#of course my only arts in my profile is them

[yourdarlingwarrior]

Toxic yaoi?

[minkieater]

EIGHT FIRST DATES ꨄ︎

001 》 HWANG HYUNJIN

your first time on tinder ends in... success? with thanksgiving only eight weeks away, you're hell bent on getting a boyfriend before then to show off to your family. with your first and only option being a dating app, you've scored a beau within hours. will he be the one you show up with thanksgiving day?

➤ see hyunjin's tinder profile here !

smut! mdni! oral r, lots of praise, lil bit of a breeding kink (protected sex tho!) wc ~10k

“yeah, but tinder? really?” your twin stood in front of you, eyebrows twinged in disgust, hands clutching his phone in front of him, thumbs hovering over his screen. 

“what other choice do i have? i have eight weeks to get a boyfriend. the clock is fucking ticking,” you threw your hands in the air, stopping your pacing back and forth in your brother’s cluttered bedroom. 

“i don’t understand why you let them get to you, bro,” he shook his head, climbing onto his bed, a shirt falling to the floor from the movement. “who cares if you don’t have a boyfriend? just be single, it’s better that way.”

“you literally have a girlfriend, ace,” you crossed your arms, fighting every instinct to not pick up the shirt that had fallen. “you can’t say shit like that when they don’t bother you. mom, matt and even vi started getting on my case about it.”

ace sighed, throwing his head back. “you don’t know anyone? not a single man who’d take you on a date?” he picked his head up to look at you with eyebrows raised, then continued when you gave him a swift shake of your head. “what about yeosang? yunho, san?”

you don’t think your face could look more horrified, “that’s fucking disgusting. we’ve all been best friends since we were basically born, they’re like another you.”

“they sound like three options to me,” he shrugged, then put his legs under his comforter that was scrunched up on the side of his bed, “can you close my door on your way out?” 

you made a sound of frustration, somewhere between a grunt and a whine as you left his room, right after throwing the shirt in his annoyingly full hamper and closing the door behind you. you went back to your own bedroom, the complete opposite of his, bed made with four different pillows for show, not a single article of clothing on the floor. the cleanliness made you smile, you even felt cleaner after leaving his room, you immediately hopped onto your bed and opened tinder. 

SOOBIN, 23 if u like jjk chainsaw man or solo leveling PLS hmu

JEONGHAN, 29 recruiting new members for my cult

HYUNJIN, 24 swipe right if you like art & wine

INTAK, 21 5’11 since it matters

“jesus,” you said under your breath, you didn’t know if it was because you just signed up for the app and it showed you who everyone was swiping on, or if everyone around you was really just  that gorgeous. everyone got a swipe right, and almost everyone afterward until the app notified you that you ran out of likes. 

“ran out?!” you yelled at your phone, eyebrows furrowed. you threw your phone on the bed beside you, the back of your head falling into the pillow with a loud huff. 

then your phone pinged with a notification. 

you picked it up at the speed of light, eyes widening at the little fire icon on your notification screen. you opened the app quickly, checking your matches. 

intak: hey ;)

you bit your lip, a smile growing on your face. your first match!

you: heyyy :))) 

intak: wsp

you: nothing muchhhh just laying in bed wbu!!

intak: bored :/ intak: u send pics? 

you immediately frowned, the adrenaline that was just coursing through you depleted within seconds, your heartbeat already slowing. this was why you didn’t have a boyfriend, why you didn’t date, why you never have. 

you quickly unmatched him, throwing your phone beside you again. maybe your twin was right, maybe downloading tinder really was stupid — it’s an app used primarily for hookups, and that’s not what you were interested in. you were looking for someone to show off to your ridiculously large family. to your cousins who have always belittled you for staying single, to your grandma who wants you to be with someone she approves of, to your little fucking sister who called you lame for never having a boyfriend. 

you were sick of it. you wanted a partner better than the ones your cousins have, one that would make your grandma give you the ring that still sat on her finger, one that would hangout with your little sister. one that would make your father proud, would make him smile down at you, one that he’d feel ecstatic about you walking down the aisle toward— even if he couldn’t be here to walk you to him. 

your phone pinged again. 

you picked it up with lowered expectations, clicking on the fire icon again. 

hyunjin: hey gorgeous :)

you looked through his profile again before answering. he had seven pictures up on his profile, every single one of them filling you with more curiosity. he had a few photos up with art you can only assume he made, a mirror selfie, two pictures taken of him, and a picture with another gorgeous man. you couldn’t believe he was on tinder — he’s perfect. 

you: hey handsome :)

hyunjin: are u a twin? 

you: i do happen to be a twin !

hyunjin: thats sick. are u guys identical? u look identical  hyunjin: yall have telepathy or whatever?

you: we are not!!! we get that a lot lol you: tbh no you: god must save that for the identical twins💔

hyunjin: are u sure ur not identical hyunjin: u guys look exactly the same hyunjin: how are u twins and u dont have telepathy

you perched an eyebrow, fingers typing faster. 

you: yes i am sure??? you: are you a twin???

hyunjin: no

you: right you: ill be sure to let him know we need to try harder to be telepathic 

hyunjin: i think telepathy is really beautiful, the whole concept of twins actually.  hyunjin: sharing the same DNA??? being essentially the same person split into two bodies, sharing things that no one else will understand just bc of how you were born. its really poetic

you: well were fraternal so we don't share all of our dna just 50% like any other sibling you: we could not be farther from the same person lol but yeah the concept of twins is rlly cool

hyunjin: anyways enough about that hyunjin: do u like art?

you let out a small chuckle— the conversation almost didn’t seem real. you went from one man asking about nudes to another asking you about your genetic makeup, then he asks if you like art? you couldn’t believe the face attached to these messages. 

you: yeah i fuck with paintings  you: i see you are an artist  you: i like what's on your profile !!

hyunjin: thank you :) hyunjin: would u want to go out this saturday? an exhibit opened up downtown, we could go to dinner after? it’s wine night at the bar across the street from the exhibit 

the adrenaline that escaped you earlier shot back through your body like lightning, you looked through his profile again. he’s so gorgeous, it seemed too easy — is he a catfish? there’s no way he’s just walking around single with a face like that, and he wants you? 

an art exhibit, wine afterwards, it seemed so sophisticated. definitely what you were looking for. 

you: yeah id love to!  you: send me ur number we can talk details (:

for the days to follow, you and hyunjin had been texting constantly. goodmorning, goodnight, what you’re eating throughout the day, random thoughts you’re having, even deep talks that go as long as one to two in the morning. day by day he was tweaking your mindset bit by bit — every morning you woke up with the same thought, maybe dating isn’t so bad. 

three days of a honeymoon phase did not go unnoticed by your family, or your friends. 

“what’s got you in such a good mood, tiny?” your mom asked, mixing her coffee with a silver spoon at the glass kitchen table, one leg crossed over the other. you should be used to the nickname by now but it still makes you cringe — twenty two and still called tiny by your entire family.

you didn’t even realize you basically skipped down to the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee for yourself while humming a song hyunjin had sent you last night. you whipped your head around to her, a smile on your face, “it’s saturday.” 

her look was unbelieving, she knows you better than that. “you’re never this happy this early.” 

“she has a date tonight,” your twin says through a yawn, walking through the kitchen, arms stretching above his head. “with a tinder boy.” 

“ace!” you gasp, smacking his arm. you spoke under your breath, “why would you say that?” 

“what’s a tinder?” your mom asked from the table, looking at you both with furrowed eyebrows. 

you opened your mouth to speak but ace cut you off, “a hookup app.” 

your mom gasped, eyes widening, “tiny!” 

“it’s not just a hookup app,” san follows ace into the kitchen, black tee sitting tight against his skin, his arms flexing through the fabric — he was always your favorite. 

“it basically is, every girl i’ve met on there i’ve hit,” the smirk is clear on ace’s face as he looks to san, who daps him up with a chuckle. san mutters a nice under his breath — immediately demoted from your favorite.

“that’s because you’re gross. we’re going to an art gallery and going to the bar across the street for wine night after,” you smiled, a proud look on your face as you turned to your mom. she didn’t share the glance. 

“with who?” your step dad, matt, enters the kitchen from the living room, a mug of coffee in his own hands. “doesn’t sound like something the boys would do willingly on their saturday night.” 

“great, let’s just make my date a family discussion, thanks ace,” you rolled your eyes, walking to the fridge to grab your bottle of oat milk.

“a date? you don’t go on dates, tiny,” matt asks from the opposite side of the kitchen, hands on his hips, his coffee mug on the counter next to him.

“i do now,” you huff while pouring the oat milk into your coffee. “don’t ask any more questions, i’m going. end of story.” 

matt pulls his lips into a thin line, “not sure i like the sound of this.” 

“she’ll be fine,” ace counters as he walks to your side, the gallon of whole milk he just took from the fridge in his hands. “if she needs anything she has at least four different people she can call, one of us being six foot two.” 

“exactly,” you nod, mentally thanking ace for backing you up. he looks to you with a tight lipped smile and a hand on your shoulder, his way of saying you’re welcome. maybe you do have a little bit of telepathy, you’d have to tell hyunjin. 

getting ready was hard — you looked at hyunjin’s profile on tinder at least six different times before settling on an outfit. in one of his pictures he had on two tank tops, one fitted and one loose with a graphic covering the space, a beanie on his head, a pair of denim shorts and loafers. he was definitely into fashion, if anyone else had tried to wear that same outfit they’d look insane, but he pulled it off with ease. 

in another he wore black denim jeans, a fitted black quarter zip sweater that covered half his hands. he had his hair tied up and big glasses on his face —- such a simple outfit curated in a way that made him look so expensive. you just knew he’d show up in something immaculate, you had big shoes to fill to match his vibe, but you’d do it. you wanted to impress him, you needed a boyfriend out of this, after all. 

the one thing you had in your possession, the only thing that looked nearly as expensive as him was a long coat that was your mother’s. it took ten minutes of begging but she let you borrow it for the night, your only issue was basing the rest of your outfit around the coat. jeans didn’t look dressy enough, dress pants didn’t look girlfriend enough. you settled on a mini skirt with a pair of tights underneath, you had a pair of knee high boots and a sweater that pulled everything together. the coat fit you perfectly and hit almost the height of your boots, it was the perfect length. you spent at least an hour on your hair, another hour on your makeup, by the time you were finished getting ready you felt like you had really pulled the expensive look off. 

“it isn’t ten degrees outside, you know,” ace said as he sat too casually on your bed, your shared three best friends accompanied him on the white sheets. 

“i look expensive, do i not?” you played with your hair as you stood in front of your full length mirror, shooting daggers at your twin through the reflection. 

“you look like you're in your mom’s coat,” yeosang said from his spot on the bed, peeking his head around san’s shoulder. 

you scoffed as you turned around, “all you guys do is insult me, how am i supposed to feel any ounce of confidence before my big date?”

“i think you look great, tiny,” yunho turned his head to look at you from his spot on your bed, his massive frame taking up half the mattress. with his head laid on your pillows, his feet still dangled off the edge of your queen sized bed. 

“thank you,” you smiled to yunho, the only one who understood what a girl needs to hear before a date. 

your parents were close friends with the parents of the three boys on your bed, the lot of them have been a friend group since before you were born. you and your twin had no choice but to be friends with them growing up, forming your own friend group with the three boys that never disbanded, only grew closer despite your age differences. you always assumed you’d be close with them forever, that’s just how it was, how it’d always be. 

they were great friends most of the time, ace wasn’t kidding when he said you had four people you could call in any situation, any emergency, they’d always pick up. they were as much as your brothers as ace is, you considered all three of them like family. 

“i think you look great too, you gonna fuck him?” san perched an eyebrow, wiggling them with a mischievous smile as you made a face at him. 

“i am not a fuck on the first date kind of girl,” you shrugged, walking over to your vanity to check your makeup again. you grabbed your tube of lip gloss as you sat down, uncapping it to swipe over your already glossed lips. 

“how do you know?” yeosang giggled from the bed, “closest thing you’ve ever had to a date was prom, and you went with me.”

“that’s actually true,” you shrugged after applying the gloss, “maybe i might. who knows?”

“i hope you do, god knows you need it teens,” ace mumbles from the bed, his phone in his hands again – probably texting his girlfriend, reia. the pair had been together for six months, your twin’s longest relationship yet. you hadn’t had many chances to hangout with her, but from the times you have she seemed pretty cool, probably too good for your brother.

“i feel like maybe you shouldn’t be the one to say that to me,” your lips pulled into a line as you turned into your chair to face the group. “anyways, who’s driving me? the exhibit is downtown, like twenty minutes away.”

“yun’s the only one who has his car, unless you want one of us to drive your car,” san offered, and the other two boys immediately looked to yunho. 

“guess i’m taking you,” yunho said, sitting up on the mattress, no trace of malcontent on his face. “you ready to go now?”

you nodded with a smile, hopping up from the wooden chair. your parents didn’t ask many questions before you left, just telling you to be safe and don’t do anything they wouldn’t do. knowing their background there wasn’t much they wouldn’t do, your mom’s college stories haunt you to this day. 

the smiths played through the speakers of yunho’s car on the drive there, softer rock music instead of the usual heavier music he listens to. you brushed it off to the rain that dripped down the windows of the car, the vibe outside not much for heavy rock music with a loud, thumping bass, the emotional and almost melancholic vibe to steven patrick morrissey’s voice was a perfect match. 

“i’m happy one of us is taking you,” yunho finally spoke, the music quiet enough for you to hear him clearly. he looked over at you and smiled, the fingers on his right hand still wrapped around his steering wheel. “i don’t have to go over the whole call me if you need anything spiel, right?”

you laughed, “no, i know already, ace said it to matt this morning. i have four people i can call, blah blah blah.”

“i’ll leave my ringer on, so call me, don’t even bother with ace,” he shook his head, shifting his eyes back on the road in front of him – you missed the way his fingers gripped the steering wheel a little harder. “anything could happen, you don’t even really know this guy.”

“i know too much about this guy after only texting him for three days, trust me,” you laughed, “everything will be fine, i’m just looking at some paintings and having a glass of wine.”

“alright,” was all he replied, keeping his gaze on the road. yunho had never been one for many words, he was the one out of the three that you knew the least about. he kept his secrets close to him, was intentional when he spoke, only said what needed to be said always, yet he was still somehow the one you felt the most driven toward whenever you hung out. maybe it was because you knew way too much about the others, it left a certain curiosity about yunho. 

you looked down at your phone, a new text from hyunjin from one minute ago was the only thing on your notifications screen. 

hyunjin: just got here! i’ll wait for you inside the lobby :)

you: i’m pulling up now !

yunho pulled over in front of the gallery, looking toward you with another tight lipped smile. “have fun, be careful, please call me if you need anything.”

“gosh, i will, jeez,” you smiled, all teeth, then unbuckled yourself. “thank you for the ride, i’ll see you later if you’re still at the house, gonna hopefully bum a ride home from hyunjin.”

“i can pick you up, too,” he adds, and you roll your eyes. you open the door, sliding out of the car onto the slick sidewalk. 

“jesus, yunho, if you wanted to see me that bad you should’ve just taken me to the damn art gallery,” you teased, resting your hand on the top of the car door. 

his smile is wide as he teases, “your grandma fucking adores me, tiny.”

“goodbye, yunho!” you called as you shut the car door, a smile on your face as you began your walk up to the building that held the exhibit. 

within a second of being by yourself, reality seemed to hit you fast. just behind the tall, dark doors, stood a gorgeous man who was meeting you – taking you on a date, to an art exhibit at that. it all felt so sophisticated, so mature, maybe this would be easier than you thought. who knew tinder would produce such a well thought out date?

as you pushed open the door to the exhibit, you were greeted with a fucking museum. cream walls, pillars, the whole thing – you were grateful you dressed the way you did. your eyes scanned the people in the lobby, searching for mister tall, dark and handsome himself. 

as your eyes finally laid on him, you were really grateful you dressed the way you did. his hair was down, curly and messy yet still put together, a matching corduroy set of pants and a jacket, a black tee underneath. necklaces sat around his neck, laid across his chest, bracelets on his wrist and rings on his fingers – he made such a simple outfit extravagant, he looked like he had a personal stylist, someone to dress him with clothes that were tailored just for him. 

as you walked towards him, you felt your body locking up, the excitement you felt moments prior transformed to straight nerves. your eyes raked over his build, lean yet muscular, his jaw perfectly chiseled, as his eyes met yours it nearly took your breath away. he smiled, so wide you couldn’t help but return it, he was even more gorgeous than his pictures – in person, hwang hyunjin was fucking breathtaking. 

“hey beautiful,” he smiled as you finally approached him, wrapping an arm around you in a quick squeeze. “happy to finally see your pretty face in person.”

“i could say the same thing to you,” you laugh, it comes out nervous, your breath unsteady. “what’s the opposite of a catfish?” 

he threw his head back in a laugh, “you flatter me,” he waved his hand side to side, his smile so fucking contagious. instead of deflating, your nerves flare up worse, remembering that this isn’t just a first date with a beautiful man, this is your first date ever. dates didn’t come with an instruction manual, you didn’t know how to act, what to say, what to do. you don’t even like art like that!

he cut off your thoughts, “you ready to go in? i already got us tickets.” the way he looked at you was so inviting, his chocolate eyes so warm it made you dizzy. you nodded with a smile and he led the way, the man working the door offering a hey hyunjin as you walked into the exhibit. you lifted a brow, but thought nothing of it as he grabbed your hand, leading you to the first piece. 

his hand completely swallowed yours – veiny hands, long fingers that were covered in silver and nails painted black, you couldn’t take your eyes off of them until he spoke again, letting go of your hand.

“a replica, an ode to josep llimona,” hyunjin stands close to you, nodding toward the sculpture in front of him, then looks down to you. “do you know desolation?” 

you shake your head once and he continues, “it’s a sculpture, made in 1907 that’s in the museum of catalonia in barcelona. what do you see when you look at it?” 

you look at the sculpture, your head tilting to one side. it was a naked woman leaning onto something like a rock, her fingers intertwined, her face hidden by her hair. she looked distraught, like something terrible had just happened, as if she was suffering or mourning.

“i see a woman in despair,” your words are quiet and he smiles, a wide grin showing all of his teeth. you frown, “it’s sad, i want to help her.” 

“in the early 1900s there was a bunch of different pieces of art made for temples, this piece was a part of that group, well, a replica of the piece,” he tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, eyes trained on the sculpture before you. his passion was raw as he spoke, “within the group, artists made sculptures of women that had feelings like grief, despair and resignation. the whole idea behind it was capturing feelings instead of beauty.” 

“but she is beautiful,” your eyebrows furrowed together, bringing your eyes back to the sculpture before you. you frowned again. 

“notice how you can’t see her face?” he leans in closer to you, “her hair is covering it, but you can still tell she’s sad.” 

your mouth forms a small o as you turn your head, looking up to him, “oh, shit— you’re right!” 

“you’re adorable,” he smiles down at you, “do you know much about art?”

“a little…” your cheeks warm and you look away from him, a sleeve covered hand coming up to mask your blush when your faces had come closer than intended. “basically just what i was taught in high school.”

he lets out a small chuckle, “sorry to go all art nerd on you, then. i did a whole project on desolation last year.” 

“no, no, don’t apologize,” you shake your head, “it’s really attractive, actually.” 

he smiles again, a pink hue to his cheeks. “good to know.”

he moves to the next piece, long corduroy covered legs pulling you along as if he was tugging on a leash, you were whipped already. tall, gorgeous, respectful and smart, he seemed like the entire package. “ah, this one really speaks to me,” he says as he comes to a stop, squinting at the painting in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“yeah?” you ask, a small smile on your face as you watch him, then look at the painting in front of you. it looked like… a bunch of colors. green, a reddish line in the center, then a deep blue underneath. 

it simply seemed like a bunch of colors painted on a canvas, your eyebrows furrowed. “i’m gonna need you to go art nerd on me again, i think.” 

he smiles, “this is number two, blue red and green, by mark rothko. it was made in 1958, oil on canvas— do you want the whole backstory or just a little summary?” 

“whatever you want to tell me, i’ll listen,” you nod, shifting your weight to one foot, looking up to him as he spoke. his whole face lit up, he had stars in his eyes, you could tell he loved it here, loved art in general. 

you loved listening to people speak about what they love, the passion that flows through their words, how they tend to overshare the little details that they find just as important as the big ones. as hyunjin spoke about the green red and blue painting you accidentally tuned him out, eyes focused on his own, his long eyelashes, how the lighting in the building made him look like he belonged to the exhibit. 

exquisite, a masterpiece of his own, the way his tongue would sneak out of his mouth to swipe across his bottom lip, how his lips would part just enough to get a peek of the perfect set of teeth that lived inside. you gave him small nods as he spoke, not hearing a word of it, brain whirling about symmetrical his face is. 

“it’s basically all about personal translation, how colors can evoke different emotions in people,” he nods, looking back at the painting, “it’s all about the viewer, how it’s interpreted.” 

you looked back to the piece. you may have missed his monologue about the guy and the meaning but the art still looked like a bunch of colors to you — your head tilted again, your lips forming a pout. you wished you saw it how he did. 

“not feeling this one, hm?” your head snaps back to look up at him, your eyes widening. he must have seen the look on your face. 

“no, i love it, it speaks to me, too,” you nod, a nervous smile crossing your cheeks, the lie so clear on your tongue. maybe you didn’t think through what a date at an art exhibit would entail, especially going with someone who studies it. you were clueless in the cream colored walls, you wished you could see through his eyes, understand his thought process. 

“it’s okay, definitely abstract,” he shrugs, the warm smile that was still on his face told you he saw straight through your lie but he didn’t mind, “at least you got desolation right on the mark.” 

you run a hand through your hair, your cheeks becoming red hot, “i’m enjoying listening to you explain everything to me, though.” 

“there’s cooler ones the further we go,” his head nods deeper into the exhibit, his hands finding his pockets. you try not to pout again, maybe if you understood red white and blue better his hand would be intertwined with yours. 

as he brought you deeper into the exhibit, his statement sat with you in the silence, especially as you began skipping piece after piece — you thought that if this was his first time here and since he’s clearly an art guy, he wouldn’t be skipping anything. as you listened to the only noise, your boot covered feet hitting the floor, you remembered the doorman who called him by his name earlier. 

“have you been here before?” you asked from behind him, your eyes trained on the maroon coloured corduroy. 

“no, why?” it felt like a rebuttal as it left his lips, his eyebrows furrowing together, almost as if you insulted him. 

“just wondering,” you kept your thoughts to yourself, keeping tabs on every flag you weren’t sure what color to give. as lost as you were in the exhibit, it still interested you to be here, to listen and learn from him as he spoke about the things he loved most — plus there was him, the tall, perfectly gorgeous man that stood in front of you. 

the next hour was spent with hyunjin showing you pieces of art that you couldn’t begin to dissect, leaving him to pick them apart piece by piece. the feeling of being on the outside faded with each new painting, new sculpture, new drawing, he made you feel as if art was a distant friend you just needed to catch up with, even if you had never been interested in art before today. the way he explained, the way he taught, how he asked you questions, it made you feel like you knew all the information already– just needed someone to help you remember. 

hyunjin was easy to talk to, he was understanding— he was kind, first and foremost. your favorite so far was his thinking face, how he’s quiet as he stares, his arms crossed, his lips pursed. when he was thinking you could see the gears turning, you watched as that beautiful head of his began concocting some form of explanation, a feeling for what he was looking at, how he could explain it to you– how he could make you feel like you knew it already. 

then there was his smile, the warmth to his fingers that found yours again, the softness to his palm that enveloped yours perfectly. you begin to forget why you never dated in the first place if they were like this, full of curiosity, such a shared openness between yourself and another person, learning about each other and how to connect in real time. even if you and hyunjin didn’t share a passion for art, your conversation still flowed, you bonded through humor and the smaller things you’d learned about each other through texting. 

as you got farther into the exhibit, turning around and making your way back up to the front, you noticed hyunjin took off his teacher hat and put on his charmer hat instead. you didn’t notice the switch, but your cheeks burned on your walk back to the front more than they had the entire date.

“if you want to meet kkami so bad, why don’t you just come over instead?” there was a soft tug to the corners of his lips as he looked down to you, your fingers intertwined as you approached the exit to the exhibit. your adrenaline sparked, heart beating a beat faster, cheeks warming as if on command. 

“you don’t want to have wine?” you asked, but you weren’t opposed to the idea– as soon as hyunjin mentioned his dog and sent you pictures of him yesterday, you were sold on meeting him whether that was today or eventually. 

“i have wine at my place,” he shrugged, “i also have a record player and a dog.”

you took a moment to think– if you went to the bar, it’d be a public space, which is good for safety reasons and feels more casual than being in his apartment with just the two of you, almost takes the edge off. at the same time, his apartment would be quieter, more intimate, a calmer environment for you to get to know him better, you felt you knew enough about him already to be comfortable around him alone. plus he has a dog. 

“what kind of wine do you have?” you lifted a brow, a small smirk playing on your lips. you were sold already, but he didn’t need to know that yet.

his smile was worth a million dollars as he said, “you said you like red, so i picked up an ‘05 burgundy, cote de beaune.”

your smirk grew wider, ignoring the comment about the wine that you were sure was supposed to impress you, “had a plan to get me back at your place all along then, huh?”

“can a man not manifest?” he asked, immediately pulling a laugh straight from your lungs. “that’s a yes then?”

“yes, but only because i want to meet kkami, even if he isn’t very nice. he’ll like me,” you wave a hand at him, passing through the exit where a different doorman gave hyunjin a nod of his chin – a small gesture that didn’t escape your eyes. 

hyunjin’s car was nice, nothing special, it still had that new car smell mixed with that of his cologne. he played frank ocean through the speakers at a low volume, background music to the sound of the windshield wipers clearing his vision. you couldn’t help but stare as he drove, eyes lingering on his sharp jaw, how his hair curled around his neck. your focus caught on his ring clad fingers that wrapped around the steering wheel, ears perking up at the soft hum emitting from his throat to the tune of the song. it was comfortable, you were comfortable, you began to regret the last few of your life spent not dating. 

when hyunjin unlocked his front door, the lights in his apartment were already dim, and the oreo colored ball of fluff ran up to you immediately. he barked at first, but after you bent down and greeted him with a few strokes to his back, kkami was on his back and quiet, enjoying your affection. 

“i told you he’d like me,” you smiled up at hyunjin through your eyelashes. 

“i didn’t doubt you for a minute,” he stood smiling with an arm out in your direction. he had already hung his coat on the rack beside the door, he stood above you with a hand out in an offer to take yours too. you stood and began to take it off but he stopped you, painted fingers slipping underneath the wool to slip it off your back himself. 

a blush crept back onto your cheeks again as you muttered a thank you, finally looking around to take in his space. all of his lights were dim, casting warmth onto his furniture, all dark and muted and cozy. his tables were all deep wood, there wasn’t much brightness in his space, not even in the books that littered the shelves on his walls. he had a tv across from the couch with a table in between, as you took off your shoes and stepped closer into the space you noticed art magazines laid across the surface. 

the art on his walls were all of the same type, you supposed, you wondered if he made them himself. a fuzzy throw blanket laid over the couch, plants lived in the corners, hwang hyunjin’s space was so inviting. you were glad you came here– one look at his own space showed you even more about him. 

hyunjin skipped through the apartment, lighting candles, opening his windows just a crack to let the noise of the rain hitting the ground slip through. 

“you can sit on the couch if you want, make yourself at home. i’ll grab us some glasses, put some music on,” he said with a hand halfway in a candle, flicking a lighter with his thumb. he was really dedicated to setting the mood.

you nodded and sat on the couch, kkami jumping up beside you on the cushion, crawling onto your lap. you pet his head down to his back, cooing at him getting cozy on your lap, pulling your legs up to cross beneath you. 

you heard the scratch of the record player and you turned to see hyunjin standing over it, placing the tonearm on the record while somehow carrying the wine bottle and two glasses by the stem between the fingers of his other hand. music fills the space of the apartment as he walks over to the couch and places the glasses on the table, pouring both of your glasses and placing the bottle between them. 

“i can’t believe he’s being this nice,” he says as he sits next to you, an arm swinging over the back of the couch, one leg folded in front of him as he looks down to kkami. 

“is this solomon burke?” you ask, eyebrow perching up as you catch the music playing through the apartment, you recognized his voice before the song.

hyunjin looks shocked, his eyes wide and his head tilted slightly forward, “i cannot believe you know that.”

“when did this come out? the sixties?”

“1964 to be exact, rock ‘n soul.”

“when i was younger i had a small infatuation with the movie dirty dancing, my favorite off the album is–”

“cry to me,” you both say in unison, then burst into a fit of giggles, kkami leaping straight off of your lap from your movement. 

“i love old music like this, it’s so raw, full of soul,” hyunjin says, grabbing your glasses from the table and handing yours to you. he swirls his around in his glass and you copy him, swirling your own before taking a sip. you tried not to cringe at the taste.

“when men weren’t afraid to say what they wanted to,” you agreed, continuing his thought with your own, “so open in showing emotion, their feelings, their passion. i love it too.”

“ah,” he nods, “that could never be me, i don’t think i could ever hide what i was feeling for a second, i don’t have it in me. i wear my emotions on my face, and proudly.”

you smile, “that’s good, better than good, it’s refreshing. never change that.”

“i don’t plan to,” he shakes his head, taking a sip of his wine, the two of you falling into a moment of silence.

“is this where you make me tell you my deepest, darkest secrets?” you joke, taking a sip from your own glass– you were never much for wine, at your big age of twenty two the most pleasurable alcohol you’ve tasted is a surfside. you get it down without a change to your face, looking through your eyelashes to the man before you. 

he lets out a sound of amusement, “you can start by telling me what you’re looking for, then we can get to your deepest darkest secrets.”

“i already told you, i just wanted to go on a date, see where it goes– i’m not looking for anything specifically,” you shrug, referring to one of the first conversations you had through text. you were lying straight through your teeth, you didn’t need to tell him the whole boyfriend before thanksgiving spiel. 

“not about the date, dummy, what are you looking for in a partner?” he tilts his head, sinking into the couch, getting more comfortable. 

“that’s basically asking me for my deepest, darkest secrets,” you roll your eyes, then give yourself a moment to think, process his question. did you even know what you were looking for?

you thought about your cousins, their partners, your parents, your stepdad, ace, his girlfriend, their dynamic… you knew what you didn’t want. 

“i want someone who knows me,” you start, a blush creeping to your cheeks again, “someone who knows the ugliest parts of me and still wants to be with me. someone who knows what i’m thinking, what i’m going to say before i do because they’ve paid that much attention to me.” you brush your hair behind your ear, letting out an uneasy breath. “i have a big family, and they’re really important to me… despite how insane they all are. i want someone who understands that, and my family becomes just as important to them.”

hyunjin nods, his warm eyes trained on you as if he was pulling the thoughts straight from your head, pushing for you to keep going. you welcome the push as your thoughts start to flow freely. 

“i want to be with someone true,” you smile, “i want a partner who’s honest, true to themselves and true to me, doesn’t fake anything, none of that sugar coating shit. a true partnership, teamwork, someone who really means it when they say through thick and thin, someone who doesn’t run when shit gets hard.”

“a relationship is pointless to me if it isn’t built on trust, i want to be able to have full faith in my partner and they also have it in me. to be known is to be loved,” you smile, then the smile drops as soon as you realize everything you just said. three sips of wine and you already can’t shut up. 

“every time i’ve asked that question in the past, every girl has always said something along the lines of i want someone handsome, funny, smart, kind,” hyunjin’s face is unreadable, a blank expression, yet there’s something tugging at him. “no one’s ever given me such a real answer before.”

“i didn’t mean to, i don’t know where that came from,” you say honestly, then sip your wine again, a bigger sip this time. if you were going to talk like this then you might as well catch a buzz before you do.

“i like the honesty,” he smiles, “and i agree with a lot of it– i can be a lot sometimes, with what i’m passionate about, how my interests can change within a day’s time. i’m not very organized, i like to do things without a schedule, more spontaneous than planned. that’s not everybody’s cup of tea, so if someone were to be with me for real, i’m a lot to take on.”

“i do like spontaneity,” you nod, “but i am definitely more of a planner, i was happy we made plans days in advance. gave me time to mentally prepare,” a laugh leaves you. “you’re definitely a more passionate person than i initially thought.”

“there’s a lot more passion you haven’t seen yet,” he winks, then takes a sip from his wine. 

you giggle, “yet?”

“yet,” he nods in confirmation, and there’s something about the way he’s saying something without saying it, making you read between the lines but also being so obvious. it’s his confidence, the way his jaw is set but he looks so soft, so inviting, it makes you want to lick the line from below his ear to his chin. 

maybe san and ace were right – maybe you did need this, maybe you even wanted it. you couldn’t put your finger on why that sentence made your body run hot, a burning in your core that you haven’t felt in ages, a want for somebody else that wasn’t fully based on looks or a system full of a frat house’s jungle juice. 

“when do i get to see it?” you ask, tilting your head, letting your tongue slip out to lick your lips. a smile graces his own, like he was hoping for that answer. you weren’t sure where your own confidence was coming from, maybe it was being so honest with him, a feeling of being connected to him through your own revelations – things you haven’t shared with anyone else. 

“just say the word, baby,” his words are like velvet as they leave his lips, kissing your ears with such a sweetness you were willing to start begging. you’d never been called baby by anyone, never been so wound up so quickly by something so inexplicably sexual – you decided then and there that your first ever date was only going to end one way. 

as if on cue, the song changed, cry to me by solomon burke playing through the record player, the soft cracks of the vinyl making you feel as if fate was in the dim living room, too. 

“show me,” your words were barely above a whisper, the eye contact you were holding was so strong, so powerful it felt life changing when he moved across the couch.

he took your glass from your hand in silence, setting the pair on the coffee table, then his hands were on you. his right hand came under your jaw, his left in your hair and then he took a pause, giving you a second to burn the sight to memory, making sure you felt the intensity of his stare before he leaned forward, attaching his lips to yours. 

his lips were as soft as they looked, plump and sweet, tasting like the wine you’d been drinking and notes of himself, raw and unfiltered. the kiss was deafening, your ears rang, you were putty in his hands from the moment his painted fingertips touched your skin. your hands went to his forearms, fingers latching onto his soft skin as his lips moved with yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth the second your jaw opened wide enough to let him in. 

your lips were still touching as he mumbled, “taste just as sweet as i thought you would.” you could feel him smile into the kiss as you replied with a noise of satisfaction, somewhere between a moan and a whimper. 

he moved to sit back on the couch, legs bending with his lips and hands still on you, forcing you to follow him backward. you lifted up on your knees and crawled on top of him, settling yourself into his lap. you ignored your skirt as it lifted, forcing yourself free of its confines, letting it rest just below your ass and high on your thighs as your hands moved to his neck, fingers twining into his hair, tangling in the roots. 

a low groan left his lips when you offered a sharp tug to his dark locks, his hands moving from your head down to your waist, one slipping down to the plush of your ass. you gasped into the kiss, welcoming his tongue again, effectively silencing you while making your head spin. 

you stayed like that for awhile, making out on his couch, hands exploring and touching and feeling and not quite taking the step to go farther. when he finally pulled away and let his head fall to the back of the couch you pouted, the voice in the back of your head telling you to follow him backward, to lick up the column of his neck he was showing off so proudly. 

“i didn’t bring you here just to sleep with you, you know,” he admits, his expression turning serious, lowered eyes locked on yours through long lashes. 

you nodded, bringing a hand up to wipe the remnants of your messy makeout from your bottom lip with low, cracking music from the record player still filling the space of his living room. you felt as if he was leaving the next step up to you, and you were met with two choices: to cut it off here, not go any further, maybe kiss a little more then go home, maybe even plan another date. or you could grind yourself against his lap, lick up his neck like you want to, and finish what you started. 

“okay,” you blinked, not missing how his chest rose and fell, a need disguised by heavy breaths locked within his chest that he was trying not to show. he wanted this just as much as you did, the only choice was the latter— you weren’t used to the choice being left to you.

“what if i want to?” you asked, batting your lashes, a ghost of a smile sitting on your lips. his own smile grew, his fingers grabbed your hips, his hips bucking upward to push you toward him once more. 

you kept him there, back against the couch, head tipping off the back of it as you acted out your fantasy, dragging your tongue from just above his collarbone to his jaw. he groaned again, a vibration against your tongue as your lips worked onto his neck, his fingers gripping your hips harder. he used his hands to move you, grinding you against himself until you could feel what you needed pressing up against your too clothed center. you gasped into his skin– it was hot, the feeling of being guided yet knowing you were the one holding the reins. 

you didn’t need his hands anymore as your lips met his again, hips rocking against him all on your own as your fingers clutched onto his roots, tugging at them to bring him closer to you. it felt like a dance, one that you’d been performing for years, your bodies moving in sync with one another so perfectly you almost forgot you met each other a couple hours ago. 

his fingers reached for your sweater, you broke the kiss just long enough for him to tug it over your head, your fingers immediately reaching for the hem of his own shirt. he unclasped your bra with one hand rendering your chests bare against one another, the heat between you only intensifying with his skin against yours. he leaned off the back of the couch and you moaned as his hands made their way up to your chest, thumbs dancing over your peaks with a feathered touch, your hips plummeting into his own. 

“so perfect,” he breathed, attaching his lips to your chest instead and your head fell back with a sigh, back arching into his touch. “so sensitive.”

“always,” you mumbled, voice sounding completely dazed, yet you made the conscious decision to not share that your sensitivity was from your lack of experience. not that you haven’t slept with many people, you did go to a big school, but it was never like this. basically sober, so intimate, watchful eyes on your reactions and words spoken between kisses, never with a man anything like hwang hyunjin. you were used to drunken quickies with finance majors, a quick rub to your clit before they slipped inside, in the bathroom of a frat house or if you were so lucky, a bedroom on the top floor. 

his hands fell to your thighs, fingers trailing over the nylon, thumbs rubbing circles on the inside as his pretty pink lips worked on you, your hands finding refuge in his roots again, scratching into his scalp. 

“wanna move to my room?” he looked up to you and it snapped you out of your haze, nodding down to his chocolate covered eyes, and he stood. palms holding onto your ass, strong thighs hoisting you up, your legs wrapped around his tiny waist as he walked you through his living room, down a hallway and laid you onto the plush of his mattress.

his room’s lighting was just as dim as the living room, his windows already opened, a chill hitting the skin of your chest as your back hit the crimson duvet. he was quick to crawl on top of you, soothing the bumps that rose on your skin while straddling your legs with his own, fingers lifting your skirt up to your waist. 

“this okay?” his eyes flickered to yours with a pause, thumbs hooked beneath the elastic of your tights. you nodded, lifting your hips so he could get them down your thighs, yet he still paused. “words, baby.” 

your words were too quick, so eager it was almost laughable as you nearly cut him off, “yes, please.” 

he took his time sliding the nylon fabric down your legs, taking your socks with them and throwing the ball of fabric to the floor. you were left in your panties and your skirt around your waist, the skirt he quickly discarded, your panties he left on.

“you’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said under his breath, eyes raking down your body from your head to your knees. “i’m so lucky.” 

your face matched the bedspread, now you were really in unknown territory. your arms went up to cover your cheeks and he was quick to grab your wrists, lips coming forward to kiss the inside of your left one.

“don’t get shy on me now, let me worship you,” your chest was starting to match your face. it was mortifying being left bare for him when he was still clothed from the waist down, but it somehow made everything feel so much hotter. no man has ever spoken to you like this before, taken the time to learn you. 

you watched as his chiseled abdomen folded when he dipped his head down, lips pressing against the skin of your stomach, licking right below your chest. his hands let go of your wrists to slide down to your hips, thumbs hooking into the fabric of your pink lacy panties as his lips left a trail of spit down your waist. you fought every instinct to keep your hips planted on the mattress as his tongue slipped out of his lips to swipe below the hem, a gasp leaving your throat, your joints locking under his touch.

“wore these just for me?” he asked with a smile on his cheeks, cocking his head to the side playfully, thumbs rubbing circles into your hips soothingly. 

“shut up,” you mumbled, legs automatically closing around his shoulders out of embarrassment, only forcing his face down further to escape the cage you created. he giggled then placed a quick kiss on your clothed clit through the thin fabric, making a mewl rip from your throat, your hips bucking upward. 

“you’re so sensitive,” he marveled, eyes widening a bit like he had just discovered ground breaking information. 

you were growing impatient, hips no longer staying glued to the bed out of sheer will, you needed more. you whined, muttering a “hyunjin please” and his grin told you enough. 

he was quick to get back on his knees and slip your panties down your legs, throwing them to the floor with the rest of your clothes and he pushed you up the bed, kneeling in front of you. his eyes stayed glued to your center as he laid between your legs again, nearly drooling as he spoke, “such a perfect little pussy.” 

he licked a fat stripe up your folds and your head shot back, eyes screwed tight as a disgusting moan escaped your lips. he smiled into your core, you could feel it amongst his flattened tongue that worked you from bottom up.

“tastes as good as she looks,” you couldn’t bother to be embarrassed anymore, hips bucking into his mouth, your hands flying to his hair. he groaned into you, lips sucking harder around your clit, listening to your moans for what you liked best. 

he worked up to a rhythm, sucking on your clit and licking swirls with his tongue before you felt the painted tip of his finger poking at your entrance. 

“yes, yes,” you repeated through a moan and he pushed in, his finger immediately curling upward and you saw stars. eyebrows furrowed and mouth hung open you were choking out moans, repeating words of affirmation to hyunjin that you hoped made sense. 

as your stomach began to tighten, you couldn’t believe it. no one else had ever made you cum before, that’d always been something you could only do by yourself. excitement bubbled in your stomach as well as your impending release, words flying out of your mouth you couldn’t even decipher. 

“please make me cum, please hyunjin i’m close,” your mouth was moving before your brain could think of the words, back arching off the bed and fingers yanking at his hair, you were praying he’d get you over the edge.

hyunjin kept his rhythm, curling his finger inside you and sucking at your clit until he felt you clench around him, your body locking up. your toes curled as your back arched up off the bed, thighs strangling his head between them, chin tucking into your chest as you cried. mumbles of i’m coming please don’t stop left your lips repeatedly as the dam in your core cracked open, you felt static in your veins and such a vicious shake to your body that seemed to last forever. 

when your body went limp and you let go of his hair, hyunjin broke free, coming up for air with his tongue swiping at his swollen lips. 

he crawled up your body, mouth finding yours quickly and you melted into the mattress, arms hooking around his neck. “so good at that,” you mumbled between kisses, “made me cum so hard.” 

“that was the goal, baby,” he smiled into the kiss, his right arm flying down to his belt. you met him halfway, fingers unhooking the silver buckle while your lips never parted until you finally pulled it from its loops. you unzipped his corduroys and your hand reached above his briefs, palming him over the fabric.

he groaned, his cock rock hard against your skin, and you smiled. “i need you,” you said, lips still touching his, and the sound that left his mouth straight into yours was lethal.

he got his pants off in record time, reaching for a condom in his nightstand. he rolled it on with ease and slipped right back between your legs, your ankles in his hands. he kissed the inside of your ankle once, twice before he wore his serious expression again. “tell me if you want to stop at any point, okay?” 

“i will,” you nod, twitching with impatience before he lined himself up with your center. he pushed in slowly, your entrance slick with your orgasm didn’t give him much resistance. you moaned at the same time when he bottomed out, your eyes flying to the back of your head and his head fell forward. 

hyunjin wasn’t thick but he was long, you could feel him so deep. it was a delicious stretch, a feeling he shared as he said, “feel so good around me baby, pussy’s so perfect.” 

you moaned in response, hips moving to create some friction, begging him to move. he caught on, slowly pulling out before rocking back into you, letting go of your thighs to lean over your frame. 

you felt small beneath him, as tall as he is he felt massive above you, inside you. your ankles hooked around his back, thighs pushing him inside you as your chests met.

“so fucking big,” you moaned out, nails clawing at his shoulders as he picked up the pace. his right hand moved to your jaw, holding it steady to press his forehead to yours before he connected his lips with yours again. 

the kisses were nasty, more tongue and spit than anything but it was so hot. you moaned into each other’s mouths, every inch of your skin touching, everything about it was so intimate. it was all so new yet you welcomed every part of it, hookups in frat houses would now be a thing of the past — there was no better than this.

“so tight, baby fuck,” his eyes were screwed tight as he picked up the pace, his head falling into the corner of your neck that met your shoulder. you let out small whimpers with each of his thrusts, the curve to his cock hitting every spot you needed it to. 

“you g’na cum for me?” you sounded so fucked out you didn’t recognize your own voice, so weak and desperate. 

“need you to cum for me first, pretty girl,” he lifted his head, rocking his hips into you harder, bringing his arm between your bodies to rub your clit. 

“fuck,” you gasped out and his lips were on yours again, still all spit and tongue, he swallowed your moans as you felt the tightness in your stomach form again. 

“cum for me, baby, please, cum around my cock,” he moaned as you clenched around him, his thrusts beginning to lose their edge as you approached your peak. 

“i’m coming,” your words were rushed out as your second orgasm finally crashed over you, the most lewd noises leaving hyunjin’s mouth and directly into yours. you looked up to him with stars in your eyes, his own clamped shut, wet hair sticking to his forehead. he was beautiful like this — you were in awe. 

“good girl, fuck, gonna fill you up,” his thrusts were erratic, not as precise as before as he choked out, “gonna make this pussy mine.” your ankles tightened around his back as he fucked you through your orgasm and towards his own, your back arching up into his chest, nails clawing into his back.

“cum for me,” your head was somewhere else, “wanna feel you, hyunjin, let me feel you cum for me.” 

his hips stilled inside you, head falling to the pocket of your shoulder again, a deep groan leaving his chest. a moan escaped you, rocking your hips against his, milking his orgasm for as long as you could. 

you lay there for a moment, hyunjin still inside you, your ankles hooked around his back with no sound except heavy breaths and the low music playing from the living room. after a few minutes he rolled off of you, laying on his back for a moment before he got up to discard the condom. you felt cold again, the shiver from his open window creeping over your skin again, bumps once again rising to the surface. 

when he hopped back onto the bed with that beautiful fucking smile of his, warmth enveloped you once more. he pecked you once before hovering over your face, brushing a piece of hair away from your cheeks. 

“you’re so beautiful, you know that?” his eyes bored into yours with a seriousness he wanted you to feel. you smiled, cheeks flushing, arms wrapping over your chest.

your lips scrunched together in your smile, muttering a thank you while shying away from his eye contact and shifting your focus to his pillows. 

you felt like a brand new person — one that goes on dates, one that has sex, real sex. one that communicates, one that doesn’t shy away from a real conversation, one that is now fully open to having a relationship. 

by the end of the night when you and hyunjin were fighting for him to take you home (you wanted to go home, he wanted you to stay the night) you thought that maybe you wouldn’t have to go on any more dates. maybe hyunjin was it for you, art nerd and all, he could be the one to show off to your cousins— get that family ring around your finger. 

when he kissed you goodbye in front of your front door you were convinced. optimistic as ever and excited, full of adrenaline, you skipped into your dark house and fled up to your room, smiling from the time you hopped in the shower until your head hit your pillow. 

8fd masterlist | main masterlist

perm tags: @chimivx :p

[leviackermanstoes]

Hi! i dont know if youre taking requests, its my first time doing this BUT. Can i get Jayvik reaction to tattooed reader but they never knew cuz reader is always in long sleeves and long bottoms/pants. 🫶🏻

Hi Anon! I love this idea! I wasn't sure if you wanted them together or separately, so I did a bit of both.

-

HCS OF JAYVIK REACTION TO FINDING OUT YOU HAVE TATTOOS. (Seperate and together)

I hope this was good😭

JAYCE

-he's never thought about it before.

-When he got told you were from the undercity, he thought perhaps you had some kind of markings on you but it left his mind after a while.

-Since he's never seen you completely naked, its never been a thing to think about. Every now and then he thinks he sees a small drawing on your arm but then it disappears somehow.

-one night, while working in the lab, you were unaware anyone was in the lab with you as it was dark, so you took off your coat, revealing your intricate tattooed arms.

-not wanting to scare you, jayce called out your name quietly and even then, he still scared you.

- "jayce!" You exclaimed.

- "You didn't tell me you had tattoos love, let alone ones so beautiful"

- you thought he'd hate them. With him being such a high profile person in piltover, you didn't know if he wanted to be seen with someone with so many tattoos.

- "I really love them _ their beautiful"

-you showed them off every day after that. And even let him color them in.

VIKTOR

-viktor always knew you had some kind of tattoo but he never bothered to ask where.

-since you were both from the undercity, he knew that tattoos were a big thing down there for symbolism and decoration.

-late in your quarters, you sat at your vanity, fixing up a cut on your lip when viktor suddenly came in to ask you something.

Immediately, you went to grab a coat but he stopped you.

- "I knew i was right." he gave a smile

- "you knew I had tattoos?" "Of course I knew"

-viktor was gentle with touching your arms, tracing along the delicate patterns of ink. He was in awe of you.

- "Do you really like them?"

- "like them? Darling, I love them"

-after that, you got a tattoo dedicated to him. And sometimes when he's bored you let him trace them.

---

JAYVIK

-as one, viktor, and jayce both were confused about whether you might have them or not.

-their suspicions only became stronger when they realised you always wore long sleeves and pants, or a jacket. And it's never a cold day in piltover.

-they see your tattoos when you are getting ready for a meeting with the council. By accident, your dress sleeve got caught on a sharp metal and cut the fabric.

-immediately you thought to hide them but it was too late when viktor and jayce both noticed the ink peeking out.

- "you don't have to hide them, my love." viktor put his hand on your shoulder.

- "do you want to see more?" You asked quietly as you rolled up your sleeve.

- jayce and viktor were in awe. Admiring the art on your arms, the intricate ink entranced them.

- "when did you get them?" Jayce asked

- "a little time before I moved out of home, my parents wouldn't let me get them so I did it on my own"

-for your birthday after that, they decided to surprise you with another.

[hyunebunx]

💛 w/ felix please!!

˖˙ ᰋ ── 💛- 'a kiss shared during sunset, often romantic and serene'

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff!! the fluffiest kind

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: i loved writing this sm :( it's a little self indulgent but i still hope you'll like it! thank youu for requesting!! <333

Sunsets were your absolute favorite.

It might sound cliché or overrated, but witnessing such mesmerizing beauty whenever you were lucky enough to, genuinely made life worth living to an extent other things didn’t. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder but nobody could deny the one of a kind colors and the bright light that was slowly dimming with every minute that passed weren’t painting one of the most gorgeous pictures of them all. Mother Nature herself was the most talented artist after all, her creations admired all over the world by all sorts of people, even the ones who didn’t have a keen eye for the arts in the first place.

Yet somehow, the sunset was even more dazzling now while you were admiring it with Felix, your one and only who everyone was convinced was related to the sun himself.

Lowering your hands, you let the cheap film camera dangle from your wrist casually, the sand warm under you. “I’ve always loved taking pictures of the sky.”

Felix tears his gaze from the ocean, the warm breeze softly ruffling his long blond hair as he smiles. “I know. You never miss a photo opportunity, wiping out your phone and stopping everything we do to get that perfect shot.”

You return his smile, sheepishly, bumping your shoulder into his. “So, you’ve noticed.”

“Of course I have.” He admits like he couldn’t phantom someone not noticing, leaning closer and staring at you in such a way that had you believing he forgot all about the beautiful view in front for a moment. “Because while you’re busy staring at the sky, my eyes only see you.”

Your eyes widen, heat rushing to your face alarmingly as you finally turn to look at him. Wrong move, because the sight of him takes your breath away, especially since you’re close enough to notice every single detail that made Felix who he was. His freckles were not hiding behind any makeup, spilling all over his cheeks like actual constellations – the ones on his eyelids were always your favorite, having taken too many pictures of them to even count now – plump lips naturally pink and still stretched into a faint smile that only pulled you closer by your heartstrings, tugging at them and never really letting go.

The sun was setting, and there were numerous other couples around enjoying the view and the last days of warmth on the beach, but now you could only see him.

“Now you’re just lying to fluster me.” A giggle escapes you, awkward and shy as the beautiful shades of orange begin caressing his side profile, mesmerizing you.

Felix shakes his head instantly. “Why would I?” His hand finds yours on the sand, intertwining your fingers. “People find beauty in different things. So, while you’re enthralled by the sky and all of its colors, I’m bewitched by you and only you.”

Bewitched, like you were some sort of otherworldly being in his eyes, a piece of art deserved to be hung in a museum in its own separate section, surrounded by security 24/7.

You’ve never doubted Felix’s love for you but at the same time, you had no idea he regarded you so highly, in the same way you did him.

Without a second thought, you lean over and plant a lingering kiss on his cheek, feeling his smile widen before you get the chance to pull away, happiness radiating off of him.

“Sure, the sky is beautiful.” You nod, a little tongue-tied and emotional by his previous statement. “But there’s something I love capturing in pictures even more.”

His brows furrow, turning his whole mind upside down in search of the answer he’s looking for, sure you’ve told him about this before. There was no way he wouldn’t remember.

You reach to smooth out the skin and stop him from stressing. Felix beams in response, catching your fingers and bringing them to his mouth to kiss one by one.

The waves were crashing against the shore, bringing a rare serenity you and Felix could never get enough of as the sun seemed to pause its descent to also witness your love, giving you a few more moments of light.

“The moon?” He tries, thoughtful while bringing your hand to his chest.

You shake your head and almost close the distance between you to whisper. “You.”

Then, you kiss him, tenderly and softly like you’re afraid once you pull back and open your eyes he will disappear like he was nothing more than a fragment of your own imagination. Or a ray of sunshine personified whose time ran out and he needed to hurry home and be among his people, to allow the moon to take front stage.

Felix holds your hands like he feels the same, not believing someone like you was actually real and bothered to give him the time of day.

There is no rush or desperation, just two people who love each other like it wasn’t the first time, like they somehow met before in a past life and were separated by the cruel passing of time. Like soulmates destined to find each other over and over again, guided by the red string of fate that never tore no matter how far apart your paths were, or what obstacles dared to stand in your way.

When you pull away, he chases after you, pecking your lips repeatedly until he’s satisfied. But he doesn’t seem to get enough, deepening the kiss at the last second while pulling you even closer as he wraps an arm around your shoulders to feel you near.

The sun is almost gone when you come back for air, forehead resting against your lover’s as you both break into the biggest smiles, delighted to be together and make even more memories.

And for once in your life, you don’t mind missing a sunset for you found an even more beautiful view. 

[hippiegoth97]

Random Spencer Reid Thought #1

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, fem!reader, bau!reader, new relationship, sex at work, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering, no use of Y/N, caught in the act (kinda, at the end), fluff

Some Tags: @hotwritergf @melodymunson @rafeyscurtainbangs @mediocredreams @loserboysandlithium

@bloodibambiidoll @littlexdeaths @sanctumdemunson @cairro-xx @veemoon (tbh I wasn't sure who all to tag, so I tagged some moots and people I know usually read my stuff. Feel free to ignore if it's not your thing tho lol)

"I swear to god, you're gonna get us caught one of these days, Reid." You say breathlessly, tugging on Spencer's tie to keep his lips close to yours. You'd dragged him into a nearby supply closet after the rest of the team had dispersed for lunch, most of them heading to a new BBQ place nearby. They'd asked you and Spencer to come along, but you've both had much more pressing things on your mind.

From the second you came in this morning (separately, of course, even though he'd stayed the night at your place), your eyes have wandered from your work to each other's desks from across the cluster. It's been absolute torture, forced to sit so far apart, unable to touch each other or whisper all the dirty things you plan to do later. All you had to get yourself by was vivid thoughts of Spencer tossing his papers away, stalking over to you, and bending you over your desk to fuck you silly. You're sure he was picturing similar filthy things, given how often he cleared his throat and crossed or uncrossed his legs. Although, the ideas inside his head are usually more centered around getting down on his knees and burying his face between your thighs. It's a wonder that nobody seemed to notice your discomfort, really. The amount of stolen glances and fidgeting in your seats are certainly behaviors that should set off a profiler's internal alarms. But, thus far, you've managed to fly just below everyone's radar.

You've been seeing each other for a few months now, keeping it a secret from everybody else. It started off as a fluke date shortly after you joined the BAU team, and Spencer took a shine to your quick wit and bottomless well of intellect in no time at all. He'd asked you out for coffee (after a barrage of peer-pressuring encouragement from Morgan), wanting to show you around a bit as you were new to the area at the time. Spencer was a complete gentleman, opening the door for you, pulling out your chair, offering you his jacket when you got cold. Add on the way you talked one another's ears off about everything under the sun, moon and stars, and you were hooked on each other in an instant. Neither of you had met anyone who could keep up, or maintain your interest before. By the time he walked you home that night, you shared in the knowledge that this...spark you felt was something special.

Things progressed rather quickly from there. You've gone out together at least once a week, even sneaking out at night during cases to get some quality time in. A dinner here, a tipsy make-out in either of your hotel rooms there, as well as more educational outings to the planetarium, various lectures, and art exhibits when you're at home base. It didn't take long to heat things up, either. Spencer was less experienced than you, having only a couple casual hook-ups under his belt, which went as awkwardly as one would expect. But you were patient with him, showing him what you like and what you don't, helping him figure out the same for himself. It was a simultaneously experimental and exhilarating experience for you both when you finally had sex the first time.

And now, here you are, all wandering hands and moaning mouths in a closet full of office supplies. Spencer's got you sitting on a metal filing cabinet, legs spread in your pencil skirt as he stands between them. His large hands grip and squeeze your thighs, while he rolls his hips to press his erection against your clothed cunt. "Don't act as if the idea of getting found out doesn't turn you on." Spencer teases, smiling against your lips as you tug him forward into another kiss.

"Maybe a little." You admit, letting his tongue slip into your mouth. Your eyes drift closed, and you feel his hand slowly slip further down your leg and under your skirt. His lithe fingers pull your panties to the side, rubbing sensual circles around your clit. You moan down his throat, your own hands reaching blindly for his belt now. You don't have a lot of time, as much as you hate to rush this.

"We should tell them soon. It's only a matter of time before they catch on." Spencer suggests, slipping two fingers into your soaked pussy with ease. The sound he ends up swallowing from your lungs makes his dick twitch inside his pants. Never in his life did he think he'd be so lucky to find a woman like you, or a woman at all, for that matter. Spencer enjoys every moment spent with you like it's his last, and it's been nice existing in this safe romantic bubble. But sneaking around has its disadvantages, namely having to keep his hands to himself when you're around the team. Far be it from Reid to be unprofessional in any sense, but, fuck, it's so hard to behave when you're around.

"I know, Penelope's been dropping lots of extra hints lately." You say with a light laugh, your insides boiling as Spencer curls his digits inside of you. They're perfectly long and slender, reaching all the right places every time. He's made you come with them alone on many occasions.

"I noticed. She's not very subtle." Reid chuckles, his gaze drifting down as you manage to get his belt unfastened. You waste no time in undoing to button and zip, reaching inside his boxers to grab hold of his aching length. According to you, he's very well endowed. Even though he's aware the average size of male genitalia is 5.1 inches when erect, he's never gotten curious enough to measure himself. A brief visual guess probably puts him at around seven or eight, not that he's all that concerned about it. All he cares about it making you happy, and his mind is far too vast to be fixated on how long his cock is.

"I don't think she ever has been." You comment, eyes focused on Spencer's dick in your grasp. He's rock solid, his tip rosy pink and leaking pearlescent precum. The sight makes your pussy throb around Reid's fingers. If you had more time, you'd drop to your knees in an instant.

"And that's why we love her." Spencer adds, groaning as you stroke him nice and slow. The both of you keep this up for a moment, zeroing in on one another's most sensitive areas that you've craved all day. Soft sighs and moans leave your mouths, mingling with the wet schlick sounds of your foreplay. "But, enough about the team." He says softly, meeting your gaze. His free hand cups your cheek, drawing you in closer as you stare into his beautiful brown eyes. "This moment is just for us." He nearly whispers as he kisses you deeply, lovingly. Neither of you have dropped the 'L' word yet, though you both certainly feel it for one another. But the time to say it definitely isn't during a lunchtime quickie in a damn closet. The occasion will present itself, at a later date.

While Spencer has your attention captured in the kiss, he gently takes his cock from your grasp and into his own. He gasps against you, tangling his tongue with yours to make your knees weak, just like you taught him. He gives his dick a couple fervent strokes, taking his fingers out of your cunt so he can line himself up. You whine at the loss, though your stomach twists in anticipation of what will soon take their place. Using his pruned fingers to hold your panties to the side, the sticky tip of Spencer's cock nudges against your center. More moans brew within your throats, kept hidden inside to prevent you from being discovered.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, hands tangling in his hair as you melt into him. His lips and tongue make you feel dizzy with lust, and his cockhead rutting against your folds is sending you into orbit. "Spence, please. I need you, baby." You plead between desperate kisses.

"I need you, too, you have no idea." Reid replies, pulling back just a moment so he can see what he's doing. He positions his dick at your entrance, and pushes inside at an agonizing pace. Low moans escape you both, you at the stretch, and him at the squeeze. "Fuck, you're so wet." Spencer says, trying to keep his cool.

"All for you, Spence." You say sweetly, locking your ankles behind his back, pulling him as close to you as possible with your legs. His hands return to your thighs, holding on tight as he begins to thrust.

Spencer starts off slow, watching as his cock pumps in and out of your pussy with no resistance. Your arousal makes him all shiny in the dim light, already forming a creamy ring around his base. "God, you're perfect." He exhales, unable to think of a single thing that looks as beautiful as this. The two of you, becoming one, your interlocking parts sculpted by nature to fit together flawlessly. Nothing within his expansive memory could possibly compare.

"So are you, baby. Can you go faster? We're running out of time." You beg pathetically, needing this release before you inevitably have to go back to work filling out papers and looking over crime scene photos.

"I hate how right you are about that." Spencer replies with a broken sigh, picking up speed with his thrusts. The infallibly accurate internal clock you share is ticking down, every push of his hips against yours marking each second that's taken from you. He plants his lips on yours again, focusing on giving you what those desperate noises you're making are telling him. You need him, all of him. Every last inch rutting into your sopping cunt until you see stars. And when it comes to you, Reid always aims to please.

"Fuck, Spence, just like that." You pant between fervent kisses, marveling at the way his cock pounds into your g-spot with flawless precision. The coil of arousal you've been building up since you sat down with your coffee this morning ripples and tangles with every thrust.

It becomes rather difficult for Spencer to keep kissing you when his pace picks up even more. His head falls forward, resting on your shoulder as he continues to wind you both up towards ecstasy. He turns his head slightly, hatching the naughty idea to speak lowly in your ear. "I can't wait until we get home later, and I can take my time with you." He says, trying so hard not to let the loud groans he wants to emit come through. They come out as hushed whimpers instead, which only turns you on more.

"Fuck." You let out a small noise of your own, muted as you bite down on your lower lip. But he hears it all the same, and keeps going.

"I'll spend all night touching you in all your favorite places, fuck you until the sun comes up, make you cry out for me as many times as you ask me to." His words are equally filthy and adoring, showing you just how much he wants to worship you and your body. Chills run up and down your spine as he speaks, his breath burning hot against your neck. It's nearly too much, and yet, you can't enough.

"God, Spence, please don't stop!" You moan, far too loudly.

"Now who's gonna get us caught?" Reid teases, even though the way you squealed nearly made him blow his load entirely.

"Sorry...sorry..." You pant the words out, for fear of being too loud again.

"It's okay, baby. I like knowing just how good I make you feel." He coos to you, almost sending you over the edge. Your walls squeeze around him tightly in warning. His breath catches at the sensation, right there with you in terms of how close you are to reaching climax. "God, that's it...you're so close, so am I. Gonna make you cum, gonna make you feel so good, I swear...so fucking good..." Spencer's mind sprints faster than his mouth can get the words out, barely audible as he buries himself further into your neck. He slams himself into you even harder, faster, chasing his release and dragging you alongside him.

"Spencer, oh my god." You gasp as he hits that perfect place inside you cunt even better than before, his hips pounding against yours hard enough to leave bruises. His hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, his mouth sucking and licking at your neck in a feverish need to make you lose control. It's definitely working, the waves of bliss beginning to roll over you in thick crashes. "Oh, god, make me cum, baby...don't stop, you feel so good..." You babble mindlessly as your insides flutter around Reid's dick, threatening to clamp down on him at any moment. "Fuck, oh, I'm gonna cum...oh, god- fuck...oh, spenceSpenceSPENCE!" You clap a hand over your mouth to conceal your scream as your orgasm takes hold. You tremble violently in Spencer's grip, your pussy strangling him with all its might. Stars blur your vision, pure pleasure coursing through your veins at lightning speed. You cling to him, nails clawing at his back, heels digging into his ass helplessly.

"Fuck-ing- god." Spencer stutters out as you squeeze him so tight, biting down hard into your neck to muffle the load groan rushing from his chest. He pierces you sloppily through his release, painting your eager walls with thick ropes of sticky white, hips stuttering and feral grunts leaving him with every stab of his spent cock. He gradually comes to a stop as your shared high subsides, pulling his softening length from you, watching as your mixed release flows from your now-sore cunt. He reaches into his pocket for a kerchief he keeps for such occasions, gazing adoringly into your lust-drunk eyes as he cleans you up. He would use his mouth, if there were time for such things.

You gasp as the soft fabric meets your puffy lips, never breaking Spencer's stare while he takes care of you. You've never felt more in love in your life than you do right now, with your legs still spread wide open, while this gorgeous, scrawny, genius wipes your combined spend away. Once you're all clean, he pulls your skirt back down over your legs, and puts his flaccid cock inside his pants, fastening the belt with casual ease. He helps you down from the cabinet, noting your wobbling legs as you stand in your sensible heels.

"All set?" He asks, earning a giggle from you as his hair has become more of a mess than usual.

"Almost." You say softly, smoothing down his unruly locks to look more presentable, and less like you two just went to town on each other over lunch. "Well, we'd better get back out there. The others should be arriving back now." You say, heading for the door first. You hate to leave at all, but the last thing you need is to get caught right now.

"I'll wait the three minutes, and meet you back in there." Three minutes, the amount of time you'd determined was appropriate enough to excuse you both coming back to the bullpen near the same time without raising suspicion. No one bats an eye at three minutes difference. It could be explained away as a coffee refill, a bathroom break, anything really. But returning at the same time? Or leaving this small room at the same time? Out of the question. You'd made the mistake of returning at the same time once, and you didn't hear the end of it from the team for a good three days, despite the assertion that you and Reid had been in separate places at the time.

"Okay. See you then." You nod, giving him a quick kiss. You open the door, checking to see if the coast is clear. Satisfied with your findings, you step out from the closet, closing the door behind you. You're about to turn and walk in the direction of the bullpen, when you end up smack dab in front of Penelope. You have no idea where she came from just now, or how long she's been hiding out. But the sly smirk on her face tells you she knows enough. "Hey, Garcia. How was your lunch?" You ask nervously, failing to play it cool.

"Oh, it was good. I brought some leftover eggplant parmesan from home." Penelope replies, nearly bursting with the knowledge that you and Reid have indeed been hooking up, as she rightly suspected. "How was yours?" She asks coyly, biting her lip as she expects you to spill all the gory details she couldn't hear through the door.

"It was...fine. I packed a lunch as well." You answer, clearing your throat.

"Oh, I'm sure you packed something. What did you have? Some sausage maybe? Or a footlong?" Penelope continues to tease, and at this point, you know the jig is up.

"Oh, alright! Yes, I did! You happy now?" You exclaim, rolling your eyes as your arms cross out of reflex.

"I knew it! I knew it!" Garcia chuckles, doing one of the dorkiest victory dances you've ever seen. The few passersby give her a sideways glance, but she doesn't pay them any mind.

"Okay, okay!" You put your hands on her shoulders to still her, meeting her eyes. "Look, can you just promise me you won't say anything? Spencer and I plan to tell everyone when the time is right, but we like keeping this thing to ourselves for now. Alright?" You implore with her to keep her mouth shut, for your sake, as your friend, and Spencer's.

"Yeah, I can do that." She nods in understanding, pulling you in for a hug. "I'm so happy for you guys!" She squeals, getting excited again.

"Thanks, Garcia. I appreciate that." You smile, returning her embrace.

"So do I." Spencer says from the other side of the door.

"You better treat her right, pretty boy! Or mama is gonna get you!" Penelope warns with all the love in the world.

"I fully intend to." Spencer replies, and you can practically see his lovesick expression from out here, and how his eyes must be looking straight at where he imagines you're standing, meaning every one of those four simple words.

[chrattvibe]

nerd!matt | headcannons.

nerd!matt who... is kind of introvert, but if he is in a comfort zone, he will not stop yapping. His best friends are his brothers and then his deskmate and the two guys who sit in front of them.

nerd!matt who... gets along very well with his brothers' friends too. He will even hang out with them if he runs into them on campus during his free time between classes.

nerd!matt who... is always the first to arrive to class. He had a great relationship with the teachers. Of course he's the favorite of all of 'em. You will find him casually chatting with them before class about any questions he might have, or simply wanting to have better information for his notes.

nerd!matt who... is low profile, but has something about his presence that just makes you notice when he walks into the room.

nerd!matt who... has that particular self-confidence. Good posture, firm voice but soft at the same time. If you approach him to talk, he will be so gentle and kind. And if he is in a good mood, he will even make a few jokes here and there.

Nerd!matt who... is always willing to lend his notes if someone misses a few days of class in a row.

"Hey matt..." you said, approaching his desk when his deskmate got up to go to the teacher's desk.

"Oh, hi! How you doin'? I heard you were sick, are you better?" he said, looking up from his notebook to meet your gaze, adjusting his pen on his ear to lean back on his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah... I'm better, thanks." you said, feeling slightly flattered by his interest. "So, um... I was wonder if... I could borrow your notes from yesterday's class."

"Of course! Just the ones from yesterday? You haven't been here for like, three days." he said searching through his notebook. "Here, the ones from Tuesday and Wednesday are also there." he said extending a small stack of paper. "Or I could send 'em to you by photos to your number... only if that works better for you."

Nerd!matt who... is super smart, of course. He knows a lot about a lot of things. Ask him about any topic you want. Music, math, sports, biology, arts, movies, whatever you want to talk about. He will be able to hold a good conversation. And even if he doesn't know much about the topic, he will listen to you attentively and then do his own research on it so he can tell you his point of view next time.

"Saw the movie." he said, after tapping twice on your desk with his finger to get your attention. "It wasn't that bad." He said as he slowly walked towards his desk, which was just a few rows behind yours.

"Did you actually watch it?" You said, frowning, remembering the conversation you two had a few days ago about this movie.

"C'mon..." He said, tilting his head slightly with a little smirk, settling into his seat. Almost in a tone of obviousness. "We need to talk at recess."

Masterlist !

Notes: HELLOO. This is my first time writing something like this, so let me know if you like it. I don't know how often I'll do this (probably not so often), but I think I liked it. :) See ya.

—Chrattvibe.

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Reversing Victim and Offender

Okay, okay, hear me out.

Jack being a creepy manipulative yandere.

Yes, yes, I know, totally a revolutionary idea there to have a yandere horror game’s antagonist do something creepy and wrong. It’s just that I don’t often play with Jack losing himself to his more depraved impulses. Long time readers know I tend to be quite a marshmallow who prefers the fluffier side of things, as evidenced by many cuddly posts of my OTP and Sunshine in Hell being overall a softer version of the game, but sometimes it’s fun to watch the world burn and see the characters we love get to be a bit unhinged. As a treat.

Content Warning: this post is about Jack being a naughty manipulative yandere, attempted murder, influenced attempted self-murder, possession, mental manipulation, bloody violence, and a sprinkle of horny.

We know Jack can be a manipulative little devil when it comes to keeping his sunshine. We’ve seen him use his honeyed words to lure MC into his arms in the previous demos. We’ve seen the classic chilling concept art where he talks his rival(?) into doing the dirty work for him when he wants them gone.

Credit as always goes to Sauce for their awesome art, as well as a quick plug to the SnaccPop Patreon. Speaking of the Patreon, there’s a members only post on this very topic, an absolutely chilling audio drama of Jack using his state as a ghost(?) to his advantage.

It seems that Jack has the ability to possess people, and his modus operandi in eliminating his rivals seems to be tormenting them to the point of self-harm. Nick received a taste of that in the older demo, and in the now removed trailer.

But what if the person Jack directed his rival to hurt wasn’t themselves?

Jack is of the opinion that MC’s friends (and potential love interests) are inferior to him, as we’ve seen in his profile. MC doesn’t need them, as Jack says in this unsettling animation by Sauce, as well as many other development art. He proves this by giving MC whatever they want and need, being whatever they want and need him to be. No one else would do that for MC, so that proves that the only one they need is him.

To some degree, MC seems to believe that, at least during the early part of the game. As we can see in the “No” route, MC is dependent on Jack, panicking when they can no longer touch him.

The idea of losing Jack terrifies MC.

What happened to Jack clearly disturbed him, as we saw by his haunted look, but perhaps he found some comfort in the fact that MC was so upset by it. It might at least reassure him that they care, even if it might not be as much as he wants them to.

As I’ve theorized in previous posts, Jack and MC seem to be able to sense each other’s feelings, and it was implied that Jack can read their mind, as well as impress his thoughts into theirs. Perhaps he even felt their fear and desperation at that moment… as well as their need to keep him.

As scary as that moment was, Jack might have been able to get some pleasure out of feeling his sunshine’s need for him, don’t you think?

Jack won’t disappear as long as MC needs him, and he doesn’t want them to feel unhappy or hurt, but wouldn’t being with other people trying to steal them away from him hurt them more in the long run? MC doesn’t see what Jack does, how much of a threat those rivals other “friends” are.

After all… Ian was someone MC once held so dear, and he hurt them so, so badly. He’s trying to come back into their lives, and MC clearly still cares about him even if they’re trying to move on. How can Jack just stand idly by and let MC get hurt again when they don’t see just how bad Ian is for them?

MC might not be able to see how Ian and the other love interests could hurt them, but perhaps Jack could show his beloved sunshine just how cruel they can be.

Of course, Jack doesn’t want MC to get hurt. He would never! But, well, some lessons can be a bit harsher than others. Learning them can sting a bit and even make us upset, but as long as the lesson doesn’t do lasting harm and improves things for them, well, then it’s a good lesson!

Besides, this lesson will hurt Jack more than it hurts MC… in the most literal sense.

This classic audio drama of Jack’s villainous monologue makes me think that he’ll eventually find a way to become much more tangible in the real world. Sure, he could be saying all this while possessing his rival, but it seems more like a face-to-face confrontation. Naturally, for a face-to-face confrontation, Jack would need a face that’s actually visible to the person he’s taunting.

Perhaps the closer Jack gets to MC, the more they love him, the more real he becomes. It could be a reversal of what happened in the “No” route. If that were to happen, Jack could converse with other people directly… and perhaps convince them to leave MC to him.

If they just won’t go away, well… Jack could always push their buttons, upset them to the point that they have violent urges, only these feelings would be directed at him.

While MC is there to see that person unleash their bloody rage on Jack, of course.

As we’ve seen in earlier concept art, Jack didn’t feel pain when being stabbed, and perhaps that might still be true. But MC doesn’t need to know that when Jack says he’s okay and that it doesn’t hurt, it really doesn’t. All they see is Ian, Shaun, Nick, or whoever else suddenly snapping and attacking Jack with a knife for no apparent reason at all, leaving him bloody and wounded in front of them, trying to act brave for their sake like he did in the “no” route.

Jack doesn’t want MC to be unhappy, but perhaps he might get to enjoy a guilty thrill if they got upset for his sake, especially if he could feel them being so protective over him. Their worry for his injuries and outrage that he was attacked… You could say that it’s another way for his sunshine to show him just how much they love him. It might even make him feel a bit more secure, more real.

Jack could even prep his target beforehand via possession, tormenting that person until they’re close to snapping. In the now gone trailer, Shaun sounds unhinged, saying what he’s doing is so wrong… Shaun sounds like someone pushed to do things he never thought himself capable of doing, and likely it was Jack who did the pushing.

All Jack has to do is pull the trigger at the right moment, when MC is there to see their other friend snap. He could use a phrase or gesture that seems so innocent as a means to torment them until they can no longer help themselves when they hear it. He could’ve urged them to carry a knife with them at all times.

Hell, Jack could’ve outright possessed their arm with his powers, unseen by everyone, to make his target stab him in front of MC.

So, as far as MC is aware, Jack being his typical friendly self, when all of a sudden their other friend loses their mind and stabs Jack, likely while shouting something unhinged. It paints a vivid bloody picture of their friend as the antagonist, and Jack as the innocent victim.

Even if the rival snaps out of it right afterward, horrified at what they had done, if Jack covered his tracks well enough, their protests would be empty. It’d just look like empty excuses.

Or perhaps they hate Jack, really hate him, but they have no solid evidence why Jack is a bad person. They could wind up digging the hole even deeper if they doubled down on their act of violence.

It would be really hard to claim that Jack is the dangerous entity when they were the one who suddenly stabbed Jack without apparent provocation after all. It’d just make them look even more unstable and dangerous.

Sure, it’d be an awful thing for MC to see, but at least they’re not the one that got attacked. Jack bravely made sure that he was the only one whose blood was spilled. He might not even really feel pain like they would if he can handle being stabbed, rotted, and bleeding and keep going, as some teasers and concept art have shown.

Personally I think Jack can feel pain, but it’s nothing compared to the 40 years of hell, or the fear of losing his sunshine.

A little pain is worth it to keep his sunshine. Forever.

The idea of losing Jack bloodlessly and painlessly is scary enough for MC. Seeing someone attack him, maybe even outright trying to kill him would be far, far worse. MC was so desperate to keep Jack from disappearing, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to expect that they would rush to his defense to save his life.

This is especially true if their feelings for Jack are so strong that he’s able to physically manifest now.

The moment would be a scarring memory for MC, but sometimes lessons can be harsh when we learn them. MC would at least know how inferior their other friends are compared to Jack, how harmful and dangerous they are. Those people don’t deserve to be in MC’s life, and it’s in their best interests to never see those people again.

Jack would also get to enjoy the perverse pleasure of knowing just how much MC cares about them, how much they love him. They could even nurse him back to health after they chase away that inferior friend for good. He can be pampered, appreciated, and loved. MC will better understand just how important Jack is to them, how much they need him, and how terrible the person who tried to take them away truly is.

Really, it goes to show that MC should listen to Jack more when he says he’s not so sure about them spending time with a particular person, don’t you think?

Of course, how well this ploy goes depends on MC’s compassion. Given what we’ve seen so far of the story, MC does care about Jack, and most people will at least be upset and alarmed that someone was stabbed in front of them. An MC that has strong feelings for Jack and deeply loves him will no doubt be enraged.

This sort of messed up scenario reminded me of how the Bad End AU went so horribly wrong, only Shaun and Ian knew to target the tape there, rather than Jack directly. Alice was hesitant to do more than plead for the three to stop, not wanting any of them to be hurt, and the result was the tape getting destroyed and Jack banished.

The altercation between them was vague, but what if we went down another dark path? What if Jack pushed Ian and Shaun, but they never found out about the tape, and they focused on Jack himself despite his imposing size.

Once I made that comparison between this idea and the Bad End AU, I got inspired to write a quick first draft flash fic about a timeline where Jack gives in to his darker impulses.

The story of Sunshine in Hell is one of broken people helping each other heal and become better versions of themselves.

The Bad End AU is what happens when the wrong choices are made and things only get so much worse.

By the way, for those wondering, a third part of the Bad End AU is in the works. This isn’t it, but more like a different option taken during a critical moment that resulted in blood being spilled instead of bits of plastic and torn VHS tape ribbon.

 From wholesome to unhinged, my posts truly run the gambit of different sides to Sunny Day Jack. I hope you enjoy this little snippet of Jack getting worse instead of better, and taking perverse glee in bringing Alice along with him down a twisted path.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

…

Jack hated to see his sunshine upset. He ached for Alice every time she was in pain. There was nothing he wanted more than to see her smile, to bask in her warm, happy glow.

The last thing Jack wanted was to be the reason Alice was upset, and yet…

Somehow things had grown twisted. Jack crossed lines he knew that he shouldn’t, but somehow he always found ways to justify it. Somehow his fears of losing Alice were always stronger than the little voice in his head telling him that what he was doing wasn’t right.

Sadly, not everything in life could be solved with polite words and a smile.

Things had grown twisted until they spiraled out of control. Ian and Shaun dared to invade their home, their sanctuary. They wanted to take Alice away from him, to “save” her from his “wicked clutches” like Jack was just some cartoon bad guy.

All the things the two said about him were ridiculous, exaggerations! Jack feigned ignorance of their accusations, his confused act flawless. There was no reason for them to be afraid of him. He was just an innocent clown, someone who lived to take care of others, particularly his precious sunshine Alice.

Alice believed Jack had nothing to do with their accusations, but she didn’t chase them away. She listened, worried for them despite her faith in him. It warmed his heart that she believed in him, but the fact that she still listened meant that there was room for doubt to worm its way in.

Ian and Shaun could see that too.

“This… thing is dangerous, Alice,” Shaun said with a tremor in his voice. His eyes couldn’t remain still, bouncing between pleading with Alice and watching for when Jack pounced on them like a venomous cobra. “You need to get away from it right now.”

“You have to believe us!” Ian insisted, his voice cracking desperately. He kept one hand in his pocket, his shaking hand clutching his only form of defense tight. Would it even work on a ghost or whatever Jack was?

Could Jack even bleed?

Jack stood between the invaders and his sunshine. They had tried to take her with him, but he snatched up Alice before they could steal her away and tucked her safely behind his back. He kept one hand on her arm, his hold on her deceptively light, but as unshakable as iron. His expression was innocence itself, showing nothing but a mask of confused concern directed at the two terrified men before him. “Take it easy now. There’s no danger here. Let’s all take a deep breath and try to calm down.”

“Don’t give me that nice guy shit!” Shaun snapped as he glared daggers into Jack. His soothing words were grating in his ears, putting him even more on edge. “You’re more fake than a corporate account with a rainbow logo during pride!” His gaze switched back to Alice. “Alice, please, listen to us. This thing has been torturing us for months now.”

Alice felt a knot in the pit of her stomach. The way Shaun looked at her made her heart go out to him, but… how could it be true. “Torture-”

“Hey now, that’s a strong word to use there,” Jack said. His voice took on a more firm tone to it, but nothing more threatening than the gentle chastising he gave children on his show. “What makes you think I would hurt either of you?”

“Cut the bullshit!” Shaun snarled. “You know damn well you’ve been giving us nightmares for months now!”

“I gave you nightmares?” Jack asked. The confusion on his face was so convincing that Shaun and Ian might have questioned themselves if not for the countless sleepless nights filled with torment. “How could I do that?”

“With some sort of supernatural ghost zombie demon bullshit, I don’t know!” Shaun snapped.

“Alice, you can’t trust him,” Ian said, tightening his grip inside his pocket. Dark circles ringed his shaking eyes as he kept looking from Jack to the hand the creature had on Alice. “Why can’t you see that?”

How was Alice able to stand so close to that monster? Why was she standing behind it as if it would protect her? How could she not see that it was holding her hostage? How could she stand that thing’s cold, lifeless touch? Seeing its hand on her made Ian relieve those countless nights spent lost in a place that felt too real to be a dream, but too horrible to be reality.

The Jack before them now wasn’t exactly the same as the rotted, bloody corpse that haunted them night after night. That thing with mocking smiles that were too wide and wild, and strange eyes that had nothing behind them. This wasn’t the kind and caring boyfriend Alice talked about. This thing was a monster that only knew how to take and take and take. Its touch stole something from Ian every time it laid its hands on him, and left behind a coldness that went far beyond cold. It stole the very warmth from him until it was as if it never existed. It stripped Ian of his senses one at a time until there was nothing but its absence hissing at him like static.

And that voice. That voice mocked him even when the world went so silent that Ian couldn’t even hear his own screams. That thing was trying to sound compassionate now, but that was a lie. It twisted the truth until it was unrecognizable, but so believable. It sounded so calm and kind at the start of every nightmare, even as it told Ian so many, many terrible things, tore open old wounds and exposed all his flaws.

Ian was a sinner damned for hell. He didn’t deserve to be anywhere near someone as kind and gentle as Alice. That thing made it all too clear to him.

The thing countered his protests, even laughed, because they were so feeble. Ian was so selfish, so worthless.

That voice would then mock him, so superior, so much better than Ian in every way. He would never forget the sound of that voice, or that smile.

The smile Jack offered him now was supposed to be an encouraging one, but Ian knew that it was fake. He knew what the hand held before him in a placating gesture was a ruse to get just a little closer.

If Jack touched either of them it was all over. Now that they exposed the truth about it to Alice…

Who knew what it would take from Ian if it got its hands on him again?

“Let’s all calm down now,” Jack said soothingly. “Come on, take a deep breath with me.” He gestured to his chest as he inhaled, which only served to remind Ian and Shaun of just how much bigger he was than all of them.

Ian jerked at Jack’s sudden movement, his breath hitching as that gloved hand drifted close to him.

“There now,” Jack said encouragingly. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The words struck harder than any blow.

There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

It was such an innocent phrase, something that would have been encouraging if Shaun and Ian hadn’t heard it in countless nightmares, spoken in mocking tones or breathless whispers, with fake reassurance or a true perverse glee. The monster praised them when they ran from the illusion of Alice, when they admitted that they were flawed and worthless, when they surrendered to his taunts…

When they accepted the knife it pressed into their hands to carve a smile in their throats to match its own.

Shaun flinched back while Ian tensed, his eyes wide and wild as Jack slowly reached out for him with an open palm and a smile. It was such a deceptively innocent gesture…

Instinct took over. A flash of silver and a cry broke the air as Ian used the knife he had hidden away in his pocket all this time to take back what Jack had stolen away from him.

Time slowed down as blood sprayed from the gouge carved from Jack’s hand to his forearm. He cried out in pain as he reeled back, then collapsed to the floor.

Shaun froze at the attack, staring at the bloody knife and wound it left behind in shock. It was as if he was watching a scene from one of his movies unfold before him, not real in the slightest, even though some of the blood splattered onto his face and clothes.

Ian held the knife in both hands tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. The blade shook in his too tight grip, then the rest of him soon followed as it sunk in what he had just done.

This was just another dream… right? Ian didn’t mean to hurt anyone, he just couldn’t let Jack touch him, not again. Not in reality. Not when he couldn’t wake up. He couldn’t let Jack take everything from him.

Ian couldn’t let Jack hurt him again.

Everything had happened so fast. Alice didn’t know what to make of it when Ian and Shaun practically forced their way into her apartment, throwing out wild accusations. They were jittery and on edge, hurling out vitriol towards Jack and pleas to her before she could sort out the accusations they made. They grabbed at her without warning, yanking hard while their fingers dug into her arms hard enough to bruise. It was only thanks to Jack acting quickly to separate them that she hadn’t been dragged outside.

They scared her. Alice worried for them, but their actions weren’t normal. The look in their eyes was terrifying. Ian and Shaun had been acting cagey for weeks now, avoiding her and not responding to her texts. She never saw this coming.

Jack reassured her with his gentle touch and soothing words. Alice could see that he was alarmed by their behavior as well, but he did his best to keep calm, to protect her when her friends were acting so strangely.

There was no way Jack was this monster they described. He was the kindest, gentlest soul Alice had ever known. He chased away her nightmares, comforted her when she needed it, and was there for her when she was left all alone.

Jack loved her more than anyone else in the world.

Alice barely had time to wonder about their claims when Ian struck without warning. When Jack screamed, her blood turned to ice. Red filled her vision.

There was so much blood.

“Jack!”

Alice moved before she could really register what was happening, her scream sounding far away as her heartbeat pounded hard in her ears. She threw herself between Jack and his attacker, falling to her knees as used her body as a shield. She clung to him, her best friend, her beloved, heedless of the blood soaking into her clothes, then turned her gaze to the monster that had dared to hurt the one she loved.

The ice in that gaze froze Ian, and the knife fell from his limp fingers. Suddenly he was all too aware of what he had done, the blood on his hands. He stared at them, at the sin he had committed, shaking and red, until he collapsed into a pool of tears.

“How could you?” Alice hissed, forcing the words out through her constricted throat. “How could you!?”

The world started to move again. Ian tried to say something, perhaps some form of protest or apology, but the words were half-formed and drowned in his tears. Shaun stared between the bloodstained knife and Jack, who lay curled against Alice, quietly whimpering while bleeding all over the carpet.

Shaun couldn’t reconcile the scene before him of the wounded man, weak and in pain, against the monster from his dreams that smiled through any attack he made. No matter how many times he stabbed Jack in the dream, the undead creature would just mock him, unfazed even as its blood was spilled.

Was this really the same monster that haunted them for months?

It was this dissonance that made Ian truly aware of the sin he had committed. He couldn’t handle it. He fled.

“Get out!” Alice snapped, bringing Shaun’s attention back from her and away from the fleeing Ian. “Get the fuck out of here!”

Shaun staggered a step back. “A-Alice, I-”

“Get the fuck out!” Alice shrieked. “I never want to see either of you ever again! If you ever come near me or Jack again, I’ll fucking shoot you!”

Shaun took a few more steps, his eyes trailing down to the blood that had been spilled. It still didn’t look real to him, but Alice’s screams were real. The hatred she had in her eyes directed entirely at him was real. It was far more real than any of his nightmares.

It was too much for Shaun, and he too left behind the scene of this macabre show he had taken part in.

Ahhh…

Jack had to use every ounce of his willpower to suppress his smile and keep his true feelings hidden from his sunshine. The pleasure he felt in that moment was exquisite, a shiver of euphoria that was so sinfully delicious it was practically erotic. Fear, shock, and anger burst through him like fireworks, but undercutting all of those feelings was the love Alice had for him. Those feelings of her burned fierce and bright, chasing away all the cold in the world. Even her hatred, directed at someone else, was beautiful, because it was for his sake.

How could Jack not feel pleasure when Alice’s love for him overflowed until it flooded his heart in a torrent of passion?

All that fear, worry, and rage was in defense of him. Only him. Only Jack had her love now. Whatever care Alice felt for Shaun and Ian was dead, its throat slit with a single slice of a knife.

It made all the nights spent away from his sunshine while she slept worth it. All those months of training those two obstacles had paid off beautifully. Jack finally exposed the true nature of those inferior other “friends” of hers. He knew that with just a little encouragement, they would finally show his precious sunshine just how worthless and filthy they truly were.

With them gone, her anger cooled, but didn’t disappear completely. It still burned inside of Alice, fierce and ready to protect him again at a moment’s notice. Her thoughts were all for him now, only him. She fussed over his wound, letting out concerned whimpers as she cradled him close while using her own clothes to staunch the blood flow.

Jack hated to see his sunshine so upset. He wanted to reassure her that he was fine, but he had to be careful about it. The episode he had written for them wasn’t quite finished yet.

“It… it’s okay… sunshine,” Jack said between heavy pants. He wore a weak smile that held none of his true happiness in it. “I-it doesn’t hurt.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it, but the pain didn’t matter to Jack. No pain compared to the thought of losing Alice. This little scratch was nothing compared to what he gained in return.

The love Jack felt from her, the pleasure that love gave him was so much better. It was a drug that left him feeling weak and dizzy, almost overwhelmed by the euphoria to the point he became partially erect. Alice’s love for him was so fierce that it was practically all that he could feel. Compared to that, the gouge in his arm was little more than a paper cut.

Those warm hands of hers touched him so delicately. Alice fussed over him, cried over him, her heart breaking for him. It was all for him, only for him. He was her world, and he reveled in it. She was the sun that would shine her light for no one else but him now.

Jack never wanted anything to make his sunshine unhappy, but how could he not enjoy himself? How could he not find pleasure even in the darker moments of anger and sadness that overtook her when it was for his sake? The way she screamed his name, the way she held him so close, the fierce way she defended him, worried for him… how could he not adore every second of it?

There was no stronger proof of the love Alice felt for Jack than this.

[izudeeilo]

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You can study me

Sero hanta smau

volley-ball player sero x art student fem!reader, no quirks au, college au.

a/n it's been a while since I've written something like this...I'm nervous

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Senior year is finally here! You thought that this time, the teachers would be more lenient with you and your classmates, but not at all. In fact, they even got stricter... They assigned you a half year-long work, which would be worth 30% of your final grade. What does the work consist of, you ask? Making a complete study of the life of a student you need to pick and paint it.

But... you can't pick a friend.

Profiles • Part .2

Part 1

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You sat outside, pen in one hand, the other on your lap. Scribbling on the piece of paper quick doodles of a random animal. A rooster...a chicken…why was this one that popped in your mind, you don’t know.

A sight escapes your mouth as you look up at the sky. “This is going to be a nightmare” you mutter.

You would’ve been more ok with all of this if you could’ve chosen someone close to you instead. So much easier, simpler. But in the art course? nothing was easy.

You sometimes thought of quitting, completely. But the love you had for art kept you here and perhaps your supportive friends too. Seriously they meant everything to you, they’ve been here through thick and thin. They could be…themselves but you’d do anything for them, the other way around as well.

Taking your phone from your pocket, you check the time — 12:40 pm. “I should already be on my way to the cafeteria.” You get up slowly, grab your bag from the ground and shove the paper and pen inside.

As you enter the building, you greet with a wave of your hand some classmates you had met in your morning class. When you enter the cafeteria, you grab the tray from the pile and pick up a sandwich, a fruit salad and you pay for a soda can at the vending machine.

You weren’t particularly hungry today.

Scanning the room you make eye contact with your friends a bit further away. You march over to them and install yourself next to Himiko, Izuku in front.

”I’ve missed you guys so bad.” you say hugging Himiko’s arm. She hugs you back with a big smile. “Us as well!” she chuckles. “It’s only the first day of the week and I’m already tired.” adds Izuku with a slight smile before taking a bite from his sandwich.

You begin eating as well. “Can you guys believe it's the last year we’ll be together..” you say to them. “Oh don’t start already or I’m going to cry.” says Himiko, turning her head.

“ I know we’ll definitely be busy after but ain’t no way we’re getting separated, you better believe me, you ain’t getting rid of us” she taps her finger on your cheek in a teasing way.

”Oh that I already know” you chuckle.

Izuku suddenly perks up and says “By the way y/n I talked to some of my classmates and I’m sorry most of them don’t feel comfortable with that…” “Oh right mine as well…they say they don't want to meet new people or whatever” himiko adds.

”Oh well I did expect that honestly” you cross your arms and straighten yourself. “Guess the whole art course is going to struggle with finding someone” you sigh and begin to wonder how else are you going to find a student willing to participate in that. Ochaco may try with her classmates but you already have an idea of how it’s going to end.

You’d like someone with personality as well and there’s plenty of people like that here but—

You were cut off by a cheerful voice.

”Izuku you’re here!” A girl with pretty pink hair stopped in front of the table with her tray in hand. You all turned your head at her.

”Oh I didn’t know you were with friends my bad you guys!” she smiles.

”No it’s alright, you wanted something?” he responds.

”The boys are over there and I wanted to know if you wanted to come sit with us! Your friends can come as well if they’d like” She smiles at the both of us.

“Yeah for sure! Does it bother you guys?” He says looking at us.

”Not at all” Himiko and you respond at the same time. You look at each other before chuckling slightly.

”Perfect, follow me!” the girl begins walking ahead. “The name’s Mina by the way!”

”I’m y/n!” you respond back.

”And I’m Himiko”

You all reach a long table with four people already sitting and talking.

Four boys to be exact, one had blond hair and was just staring at the other three with a raised eyebrow, another had red hair and was laughing at something another blond said next to him and the last one with longer black hair was holding his sandwich with a smirk on his face.

”I am here and brought companyyy” Mina chants at the boys.

They perk up at the sound of her voice and all turn their heads towards us. You and Himiko smile not knowing what to do next.

”Hey, these are my friends, Himiko Toga and Y/n L/n !” Izuku introduces us.

He turns to us and points at the boys one by one.

”This is Kacchan- I mean Katsuki Bakugo. You already know him.” he laughs pointing at the blond with red eyes.

Bakugo nods his head with an almost visible smile.

”This is Denki Kaminari” The other blond points finger guns at us.

”This is Eijiro Kirishima” the red haired boy waves at us with a smile.

“And last but not least Sero Hanta” the black haired boy throws a peace sign at us and winks.

They all greet us happily and urge us to sit with them. You began talking for what seemed like hours, they told you they were part of the school volleyball team.

”Oh that’s so cool, how long have y'all been playing for?” you ask.

”We pretty much have been since we were kids. We practically all met through that.” Kirishima responds cheerfully. “Yeah we’re all like a biggg family” Kaminari leans on his shoulder.

Bakugo turns his head at us before speaking “So y/n, art huh? How is it being an artist?”

I laugh “I’m not an artist, artist yet but—“ you were cut off by Izuku.

”Oh stop that you draw, you paint even if it's not professionally yet you’re still an artist.”

”Yeah, it doesn’t matter even if it was just a hobby, you still are an artist.” Sero joins him before continuing. “And how is it going so far?”

”To be honest? Right now, horrible.” you chuckle.

They all seem taken back as their eyes slightly widen.

“It’s mostly because of an assignment our teacher already gave us.”

”Oh that's rough— On the first day?” Kirishima says.

”Yeah, I have like half of the school year to complete it? And it's worth 30% of my final grade too.” You lean your head on your hand. “I need to pick a student I don't know, to study their life? Like get to know them so I can make a painting of it—“

”You can study me?” Sero suddenly says, catching you off guard. “We just met so that’ll be perfect and I get to spend time with a cute girl like you so it’s a win-win situation.” He smiles and leans back on his chair.

You stare at him. That’s...a good idea actually you think to yourself and it’s not a total stranger if it’s one of Izuku’s friends…right?

”Well Sero you’ve got yourself a deal” I smile back at him.

”Call me Hanta.”

a/n i hope you guys like this aaah i'm so nervous and excited to post this...🤧 see u guys in the next part! 💋

[radioactiverats]

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (5/?)

Inspired by @xarology amazing art - just my own wild thoughts on nose scar because HALAS;DFJL;AFJD

Thank you @jackalackqwq and @swiftyangx12 for lovely art and always following my random thoughts with comments ily guys <3 Literally bringing this story to life with the amazing visualisations! And ty everyone for the reblogs, likes and comments they keep me going!!

Nose scar: You crash due to someone's incompetence and totally crack your faceplate open. Cue Starscream screeching

The war had totally upended your previous way of life, but one thing that remained constant through it all was the nonstop training. That was fine with you for the most part, as it provided a mote of familiarity amidst all the uncertainty. But aside from improving your ability in the air, there was another practical reason for it.

Group attacks.

Common, of course, but there was an issue.

Back in the academy, group maneuvers were only introduced towards the end of the program. Not only did seekers need competence in solo flight, but friendship, for the lack of a better word, was a significant contributory factor to success. As it turned out, closeness was most important in determining the harmony of a group flight, so you were ordinarily given a few years to form bonds with one another before actually being allowed anywhere near group maneuvers.

However, the war affords you no such luxury, and you find yourself lumped in with bots you've never met before in preparation to attempt a group drill. As usual, Starscream had been in command with a few other lieutenants to provide air support, but as soon as the session started, he'd been abruptly called away to attend to matters on the bridge.

Scores collected from individual drills means that you've been assigned the lead, and you stiffen as soon as you hear this. Part of you swells with pride to see proof of your hard work - even though you're contented yourself with being a follower, you've always wanted to be like Starscream. Having your capabilities acknowledged to be of leadership quality pleased you immensely, but at the same time... Starscream would never have risked your helm by putting you in such a high-profile position. However, a lieutenant seeker was now temporarily in charge, and had no such qualms about putting you straight in the firing line. He’d glanced at the score when was your turn and promptly waved you to the front.

“But-”

“You telling me that someone with your abilities should be wasted in the back?”

You promptly shut your intake.

You glance at the two other bots you're with - older than you, and probably more experienced, too. But they hadn't said anything when you timidly stepped to the front of the formation. You hope they're not the sort to take offense.

Lifting off without issue, it’s smooth sailing for the most part. The extent of your communications remained blessedly limited to curt reports on flight conditions as you soared straight ahead, and you're hopeful for an equally peaceful descent before you go your separate ways.

Unfortunately, no such luck.

Just as you think you’ll be able to make it safely back, your sensors pick up on a strange wind pattern up ahead. The collision point of a Ferrell cell and a Hadley cell - this planet had its own unique system of atmospheric circulation, which led to the collision of strong, opposing winds at certain latitudes. Starscream had taught you how to recognise them before, with an ominous warning that flying into them could disable even the most experienced of seekers.

You activate your comms. "In eight hundred metres, bank right.”

There’s a momentary silence before your comms crackle back online. “What did you say?”

“There’s really strong winds up ahead. We can’t just fly through it,” You say. You’re getting a bad feeling about this. Now would be a horrible time for your partners to misunderstand your urgent instructions as a show of power, rather than an increasingly frantic attempt to save your sparks.

“Strong winds, my aft,” The other jet’s derisive laughter crackles mockingly through your comms. “My sensors didn’t detect anything. Maybe you’re just a weakling.”

“No! Just look!”

The worst thing was that this formation required you to fly together at incredibly close quarters - meaning that you weren’t able to stop, because the others would crash right into your wings.

Five hundred meters.

“Come on, don’t you guys want to impress the lieutenant?”

“He’s a fragging slaghead,” Was the immediate response you got.

Just as you truly begin to panic - “Wait,” The other jet suddenly says. “I think they’re right.” As you fly closer, the clouds almost seem to be distorting before your optics, warped by fierce columns of wind.

“A likely story,” The first one snorts. “How long have you been flying? Longer than our squad leader -" his voice takes on a derisive tone - “has been alive.”

“Two hundred meters,” You warn.

A tense silence falls over your comms.

“I’m following what they said,” Crackles decisively through. “You’ll have to send me to the scrapheap before I fly through that just to make a point.”

“Frag you,” Growls the other voice, outraged static marring his words.

One hundred meters.

“Come on,” You say again, frantic, on the cusp of pleading.

The other jet says nothing, but you can feel the spike of his EM field when the column of wind begins to make itself known against the plates of your altmodes.

Fifty meters. Surely he wouldn’t be that stubborn. It was hard enough to stay alive in a war - would a mech really risk his spark over something as inconsequential as this?

You decide to take a gamble. If he banks with you at the last minute, no harm, no foul. If he doesn’t…

Surely, surely he would.

Twenty meters.

Ten.

The screaming of engines overtakes your audials as you and the jet to your left swerve sharply to the right - and your optics widen in fear as you realize what the defiant jet to your right has decided to do.

He’d wisely decided not to challenge the whipping column of wind, but in order to defy you, he’d decided to maneuver upwards instead. You’ve been told that losing position is one of the worst things that can happen, and you’re about to find out precisely why that is. The jet’s altmode clips your wing. Being of a heftier build, he wobbles in the air before managing to right himself. However, you are not so lucky. The momentum of your turn sends you careening straight for the wind column. Burning pain radiating outwards from the dent in your wing, you find yourself buffeted by the winds and unable to regain control of your spiralling frame.

You hurtle through cloud layer after cloud layer in a wild tailspin, mist obscuring your vision as you’re tossed around like a ragdoll by the roaring winds. Next to the Terrans, you may be a giant. But at the mercy of the natural world, you may as well be an ant. Through the panic that fizzles your processor, you suddenly latch onto something Starscream had drilled into your processor before.

You were done for the day - you’d done everything exactly as he instructed and by all standards, the session should have ended on a high. But as Starscream had quietly turns round, ready to return to base, an oddly somber mood had settled over you both. It took only two steps before he was glancing back at you, seemingly torn over whether or not to share what was bothering him.

“Sir?”

“…If you ever find yourself without control over your frame in the air, and nothing you do is working,” Starscream says, “transform into bot mode. Less resistance on the wings.” His voice has an edge to it, but you can’t quite discern what the emotion tingeing his words is. “Understand?”

“…Yes?” To you, this felt completely out of the blue - advice, while you were certain of its value, had nothing to do with the maneuvers you practiced today.

Starscream pivots to face you head on, optics feverishly bright. “Repeat it.”

Your confusion lasts for a few nanokliks too long for his liking, because he bares his denta in a frustrated snarl. “Are your audials working? Repeat what I just said!”

“Uh,” You fumble, trying to gather your thoughts. “If I don’t have control over my frame in the air, I should transform into bot mode?”

“Because there’s less resistance on the wings,” Starscream repeats. He sniffs, even if his plating isn’t drawn so tight now that he knows you’ve listened to what he said. “I hope I don’t have to spell out the necessity of transforming back into your altmode as soon as you regain control of the situation.”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

The mood when you walk back to base is considerably lighter, but what prompted that sudden piece of emergency spark-saving advice had always been a mystery to you.

Well, now in the air and reduced to a chew toy flung around by the screaming forces of nature, it clicks into place. With all your strength, you activate transformation protocols, and feel the acute resistance against your plates and gears even as you transform. The sudden shift in mass and surface area throws you off-kilter for a nanoklik, but it’s in your favour. You’re abruptly thrown from the column of wind and into open air before your frame continues its downward plummet, gathering speed as the lush colours of the Terran earth once more bleed into your vision.

The Earth is green, you realise. Oh so green. Blurs of Decepticon paint zip into view. You send a silent apology to Starscream, already having calculated your odds. You’re sorry for not obeying his orders well enough. You’re sorry for being an embarrassment. You’re sorry for making him worry.

You grit your denta and focus the last ounce of strength you have into transforming into your alt mode, thrusters screaming as you try to pull up - however, you simply don’t have enough airspace to pull it off successfully. It’s enough to save your spark, you think, as you make agonising contact with the unforgiving earth. You just don’t know how permanent the damage will be.

For a nanoklik, your sensors are so overwhelmed with sensation that the pain doesn’t kick in right away. Everything happens at once - a billion warnings leap up on your HUD, the agony flares across the entirety of your plating, arcing through your wires like electricity. Through the ringing in your audials, you hear shouts approaching - echoing, warping through your rattled processor. Vaguely, you could make out the lieutenant, your partners - and… was that… Starscream…?

Scrap.

Half of you didn’t want him to see you like this. The other half of you wept and screamed for him to comfort you.

It seemed you had no choice, though. When you tried to move, or at least transform back into bot mode, you realised that you were as good as frozen - systems locked as your frame desperately tried to minimise further damage.

“CADET!”

You only manage a horrific crackle of static in response. But through the pain, you can still feel Starscream’s warm servo on the nose of your altmode. You focus with everything you have on that source of warmth, of kindness. “Listen to me,” Starscream says, next to your shattered cockpit. He’s forcing himself to sound calm, neutral - but the underlying tension in his voice threatens to bleed through, stringing his words tight. “I know it’ll use up the rest of your reserves, but you need to transform now so I can take you to med bay.”

You want to obey, but you’re so tired, the fuzziness of pain and exhaustion weighing your frame down. You try to tell your commander this, through another slurred buzz of static and frag, that hurt. Didn’t even know you could hurt there.

Distantly, you feel the panicked fluctuations of Starscream's EM field. “For the love of Primus, TRANSFORM!” Starscream roars, panic rearing its head as he abandons all pretence of neutrality. They can’t fix you like this. Maybe on Vos, once upon a time. But Knockout, for all that he can do, is not a seeker - and there are limits to what can be done with the seeker altmode without specialised knowledge. Besides, you wouldn’t fit into his med bay, and all of these become urgent problems when Starscream can feel your EM field growing fainter by the nanoklik.

Blearily, you register the frantic spikes of his EM field against your plating. Was he upset? You didn’t want Starscream to be upset. You could fix it. What was that he was yelling at you to do?

Transforming hurts. Every inch of your frame screams as loose screws and fractured plates twist and warp themselves into bot mode. Two warm servos clamp down on either side of your helm, and Starscream’s panicked expression swims into view. “Good,” He murmurs, and you hear his vocaliser reset as he forces the tremor from his voice. “Now, was that so hard?”

No, you want to say, because it was you who asked it of me. But all that comes out is another garbled mess of incoherent static and this time, you’re more aware that there’s something wrong with your intake, beyond your vocaliser. Without thinking, you shakily raise a servo to touch, to find out exactly what’s wrong. But Starscream sees your servo move and promptly scolds you back into submission, even if his frantic worry steals the bite from his words. Slowly, you take in the warnings on your HUD and realise it’s way more than just your intake. Another wave of pain sweeps through your misfiring sensors, cracking through your helm and splintering across your faceplate. Oh, scrap. Was Starscream… holding you together? That would explain the look on his faceplate.

There’s so many things you want to tell him, but only manage to place your bloodied servo over his - a firework show of popups on your HUD are all the warning you get before you’re out like a light. It's a shame that the all warnings have to obscure Starscream's faceplate before that.

---

The screech of a welder is what you awaken to. Knockout abruptly switches it off as soon as he notices you're awake - you can't help but think that it's uncharacteristically gentle of him, but you're thankful enough not to question it.

"Nasty tumble you took there," He remarks, as you groan. The pain has lessened, but your frame feels like lead and the warnings on your HUD are relentless despite your continuous attempts to close them.

Knockout regards you for a nanoklik more before shaking his helm, tutting disapprovingly. "Such a nice paintjob, too. Now hold still, I'm nearly done."

Gritting your denta as the welder screams to life again, you wish you had just stayed unconscious because by Solus, getting soldered back into one piece fragging hurt. You note with surprise and pleasure, however, that you've regained your sensory systems in your faceplate. Gently touching a servo to your cheek, you gratefully realise Knockout has chosen to work in order of most to least pain - as he'd knocked out (you bite your glossa to keep the inappropriate laughter back) the most painful aspects of your repair while you were still unconscious. The crack across your faceplate from chin to optic has been welded and buffed to perfection, save for... you frown as your fingers find a sizeable dent in your nose. Knowing Knockout's perfectionist streak, you wonder why something so obvious would have been left out, but hesitate to ask since he's already done such a good job on the rest of your frame and you feel guilty asking for more. However, you fail to quell the disquieting sense of unease that bubbles up in your chassis, which tells you that Knockout wouldn't have left your nose out without a very good reason.

You're panting by the time he finishes, plates drawn tight against your frame as you work through the residual pain. The dull grey of your metal shines through in patches, having ungracefully smeared the Terran grass with your paint - but your once-fractured plates are perfectly smooth and polished thanks to Knockout's handiwork.

It's relatively smooth sailing up until that point, because the final part of your frame requiring repair is your wings. Tender, not to mention the pain that arcs through your leading edges, spoilers, ailerons whenever you move... Primus. You decide not to think too hard about it. You have no idea how Starscream managed to stay still under your trembling servos that time you had to patch him up - every touch of the welder to your wings has you seizing in pain, writhing under Knockout's servos no matter how he tries to soothe you. Finally, he clicks the welder offline, with your wings still largely in disrepair.

Your ragged in-vents are all that fill the med bay. "Primus," Knockout mutters. "This isn't working."

For some reason, you get the feeling that his disgusted snarls of frustration aren't directed at you.

You watch quietly as he paces the length of his med bay, before finally whirling around to face you. "No matter what you're about to say, kid, I'm paging Starscream," He informs you. "Primus knows how many times he's had his wings repaired."

Knockout tilts his helm towards the ceiling, optics shuttered and his intake set in a grim line. "After all that effort to keep him out of my med bay, too."

The mental image of Starscream attempting to force his way into med bay just to make sure you're alright is almost too mind-boggling to entertain. Still, now is not the time. Your wings droop as Knockout sends the message out, angry at yourself for causing so much trouble. The pain that radiates from your wing joints at such a movement is deserved, you tell yourself. Is this how you repay Starscream for all that he's done for you? However, your downward spiral is promptly cut short by aggressive hammering at the door of med bay - Knockout emits a long-suffering sigh before going to open it. Starscream all but hurtles into the room, but you'd sensed his EM field even before that - spiking in waves as he attempts to suppress the panic before it gets the better of him.

"Well?" He demands, having taken in your prone form, patches of paint missing and the bridge of your nose chipped.

"Calm yourself," Knockout sniffs. "This is some of my best work to date."

"Best?" Starscream hisses. "Look at their nose! What do you call that?"

"Ah." Knockout looks oddly solemn at that. "One of the reasons I called you here. Filling in a part of one's anatomy requires high quality metal - and as you know, our glorious leader has deemed it un-utilitarian to allow soldiers access to such materials."

"Then put it under my designation," Starscream snarls, but Knockout shakes his helm, almost looking regretful.

"Even if you could, we're simply too short on materials to conduct such an operation. Abundant on Cybertron, sure. On the Terrans' planet, however? In a word: lacking."

By now, you're sure the anger pulsing off Starscream's EM field could power a small spaceship. Unfortunately, Knockout isn't done yet.

"The more pressing matter, however," he continues, "is the repair of their wings. I'm sure you understand."

At that, Starscream freezes. His optics zero in on you with intense precision and in the next nanoklik he's striding over to you, no-nonsense. "Show me."

You shuffle your frame upright, baring your wings to him. Judging by Starscream's sharp in-vent, it's not looking good. A few tense nanokliks pass, and you swivel back round to see Starscream nod curtly at Knockout. "I'll take it from here."

Turning back to you, he jerks his helm in the direction of the door. "Come on."

Before you can protest, Starscream loops a servo round your waist to support you, mindful of your wings. You strain to stay upright in front of the wandering eyes of other Decepticons, thankful that Starscream is more or less holding you up. You won't disgrace him any further. You won't - but finally, in the privacy of Starscream's habsuite, you can't hold back the ragged gasp of pain as the door slides shut behind you.

"On the berth, wings up," Starscream says shortly. He's already dug the welder out. But in spite of your best efforts, you can't stop trembling, already anticipating the pain.

However, instead of the unforgiving heat of the welder, Starscream's warm servo lands comfortingly on an unblemished area of your wings. "Brave," he murmurs, in Vosian, and it nearly makes coolant spring to your optics all over again.

There's a few instances in which you thrash so hard under the welder that Starscream has to hold you down, but you understand why Knockout decided to call Starscream in for wing repairs. Starscream murmuring to you in Vosian takes the raw edge of pain off, gently stroking the broad sections of your wings in between welds.

You're exhausted by the time he's finished, tremors jolting your frame even as the pain subsides. "All done," Starscream says, even if his vocaliser clips out for a nanoklik. "Now, was that so hard?"

Another garbled mess of static is all you can manage, but you determinedly extend your EM field to brush against his. Starscream stiffens before ex-venting deeply and allowing your fields to merge. "Recharge," He commands gently, tucking your frame against his, mindful of fresh welds. Exhaustion sweeping over you like a tidal wave, you're distantly aware of Starscream lightly stroking a thumb over the jagged scar on your nose. "'m sorry," You mumble into his chassis. "Hush," Starscream scolds. "What are you even sorry for?"

"Didn't do your lessons justice," You slur. "'m a waste of time." Starscream's arms tighten around you at that.

"Don't you dare call yourself a waste of time," He growls. "It's not your fault that some slagheads can't deal with their own incompetence. You're under my watch. That's all you, and the others, need to know."

"Mm," You mutter, burrowing closer to his warmth. "Yesssir."

Starscream ex-vents, but it's fond. He gently strokes his servo over your wings, soothing you enough to fall into recharge.

"Patience," He murmurs, more to himself than to you. "One day, they'll pay for what they've done."

Previous / Next

Edit: Now with more art!!!!!

[separatist-apologist]

Guilty As Sin

Summary: Rhys has been watching Feyre Archeron for a long time. Thinking about what he'd do if he ever had her. How he'd keep her.

And now he has her.

TW: Dubious consent, blood kink, knife play

Read On AO3

-

It would be, perhaps, Rhysand’s greatest triumph to kill Tamlin Rosewood. After all, Tamlin had set him down this path so many years before—when they’d been teenagers, two boys from questionable, if not wealthy homes, looking for something to make them feel alive. Tamlin had asked Rhys if he wanted to see something cool, and then let him watch as Tamlin sliced apart a local vagrant. It should have been horrifying. Disgusting.

And yet Rhysand had found the whole thing fascinating. More fascinating still was how easy it was to claim his first kill. Rhysand needed a moral code to keep himself in line, to keep from just jamming a blade into every person who passed him on the street. Tamlin had suggested it, too, perhaps recognizing Rhys’ propensity for violence. Or maybe he knew all too well how enjoyable snuffing out life was. How close to God it made Rhys feel.

Pick those that can fight back.

People who’ve wasted their life.

Do the world a  favor.

Of course they’d eventually turn on each other. How long before two serial killers realized the world might be better off without at least one of them? It had been a cat and mouse game ever since, trying to catch the other unaware and going to ground when they failed. Tamlin had come close a couple times while Rhys had mostly just watched.

Waited.

Bided his time until Tamlin genuinely believed himself to be a god. That Rhys was so afraid of him he wouldn’t dare. Tamlin had let his guard down just enough to find himself a girlfriend he apparently liked. And she, Rhys decided, was going to be how he finally killed Tamlin. Collateral in their feud, he told himself. After all, any woman dumb enough to fall for Tamlin wasn’t worth much. 

He’d looked her up—Feyre Archeron. Her profile picture on facebook was an artbrush, but she’d helpfully listed every job she’d ever had since high school—and there had been many. Rhys ran them all down until he got to the art studio she taught at and, because he liked a little drama in his life, signed him up for one of her intro classes. 

He had been unaware he would be the only adult in said class until a wave of bouncy, giggly children had stormed through the doors, taking seats at easels while their parents vanished. He could have slipped out—he’d meant to, he swore it. But Feyre Archeron had come waltzing in wearing a baby blue sweater, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem hanging just beneath her ass, and oh. Rhys stayed in his chair, if only to admire the curve of her hips in those cotton soft leggings.

She didn’t seem like Tamlin’s usual type. There was a softness to her features, a constellation of freckles dotted across her nose alongside a splatter of violet ink in those cerulean eyes, that made Rhys certain she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her full mouth curved into an easy smile, gaze settling on him.

“Did you mean to sign up for this?” she asked him, eliciting another round of giggles from the children. There was no malice to her words, playful and sweet. He wanted to put his hands on her. Was she corruptible? Oh, how Rhys wanted to find out. His plans reshaped themselves as they looked at the other, though Feyre didn’t know it. Killing her wasn’t an option, not anymore. No. He’d take her for himself, stripping Tamlin of everything he cared about before finally spilling his blood. And he’d start with perfect, pretty Feyre Archeron.

Rhys offered her a lazy smile, running a hand through his ebony hair. “My skill level is comparable, I’m certain.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she replied, her delight evident. Rhys felt her amusement reflected in his own body. When was the last time anyone had charmed him by sight alone? Nevermind how funny he found her, watching as she interacted with each student with the kind of unending patience he could only dream of. It begged the question—what did Tamlin want with her? He knew Tamlin, and of all the virtues Tamlin might claim to have, patience certainly wasn’t one of them.

He had a famously vicious temper. 

Did Feyre know her boyfriend was a serial killer? Did Tamlin know his girlfriend taught school children in her spare time? What would be more abhorrent to who? Rhys never managed to untangle that, just like he never managed to make his brush strokes half as nice as the eight year old beside him. Rhys lingered, waiting until the kids were gone and Feyre was cleaning up to say something to her.

“I’m not some kind of weirdo, I hope you know,” he began, drawing a pretty laugh from prettier lips. 

“No? I might have thought so if I hadn’t seen how abysmal you are with a brush. I teach preschoolers on Tuesdays. You might be better suited in that class.”

“You wound me, Ms. Archeron,” he replied, one hand pressed to his chest. “You didn’t like my house?”

“Oh, was that what it is?” she asked, squinting at his muddied colors on the paper. “I thought you were painting me a stormy sky.”

“I’ll paint whatever you tell me to,” Rhys quipped, noting how her cheeks flushed. No ring on her finger—god, but how incredible to seduce her out from under Tamlin’s nose. For Tamlin not to realize he was losing everything to his old nemesis. How long before Tamlin learned of Rhysand’s treachery? Rhysand was a patient man. It was one of his better qualities, few as they were.

He’d send Tamlin a wedding invitation inked in blood, fuck his new wife, and then, as a gift to her, bring her Tamlin’s still beating heart.

Wife? That was a weird thought.

Rhys cleared his head. He was merely excited at the prospect of punishing Tamlin—that was all. Feyre was beautiful, but hardly wife material. Besides, the kind of woman who spent her time teaching children to color within the lines didn’t want to get shackled to the likes of him. Not long-term, at any rate. Rhys had dated plenty of women, all of whom woke up one morning deeply unsettled and certain they were making a mistake. He couldn’t blame them—he would make an awful husband. 

A good lay, though? He could give her that. 

“Watch yourself Rhysand.”

“Come, now,” he said, rising from the little metal stool he’d been sitting on. She was so much smaller than him—lithe and lovely, so breakable in a way that made him want to be careful rather than rough. “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“Fine. Watch yourself Rhys. I’ll think you’re flirting if you’re not careful,” Feyre said, twisting that thick, golden brown hair off her face with a paintbrush. Something within him stirred at the sight of wispy tendrils framing her face, fingers twitching with the urge to brush them from her cheekbones. 

“Careful isn’t how anyone who knows me would describe me. Besides…maybe I am flirting.”

This was the part where she told him she had a boyfriend. Rhys waited, catching the flicker of indecision streak over her features. He could practically hear her rationalizing it in her mind—there was no harm in a little flirting.

Oh, Tamlin. Rhys cocked his head. How far could he take this before she broke? If he could just get his hands into those tight leggings of hers, she’d forget all about that blonde haired bastard. C’mon, Rhys urged.

His silent plea fell on deaf ears. Too good for the likes of him, Feyre said, “Well, if you were flirting, I’d have to tell you that I have a boyfriend.”

“Lucky him,” Rhys replied, gut twisting despite his easy expression. “I know when I’ve been beat. See you around Feyre.”

And then he left, still smiling to himself as he went. She had no idea, of course. 

But Rhys would be seeing her very soon.

– 

Feyre stared down at the meal, ruined again. Behind her, Tamlin practically seethed with unseen anger. She could feel him working to leash his temper, to resist the urge to tell her I told you so.

I told you you’re a terrible cook.

“I’ll order dinner,” Tamlin said, ignoring the way Feyre blinked back tears. Bracing the ledge of the sink, she stared out the open window into the dark. She was trying—didn’t that matter? It wasn’t that badly burned, besides. They could have eaten around it. Feyre wished Tamlin would sit down, tell her it looked good, and eat it. Was that so much to ask? 

Apparently, given the heavy, long-suffering sigh from the man behind her. “You don’t need to try so hard, Feyre. You have me.”

“It’s—” She choked back the urge to scream that it wasn’t about impressing him. It was about care, about showing him that she loved him in some tangible way. Doing something for him so that he, in turn, might do something for her. Might do or say something that made her feel seen and safe. 

It had been a year of the stretching silence and the long sighs. Of not technically doing anything that would cause her to break up with her, all while giving off an air of not liking her very much. Well—that wasn’t fair. When the lights were out and they were in bed, Tamlin was very attentive. Detached, somehow—he never wanted her to look him in the eye—but he knew every place to touch and tease to make her writhe. And that was too often enough to convince her it was better to stay and hope whatever was bothering him faded and he went back to the love sick fool she’d first fallen in love with.

It didn’t help that Rhysand—Rhys—was still lodged firmly in her brain three days post meeting him. He’d been…well…he’d been beautiful. And charming. And funny, too. Endearing, even, as the kids teased him for his poor paint work. And when he’d said he was flirting, well…Feyre had imagined sending Tamlin a quick text message.

This is over. Don’t call me again. 

Throwing away a year on a man with a roguish smile seemed like a call for help. Still, he’d been on her mind, unshakable as her relationship with Tamlin stagnated like pond water. He ordered food without consulting her, ate it silently, all the while staring at his phone. He worked for a security firm and spent so much time watching the cameras, tracking people with a single-minded devotion she wished he’d focus on her.

“I’m going out,” he told her abruptly, only after Feyre had changed into a tiny slip of a nightdress, thinking she’d feel better if they at least had sex. His pine green gaze slid down her body without a hint of interest or appreciation. Just an acknowledgement that she had nearly every inch of her skin out for him before looking back to her face. “You can wait up, if you want.” How romantic, she wanted to scream. She felt utterly pathetic, a neglected housewife married for twenty years while her husband had an affair. Only Tamlin’s affair was with his job and Feyre would never come first. 

Say nothing, she ordered herself. And yet her traitorous lips said, “Couldn’t it wait another night?”

He regarded her without emotion. “It can’t. Get some sleep, Feyre. I’ll be in later.” Tamlin turned without a look back, swiping his car keys thrown haphazardly on the dresser, and strode from the room. Feyre didn’t, listening to the sound of the soft snick of the closing door and the sound of tires pulling away from the curb.

What was more pathetic, she wondered as she padded into the kitchen for a drink for water? Staying up late to seduce him, thus allowing him to have everything he wanted without doing any work at all, or staying with him when she was so miserable in the first place? Was this love?

Feyre didn’t get a chance to answer any of those questions. 

There, in the hall, stood a tall, muscular…man? They certainly seemed masculine, with broad shoulders that tapered into a rather nice waist beneath that high necked sweater. Matching black pants and a belt would have made him look rather nice, had he not been holding a massive, jagged knife in one gloved hand.

The ghost face mask obscuring his features didn’t help, either. Feyre didn’t move, heart hammering against her ribs. Scream. Run. Do something.

“There you are,” a deep, rich voice spoke from beneath the mask, “I’ve been looking for you.” 

“Don’t hurt me,” Feyre whispered, rooted in place as he made his way towards her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, drinking in the heady smell of his cologne and that horrible knife glinting beneath the artificial lights beaming overhead. 

With his free hand, he reached toward her and to her credit, Feyre didn’t flinch. She merely stood utterly still as he brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone before sliding his gloved thumb over her lip.

“Hurt you? Darling, I’m here to rescue you.”

Her brain couldn’t make sense of those dark words dripping with the promise of…the promise of what? Feyre tried a step backward, tripping over her own nervous feet to fall to the ground. The man lunged and she braced herself for the pain of his blade, for blood and misery before finally death. But all she found was fingers around her body, hoisting her into the air.

She flailed, heel connecting with his jaw. He swore and the two fell to the ground gracelessly a second time, him tearing her nightdress to keep her pinned beneath him.

“I do so like you like this,” he all but growled as she tried to yank that mask off his face. If she was going to kill her, she deserved to look him in the eyes. His fingers curled around her wrists, subduing her quickly—easily, before gathering both in one big, broad hand. The other came over her mouth and nose, cutting off her ability to breathe.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispered as she kicked out her legs from beneath him. Why was this happening? She was going to die. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. How could he say that as he was suffocating her with his hand? She  continued to writhe, for all the good it did her, her screaming mind drowning out the words her attacker was saying. Lungs burning, desperately trying to gasp for air, Feyre couldn’t control her limbs. She felt herself getting dizzy, choking on her own pooling spit.

“I’m not going to kill you,” her attacker said, his voice far away. “Stop fighting me and I’ll remove my hand.” Her body went limp as she complied immediately, willing to do anything if it meant she could breathe again. And true to his word, her attacker removed his hand, letting her take a gasping, sobbing breath of air. 

“Good girl,” he praised softly, caressing her cheek a second time. “If you do everything I say, no one has to get hurt. Can you stand?”

“No,” Feyre said, eyes closed as she focused only on the sensation of air in her body. She wasn’t going to help him abduct her, besides. Not that it mattered. He had her wrists bound before he picked her back up like she was weightless to him, walking her toward her front door with ease.

“My boyfriend has cameras on the door,” she said, unsure if she was warning this man or helping him. “He’s going to see you.”

A chuckle rumbled from his broad chest. “Oh, I am well aware. Your boyfriend is too busy hunting tonight to check…and by the time he does, you and I will be long gone.”

The cool night air was like a caress against her clammy skin. Feyre saw the car—sleek and dark—parked so brazenly in the drive. 

“The police will find you,” she warned, deciding for a little boldness despite her swimming head and desperate desire to fall asleep.

“That would require Tamlin to call them…and he won’t. No, my darling—this is personal and you’re simply caught up in the middle of it. Now—can I trust you to behave in my back seat, or do you need to go in the trunk? I don’t want to put you back there…but I will.”

“What do you mean?” Feyre demanded, mind swimming.

“I mean, I don’t want to die on the road—”

“About hunting,” she interrupted, looking up at that ghostface mask. “About Tamlin not calling the police.”

Her attacker seemed to hesitate, muscles going taut beneath her. “I had a whole presentation planned. Why spoil it?”

“Tell me.”

“Your boyfriend is a killer—just like me. He taught me, in fact—or rather, we taught each other. He can’t involve the police without risking himself so he won’t.”

“Am I bait?”

“Oh, Feyre darling, you are so much more than that. For now, you’re merely my guest. Now—can I trust you in the car?”

Ferye closed her eyes. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to be careful. She had the thought just as her attacker laid her in the back of his car. She panicked, seeing him hovering over her, and immediately kicked him in the throat. He stumbled back as Feyre filled her lungs with air and screamed. She didn’t yell help—but screamed at the top of her lungs hoping a neighbor would come out.

“Fucking shit,” the kidnapper groaned, lunging forward. With her wrists bound, Feyre couldn’t do much, especially when he picked her back up. “Go ahead. Scream as loud as you want—-” She screamed directly against his ear, causing him to jerk back a step. He didn’t speak, merely popped his trunk and dumped her unceremoniously inside.

“Remember I tried,” he said before slamming it shut. Feyre immediately started looking for the little hatch that would open it, pulling it with her teeth.

The masked man was waiting, arms crossed over his chest. “Why must you make this difficult?”

“I hate you,” she bit back, heart racing in her throat. He only sighed before producing masking tape. After a moment, she found it pressed over her eyes and mouth before he bound her ankles, too.

“Open my trunk and roll out,” he dared her, the sound of his voice somehow more terrifying than the sight of him. “See how far that gets you.”

He slammed the trunk again, leaving Feyre alone in the dark. She screamed against the tape, trying to break it until her wrists were raw. He’d begun driving, the music faint through the fabric of the backseats. Would it have been smarter to pretend to be his friend? To lull him into a false sense of security? Feyre had never been particularly patient. In fact, she was spontaneous to a fault, acting without thinking and hoping it all worked out. Of course, that was for school assignments and ghosting friends—never because she’d been kidnapped.

Think, Feyre. 

She couldn’t, though. Not beyond her immediate problem, which was the tape over her mouth and eyes. If she could just get it off, Feyre thought she’d be able to think more clearly. Figure out a plan and execute it. She rubbed until her wrists ached and her head pounded, but at no point did she manage to do anything but chafe her skin, exhaling for air roughly through her nose. 

Eventually, the car came to a stop, the music cutting off abruptly. Lost to the dark, Feyre went limp as the sound of shoes on gravel flooded her senses. A moment later, cold air rushed into the trunk as hands lifted her in the air.

“You’re a terrible actress,” her captor murmured, his amusement plain. “I’m going to unbind you when we get inside. Are you listening to me? Nod your head.” Feyre did.

She heard the sound of numbers being keyed into a pad followed by the smell of warm cedar, drowning out the unmistakable scent of snow. Feyre was set on something soft—a sofa, before the tape was peeled off her eyes, and then her mouth. She was in a cabin, she realized. Well decorated and comfortable—and likely remote. Had he taken her up into the Illyrian Mountains?

“People will be looking for me—”

“No they won’t,” he replied smoothly, reaching for the edge of his mask. He was showing her his face? Feyre panicked—the only reason he’d do that was if he didn’t intend for her to tell anyone. She almost begged him not to, but a second later he’d peeled it back, revealing…well. Not what she’d imagined.

He was handsome, the asshole. Dark hair paired with eyes so blue they seemed violet were the first things she noticed. He was staring down at her, his sensual lips curled into a smile. The sharpness of his jaw and his high cheekbones gave him an almost aristocratic air, and his warm, brown skin was utterly unblemished and smooth. 

She’d been imagining him as some ugly man. This was worse, somehow. If he was caught, he’d have prison groupies. People would wonder if he’d really done anything horrible at all given how lovely he was to look at. That charming smile certainly didn’t help. 

"I remember you," she said. "From the art studio."

Rhys grinned. 

“Let me explain to you how things are going to work between us,” he began, running a hand through his thick hair. “There is nowhere for you to run, and if you try, you’re likely to plummet to your death or freeze before I find you. No one is looking for you. Repeat that as often as you need to. Tamlin will make all your excuses. He’s not going to rescue you. Until I’m done, you are at my mercy.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, wishing she could curl herself into a small ball. 

He chuckled. “No, Feyre. I’m not going to kill you. I think we might get along perfectly well so long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

Like running away. The look on his face told her he expected her to. She didn’t have shoes, was dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt. She wouldn’t get far, but maybe he was lying. Maybe he banked on her fear to keep her compliant. 

He made a show of pulling a pocket knife from his pants and freeing her, frowning at her raw, bruised wrists. Feyre drew them against her chest, looking up at him warily. “What now?” He shrugged. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you remain within these walls.”

Fat chance of that. But Feyre nodded, hoping she looked properly scared. The cabin itself was small, and filled with cameras. He’d see her. Fine. He had to sleep at some point—he couldn’t be monitoring her all day, every day.

It was a bit of a stretch to call it a cabin given the home had two floors. It was remote, though, and seemed to function mostly off the grid, and had a rather nice kitchen she doubted he knew how to use. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a den he seemed to work out of—she wasn’t sure, given he didn’t open that door and merely gestured to it with a casual, don’t go in there.

Maybe it was where he tortured his victims. 

Feyre was given a room down the hall from him, devoid of a lock. “Look up,” he murmured, chin gutting toward the camera. “Wave to Tamlin.”

Feyre glanced up, unsure which of them she hated more. “He can see me?”

“He’ll see this,” Rhys murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s easy enough to send it to him.”

“You could get back at him without involving me,” she heard herself say, wondering if that made her a traitor. This had nothing to do with her, and Feyre felt as if she was being punished unfairly for whatever was going on between Rhys and Tamlin. 

He shrugged. “Consider this a rescue.”

A rescue? Feyre was going to kill him. Maybe he saw it, because he nodded toward the twin bed shoved in the corner. “There’s some clothes in the closet you can use—”

“Who did they belong to?” she demanded, heart leaping in her throat.

“My cousin,” he replied, eyes narrowed. As if he were offended she might suggest there’d been another captive in the room. Feyre didn’t want to think about that—it made her panic all over again. 

Rhys left after a few more self satisfied words around how he’d find her if she tried to escape so not to bother. Feyre wasn’t listening, already thinking about escaping through the window. Was it locked? Her bedroom door wasn’t, which felt like a test. Was he hoping she’d try and escape? 

Feyre sat on the edge of that bed and talked herself into her plan. Ignoring that it was cold and isolated and that she was woefully unprepared, Feyre instead thought about Rhys.

He wasn’t a god. He was only a man. He might have cameras on her, might have her watched, but he couldn’t search miles and miles of forest. The only advantage he had, supposedly, was that he knew she was missing before anyone else did. Feyre had grown up running through the backwoods and something about the slick way Rhys had his hair shoved off his stupid, too-perfect, face, told her he could not boast the same.

Feyre found booties in the back of the closet, and a million pairs of leggings hanging in the closet besides sweaters that were far too big for her frame. They’d double as a blanket, she decided as she pulled it all on. 

He was probably watching her. Feyre turned toward the camera and the blinking red light and offered her middle finger before throwing open that window. 

“For fucks sake!” Rhys’s voice called from somewhere inside the cabin. Feyre scrambled out the window, toppling feet over head into the frigid snow. Rhys’s fingers skimmed her ankle, attempting to drag her back inside. 

Scrambling to her feet as he came right out behind her in that stupid mask, Feyre realized it was a lot harder to run in snow than she’d expected. She had a head start on him for a solid ten seconds before he slammed into her, taking them both back to the ground. Rhys was made of solid muscle and was heavy. 

His bare hand wrapped around her throat, arching her neck upward until his lips touched her ear. “I told you not to,” he said as she writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get out from under him. 

“I don’t care what you say!” Feyre screamed. Rhys grabbed her arms, holding them in one broad hand as he restrained her thoroughly.

“You will—” he began, but Feyre head butted him, earning a furious curse in her ear. He half fell to his side, losing his grip on her wrists, which gave her time to scramble back to her feet. Rhys was just behind, grabbing her around her middle before hauling her up on his shoulder.

Feyre screamed, and though Rhys stumbled, he didn’t drop her like she’d hoped he would. 

“Scream all you want,” Rhys roared in response, as if he needed to make his point. “No one can hear you!”

“Tamlin is going—”

“He’s not coming!” Rhys interrupted, his fury finally scaring her. She hadn’t been frightened before—not truly. But right then, draped over Rhys’s shoulder while he wore that mask in the dark, his voice dripping with condemnation, Feyre was frightened. He sounded irate, dragging her back into that cabin with sure steps.

He didn’t take her back to that same room. Instead, Rhys dropped her into a different one—one that looked distinctly lived in. One that belonged to him, she realized. Feyre attempted to scramble up but Rhys was consistently faster. He had one leg, and then the other bound to the posts at the end of the footboard.

He sat on the bed beside her, laptop resting on his thigh. He pulled that mask up over his face, tossing it to the bed beside her. 

“Look for yourself,” Rhys snarled, shoving the open messages on the screen in front of her face. “Look and see how much he loves you.”

There were a slew of messages between them, and yet Feyre’s eyes snagged only on one.

Kill her then. 

She waited to see if she’d cry, but nothing came. “You’re lying.”

“He’s not coming for you,” Rhys informed her, eyes bouncing over her face as if he were searching for something. “This is between us, and you’ve become collateral.”

“Then why don’t you kill me?” Feyre snapped, yanking at her ankles trapped in the leather cuffs. They were bondage cuffs, she realized, rather than handcuffs. 

“Why would I kill you?” he replied, cocking his head to the side. “Tamlin might not be mounting some heroic rescue, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t view you as his. His little toy to play with until he gets tired of her…” Rhys murmured, sliding the side of his finger along her neck. “I’m not supposed to touch.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“I asked you not to leave,” he continued, ignoring her plea as his fingers made their way down her shoulder. “Left the door open so you knew you could move freely through the house. You’re so desperate to get back to him, but I know what he does to pretty little things like you. Where they end up. How their families mourn.”

“Stop,” she whispered, unsure which terrified her more—his touch, or the threat of what Tamlin might eventually do.

Rhys caught her wrist, binding it over her head before Feyre’s mind could catch up with his actions. She was wholly restrained and he was holding a knife as he walked around the bed. 

“You’re still bait,” he murmured, one hand sliding over a wooden bedpost. “He can see us right now, you know. He’s watching, hoping I’ll kill you before you tell me something you shouldn’t.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” she whispered, trying in vain to wriggle away. 

“If you didn’t know anything, he wouldn’t have responded at all. He’s slipped up—you know something,” Rhys declared, running the sharp edge of his blade across her leggings. The fabric snagged, ripping neatly from ankle to waistband.

“I swear I don’t,” she protested as cool air caressed over her now exposed thighs. He wasn’t done as he ruined that oversized blue sweater, too, leaving her in nothing but the shredded remains of fabric. Violet eyes swept over her now naked form and rather than sadistic amusement, Feyre swore she saw unguarded desire staring back at her.

“You do,” Rhys murmured, pausing between her legs. She tried to hide herself from view, but she was restricted by the restraints. “You just don’t remember.”

“How is this supposed to help?”

“Who said anything about helping?” Rhys questioned, tossing his knife beside his mask. The weapon left a small impression atop the black duvet, sharp end pointing toward her ribcage as if to warn her not to try anything.

Feyre pulled against her restraints, for all the good it did her. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Rhys told her without moving. He did, however, gesture behind him to a wall half hidden in shadow. There, hanging in a gold frame, hung a familiar work of art. Her first ever painting sold—it was a moody seascape Tamlin had accused of being cliche. She’d been brand new, and yet talented enough to be accepted into a showing where an anonymous buyer had overpaid for it.

Feyre still had that first check tucked away in a desk drawer, and when she felt overwhelmed or dejected, she’d pull it out to look at. That same buyer had purchased something from every collection she’d done, always paying far more than she was asking. 

“That was you?”

“I have an eye for beautiful things you know,” he informed her, his gaze a brand against her skin. 

“You’re jealous?”

“Desperately,” he replied without irony. “It’s always been like that between us. He has everything I want.”

“Rhys,” she whispered, unable to look at him anymore. She wanted to tell him not to do this, and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid. 

“He’s watching,” Rhys told her, glancing over his shoulder. “Keeps hacking into my system to see what you’re doing. Will you smile for him, Feyre? Let him think you’re happy?”

“Just let me go,” she pleaded as her captor slid to his knees between her legs. “I won’t say anything.”

“I can’t,” he murmured, lips ghosting over sensitive skin. “I want to keep you.”

Alive, was the unspoken word between them. Did he realize that was a low bar? A bar already set in hell, so far beneath his feet there ought to be no trouble clearing it. And yet…Feyre turned her head as he kissed up his leg, stomach tight from anxiety. 

“Like this?”

He shrugged. “I’d untie you, but I think you’d kill me with your bare hands if I did.”

“I think you’d like it,” she shot back, squirming when she felt his warm breath tease between her legs. 

“I’m hard just thinking about it,” he agreed with a grin. 

His tongue slid up the center of her pussy before Feyre could think of a good comeback. She yelped, trying—and failing—to escape the feeling. It had been too long since someone had done this for her, which was how Feyre explained the bolt of lust racing through her. He didn’t stop, eyes pinned to her face to see if she liked what he was doing.

Feyre was resolved not to react. Men always tired of this act after a minute or two, doubly so when they weren’t being catered to on their back, but instead forced to kneel. It was easy, at least in the beginning, to ignore his tongue teasing her clit. She thought about how cold the snow had been when she’d fallen out the window and reminded herself he’d shoved her in a trunk. That he was a killer, too, and toying with her boyfriend.

Or ex-boyfriend. Feyre wasn’t really sure what they were anymore. She supposed they were over, given he’d told Rhys to kill her. Feyre’s eyes slid to the camera in the corner of the room and somehow, she could feel him watching. Could feel his anger, too—as if this were all her fault. As if she’d kidnapped herself, tied herself up, and was now being forced into pleasure, too.

Are you happy now? Feyre wanted to scream it. 

“Eyes on me,” Rhys growled, forcing her to look back down at him. How long had it been, anyway? Her body hummed at the loss of contact, proving that though she was trying not to feel anything, she couldn’t block him out entirely.

“You’re wasting your time,” she whispered.

“All my time belongs to you now,” was his frustrating reply. He returned his tongue back to her pussy and this time, though she tried, Feyre couldn’t refocus on anything but his touch. It was all wrong—his mask lay on the bed, the knife still pointed toward her, inches away from her exposed skin.

For all she knew, he was lying to her and would kill her when he finished.

“Please stop,” she whispered, pulling on her restraints.

“Come, then,” he said in response, his voice muffled. 

Feyre didn’t want to come. For a while, she writhed against her restraints until he physically pinned her to the bed, holding her still so he could continue his slow torture. Feyre thought he liked when she fought him—that he wanted to bring her under submission. She held herself back, whimpering from the effort as she counted in her head. 

“Do you need a distraction?” Rhys murmured when he heard her reciting the ingredients to a recipe. “Something to turn off that meddling brain of yours?”

“No,” she gasped, but he was on his feet, hands undoing his dark trousers. “I don’t need—I’m fine, I’ll finish—”

“I know you will,” he replied, pulling his long, thick cock from his pants. Feyre couldn’t not look at it as Rhys moved around the bed, extending his restraints so he could reposition her. Feyre fought him, slapping Rhys hard in the face when he undid her arms. He grunted but didn’t react other than to sigh, his frustration plain. With the longer rope, he could tie her hands to the bedposts without overextending her arms while her head now hung off the edge of the bed.

“I won’t,” she informed him.

“You will,” Rhys replied, pinching her nose when she pressed her lips together. As he waited for her to take a breath, he rubbed his cock over her cheek while his other hand slid across her breasts to play with her nipples.

Feyre tried—oh, how she tried—but in the end, she had to take a gasping breath of air. He pushed the head of his cock between her teeth, not caring when sensitive flesh scraped roughly against the jagged edges. The hand that had once pinched her nose now held her throat, squeezing just enough to warn her not to try and bite. 

She did anyway.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned, taking his knife and resting it on her stomach. Feyre didn’t believe he’d use it until he took the hilt and began using the smooth silver to tease against her clit.

She couldn’t argue with him, mouth filled with his cock. She widened her jaw to take a breath as he angled his hips, pushing himself further until he was backed up against her throat. Feyre gagged lightly, praying he wouldn’t keep going. 

She didn’t want to throw up.

Clearly neither did Rhys. Groaning softly, he whispered, “You suck so well.”

She wasn’t doing anything, really—Rhys moved his hips, setting the pace so he could fuck her mouth. Feyre screamed around him when she felt him push the hilt of the knife into her body so he, too, could fuck her with it. He’d been right about one thing—sucking his cock kept her focused on what was happening between her legs. She could think of nothing else, her mind torn between the air coming into her lungs and what Rhys was currently doing with his mouth. 

With his legs spread, he’d returned to licking her clit, focused wholly on that and nothing else. How did he not cut himself on the blade, she wondered as she tried to wriggle the knife out of her pussy.

It didn’t work. Whatever he was doing, he was skilled. Feyre was reacting, her body tightening around the hilt of the blade thanks to the skill of his tongue. Rhys groaned when she sucked in more air than she’d meant to, lips forming a seal around his shaft.

“Just like that baby,” he moaned before picking up his pace. She was going to come and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Feyre tried, eyes leaking from the cock bruising her throat as saliva dripped down her neck. He was going to come, too.

Quick, she realized with some relief. He was timing himself with her, well aware she was close to completion. At least he wouldn’t draw it out? Or he had something else planned. Feyre didn’t know.

Didn’t want to know.

Didn’t want to admit that this was the best she’d felt in a long, long time. How fucked up was it that she hadn’t been able to get off for months, and now, tied up and forced, she was careening toward the sort of pleasure that threatened to unmake her. Was this how stockholm syndrome worked? Her body, flooded with pleasure, began to think that maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here with him.

“Keep sucking,” Rhys moaned again, his hips losing some of their controlled rhythm. Maybe it was better to just get it over with. Feyre sucked around him, though she refused to move her head and help him.

Rhys licked faster, moving in precise circles until her hips began to roll into him, chasing the inevitable. Feyre clenched, finding purchase on the hilt of the blade. Rhys rubbed it just against the perfect spot, his tongue unwavering and Feyre was undone. She screamed around his cock, body bowing off the bed and directly into his mouth. She heard him curse though she didn’t care, half ruined from the pleasure now ribboning through her. Feyre was a star, white hot as it erupted over a silent sky.

She’d forgotten, just for a second, he still had his cock buried in her throat. With a twitching jerk, Rhys came into her throat, his come spilling out the sides of her mouth to join the mess of spit pooling along her collarbone. 

Panting, he pulled himself out of her to show her the knife coated in her own release and dripping with blood. His blood, she realized with alarm, noting the gash sliced over his palm.

“I got too excited,” he breathed, wiping it over her naked breasts. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

“Untie me,” she whispered, tugging against the restraints. “Please, untie me—”

Despite his injured hand, Rhys was quick about it, undoing her hands first, and then her feet. She’d told herself she was going to hit him for what had just happened, but instead Feyre merely sat up while he stepped out, half naked from the waist down, only to return with a warm rag he used to wipe up the mess of come and blood. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he whispered into her hair, pulling her against his chest. 

Feyre looked up at him, unsure if she believed him. “Tamlin told you to.”

“I wouldn’t kill my worst enemy to satisfy him.”

She swallowed. “And…if I wanted to kill him?”

Rhys grinned. “Say less, pretty baby. Say less.”

[mihai-florescu]

Did you know Ensemble Stars spells out the characters' names?

Eichi Tenshouin of fine of course

Narukami Arashi

Subaru Akehoshi the ensemble star himself

Eichi Tenshouin again but this time of ex fine

Makoto Yuki

Boys

Love

Eichi Tenshouin again

Shu Itsuki

Tenshouin Eichi

Adonis Otogari

Rei Sakuma

Sena... Ever since I met you, every day's been amazing. Our youth together has been so bright, so dazzling, everything else pales in comparison.

If I were to take each and every memory and weave them all together into a song, even a single lifetime wouldn't be enough to finish it.

Your beauty, God-given and honed to perfection by you yourself, is the most exquisite work of art.

The mere glimpse of your profile is enough to get me composing nonstop. The ideas come flooding in one after another, until my mind is overflowing with potential masterpieces.

And y'know, that's all I need to be happy. Writing music is my whole life, after all.

Meeting you has made my dreams come true. So this time, it's my turn.

What do you wanna do? Tell me, and I'll help you achieve it together! What's the next step? Tell me, Sena!

Sena, always so sullen, always so unhappy! How can I get you to smile for me?

Should I just take anything you don't like, anybody you don't approve of, and destroy 'em all?

If that's your wish, then consider it granted! No—count me in the efforts to make your ambitions into reality!

So don't dodge the question, don't tell any lies—be honest with me!

What do you wanna do? Don't be shy about it! I won't laugh at you!

It's not fair that I'm the only one embarrassing myself, right? Show me all of you, too!

I don't care if it's some filthy inner desire— Show it to me! I'll spin it into the greatest art ever known and show the whole world—I'll get them all to admire your beauty!

If that's what it takes to fulfill you, then I'll give it my everything.

I don't care if I'll face hatred and resentment. I don't care if I shed every last drop of blood in my body. I don't even care if I have to cut away everything else in my life.

Even if I make the entire world my enemy, I'll be happy as long as I'm with you.

[qiupachups]

miles.g / wiles

.｡.+*☆ headcannons 👾💭

contents: general hcs, mention of his father’s death, i call 42-miles ‘wiles’, me sorta bullying him

a/n: after a lot of procrastination and harassment gentle encouragement from @vhstown i’m finally posting my hcs. :3c (they’ve been sitting here since july)

Despite his tough guy exterior and criminal career, he's actually a massive nerd geek. Like: gundham, comics, posters all over his room.

Until you bring up those interests, he won't mention them. But once you start a conversation about them, he can tell you all the lore front to back or tell you where and when each collectible is from. Just listening to Wiles and nodding along will make his day.

Accepting help from others is not an option. Ever. He's an overly D.I.Y guy since his father's death and it's staying that way.

... unless you're very close to him. Wiles will begrudgingly accept your help and then be adamant on repaying you. No matter how trivial it was, he'll show his gratitude through service.

Wiles has great memory and knows all the lyrics to his favourite songs. Go through his playlist and pick something at random- he'll recite them flawlessly!

A good memory also helps with remembering those flashes of songs playing on your lock screen. Just a split second glance? He's adding it to his playlist, maybe listening to it as he works on his latest gear.

Would be a straight A student if he were there half the time. The only thing keeping his total grades down is attendance, where he’s often absent.

However, if he’s in a group project with you, Wiles will put more effort into it. Getting a ‘C’ or GPA point lower is fine if it means keeping Brooklyn safer. What’s not fine is him being the reason for your lower marks.

Unlike his counterpart from 1610, Wiles’ art is more realistic. He tries to capture the subjects’ essence quickly and minimally, so colours are an afterthought.

Accuracy was his pride in art until it came to you. He’d be so nervous in getting your smile right, scribbling failed attempts over and over again. Wiles even resorted to a pencil sketch.

Following the passing of Jefferson, Wiles has gotten much closer to Rio. That’s a no brainer; he was fourteen— a kid. And Jefferson never got to see his son in that overpriced Visions uniform.

Wiles makes an effort to speak more Spanish. He lets his mamí braid his hair even if it hurts like hell. Those stupid telenovelas aren’t that bad on the second watch.

Once upon a time, Wiles used to be a choir boy (keyword: used). He’d love singing hymns and doing nativities before he could read; all for his mamí and dad to see.

However, the christmas after Jefferson’s passing felt… empty. Wiles quickly lost his passion for choir and now just attends mass with Rio at most.

After years of experience being a choir boy, Wiles has the voice of an angel. Not that you’d know, of course— he intends to take that to the grave. But there’s also a deeper, darker secret… he can’t rap to save his life.

An extremely personal and harrowing Musically comment told him so. Following that attack, twelve year old Wiles abandoned his account with only a black profile picture left behind.

Like any other middle schooler, Wiles had a hype beast phase (he denies it). When Aaron got a Hype shirt for Wiles’ 12th birthday, words couldn’t describe how he almost knocked Aaron down with a hug.

The shirt’s first stain had Wiles distraught and furiously searching ‘remove paint on shirt hacks’ on Youtube. His heart would probably stop if he misplaced a gift from you.

Wiles isn’t the best cook, but he can definitely make himself a good meal. With Rio working night shifts and Uncle Aaron doing… jobs, he has to be self-sufficient.

A secret lil’ side project: he’s trying and failing to replicate Jefferson’s mac ‘n cheese. It wasn’t the best, but it was his. Something’s always off when Wiles makes it and he’s not quite sure what.

Sure, cooking isn’t that hard, but baking is like wizardry to Wiles. AP Chemistry and it’s endless calculations felt way easier than making pan de agua with his mamí.

But, mamí didn’t raise no quitter! On a particularly busy birthday, Wiles pulled together a modest little cake for Rio. She burst into tears seeing the shaky ‘!Feliz Cumple!’ written in too-sweet icing.

Calling Earth-42 a wreck is a massive understatement. Shit’s like Gotham, only very real and very deadly. Just breathing in that damn city air makes Wiles’ skin crawl.

Luckily, he’s got an outlet: boxing. A fun hobby he picked up from Uncle Aaron became his release. Wiles might never be in the ring, but Brooklyn’s more than enough.

a/n #2: what the fuck. this was supposed to be short and silly and fun. exsqueeze me how did this… erm. disjointed mess.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

✨ let’s do a twst trade ✨

Hello ^^;;

This might be coming out of the blue. I’m typically a very private person and tend to stick with social circles I’m already familiar with.

Recently, I’ve been thinking that it would be nice to put myself out there and interact more! I can get easily overwhelmed, so I thought a good way to go about this is to do a handful of art/writing trades. This keeps the number low and conversation approachable, and I think that’d help slowly ease me into being more comfortable interacting and participating in community events.

***UPDATE: Trades now closed, thank you all for the interest!***

Here are the parameters and other important notes (setting these for my own comfort and lifestyle):

This will be a Twisted Wonderland themed trade because that’s the one thing we can guarantee to have in common.

I’ll write a fic for you! Minimum 1-2k words (but I tend to ramble so it could easily go higher than that), starring at least 2 characters (I can write more, but let’s not go too crazy and ask for all 22 NRC students in one fic).

I CAN write platonic, romantic, angst, fluff, yandere, AUs, etc.

I’m okay with writing any and all TWST characters, including staff, RSA students, family members, and other NPCs.

Of course, OCs are also welcome! I’d love to learn more about yours.

Be prepared with references for your OC(s) if applicable. This could include illustrations, but at the bare minimum should include a written explanation of who the character is, their personality, likes/dislikes, and relationships with canon characters.

There are limits to what I will write, as I am uncomfortable with some subject matters. For example, I’m not willing to write anything pregnancy-related. We can discuss my “no goes” in more detail if we decide to trade!

Upon request, I can do a simple digital piece of art OR a washi tape illustration (you won’t receive the physical piece, just a picture of it) for you. I believe most people know me more for my writing, but I wanted to keep these options on the table!

You trade me a fic of your own OR an artwork of roughly the same quantity/quality. As the saying goes, “what you give is what you get.”

We will talk and agree before we start on our pieces what each of us will generally provide at the end. (For example, a 5k word fic for a full color waist up illustration, 1k word fic for a black-white doodle, etc.)

You have to be okay with receiving a vague prompt. I like to be surprised, so I’ll probably just give you a list of general themes, ideas, and characters I like, then set you loose to see what you come up with.

You can be as specific as you like with your own prompt for me though—I’m flexible. Let me know what you don’t like as well so I can avoid including those elements.

To keep things fair, we’ll both hold onto our pieces and exchange them at the same time.

Regarding my written piece, it will be in a Google Doc for you to access.

This is NOT first come, first serve. I can only realistically take on 3-5 trades at this time depending on interest and complexity. If I turn you down, it’s nothing personal!

Priority will be given to mutuals (chances are that there’s more likely to be common ground if we’re already following each other).

Preference will be given to those indicated as adults in their blog intros/profiles (this is just what vibes the best with my personal communication style)

Be patient!! It may take me a few weeks or more to complete my part.

Be aware that doing a trade with me does NOT necessarily mean we will become best friends, and nor should this be the expectation 😅

If you’re okay with the above and are interested in a trade, please DM me! In your DM, you should indicate some prompts/ideas for what you’d like me to write. Please wait for me to respond; do NOT assume that I’ve accepted the trade request just because you’ve messaged me.

[genericpuff]

With LO being done, a mass layoff apparently happening recently, and high profile creators like that of Bugtopia bailing from them, do you think Webtoons is gonna last much longer?

So I had heard about the layoff through the grapevine (as in, pals that I know who are aware of the situation) but honestly, I don't think this is the end of Webtoons as an app... I think this is definitely an end of a version of Webtoons that we were all familiar with as both creators and readers. I've been noticing this shift over the past couple years and now it seems to be coming to a head, a status quo shift from Webtoons being an earnest "anyone can find success with us" community of readers and indie creators to just another enshittified corporate platform that's only interested in churning out content to keep up its bottom line.

Before I continue, obligatory reminder that I am not an Originals creator, just a former Canvas creator and avid webcomic reader. None of this post is to accuse Webtoons of foul play or spread misinformation, these are simply my opinions based on my own experiences with the app and its staff, research that I've done into Webtoons' practices and history as a company, and firsthand + secondhand accounts of experiences on the backend from various Originals creators who have willingly spoken up on the matter. Take the following dissection and rant about Webtoons with mountains of salt.

The biggest sign of this shift I've seen has definitely gotta be the reduction of greenlit Canvas series in favor of imported Korean series. Now I will say there was a time that there genuinely were too many greenlit series, back when they used to do their launch weeks, and I think scaling that back isn't necessarily a bad thing to prevent oversaturation, but oversaturation is still very much happening, it's just through imported series now.

Though I will say a counter argument to this is that Webtoons' own audience has a habit of believing that EVERY piece of work needs to be read and kept up with. This is surely a side effect of Webtoons going from being a smaller platform with only a few select Originals series to suddenly launching hundreds more over the course of the last couple years, there WAS a time you could genuinely keep up with most of the series on the platform if you wanted, but now that's no longer possible, and while some would argue that's a flaw, I'd argue that greenlighting so many series isn't necessarily an invitation for you to read them all, it's just to buff up their library with more choices for those who are more particular about what they read. Do you enjoy isekai but don't like the one about the girl being reborn into her favorite medieval romance book? Well there are 50 other isekais set in medieval times for you to choose from.

That said, the ratio of greenlit Canvas series : Korean imports definitely feels like it's skewed more towards the latter over the past couple years, as we're now seeing them simply opt to import and translate series from their Naver platform. Some people don't really care or notice the difference, and there's certainly lots to be said about the popularity of many Korean works, but many other readers are now feeling iced out by the platform's sudden shift in art styles and storytelling tropes because Korean webtoons and manwhas do generally aim for a different audience than what a lot of veteran Webtoon users are used to. Plus from the creator side of things, it's undoubtedly making the playing grounds feel uneven where greenlit Canvas series now have to compete with the webtoons from overseas that are made in studios with teams of people and seem to also be paid far better than what NA creators are being paid. Webtoons already severely limits what series they choose to advertise and that's only gotten worse over the years with the ongoing oversaturation of the app's library.

That's only regarding quantity though, as there's surely lots to be said about how a lot of the higher quality stories are ones here made in North America, and a lot of that I feel has to do with the benefit of them being comics written in English by people who natively speak English. Unlike Korean manwha/webtoons, they don't have to go through the process of translation and localization which can unfortunately cause an otherwise well written manwha to lose its subtleties and specific writing choices due to rushed or poor translating (people who read scanlations of manga and manwha or who even just watch dubbed vs. subbed anime can certainly attest to this.)

With all that in mind, my own personal theory (*again, this is my opinion and tinfoil hat suspicions, not fact) is that Webtoons/Naver has essentially been outsourcing to North America to build up their app through titles like Lore Olympus, and now that that audience has been built, they seem to be bringing in their Korean series to benefit off that audience while reducing the amount of NA Canvas series they greenlight, particularly their most popular genres like Romance, Fantasy, and Action. How much they'll benefit, I can't say for certain, considering this is a company that has been operating in the red for years and IIRC they even practically admit to this in their IPO proposal (it's actually really funny to read if you're familiar with legal jargon and Webtoons as a company)

Fact of the matter though is that despite Webtoons building up that audience through legacy NA titles, they seem to have forgotten one fundamental thing - most of the people in that audience just don't seem to be interested in the content they're now trying to sell. Credit where credit is due, the aggressive marketing campaign surrounding Lore Olympus for the last 5 years did a great job at pulling in new people to the app, many of whom never read webtoons before. In all its flaws, Lore Olympus is very beginner friendly for people who are new to Webtoons, with guilty pleasure romance writing that a lot of NA readers enjoy nowadays and an art style that was very unique at the time.

But out of all those people who were attracted to the app through series like LO, how many do you think are reading Korean manwha? I don't have the numbers to back up this argument 🧂🧂🧂 but I personally doubt it's very many if all the complaints about Webtoons becoming 'samey' over the years is anything to go off of (right alongside the complaints of LO being marketed way too much lmao)

So no, I don't think Webtoons as a company is going anywhere. They've made it this long operating at a loss, mostly in part to their parent company Naver injecting them with funds (and for anyone unaware, Naver is essentially the Google of Korea, they're a massive tech company that owns Webtoons as a separate venture, not too different from Google owning Youtube in a sense) and now they're turning to public funding.

I do think Webtoons as we know it is dying and changing, for better and for worse however you may define it, and regardless of which way it goes, it's going to come with the consequential shift in both audience and creators that such a transformation brings. I was there when it happened to Tapas, I was there when it happened to DeviantArt, and now we're seeing it in real time with Webtoons all over again. Whether or not they rise from the ashes reborn anew or simply fester like a dying animal, that remains to be seen, but considering this is the same company that's currently exploiting and underpaying creators to keep their bottom line afloat, developing AI tools, and running an app that's held together with staples and glue and doesn't even have tagging implemented, I'm not holding my breath for the best case scenario. The company and its app may live on but the Webtoons that we knew for years is long gone and may never return again.

And that's my many cents on that.

[kinichval]

game's over, you exist now, to my doom.

── ✦ viewing yn ln's character profile...

yn ln. gamertag: anaheim. business management major.

only took the program because she's expected to take over the family business, her college life is manageable as she maintains a satisfactory performance enough to avoid an existential crisis 3 out of 5 times in a month. loves playing games as a past time, primarily plays sandbox and rhythm games but is now learning how fps games work to spend time with a boy she likes (spoiler: it's complicated).

── ✦ recommended teammates for yn...

lumine — international relations major. | friends with yn since high school, she's the reason why yn stayed in natlan for college even though she planned on attending sumeru akademiya. always has love letters on her desk every valentine's day, but she's still single and wonders why (legend says she still denies her obvious pining for ayaka).

mualani — marine biology major. | had a lot of minor courses with yn back in the freshman year that's why they're tied like two knitted together shark plushies (as mualani describes their friendship). the only person yn has influenced with her music taste.

xilonen — arts and design major. | a year ahead of the three, but shared some minor course classes with lumine and mualani which led to a couple of lunches together until the four of them just became the best of besties in the university. yn's only gaming buddy but they rarely play now that xilonen has a part-time job.

confirm character selection? [ yes ] [ view kinich malipo ]

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! I'm looking for fics set in ancient history, preferably including extensive descriptions of the ancient cultures. I don't mind NSFW, but mainly I'm looking for a good story and interesting plot. The longer the fic, the better!

If it helps, I really enjoyed "Do You Know What Eternity Is?" by Elderly_Worm and the "Mistakes Were Made" series by eag

Thanks! 💕

Hello. You can check our #through the ages tag for fics. Here are some more to add that feature different cultures...

Camel-travel star-gazing by Sad_Wet_Bretzel (G)

Crowley had tilted his head back. His eyes were still covered by dark lenses and Aziraphale wished he would just take them off. It was night, and the nearest human was twenty metres away, their back turned to them. “See that one?” the demon said suddenly, pointing eastward. “S’ one of my favourites.” or Aziraphale and Crowley are assigned to the same caravan, travelling from the Ghana Empire to the Mediterranean Sea across the Saharan plains. The perfect cover to innocently spend time together.

some chocolate to sweeten the deal by Enelica, sevdrag (G)

“Heathens.” Crowley snorts. “Did you know they’ve already discovered four of the planets? Lot of work went into those, let me tell you, and these clever bastards have spotted four of them already. Britannia should weep.” Aziraphale’s smile softens in pleasure. The angel’s too soft over humanity, and unfortunately, it’s one of the things Crowley likes best about him. “Did you know they’re only eight hundred and ninety years off calculating when the earth began?” The angel glances away, and Crowley has to cover a sharp breath at Aziraphale’s profile, pale and happy. “That’s the closest anyone’s gotten, I believe.” (Written for the Days Of Their Lives zine with incredible art by Enelica!)

we'll get there fast, and then we'll take it slow by in_deepest_blue (T)

"Hurry over like a horse, but take your time like an ox laden with treasures." One summer in late 19th-century Japan, Aziraphale learns about a fascinating tradition during Obon, the festival to honor the deceased, which reminds him of his hopes for a future with Crowley. A look into four different stages in Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship, all set in Japan during different seasons and time periods.

A Juhannus Night's Dream by kittygirl2210 (G)

Aziraphale is sent up to Finland to bless a Midsummer festival, Crowley goes with her on her own "assignment". The pair thus get roped into helping with the celebrations. Aziraphale and Crowley are fem presenting in this, and it takes place between Edinburgh and St. James' Park! (Note: contains some Finnish Fem!Aziracrow art!)

The snake of healing by Sad_Wet_Bretzel (G)

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, who stared back. The angel looked the same, if a little travel worn. His river coloured eyes crinkled slightly at the sides as he took in his friend’s appearance. Crowley tightened her trembling fists, nails digging into the skin. or After a particularly nasty punishment from Hell, Crowley retreats in the Chicama Valley and becomes an artisan. Aziraphale comes to find her.

Mistakes Were Made: The Book of Crowley by eag (M)

Based on the biblical Book of Tobit from the Apocrypha. Ephesus, 400 B.C. Commanded away from Aziraphale's side by an infernal master, Crowley is forced to use his time-stopping powers for Asmodeus' dirty work while Aziraphale is left wondering why Crowley has disappeared. As Crowley sinks ever deeper into despair, Aziraphale is sent on a journey accompanying a human from Nineveh to Ecbatana. Of course, mistakes were made...

- Mod D