are all finished and you've honestly never felt more at home. When you go to the supermarket, Howdy always greets you with a warm hello and a free sample of whatever the special of the day is. In the mornings, Eddie stops by for idle chat as he brings the mail. Whenever Poppy makes a new treat she comes over to give you some. Even with just a stroll through the neighborhood you're always greeted and smiled at by the other neighbors. 

 You sit in your backyard, cross-legged in the grass with your canvas propped up awkwardly on your legs. Your brush glides along the canvas, curving around to get the details just right. You bring the brush up to your face for a moment, biting on the wooden end as you think. 

"You look cute when you're concentrating."

You blink up in surprise to see Wally leaning on the side of your house, arms crossed. 

"How long have you been there?" You smile at him, setting down your canvas and standing up.

Wally merely shrugs with a grin. You run over to him, throwing your arms around his neck. He grips onto your waist, lifting you up and spinning around once before setting you back down and planting a gentle kiss to your forehead. You hug him, taking a moment to enjoy his masculine cologne scent before pulling away. 

Yes, life is great. Wally Darling is yours.

“I was thinking you and I could spent the day together.” He hums.

You nod, “Let me just clean up my painting supplies-“

“Let me help.” Wally follows, carefully taking your paintbrushes as you grab your wet canvas. He trails behind you as you go inside, setting up your canvas to dry in your art room as Wally washes the brushes in the kitchen sink. 

When you return, you find Wally with his head tilted and eyes cast towards the ceiling, frozen at the kitchen sink. He doesn’t seem to notice your presence.

“Is… something wrong?”

Wally blinks, snapping out of it and turning his head to smile at you warmly. “No, of course not.” He replies. “I was just thinking.”

“Oh?” You ask, walking up beside him as he finishes washing the last brush.

“You haven’t been to my Home yet.” His half lidded eyes cast towards you. 

“No, I suppose I haven’t.” You say. “Odd, considering you’re over here all the time.

Wally chuckles, “Well, would you like to go?”

Before you know it, you’re inside Wally Darling’s house. It’s somehow exactly how you expected it to be. Everything is neat and tidy, carefully placed and well maintained. There’s an old charm to the house, as if it stepped out of the 60’s. 

“It’s weird being in here.” You say, wandering through his living room. There’s framed photos on the walls of Wally and his friends. You take the time to examine them.

“Why so?” Wally watches you with warm amusement.

“It just feels so…” You stare at a picture of Barnaby holding Wally in a tight hug. Wally looks like he’s being squished. “Personal.”

Wally laughs, “Well, it is personal.” He wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder as you continue to stare at his pictures. 

“No, it’s different.” You tell him. “Somehow it feels like I’m getting a glimpse into your soul.”

There’s a pause.

“Well maybe you are.”

Wally lets go, turning and heading up a set of stairs. “Let me show you my painting room.” You follow after him.

He leads you to a large, beautiful room. With the high ceiling and long window sill big enough to lounge on, the room looks elegant. Coupled with the mass amount of paintings lining the walls and easels of the room, it looks like a modern art gallery.

“Wow, Wally.” You stare at his work, secretly jealous of his technique. 

He seems proud of himself. “I think-“

There’s a sudden loud crash from downstairs. You jump.

Whipping your head around, you turn back towards the door. “Did something fall?”

Wally merely frowns. “Yeah. Something fell.” He says, turning his eyes up.

“Oh.” You say. Clearly Wally seems to not be concerned with it, so you won’t be either.

“Why don’t we go back downstairs.” Wally suggests, taking your hand.

The two of you settle down on the couch. You giggle and tease Wally for his old school television. You swear that thing probably is still in black and white.

As you chat, you both slowly inch closer together. It starts with a simple finger brushing at your thigh, then an arm is popped around your neck, and then finally Wally is leaning in and kissing you. 

You let yourself be taken by the kiss, planting your hand at the back of his neck and brushing your finger along the base of his soft hair. Wally places his hand on your cheek and you press into it, tilting your head more into the kiss. 

Your chest flutters, eyes blinking open for half a second so that you can stare at him. To your surprise, his eyes are already open and watching you. He squints happily at you, smiling into the kiss as he deepens it, tongue pressing further into your mouth.

Wally’s other hand trails down your arm, causing goosebumps all the way. He flicks his tongue against the sensitive roof of your mouth before retreating back. 

You feel words pressed against your lips but you can’t hear them. They’re hardly even a whisper, more like he is just mouthing words. 

No, he’s repeating something. You try to understand him.

“I love you.”

You blink, pulling away from him.

“I love you too.” You whisper.

Yes, life is great.

Until it isn’t.

_____

Lightning cracks, illuminating the room as you finish up moving some furniture around. You stand with your hands on your hips, staring out at the freshly decorated art room. Finally, the work on your house is all done.

You could hear the wind beat about outside and the hard rain hit your windows. There was something odd about it all, though you couldn't quite put your finger on it. Storms are natural, after all.

Though, there hadn't been a single storm since you moved in.

Walking through the finished halls of your house gives you a sense of accomplishment. Patting the wall, you glance at the clock.

It's nearing time for you to meet up with Wally. The two of you had planned a date out to the pond to feed ducks, though you suppose that the rain ruined those plans.

You near the window, watching the dreary sky. It's midafternoon, but it looks like it's the middle of the night. Your eyes sweep over the neighborhood, making eye contact with Wally's house.

Wait, no, not eye contact. It's a house, it doesn't have eyes.

Still, the lights are on and now you have this odd feeling in your stomach.

As you look back up at the sky, you think the clouds don't look like regular rainclouds. They seem a sickly black color and you remember the forest that Julie had showed you. The dark clouds remind you of the baren land.

Is this a sign it's spreading? The lump in your stomach grows heavier. You feel dumb for forgetting about it.

You glance at the clock again. Perhaps there's enough time to check before Wally arrives. You rush to your mudroom, tugging on your rain coat and rubber boots.

As you trek through the rain, you wonder if you should've just stayed in your house. The wind moves you about, making you stumble over your heavy boots. The rain blows sideways, rendering your raincoat nearly useless as you're soaked anyways.

It's never rained this bad in the neighborhood. Actually, now that you think about it, it's never rained at all in the neighborhood.

Soon enough you reach the edge of the neighborhood, where the rot stretches as far as you can see. You were right, it seems to be spreading. The rot has crept forward, consuming what was once a small woodsy park path. 

You stare down at where the sidewalk ends and the forest starts. Why does the sidewalk stop?

Where is the road to lea-

"What are you doing out here?"

You startle, flipping around quickly. Wally stands in his usual attire, his navy hair and knitted overcoat soaked from the rain.

"I just wanted to explore in the rain." You lie. You don't even know why you lie. You trust Wally.

Right?

Wally glances towards the forest, scrunching his brows, "Did somebody tell you something?"

You quickly shake your head, "No, I was just walking around and... I found this." You gesture toward the forest. "What is this, Wally?"

Wally frowns, looking at you, not the forest. "It's been so warm lately, there was a small fire that lit up the grass around here." He looks up. "We really needed this rain."

It's a lie. Your stomach turns in knots. Wally is lying to you. This rot has been here a while. If it had been a fire, new green growth would've sprang up ages ago.

"We should get out of this rain." Wally says, water dripping down his face and arms. "So much for feeding ducks, huh?" He extends his hand.

You take it, though hesitantly. Before, you hadn't suspected that he would be a part of this, but now nothing makes sense.

"Wally, how did you find me out here?" You ask as you walk with him. "We were supposed to meet up at my house."

"Hm?" His eyes cast upwards as he thinks for a moment. "I suppose I just... had a feeling."

This makes you even more wary and you feel bad for it. You love Wally, and yet you're now doubting his motivations. You don't even know how he would have anything to do with the forest's color. 

You and Wally arrive back at your house. You grab a towel for him to dry off with and he rubs it over his plush skin. 

Plush skin?

You hadn't thought about it before, but isn't that weird? You look at your own hands. You are definitely not plush.

Wally throws the towel over his head, wringing out his hair. You stare at him and the more you look, the more unsettled you get. He has no nose, is that normal? Something in the back of your mind is telling you it isn't.

Wally's intense eyes peek from behind the towel. "Everything okay?"

"Yes." You shake your head, turning away. "I was just watching you."

He gives a lazy smile, eyes relaxing. "Well, I like watching you too."

You give a laugh, "Thanks, Wally." 

He stands, walking over and hugging you from behind. Before, it used to feel gentle and safe, but now it feels like entrapment. He nuzzles into your neck, pressing soft kisses. 

"What shall we do now that our plans have been ruined?" He smiles, hot breath on your neck. 

You pull away from him, "Actually, I'm feeling a little tired. Maybe rain check?"

Wally's face falls, then suddenly lights back up again, "We could nap together-"

"No, no, I mean, I just want to be alone right now." You tell him. "I just... had a rough night's sleep."

Wally stares at you for a long moment, wide eyes peering into your conscience. Finally, he smiles, "Oh, no worries, neighbor." He hands you back your towel. "We'll do something tomorrow when it's less rainy, right?"

"Right." You nod, watching him head to the door.

Wally grasps the doorknob, turning to you at the last second, "Oh, one more thing." He leans towards where you stand in the kitchen doorway. "I wouldn't go exploring in the forest anymore, too many nasty things out there, if you ask me. Wouldn't want anyone getting hurt." He gives a light smile, opening the door and heading out. 

You watch him go, hurrying to the window. You keep your eye on him until he is home. 

Something is not right in the neighborhood. 

You throw your rain attire back on, determined to get to the bottom of this. You take a deep breath, patting the side of your house.

"We got this." You whisper.

As you step outside, you notice that the rain seems to have worsened. You hold onto the hood of your raincoat, pushing past the wind. When you reach the edge of the forest, you don't stop. Instead, you trudge forward into the rot.

It's squishy against your feet, with the occasional odd lump of hardness. Everything is wilted and scorched. You wonder what could possibly be the cause.

As you wonder, you start to really think about the circumstances in the neighborhood. You lift your hand again, staring at it.

Flesh. You have flesh. Not felt or feathers or fur. 

How did you move into a neighborhood with such creatures?

No, wait, how did you move into the neighborhood at all?

You bought the house... but you don't remember any real estate agents or documents.

You... you haven't even been working. What have you been doing? You've just been playing around the neighborhood. In fact, nobody in the neighborhood seemed to have jobs. 

Your brain feels fuzzy. None of this makes sense.

You're still hiking through the decay, finding nothing of note. That is, until you see green in the distance. You perk up, sprinting forward.

Yes, there is green grass ahead. Whatever the decay is, it isn't very big luckily. 

As you get closer, you furrow your brow. 

Somehow, you've ended up on the other side of the neighborhood.

How?

You step onto the grass, realizing you've ended up by the post office. 

That doesn't make sense. You walked away from the neighborhood, there's no possible way you ended up on the other side of it.

Perhaps you got mixed up. You turn around, jogging through the diseased wood. 

This time, you end up near Julie's. 

How do you walk away from something and end up back at it? 

Walk around the world.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Wally wanted you away from the forest for a reason. This is his world, and you're in it. 

You sprint up to Julie's house, pounding on the door. "Julie!" You yell. "Julie!" 

You get no answer, so you move over to the window, shielding your eyes against the glass to see inside.

There's no one there.

You tug your raincoat closer to your body, looking up at the ever blackening clouds. 

You have to confront Wally. 

Back at your house, you prepare to face him. You're not sure what to expect, but you want to be ready for anything. You dig through your belongings, procuring a baseball bat and a box cutter.

Your house whines against the wind, creaking and settling in the powerful storm. You sit for a minute, putting your head in your hands. All this work on your house, all this friendship, and is any of it real? Nothing seems to make sense. Why? Why is any of this happening?

As you leave, you sigh.

"I'll be back." 

The wind catches on your house and it whines louder. 

When you arrive at Wally's house, you go to knock on the door only to find it already open. You press it open, keeping your guard up as you grip the baseball bat. 

"Wally?" Your voice echoes off the walls as you step inside. It seems awfully dark in Wally's house. 

Lightning cracks, illuminating the front windows of Wally's house. For a moment, they are eyes, observing you. The lightning then leaves darkness and you hear the front door slam shut. You turn back towards the door, tugging on the doorknob only to find it locked.

"Caught the snitch."

You turn to see Wally illuminated in the darkness, a figure hanging over his head.

It's Julie. She hangs from strings, her limbs twisted and broken. Her jaw hangs unnaturally slack, face bloodied. 

"In fact, I caught everybody." More lights irradiate from the darkness, casting large shadows on the wall as they illuminate the bodies of the other neighbors, all in similar states. 

Wally walks towards Howdy, "Too much talking lately, really a shame. I wanted to have you willingly."

You stand frozen, hands still on your baseball bat.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He laughs. "Plus, they're fine." He gestures towards the bodies on strings above him. "I just took away their will. Clearly they couldn't be trusted with it on their own." He clicks his tongue, shaking his head disapprovingly. 

The edges of your eyes crease up. You still don't understand. 

"Come, let me explain." He gestures to the couch. You don't move. "Please, sit."

You don't.

Wally looks up. "Home?" 

To your amazement, a chair glides over, moving behind you and slamming into your legs, making you tumble down onto it. It slides over to where Wally now sits.

You clutch the edges of the chair in fright. 

"That's Home." Wally explains. "Home is... the source of it all. A manifestation of desire, if you will." 

You swallow, "It's alive?" 

Wally grins. It's wider and realer than any grin you've seen before. "Of course." He crosses one leg over the other. "It's alive just like you and me are alive."

"But you're plush." You tell him.

"I'm built on the desires of thousands of young children across the nation that watched my show." Wally looks nostalgic. "Oh, you were such a dedicated little viewer, you know that?"

"Huh?" Show? What is he talking about.

"You used to sit every night in front of the TV, you know that?" Wally continues. "And you would say, 'Okay, Mr. Wally, show me how to draw!' I taught you everything you know about painting."

 ... Yes, the show. How could you forget? The theme song starts to play in your head. You loved that show as a kid.

"You loved me so much." Wally sighs. "And I loved you, and then you went away."

"I was an adult." Of course you went away, you couldn't sit around watching TV all day. You had a job, you had a family... your family! How long have you been gone? "I had responsibilities." 

"I desired you." Wally looks at you desperately. "You desired a place you belonged! I watched you, how you struggled to fit in, the long hours at work, the family arguments. I made it all go away! You've been so happy-"

"They were struggles, but they were my struggles!" You shout, standing up. "You don't get to decide for me!"

Wally sighs, head falling to the side. "See, this is why I wanted you willingly." He casts his hand up. "Oh well."

You feel tightness tug at your arms. No, it's tugging at your bones. You look, thin wire strings protrude from your arms and spring from your legs, pulling you up towards the ceiling. 

"I'll just take away your free will for a while." Wally runs a hand through his dark hair. "Then you'll want to play along." 

You can feel the strings scraping against your bones under your skin. You struggle against them, getting yourself tangled in the process. 

"What shall we act out first?" Wally stands, pacing around the room. "We did have that pond date-"

You twist, reaching your hand towards your back pocket, where the box cutter is stashed. It's an awkward reach, but you manage to grasp it, pushing it open with your thumb and slashing at your strings. You fall to the floor, grabbing the bat and taking off running for the door.

Wally clicks his tongue, "You were so docile before you knew the truth. I'll have to stamp this disobedience out of you now."

You ram the baseball bat into the door, denting the doorknob until the lock falls apart and you can run out the door.

There's no exit. The forest loops. Surely there must be a way out, right? Where, where...

Wally laughs, "Where are you running to? There's no where to go!"

You don't know, but away from here. You sprint, running towards the only place where you feel safe, your house.

"My little viewer." Wally sounds agitated now. "Enough games. If you come back now, I'll go easy on you."

Over your dead body. You're out of breath by the time you reach your house, slamming the door shut and locking it, back pressed against the door as you pant and Wally begins to bang on the door.

Surely there must be something of use to you. Think, think... where is the exit out of this place? 

You hear Wally start to kick down the door. It cracks and starts to splinter with each kick. 

One of the neighbors' houses? No, they might've said something. 

Wally is stronger than you thought. With a final kick, your door crumbles, swinging open. Wally looks even more deranged now, eyes large and locked on you. 

"My dear," he breathes. "Let's be reasonable, come back with me." 

He extends his hand. When you don't take it, he frowns, moving forward. He grasps you by your face, fingertips digging bruises into your cheeks as he pulls you closer.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" 

You press your hands against his chest, trying to push him away. This only angers him more. Wally lifts his hand, readying it to fall down on your face. You close your eyes, preparing yourself for the eventual hit.

It doesn't come. 

You open your eyes to see Wally's hand still in the air. Except... there's a string attached to it. Wally's expression has changed from anger to fear, he stares at his arm as another string appears on his opposite arm. You back away from him.

Wally looks at you, "Please, don't-" He reaches for you, only to have his hand yanked away before he can. 

It's... your house. It dawns upon you quickly and more strings appear from Wally's skin. He struggles, the strings dragging him.

"Please, please, I can't-"

You look up at your house, reaching and patting the wall. "Take him away."

"Please-" 

Wally screams as the strings scratch against his bones, dragging him kicking and screaming towards your basement. 

_____

"Oh, I have some drinks in the fridge, let me grab you one!"

You weave your way through the bustling party, dodging Barnaby as he throws grapes in the air and catches them in his mouth and sliding past the way-too-handsy Frank and Eddie.

You're celebrating your finished house, and the party is going spectacularly. Two guests still haven't arrived, but you're not too worried.

You snatch up glass bottles of soda that you bought at Howdy's shop earlier that day and toss one to Sally, who gracefully catches it.

"You've put a lot of work into this place." Howdy says with a smile, leaning on the counter.

You glance over, "Yeah, I couldn't have done it without you guys though, thank you all for your help."

"Oh, you did most of it!" Sally waves her hand.

"It's just what neighbors do." Howdy shrugs.

The doorbell rings and you rush to the door, throwing it open to reveal Julie, holding a small present in her hands.

"Sorry I'm so late, I had to wrap your gift!"

"You didn't have to get me a gift!" You laugh, throwing your arms around her for a big hug. She squeezes you tight before you both pull away from each other.

"No, I really had to." She holds out the gift. "After everything you've done for all of us."

You gently take the wrapped gift as she steps into your house, waving at everybody.

"Hello everybody!" Julie squeals, making her way over to nudge Frank playfully. "And hello, Frank and Eddie!"

Frank turns a deep red, shying away. "It's really nothing-"

Eddie gives a wide smile, gripping Franks hand tighter, "Almost losing all your control makes you confess things."

Julie gives a light smile, "Well, we never have to worry about that again."

You politely set the gift on the counter for later, turning back towards everybody. "Then I propose a toast!"

"We'll need bread for that." Barnaby grins, nudging you playfully. You shake your head with a laugh, gently shoving him away.

Everyone raises their sodas, letting you speak.

"To freedom, to free will, to all of us. It's what lets us choose our paths, chase our dreams, and live life to our own terms. To making our choices, learning from our own mistakes, and creating our victories."

Everyone cheers.

"Most importantly, to you." Julie adds in, pointing her raised glass to you. "You've made this neighborhood a wonderful place."

This makes everyone cheer louder. You bump glasses with everyone, letting Barnaby rub your head affectionately and Sally rope you into a side hug.

"Now open the gift!" Julie claps.

You laugh, grabbing the gift and tearing it open. Sitting inside in a beautiful framed picture of everyone in the neighborhood.

Well, everyone except-

The doorbell rings again, and you politely excuse yourself to answer it.

It's Wally. He looks rough. Dark bags underline his eyes and his usually tidy hair is in disarray. He looks up at your house nervously.

"Oh, hello Wally." You watch him carefully. If you look close enough, you can see the strings buried in his arms and neck.

He holds out flowers, which is nice, you guess. You take them, opening the door for him to come inside. He hesitates, then steps in.

You linger, your eyes following him as he greets everyone else. He got what he wanted, you're stuck here. There's no way out.

You can see his stiff movements, the fish line strings tugging at his skin and bones, uncomfortably present at all times.

"Are you coming?" Julie yells. "Poppy's going to bring out the cake!"

"I'm coming!" You shut the door, rushing over.

It's all okay, because he's trapped too.

[cococassey]

Ironically, after taking me out of years of kdrama slump, Lovely Runner is going to leave me with a worse slump sniff. This might even surpass any romance kdrama I've watched before as it's focused on the romance first and it didn't go off the rails on the 2nd half. Ryu Sun Jae, pls take responsibility, chuseyo.

Guys I'm still so not over it. As part of "Kidnap Sun Jae and Run" Addicts Anonymous, let me help you cope through this 10 step program:

1. Play OST nonstop

"I Think I Did" and "Sonaki" will definitely be 'memories embedded in my soul' for playing the OST nonstop from when I wake up until I sleep.

It's going to be a tragedy if Byeon Woo Seok doesn't sing any of these live on his upcoming fanmeets. Pls pls pls k-ent gods.

2. Rewatch from the start

Undoubtedly one of my comfort watches from now on. I knew it was going to be good when near end of ep 1, Younha's iconic "Umbrella" song started playing, Sun Jae was walking towards a crying Sol, held the blue umbrella to shield her while he's getting rained on. Aww. I'm so soft for these scenes. (Deja vu to Bogum's MDBC anyone?)

3. If time is limited, watch the last 10 mins of every ep where writer-nim always saves the fireworks till the end!

In ep 2, the OG "I Think I Did" started playing, where a smiling Sol held the yellow umbrella to Sun Jae, and he hopelessly fell for her, is now going down as one of the most iconic scenes in kdrama romance. I'm usually not a fan of instacrush. But their relationship naturally developed more when they got close, during that stretch of Sun Jae's swimming injury plot.

4. For masochists like me, rewatch all the times Sol rejects Sun Jae. Ugh it hurts, but it hurts so good. A lot of rejections, but these 2 scenes...

In ep 9, when college Sol drunkenly curses Sun Jae as "pabo" for always going back to her, when she just keeps on hurting him. But he can't help himself. Sniff.

In ep 12, the setup before that train scene, where Sol asks Sun Jae not to cry when she leaves him to go back to the future. Then cut to next day on the train when she tricks Sun Jae and leaves him alone on the train, and of course Sun Jae can't keep his promise and his tears fall. Simply drama magic.

5. Rewatch the kissing scenes!

Sadly, nothing quite matched that ep 8, very hooot kiss between the 2 now adult Sun Jae and Sol. Sol discovers Sun Jae still pines for her all these years, and Sol finally admitting to him about her true feelings, the pent up feelings for 15 years in that kiss...,whew (fans self)!

6. Rewatch all my fave scenes!

That cherry blossom proposal scene is one of the most beautifully shot ones I've ever seen, glad he axed the first one lol. And a picture of the future wedding scene though imaginary for now! It's our reward for suffering for 15 eps lol.

7. Read and like all LR related posts, bts, stills, fanart.

You know it's a hit when fanart is everywhere, and I can change to a new Sun Jae-Sol wallpaper everyday and bask on the gorgeousness of BWS .

By the way, that latest clip of the live watch with the cast and where BWS is crying in gratitude sniff. He knows his life is also changed forever by this drama. Deserving! I was always intrigued by BWS's looks before, and he really surprised me with his acting, he also has great comedic timing!

It's just rare nowadays that the drama has the whole package, I love the cast and their characters too.

8. Read and like all posts related to BWS and KHY, and the cast.

Kim Hye Yoon poured her heart out on this drama, she really carried it.

I didn't get to talk about the rest of the cast yet. At first, I was getting used to some of the 'over the top' comedy, but by that condom confusion scene, I was laughing too. I love that all of the cast is just going for it even if it's bonkers crazy. But my fave has to be adult celeb Sun Jae's assistant who has this hilarious deadpan face and delivery of lines, and always has that 'tsk tsk what a loser' look of scorn towards Sun Jae, when his boss is at his most embarassing lovesick self mwahah.

9. Recommend LR to every unsuspecting person, let's spread the addiction, and destroy their lives too lol!

10. If still not recovered, go back to step 1! Good luck!

[inknopewetrust]

Are you still writing a rust fiction can you give us a spoiler

bestie anon, am i? AM I? yes of course it just takes me 8,000 years to publish anything. but i'll give a little sneaky peak of the opening "frames" of the fic. it's called 'a house in nebraska' after the ethel cain masterpiece.

In the reward of death, you often wondered if those women had ever found peace. Were their horrors laid to bed or their sadness lifted from their shoulders heavy with burden?

Fixed vacant on the ceiling in the darkness of your bedroom in a house littered with holes and creaky staircases, you saw them when you closed your eyes.

Mistakes of unremarkable grief and insurmountable spite, the faces of memories that had become ghosts sprung to life with a rejuvenated mission to find answers.

Carcosa called home in the eclipse.

And away in another world, a camera blinked red to hear a tale come alive.

The smoke from the cigarette twisted in the air; trailing along the chemtrails of the small, musty room with wooden panels and leaky wallpaper.

Blink, blink, blink.

“We talk plenty ‘bout Marty, but you two ain’t the only ones that worked this case,” Detective Maynard Gilbough pulled a newspaper clipping from a file that had been scattered about before them. “Tell us ‘bout her. She ain't live in these parts anymore and the folks up in Gering give us an inch for every mile we take... So y’all will be fillin’ in those gaps for us.”

The detective tossed the yellowing paper across the table.

It was faded along the edges. A worn, bleeding ink recalled the stories of old that replayed on the film reel within his mind whenever he let his thoughts wander just far enough. The picture was in black and white—a fragmented, distant past that lied with a stoutness that lingered in the fruitless victory in Vermilion Parish near twenty years prior.

The cigarette was bitingly bitter against his tongue. Its fumes littered his sights of you.

And for the first time since he sat down for the interview, Rust Cohle pondered his words before they tumbled out. He had been so calculated with the two detectives before him yet the flowery, sermon-esq verbiage that leaked like sieve from his mouth could not grasp the weight of the missing. Rust simply took the cigarette from his mouth and tapped its end along the side of the coffee mug.

And he paused.

The detectives had found a crack in the pavement.

[deafsignifcantother]

candlelight

♥ summary: you wake up without zestial by your side so you force him back to bed fr

♥ relationships: zestial x deaf, short g/n reader

♥ word count: 1.1k

♥ notes: for @jezz343434 !!!! ty for requesting omg!!! i have a height comparison website for all my oc's and most hazbin characters so it was easy to beep boop the height and yeah you'd be to zestial's pelvis LOLZ, also i had to rewrite some lines like 3 times bc i kept mispelling sandalwood as sandlewood bye

Hell's sky never penetrates Zestial's thick, wool curtains. When you open your eyes and see a small yellow hue, it's a sign that Zestial has awakened before you. He lit a candle.

The room is saturated with the scent of sandalwood, and when you turn your head, the candle's whisk is dancing in the gustless air. You rub your eyes and sit up, feeling the absence of warmth in the space beside you. Good morning to you, too.

You slip out of bed and walk across the carpet towards the barely visible door, reaching for the doorknob. Lord knows how loud it must creek as you push it open. The hallway is even darker. The chandeliers on the ceiling and the full candlesticks can only be turned on by his command. Zestial's wooden floor is unmoving; he's not walking around anywhere.

You knock on the wall.

After your three rhythmic knocks, you place the palm of your hand against the surface. Silence passes before your palm feels the reverence of three knocks further down.

You smile, walking forward, keeping your hand against the wallpaper.

There's nothing to smell, nothing to see, and certainly nothing to hear. All you have is your feet on the floor and your stable hand. Even the pounding of your heart is missing. Where another poor soul would find misery, you find comfort. Zestial's beautiful, gothic home is liberating even in the darkness.

Another distant series of knocks comes from the end of the hallway. You push your palm closer as if, by sheer will, it would pull him near. But a pair of footsteps from the opposite direction makes you hum. You distance yourself from the wall.

Behind, a hand comes into contact with your shoulder. Zestial expects you to jump, gasp, or scream; he hopes the shock will scare you. When you turn around, he is greeted with a kind smile.

His series of eyes glow once they find your gaze. Within a second, the lights shine all at once. You squeeze your eyes shut to hide your vision from the glare. When you open them again, he's standing closer, having a delighted smile on his face.

"Hark, thou still do not think I am horrid?"

You shake your head, biting your cheek to suppress a yawn. "Were you trying to scare me? You'll never be scary to me."

His smile widens. His hat dips when he lowers his head in a slight bow of respect. "Never is a long time."

You must tilt your head to look at him whenever he comes this close to you. You stand only around his lower stomach, and therefore consistently winning the title of the tiniest demon he's ever held in high regard. Every day he fights the urge to swallow you whole in the darkness of his might.

You tilt your head. "I would have woken up with you."

"My apologies, dearest. I merely thought I'd let thou rest." His hand goes to your head, his palm large enough to cover it, and he holds it there before returning his touch to your back. With one hand, he leads you in the direction in which he came. "We shall return to the chambers together. Thou art tired."

When you try to rebut, he waves a finger at you. "And there's no use in grousing."

Your feet can hardly keep up with his, but he keeps his hand steady, fingertips barely reaching your shoulder blades. He always lets you sleep in, and you want to join his routine. The bed you two share is only occupied by both parties in the latest hours of the night. He goes to sleep late, and he wakes up early. He tells you that your sleep is more beneficial whenever you try and follow suit.

The bedroom door is a lot lighter than you remember. He lets you open it, step inside, and he keeps his eyes on you even when you pause.

"Will you stay at least?"

"Stay?"

He stands in the doorway of his bedroom, his mouth shut in a closed-lip smile. You turn your body to face him altogether. He can see you perfectly when all the lights are on.

His room has remnants of you. He used to never allow people into his chambers, certainly not those he hadn't known for centuries. But you're just a little mouse that snuck into his life.

Before he knew it, clothing that wasn't his was in the closet, and cold beverages were on his bedside table, his two bedside tables. Now he has a second.

"Ah..." Zestial says, his hand on his chest for only a second, feeling his own heartbeat. "And what am I supposed to do once thou falls asleep?"

You honestly didn't think that far. You take a second before you answer, and his eyes remain on you, taking in your hesitance. He has to inhale a deep breath to stop his sharp lips from forming a bigger smile.

Your eyes bounce to his. "I can sleep beside you, and you can wake me up when you get bored."

Before giving any sign of agreement, he steps past the barrier into his room and closes the door behind him.

His bed is tremendous, extensive enough to fit dozens of you. His mattress is plush to accommodate his almost weightless physique. He leans back against the bed, legs outside the blanket, before responding. "I have no problem with such a simple task."

You smile, walking to the bed and crawling towards him on your hands and knees before stopping and determining your sleeping position. He lets you think, sitting still and with glowing eyes. His bright gaze drowns out the candle, which flickers beside the bed. You understood that he can find entertainment in simply staring at you. Something about your mannerisms and how you examine the world is fascinating.

You throw your legs over his lap and rest against his bicep. Before you can settle, he scoops you in his arms and holds you against his chest, cradling you as he sinks back into the bed, the last vertebra in his spine reaching the mattress.

Comforting, you never expected Zestial to be so comforting.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his attention granted when you look up at him. "Don't be afraid to wake me up, okay?"

A hand releases your legs. "Of course, little one. I'll wake thou when the time comes. Rest now."

His gentle fingers hold your head and pull you into his chest, where deep rumbling emits as he hums. You close your eyes and spend a second valuing how remarkable he feels. He pampers your body with his nails, following your breaths, making you aware of each exhale until your mind can drift away.

The lights fade, and the sandalwood candle diminishes before extinguishing completely.

[interestingturnofthetables]

Backrooms Fiddlesix AU? Anyone??

Where ~30y/o Ford and Fidds get stuck in the backrooms and slowly go crazy!! (og backrooms. None of these ‘levels’ or monsters or whatever)

More details under the cut, (It sorta got away from me so now I guess I'm writing a backrooms AU fic)

With no one else for company, they both start going a bit mad just looking at the same yellow tinged wallpaper for miles and miles in every direction. After a good few weeks months of being stuck in this place, they’ve made a little camp site set up in one corner of a particularly large hallway that neither of them stray too far from for fear of losing the only person they have for the time being here.

One night (day? Who knows. It’s not like there are any windows) when Ford has gotten to sleep, he has a dream where he meets a particularly cheerful yellow triangle; and what a nice break from the hollow melancholic monotony that’s become so commonplace over the past few months this little guy is. So it’s an extra great surprise when he starts to hear that same cheerful almost physically warming voice in his wake too! He finally has someone else to talk to! Won’t Fidds be just ecstatic to know they’re not as alone as they thought? But maybe it’d be nice to keep this a secret, just for a bit. After all, it’s been so long since Ford has had anything that’s just his. For months now, everything they have they’ve shared for the sake of surviving in this neverchanging hell. It’d be nice to have somethingone just for himself. Just a few more days. Then he’ll tell his friend. Just a few days longer…

Fiddleford has started to notice a strange change in his companion in the past couple of weeks. Sure, over the months they’d slowly become more reserved, both attempting to come to grips with the reality of their situation. They’d begun to run out of fresh conversation topics; their silences growing more and more stretched by the day. But Ford isn’t silent. More and more often Fidds has come back to their home (yes, home. That’s what our little staked out hallway has become to us. At least, he thinks it’s ‘us’) after his usual walk up and down the marked halls only to hear his partner talking just beyond the walls.

At first he didn’t think much of it. Just Ford trying to pass the time, fill the eerie, stale silence of the air, mumbling to himself maybe some memories of his childhood. Lord knows Fidds has done the same recently, why else would he insist on so many walks alone?

As the days go on, he starts to catch full sentences as he nears home. Sometimes even small bits of soft laughter. Gosh, he hasn’t heard that sound since probably week 2 of this prison! It never lasts, however. Without fail, just before Fidds steps around the corner of their hallway, Ford falls silent; almost as eerily as their constant surroundings. He’s begun to grow worried about his friend.

There have been a few times recently when —and Fiddleford isn’t proud to admit this — on his way back home, he’d be sure to stay extra quiet, lingering right next to the wall, trying to catch some longer glimpses of his partner’s conversations (because that is what they are he’s realised. Excited, if not frantic, muttering followed by stretches of silence that somehow seem so different from their own; like Ford is hanging onto every unheard word, before jumping back to action with his own follow up remark). Who is he talking to? Fidds is yet to ask him this, of course. He fears the answer will only prove his suspicions; his only friend, only company, the only other person in this repetitive hellhole, is succumbing to madness. And Fiddleford dreads the thought of what would become of either of them then.

The one-sided conversations started off fine enough. He’s often heard Ford waxing poetic about a summer night’s breeze, constellations he once spent hours gazing at, or the dreams he had has of sailing the world one day. A couple of times he’s even caught Ford recounting old stories from college; these are often accompanied by a warm, hearty chuckle. Fiddleford has found himself smiling an awful lot more frequently whenever his partner would bring those memories up.

As the weeks continued, Fiddleford’s concern continues to grow heavier. The soft muttering which once had him holding his breath to make out, had turned to a perfectly regular volume as if speaking to someone across from him in a private room. It’s as if Ford wanted him to hear. But of course, that couldn’t be true. Because as soon as he’d round the corner of their home his partner would cease his speech (sometimes mid word!), immediately seeming on edge; so unlike the sound of his jovial voice not seconds before. He seems… jumpy… Scared… Secretive. Like he’s trying to hide this from Fiddleford. Obviously, he is. But why? They’d agreed to not keep things from each other. For both their sake's. They’re all the other has anymore. Why would he feel the need to hide from him? Does he know of Fiddleford’s concern for his mental state and wishes to not worry him more? If that’s the case, his progressively failing efforts are not doing him any favours.

Eventually it stops being a secret. They’ll be sitting together quietly, serving their food, and Ford would just… Speak. A completely nonsensical sentence with no prior context. And if Fiddleford didn’t know any better he’d assume he were the one going mad.

“Whas’at”

“Hm? Oh nothing, nothing… sorry.”

And what is he meant to say to that? It’s okay? It most certainly ain’t okay!

Even as Fiddleford feels himself losing it over the prospect of losing his only friend to this… sickness, he doesn’t bring it up. Ford certainly doesn’t seem as jumpy whenever he shows up in his line of sight anymore. So, Fidds rationalises, it must be okay. It has to be.

Until it’s definitely not. Until Fiddleford hears a half conversation on his walk home that makes his bones freeze, and his skin crawl with with the whispers of bad bad bad.

He’s not unused to hearing Ford speak of himself with his… — Fiddleford’s never put a name to it — but never like this. He’s never heard Ford question the 'necessity' of having him around. The 'usefulness' of his only true companion in this lonely world they’ve found themselves in for… how long now? (They’d drawn up a calendar on the wall at home, yet he can’t seem to recall the last time he’d cared to check it) Surely about a year at this point. Without the other, they’d both certainly have gone mad in this time. Maybe to an extent they already have. No. They have gone mad. It’s no matter of ‘maybe’. This isolation. This loss of time. These dang hollering overheard conversations! At least Fidds is still sane enough to recognise the signs. They need each other. He’s been stupid to let his partner fall this far into the horror of his head alone.

From now on his partner can’t hide this from him. He needs help. And by god is he gonna get it.

***

This has basically turned into a rough fic prologue. I have more planned that I’m not bothered to write out at the moment. I might fancy it up and post it to ao3 later too. If you bothered to read all this tho, thanks, please talk to me about it. It’s driving me insane thinking about them!!

[monsterblogging]

Fuck JKR: How To Create A Harry Potter-Esque Aesthetic Without Any Harry Potter In It

So I saw a few posts from people mentioning that a reason people might be into Harry Potter is because of the aesthetic or atmosphere, and ya know what? I can't even argue that, because if there's one thing about HP, it's that it Sure Does Have Aesthetic And Atmosphere.

So! I'm gonna tell you how to STEAL ITS LOOK! Because:

JK Rowling considers ANY support of her work to be support of her politics.

Fan content/fan merch is still free advertisement for Rowling's work. YOU might not choose to give her money, but you can't be sure you won't pull people into the fandom who will.

Everyone should create more things that aren't tied to corporate-owned IP, period.

So. Most things in these films have an aged, antique look. You'll see a lot of brown hues, both on sets and on people's clothes. There's a lot of near-blacks (especially charcoals and walnuts) and lighter grays on the sets, especially from the third film onwards. (Wood is more often than not stained dark, while lighter hues are often provided by bricks or plaster.) The last two films use a lot of stormy blues and grays. Prisoner of Azkaban also emphasizes contrast between tones, which heightens a sense of texture. True black also appears throughout the films, such as on students' uniforms and many Death Eaters' outfits, and on the chairs in Malfoy Manor. White appears occasionally, especially on Hedwig, students' shirts, or during winter scenes, but pure white isn't otherwise really common. Paper or parchment is usually warm beige. There's also a lot of silver, gold, and brass, often appearing on things like dishware, tools, trinkets, Christmas baubles, and so forth. Bronze also comes up occasionally.

Reds, yellows, blues, and greens are pretty common throughout the films, even outside of Hogwarts, though you'll see just about every color somewhere. For example, orange is often found around the Weasleys, and orange, maroon, and purple feature in the divination classroom. Teal features prominently in Grimmauld Place (contrasted with saffron yellows).

Most colors aren't really super bright; a lot of the time they look a little faded, or like they're colored with natural dyes. If you use medieval illustrations to source your colors, or aim for earth tones and jewel tones, you'll be about right for a lot of what you see in the films. Bright colors are pretty rare; some of the brights we do see are in Honeydukes, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, and certain magical effects, such as Floo fire.

A lot of light is provided by candles, torches, or fireplaces, which cast a warm yellow/orange light. Moonlight is represented by blue light in the first and second films. Blue light is also used for the Goblet of Fire and the penseive.

Another thing you gotta have in there is clutter. It should look kinda antique and give off a kind of magical or mystical atmosphere. Think books, storage jars, orreries, crystal balls, old lamps, antique clocks, vintage glassware, antique mirrors, old teapots, and little metal trinkets. (If you're trying to decorate a physical room, your stuff doesn't have to actually be antique, of course; antique-styled is fine.)

Texture is also very important, which can be represented with full or top grain leather book covers, stone walls, dents and scratches, cracks, embellishments, and embossing. Additionally, all damage and wear gives a sense of oldness to things. Stains and variegated colors also add interest. (If you're decorating a physical space, you might look into aging/distressing/antiquing techniques.)

If you want a space to look cozy, you don't really want bare or blank walls. Shelves, paintings, tapestries, and wallpaper can all help with that. Again, use brown, rather than black. Warm, yellow lighting will also help. If you lean toward blacks and cool lighting, you're going to have a colder-looking space.

Fashion in the wizarding world is extremely all over the place, ranging from stereotypical fantasy witch and wizard clothing, to pretty normal vintage clothing, to some wacky vintage-inspired looks, to the kind of fashion that would be put under the cozycore umbrella, to ordinary modern clothing. One thing that's absent is subculture fashion as we know it. (Bellatrix Lestrange does look kinda goth, but it's less a subculture thing, and more a "yeah we're putting our bad guys in fancy black stuff" thing.)

If you're trying to lean into the whole quirky/eccentric/old-fashioned kinda thing, you'll want to pass over the more modern and obviously synthetic type stuff. Also, patterns, textured fabrics, knits, mixed colors, lace, and other embellishments can add interest to outfits.

Architecture is also all over the place. Hogwarts is pretty medieval, while places like Diagon Alley give more Victorian vibe. The main thing is looking old fashioned and quaint.

To try and summarize all of that:

Browns. Lots and lots and lots of browns. Blacks and grays, too. Contrast between light and dark browns and blacks/grays.

More beige and gray than pure white; more charcoal gray and dark walnut brown than true black.

Among other colors, mostly earth tones and jewel tones. Very limited brights.

Polished metal and glass also add shininess.

Old-fashioned. Vintage. Antique.

Clutter, texture, patterns, variegation. Minimalist/clean aesthetic avoided.

Aged and distressed.

Lighting often yellow/orange due to coming from fire. Blue/teal light often coming from moonlight and certain magical light sources.

Now, here are some things we actually don't see. I'm not mentioning them to discourage you from using them if they're what you really want, but to inform you about them so you can consider whether they might throw off the vibe for you:

Green/purple/black combos.

Purple/silver/black combos. Pink/purple/teal combos.

Pink/black combos.

Orange/black combos.

Green/orange/purple combos.

Red/black combos.

Basically a lot of combos commonly associated with Halloween, witches, or vampires.

Big raw crystals. We see crystal balls now and then, but that's it.

Other natural items used as decorations - feathers, pinecones, sticks, etc. The one exception I can think of are the shells embedded in the walls of Shell Cottage.

Crushed velvet. Lots of fantasy uses this, HP films don't.

If you need inspiration, go look up medieval and renaissance diagrams and illustrations of stuff like the four elements, the zodiac, the solar system, and all that. Go look up alchemical symbols and emblems. Search up pre-WWII vintage ephemera. Go look up Victorian clipart. Look up stuff like botanical, zoological, and astronomical books and art from the 17th-19th centuries. Look up vintage wallpaper and fabric patterns. Look at vintage-style crafts. Research period architecture and fashion. Research European heraldry.

If you're wondering what exactly you're going to design around without Hogwarts and the Four Houses, here are some suggestions:

The four classical elements (earth, air, fire, and water)

The four seasons

Card suits - Tarot, French, whatever you want

Holidays - Halloween, Christmas, whatever

Fairy tales

Flowers

Mythical creatures

Bugs

Birds

Any other animals you like

Ecosystems

Your own original worldbuilding

So yeah, there ya go. You don't need to keep participating in HP to indulge in the aesthetic.

[NOTICE: Anybody who clowns on this post by making this about them and their childhood, patting themselves on the back about their chosen means of "ethical" participation, praising the fandom, or adding any other form of irrelevant bullshit is getting blocked. Also, I don't want to hear about PJO or Earthsea again for the millionth time, either.]