#push-in terminal block | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jaeyunluvbot · 1 month ago

Text

this love

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 exes to lovers, joshua x reader, also partially mingyu x reader

word count 𝟅𝟈 10.1k

part one

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Joshua stepped off the plane, the cool air of New York sweeping over him as he entered the terminal. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about the bustling energy of this city felt like it was pressing in on him, in a way that was both exhilarating and overwhelming. It wasn’t the first time he’d been here, but this time felt different. There was a strange weight to the air as though the city itself was carrying something he wasn’t prepared for.

The hum of conversation, the footsteps of hurried travelers, the flashing billboards just outside the windows—it all felt so vibrant, so full of life. And yet, beneath the excitement and the rush, there was a quietness to his heart, a tug in the back of his mind.

This city reminded him of you.

He shifted the strap of his suitcase, moving through the crowd. Bright lights, hurried people, and the constant motion—the life of New York was contagious. But it wasn’t just the city’s pulse that caught him off guard. It was the way everything about it seemed to echo the parts of you he had loved so much.

You had always been like the city to him—full of energy, always moving, always chasing the next thing. Your smile, the way you carried yourself in a room, the way you could command attention without even trying. That’s what you had been to him, a force of nature that made everything feel brighter.

And now, just stepping into this city, he could almost hear your laugh again, see the way you’d look at him with that mischievous smile, eyes lighting up like you were always in on some secret. He could almost feel your presence in the air around him, but it was a presence that hurt now, a sharp reminder of what they had lost.

Joshua let out a slow breath, trying to ground himself. “You’re not here for her, Joshua. Don’t go looking for her.”

It was pointless, he knew. You had your life, and he had his. There was no going back, not after everything. You were in New York now, though, living in the same city he was. He didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to dwell on the possibility that they might cross paths again. The city was huge, the chances of seeing you again were slim to none.

Still, it seemed like fate had a way of pulling the two of you back together, no matter how far apart you’d tried to stay.

He pushed through the terminal, his thoughts spinning as he made his way to the taxi stand. The whole business trip had been planned months ago, and it had seemed so clear-cut then—a professional trip to oversee the opening of a new office, a straightforward task. But now, with New York sprawling before him, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of the past bearing down on him.

He stepped into the cab, the engine rumbling to life, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, trying to block out the noise of the city. New York had always been a dream of yours, hadn’t it? The energy, the endless opportunities. And even though their paths had diverged, it was impossible to forget that part of hyourer dream was still alive in this city.

But the cab was moving now, the streets of New York unfolding before him, and with each turn, each new block, Joshua felt something tug at his chest. A sense of familiarity, a longing he couldn’t fully explain. The city might be full of strangers, full of business and distractions, but he couldn’t help but wonder: could it ever really feel like home again?

He let out a long sigh and glanced out the window, forcing himself to focus on the purpose of the trip. But the more he tried to push the thoughts of you away, the more they seemed to take hold.

And this time, he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what might come next.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Joshua had spent the last few days wandering the streets of New York, letting the city become his guide. He walked for hours, sometimes aimlessly, sometimes with a purpose, just to get a feel for the pulse of this place. He’d taken a few cabs, gotten lost a couple of times, and explored neighborhoods where the air smelled different from what he was used to. It was all part of the process of settling in, of finding his way in a city that, despite being filled with people, felt strangely isolating.

He hadn’t gone near your neighborhood, not yet. He had promised himself he wouldn’t. Too many memories tied to that area, too many things that still felt fresh and raw. And he assumed you still lived with your parents, living your life, doing what you always had. There was no reason to go looking for a ghost of the past when he had his own life to rebuild.

But even as he tried to avoid the places that had once been familiar, he couldn’t help but feel that pull. It was New York, after all. A city of millions, yet somehow, it always seemed to bring people together, whether they were ready for it or not.

It was on a lazy afternoon when he wandered into a department store, aimlessly browsing through a few racks of clothes, that he saw you.

He didn’t notice you at first—just a flash of movement in the aisle. Then, his eyes caught sight of the way you laughed, the way you tilted your head back as you chatted with your friends. That laugh. It was unmistakable, like a sound from another life that had been buried deep in his memory. But it was real. It was here, right in front of him.

Joshua froze.

For a moment, the world around him seemed to blur. The lights, the busy customers, the gentle hum of conversation—it all faded as he focused on you.

You looked so different. Yet so much the same. Your hair, now a bit longer than it used to be, caught the light as you moved through the store. Your smile was still bright, infectious, that same twinkle in your eye he used to adore. But there was something else—something he couldn’t quite place. You were glowing, like you had grown into yourself in a way he never imagined.

Time had done something to you, something he hadn’t expected. You were still the girl he once knew, but you’d grown, matured in a way that took him by surprise. You had become someone else, someone so much more than he remembered. It was as if the city had worked its magic on you too—turning you into something even more radiant than before.

His breath caught in his chest, and for a moment, he didn’t know whether to move closer or to turn and leave. But before he could make up his mind, you laughed again, your voice cutting through the air, and his heart seemed to skip a beat.

God, how long has it been?

Two years.

He hadn’t expected to feel this way—hadn’t expected to feel like the time between them had been nothing but a blink. But here you were, standing in front of him, and for a moment, he wondered if the world around him had shifted in a way he couldn’t understand.

You still hadn’t noticed him. You were too busy with your friends, your back to him as you flipped through some clothes on a nearby rack.

Joshua’s gaze lingered on you for just a little too long, and then, as if his body was on autopilot, he took a step backward, moving quietly toward an aisle to the side. He wasn’t sure if you’d even seen him, but in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt.

He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this, not after everything that had happened.

As he walked away, his mind raced. You were still here, living your life in a way he couldn’t quite grasp. You had moved on, just as he’d tried to. But seeing you now, in the light of the city, so full of life—it made everything feel as if it hadn’t changed.The city, the memories—it was all there, wrapped up in the image of you standing in that store, looking so different and yet still so you.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The first few months in New York had been tough. Moving back in with your parents at twenty-six hadn’t exactly been the picture of independence you'd envisioned for yourself. After leaving California—leaving him—you’d felt like a shell of yourself. Work had been the only thing keeping you afloat, a routine you clung to like a lifeline. Wake up. Go to the office. Come home. Repeat.

But even the most rigid routines couldn’t keep the ache at bay. The nights were the hardest—quiet and heavy, full of thoughts you’d tried so desperately to avoid. You’d wonder where he was, what he was doing, if he ever thought about you. Those first few weeks, it felt like every corner of your mind was occupied by him, by the love you had lost, by the life you’d imagined that had unraveled in an instant.

Then, your friends had found out you were back. Friends who had known you since you were young, who remembered the girl you were before Joshua, before California. They refused to let you wallow.

They dragged you out of your parents’ house, insisted you join them for brunches, walks in the park, late-night karaoke sessions that left you laughing so hard your sides hurt. Slowly, they helped you piece yourself back together.

You started to remember who you were.

Now, two years later, you hardly recognized the girl who’d come back to New York feeling broken and lost. Your job as a PR agent was amazing, the kind of position you’d dreamed of when you first started college. The cushy salary afforded you a beautiful one-bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side, decorated with warm, neutral tones and little pops of color that reflected your personality.

You’d finally found stability. Confidence.

You’d grown up in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You understood now that Joshua hadn’t left because you weren’t enough or because you’d done something wrong. He simply hadn’t been ready. And that was okay.

That realization had been a turning point for you. Letting go of the bitterness, the insecurity—it had freed you to focus on what really mattered: taking care of yourself.

It didn’t mean you didn’t miss him, though. There were still moments—quiet, fleeting—when something would remind you of him. A song you’d danced to together. The scent of his cologne on someone walking by. A fleeting image in your mind of his warm smile, the way his voice softened when he said your name.

But now, those memories didn’t hurt quite as much. They were a part of you, yes, but they no longer defined you.

Standing in your apartment one evening, you looked out at the city lights, the skyline glimmering like a promise in the distance. This city had seen you at your worst, but it had also witnessed your transformation.

You were happy here.

For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Vernon had been the first friend to find out you had moved back to the city. Your parents, worried about you, had called him after you’d locked yourself in your room for an entire weekend.

“I heard you were back,” he’d said casually, as though two years of silence between you hadn’t passed. “We’re getting bagels tomorrow. No excuses.”

You’d tried to decline, mumbling something about needing to rest or having work, but Vernon had simply said, “Eight a.m. Don’t be late,” and hung up.

That was Vernon for you—low-key, no-nonsense, and always there when you needed him, even if you didn’t realize it yourself.

That breakfast had turned into weekly meet-ups, then spontaneous hangouts, and eventually, him reintroducing you to the rest of your childhood friends. He never pushed, never asked you about Joshua unless you brought it up first. Instead, he let you heal at your own pace, offering the kind of quiet, steady support that only Vernon could.

“Look at you,” he said now, leaning back in his chair as you both sat at a small café near your apartment. “Living your best life. I’m so proud.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “I wouldn’t say I’m living my best life.”

“You’ve got a great job, your own place, and you’re killing it out here. Don’t undersell yourself,” he said, raising his iced coffee in a mock toast. “To the comeback queen.”

You laughed, clinking your glass against his. Vernon had a way of making everything feel lighter, easier. He’d been your rock when you didn’t even know you needed one, and for that, you were endlessly grateful.

“You know,” he said after a pause, a teasing glint in his eye, “you might actually be ready to start dating again. Or is the thought of Tinder still too terrifying?”

You groaned, throwing a sugar packet at him. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, dodging the packet with a grin. “The Y/N I see now? She’s ready for whatever’s next.”

His words lingered with you long after you parted ways.

Whatever’s next.

You hadn’t let yourself think about that much—not about love, at least. You’d been so focused on getting your footing, on becoming the version of yourself you were proud of. But now, as you walked back to your apartment under the glow of the city lights, you wondered.

Maybe Vernon was right. Maybe you were ready.

You just didn’t know that "next" was closer than you thought.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Vernon had been annoyingly smug when you finally agreed to go on a blind date with one of his friends he’d been raving about ever since you got bacl.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said with a wink, earning an exasperated eye roll from you.

Now, sitting across from Mingyu in the softly lit restaurant, you begrudgingly admitted Vernon might have been right.

Mingyu was handsome in that effortless way that made you feel a little self-conscious but also oddly flattered. Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a crisp button-down, he radiated confidence without crossing into arrogance. And his smile—warm, easy, and ever-present—had you forgetting about the nerves that had crept in when you first arrived.

“So,” Mingyu said, leaning forward slightly, his elbow resting on the table. “Be honest. Did Vernon have to bribe you to agree to this?”

You laughed, swirling the wine in your glass. “No bribe, but I did consider faking a work emergency.”

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “Fair enough. I almost bailed too. Blind dates are…a gamble.”

“A gamble?” you teased. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent dinner companion.”

“Clearly,” he said with a playful grin. “But I think I’ve won the jackpot tonight.”

His compliment caught you off guard, and you felt a warmth creep up your neck. It wasn’t just his words—it was the way he said them, with an ease and sincerity that made you believe him.

The conversation flowed effortlessly after that. Mingyu had an endless supply of stories from his time as a chef, from disastrous kitchen mishaps to the joy of creating dishes that made people happy. He was funny, intelligent, and attentive in a way that felt refreshing.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about the past. You weren’t analyzing every little thing, wondering what might go wrong. You were just here, sharing a meal with someone who made you laugh until your cheeks hurt.

As the waiter cleared the plates, Mingyu leaned back in his chair, studying you with a curious expression.

“You know,” he said, “I don’t know what I was expecting when Vernon said he had the perfect person for me, but I think I underestimated him.”

“Oh?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “What did he say about me?”

He smirked, taking a sip of his wine. “That you were smart, driven, and a little intimidating—but also one of the kindest people he knows. I think he was underselling you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words, but you pushed it down, keeping your tone light. “Vernon does tend to exaggerate.”

“Not this time,” Mingyu said softly, his gaze steady on yours.

And just like that, you realized something. You weren’t thinking about Joshua. Not his laugh, not his smile, not the way he used to make you feel.

You were here, in this moment, and for the first time in years, you let yourself believe that you deserved this.

Deserved to be happy.

Deserved to move on.

As Mingyu flagged down the waiter for the check, you found yourself smiling, a quiet contentment settling over you. Maybe Vernon was right. Maybe this was exactly what you needed.

And yet, although you'd let the past go, part of you wondered if the past would ever let you go.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Joshua had barely touched his food.

The dinner meeting was productive—great, even. The new branch’s partners seemed reliable, their strategies aligning seamlessly with his company’s vision. It should’ve been a win, but his focus kept slipping.

Maybe it was the restaurant. Too nice, too cozy, too intimate for a business dinner. Or maybe it was New York itself, refusing to let him breathe without conjuring up memories of you.

He sighed, pulling his attention back to the table as the others laughed over a shared joke. He forced a polite smile, nodding along when necessary. When their meal wrapped up, he rose from his seat, buttoning his blazer.

That’s when he saw you.

At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him again, the same way it had been since he arrived in the city. But no, it was you—standing just a few feet away, radiant in a sleek dress, your laugh lighting up the space around you.

And then his gaze shifted to the man beside you.

Tall, broad, effortlessly charming, the stranger was leaning in close, saying something that made you laugh again, your hand briefly resting on his arm. Joshua felt like the air had been knocked out of him.

“Joshua? You coming?” one of his colleagues asked, snapping him out of his trance.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” he said quickly, his voice tight.

He watched as you and the man—your date, he realized with a pang—moved toward the door. He hadn’t intended to follow, but as fate would have it, both groups converged near the exit.

You froze mid-step when your eyes met his.

“Joshua?”

Your voice was calm, but he could see the flicker of surprise in your expression. The man beside you turned, curious but unbothered, as though meeting exes was just another Tuesday.

“Y/N,” Joshua managed, his tone polite but strained. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same here,” you said, your voice steady. You glanced at Mingyu and gestured toward Joshua. “This is Joshua, an old friend from college.”

Joshua’s stomach twisted at the casualness of your introduction. Old friend? That’s all he was to you now?

“And this is Mingyu,” you continued, motioning to your date. “He’s…we’re—”

Mingyu, ever the gentleman, stepped in with an easy smile. “I’m her date,” he said, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Joshua shook Mingyu’s hand automatically, the words catching in his throat. Date. Of course. It wasn’t like he had any right to be surprised—you had every reason to move on. But knowing that didn’t make it easier to hear.

“Nice to meet you,” Joshua finally said, forcing a smile. “I hope you’re enjoying the city.”

“Oh, I am,” Mingyu said, glancing at you with a grin. “But I think Y/N’s making it better. She’s been showing me around a bit.”

Joshua’s chest tightened, the casual intimacy between you and Mingyu cutting deeper than he expected. He looked back at you, searching for something—hesitation, discomfort, anything that would tell him you weren’t as unaffected as you seemed.

But you stood there, poised and calm, as though seeing him was nothing more than a passing encounter.

“Well,” you said, your voice light, “we should get going. It was good to see you, Joshua.”

Before he could respond, you turned to leave, Mingyu’s hand resting lightly on your back as he guided you toward the door.

Joshua stood there, rooted to the spot, the noise of the restaurant fading into the background.

You looked happy.

That should’ve been enough for him. But as he watched you walk away, laughter floating back toward him, he realized with a sinking feeling that it wasn’t.

It never would be.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You refused to let Joshua’s sudden appearance rattle you.

The encounter at the restaurant had been startling, sure. Seeing him again after two years—looking as polished and composed as ever—had stirred up something you weren’t ready to name. But you had worked too hard to get to this point, to rebuild your life into something you were proud of.

So, as you slid into the cab with Mingyu, laughing at his exaggerated complaint about how hard it was to hail one in the city, you made a silent promise to yourself: Joshua Hong would not take up space in your mind tonight.

Or ever, if you could help it.

“Okay, so,” Mingyu said, his eyes sparkling as he glanced at you. “What’s next? Dessert? A rooftop bar? Or are you secretly a karaoke queen?”

You laughed, grateful for his easy charm. “As tempting as it is to traumatize you with my singing, I vote dessert. There’s this amazing bakery a few blocks from here.”

“Lead the way,” he said, grinning.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter and conversation. With Mingyu, everything felt effortless—like you could be fully yourself without fear of judgment or expectations. You liked that about him. He was warm and steady, the kind of person who made you feel safe in his presence.

And maybe that was why you found yourself saying yes when he asked if you wanted to meet up again later that week.

The weeks that followed were filled with moments that reminded you how much you had missed this—dating, being open to new experiences, letting yourself feel hopeful about the future. Mingyu wasn’t just a distraction; he was someone you genuinely enjoyed being around.

He took you to hole-in-the-wall restaurants that became instant favorites, spent Sunday mornings wandering through farmers' markets with you, and made you laugh until your stomach hurt with his terrible jokes.

Eventually, somewhere between late-night conversations and stolen kisses, you became his girlfriend.

And you were happy.

Joshua, meanwhile, became a ghost of your past—a name you rarely thought about, a memory that no longer haunted you. You assumed he had left the city not long after you’d seen him. After all, New York had never been his kind of place.

Whatever his reasons for being here, they didn’t matter. Not anymore.

Because for the first time in years, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The holidays were always a busy time for you, but this year, they felt especially chaotic. Between work deadlines, planning Thanksgiving dinner with your mom, and finding the perfect gifts for everyone, your calendar was packed.

You were standing in the kitchen, helping your mom prep a pie crust, when she broached the subject.

“So,” she said, her tone casual but laced with intent, “I ran into Joshua the other day.”

Your hands froze mid-motion. “Oh?”

“Yes, at the market,” she continued, as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you. “We chatted for a bit. He looked well, but it turns out he doesn’t have any family in the city for the holidays.”

You had a sinking feeling about where this was going.

“I was thinking,” she went on, carefully avoiding your gaze, “it would be nice to invite him to Thanksgiving. I mean, it’s not right for anyone to be alone on the holidays.”

You placed the rolling pin down and turned to face her. “Mom...”

Of course, it’s up to you,” she added quickly. “We wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But, you know how much we’ve always liked him. And it’s been years, hasn’t it?”

You sighed. She wasn’t wrong. It had been years, and you were pretty much over it—or at least you thought you were. Seeing Joshua at Thanksgiving wasn’t exactly on your holiday wish list, but you couldn’t deny that the idea of him spending the day alone tugged at your heart.

“Okay,” you said finally, though the word felt heavy in your chest. “He can come.”

Your mom beamed. “That’s my girl. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

But you weren’t entirely sure you believed her.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Later that evening, you sat across from Mingyu at your favorite café, stirring your coffee with a bit more force than necessary. You’d been mulling over how to bring it up all day, and now that you were here, the words felt tangled in your throat.

“What’s on your mind?” Mingyu asked, his gaze steady and warm.

You took a deep breath. “Okay, so... there’s something I need to tell you.”

He leaned forward, his expression curious but unconcerned. “Go on.”

“My family invited Joshua to Thanksgiving,” you said, watching his face carefully. “He doesn’t have family here, and they felt bad for him. I agreed because I don’t think anyone should be alone on the holidays, but... there’s something you should know about him.”

Mingyu’s brows furrowed slightly, but he nodded for you to continue.

“He’s not just an old friend from college,” you admitted. “He’s... my ex. We were engaged, actually.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with history and meaning.

Mingyu’s expression shifted, but not in the way you’d feared. There was no anger, no jealousy—just quiet understanding.

“Okay,” he said simply.

“Okay?” you echoed, unsure if you’d heard him right.

“Yeah,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s all in the past, right? You’re with me now. I trust you.”

Relief flooded through you, but there was still a flicker of guilt in your chest. “I just didn’t want you to feel... threatened, or like I was keeping it from you.”

Mingyu reached across the table, covering your hand with his. “You’re telling me now, and that’s what matters. Besides, it’s Thanksgiving. Everyone deserves a little kindness.”

His words warmed something in you that had been cold and uncertain all day.

“Thank you,” you said softly, squeezing his hand.

“Of course.” He grinned. “But if he tries to steal the last slice of pie, all bets are off.”

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in hours. Mingyu was right. It was all in the past.

But as the holiday approached, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this Thanksgiving was going to be... complicated.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The smell of roasted turkey and freshly baked pies filled the apartment as you smoothed the last wrinkle from the tablecloth. The dining table, though modest in size, had been extended and covered in a cheerful autumn-themed runner. Plates and glasses were set with precision, every detail curated to make the space feel warm and inviting.

Your mom bustled around the kitchen, peeking into the oven and adjusting timers. Mingyu, ever the professional, was by her side, chopping herbs with practiced ease. Despite being a guest, he had slipped into the role of sous chef the moment he walked through the door.

“You’ve been running around all day,” Mingyu said as you adjusted the throw pillows on the couch for the third time. He set down his knife and gave you a pointed look. “Go get ready, Y/N. We’ve got it from here.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He grinned, hands lightly pushing you toward your bedroom. “You’ve cleaned, cooked, and stressed over every detail. You deserve at least twenty minutes to make yourself look even more stunning than you already do.”

Your mom chimed in, nodding her approval. “He’s right, sweetheart. We’ll take care of everything out here.”

Reluctantly, you retreated to your room, shutting the door behind you. A soft pink sweater and your favorite jeans were laid out on the bed, simple but flattering. You took your time brushing out your hair and adding a touch of makeup. When you stepped back out, feeling refreshed and put together, Mingyu looked up from the stove.

His face lit up instantly. “Wow.”

Your mom glanced over her shoulder and gave an approving nod. “You look lovely, honey.”

Heat crept up your cheeks as you muttered a shy thank you. Mingyu walked over, brushing his hands on a kitchen towel before cupping your face for a quick kiss. “You’re perfect.”

Before you could respond, the doorbell buzzed. Guests were starting to arrive.

The apartment filled quickly with the sounds of laughter, conversation, and the occasional clink of glasses. Your family filed in one by one, hugging you tightly and marveling at how wonderful everything looked. You moved between the kitchen and the living room, greeting each person warmly and ensuring everyone had what they needed.

You were setting down a tray of drinks when the doorbell rang again. Straightening your sweater, you opened the door to find Joshua standing there.

He looked a little nervous but composed, a bottle of wine in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other.

“Hi,” he said with a soft smile.

“Hi, Joshua,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in. “Come on in. It’s good to see you.”

He handed you the flowers, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “These are for you. I wasn’t sure what to bring.”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” You gestured toward the kitchen. “Put the wine on the counter. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Joshua nodded, his gaze sweeping the apartment. “This place is really nice.”

“Thanks.” You smiled, trying to keep the interaction light. “It’s cozy, but it works for me.”

As he moved toward the kitchen, you turned back to greet another family member, letting the warmth and bustle of the evening carry you along.

Dinner was a lively affair. Plates were passed around, stories were shared, and laughter filled the room. Mingyu, sitting beside you, charmed your family effortlessly, joking with your cousins and complimenting your mom’s recipes.

Joshua sat a few seats down, mostly quiet but polite. You caught him glancing at you occasionally, his expression unreadable. You made a conscious effort to focus on the conversation around you, refusing to let his presence unnerve you.

At one point, Mingyu leaned over to whisper in your ear. “You’re amazing, you know that? This is perfect.”

You smiled, leaning into him slightly. “Thank you for helping. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Across the table, Joshua watched the quiet exchange, his chest tightening at the ease between you and Mingyu. He tried to focus on his plate, on the stories your uncle was telling, but his mind kept drifting.

The night continued with dessert and coffee, the energy never waning. When it was time to clear the table, Mingyu and your mom insisted you sit and relax. You ended up on the couch with your cousins, reminiscing about childhood antics and laughing until your sides hurt.

Joshua stayed on the fringes of the gathering, helping your dad with the dishes and making polite conversation.

As guests began to leave, Joshua found himself lingering near the door, unsure if he should say goodbye now or wait. Mingyu was by your side, his arm casually draped over the back of the couch, and you looked completely at ease.

When you finally walked him to the door, he hesitated.

“Thank you for letting me come tonight,” he said, his voice low.

“Of course,” you replied, offering him a small smile. “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did,” he said, though the evening had been anything but relaxing for him.

For a moment, it felt like he wanted to say more, but instead, he nodded and stepped out into the night.

As you closed the door, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Mingyu appeared a moment later, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, leaning into him. “I’m fine.”

And you were—mostly.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Joshua closed the door to his apartment, the sound of it clicking shut echoing in the quiet space. He dropped his keys onto the counter and set the bottle of leftover wine he’d brought onto the kitchen island. The place was spotless, minimalist to a fault, but instead of feeling inviting, it felt cold. Impersonal.

He exhaled deeply, tugging at the knot of his tie and shrugging off his blazer. For a long moment, he just stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, his thoughts swirling.

The evening replayed in his mind, each moment sharper and more painful than the last. You, laughing at Mingyu’s jokes, your head tilted back in a way that made you glow. Mingyu’s hand brushing your arm, the way he leaned in to whisper something that had you smiling, cheeks warm with affection.

Joshua hated how easy Mingyu had slipped into the role he used to play—the charming boyfriend who could make your family laugh and feel at ease. It had been his place once, his hand in yours under the table, your parents shooting him approving glances, your little cousins climbing into his lap without hesitation.

He thought he’d prepared himself for this. He’d been the one who left, the one who’d walked away from you, convinced it was the right thing to do. He thought time and distance would dull the ache, make it easier to accept that you had every right to move on. But tonight had proved him wrong.

Dropping onto the couch, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. He hadn’t expected it to hurt like this. The sight of Mingyu fitting so seamlessly into your world felt like a punch to the gut.

He’d been in Mingyu’s position once. He’d cooked with your mom in the kitchen, teased you about being a perfectionist, earned your dad’s trust and your siblings’ affection. He thought back to the countless holidays he’d spent with you, surrounded by warmth and laughter.

But he wasn’t that man anymore. He was the outsider, standing on the periphery of a life he no longer had any claim to.

The apartment felt stifling now, the silence pressing down on him. He rose to his feet, pacing the living room. He glanced at the window, the city lights twinkling beyond the glass. This city was supposed to be a fresh start, a place to build something new. But it only reminded him of what he’d lost.

He grabbed a glass of water and sat back down, staring into the distance.

What hurt the most wasn’t just that you were happy with someone else—it was that you seemed at peace. There was no bitterness in the way you’d looked at him tonight, no lingering resentment. You were kind, warm, even friendly. You’d moved on, and it was clear you’d grown stronger because of it.

And him? He still felt like a man stuck in the past, haunted by what could have been.

Joshua leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes. He knew he had no one to blame but himself.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It’s a quiet evening, one of those rare nights when both of them have the evening off. You and Mingyu are sitting together on the couch in your living room, the soft hum of the city life just outside the window. You’re curled up next to him, but there’s an unmistakable tension in your posture. You’re quieter than usual, your gaze drifting off, lost in thought.

He glances at you, noticing the subtle shift in your mood. He pauses the movie you were watching, turning to face you.

“You’ve been quiet tonight. Something on your mind?”

You don’t respond immediately, fingers absently fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. The weight of everything—your past with Joshua, your present with Mingyu, and everything in between—feels like it’s weighing down on your chest, carving a hole into you. It’s been a while since you had thought about Joshua, but the holidays had stirred up old feelings you thought you’d buried.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately... about everything.”

He shifts beside you, his expression gentle but serious. He knows something’s off.

“About us? Or... something else?”

“About him.”

His heart skips a beat, but his face doesn’t show it. He nods, giving you the space to say what’s on your mind.

“I thought I was over him. I really did. But sometimes... I don’t know. A small part of me... it still feels like I might always love him in some way.” You look at him, eyes filled with guilt. “I don’t want it to affect us. I love you, I really do. But... sometimes I wonder if it’s something I can truly let go of.”

There’s a long silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air. He takes a deep breath, trying to process it all, before speaking softly, his tone steady.

“I know you’re still healing. And I know that your feelings for him were real. That love was real. I’m not asking you to forget him.” His voice remains calm, understanding. “What I want is for you to be happy. Whether that’s with me, or... if you feel like you need time to figure out your feelings. I just want you to do what feels right for you. I want you to be true to yourself.”

You look at him, surprised by the gentleness in his voice. You thought he’d be angry or hurt, but instead, he sounds like he’s trying to help you find peace.

“But what if you’re not enough? What if a part of me always holds onto him? That’s unfair to you.”

He squeezes your hand, leaning in closer. His eyes are soft, full of affection and care.

“I’m not asking for your love to be something it’s not. I don’t need you to love me like you loved him. I just want to love you in a way that helps you heal, not keep you stuck in the past.”

Your eyes are glossy now, tears threatening to fall. You want to give him everything, but the weight of the past still clings to your heart, keeping you in limbo.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He gently cups your face, brushing away the tear that escapes with his thumb. “I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you need me to. But I also want you to be happy, whether that’s with me or without me. I love you, and I want what’s best for you.”

Your heart aches hearing him say that. You know he loves you—you can feel it in every touch, every word. And yet, you also know you have to face what’s buried deep inside of you. The part of you that’s still tied to Joshua, whether you like it or not.

You lean into his touch, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need time. Time to figure out what I really want... without rushing. I don’t want to make any decisions when I’m not sure.”

He nods, his expression a mixture of sadness and relief. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here. But don’t feel like you have to rush to figure everything out. Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

You look up at him, a deep sigh escaping your lips. You know this isn’t going to be easy, but you feel a sense of comfort in his words. Whatever happens, you have time. Time to heal. Time to understand what you truly want.

And for now, that’s enough.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You step into your favorite coffee shop, the one where the walls are lined with shelves of old books and the scent of freshly ground coffee always seems to settle into your soul. It’s a comforting place, a spot you’ve spent countless hours in, both alone and with friends. And today, you need it more than ever.

Vernon’s already sitting by the window when you arrive, his signature half-smile lighting up as soon as he sees you. He waves you over, and you drop into the chair across from him, your hands absently playing with the edge of your sleeve. You know he’s been watching you for a while, noticing the subtle shift in your mood, the way your thoughts seem to be miles away lately.

“Okay, talk to me,” he says, his voice warm but insistent. You can see the concern in his eyes, even if he’s trying to keep it light. “You’ve been off lately. And I can already guess why.”

You try to shrug it off, but it feels like a weight in your chest. You haven’t told anyone, but the moment Joshua had walked into your life again, even if it was just for one night, everything you’d thought you’d moved on from felt so much more complicated.

“I don’t even know where to start.” You take a deep breath, feeling your chest tighten as you speak. “Mingyu’s been so understanding, but I can’t stop thinking about Joshua. It’s like�� like part of me is stuck. I love Mingyu, I do, but… I don’t know. There’s still a part of me that will always care about him. Maybe I’ll never stop loving him.”

Vernon watches you quietly, his gaze steady. You feel like he’s already figured out the direction this conversation is going, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just lets you talk, lets the words spill out.

“I feel like I’m betraying Mingyu just thinking about Joshua. But I also feel like I’m betraying myself if I don’t face it, you know? It’s just... so much.”

You pause, your voice faltering a little. Vernon leans back in his chair, eyes thoughtful. You know he’s been your friend for years—he’s seen you through the ups and downs, the heartbreaks and the happy moments. He knows how important it is for you to be honest with yourself, even when it’s hard.

“I knew something like this was coming,” he says quietly, his tone almost too calm. “You never really let go of Joshua, did you?”

You bite your lip, not quite able to meet his eyes. “I thought I did. But maybe... maybe I just buried it. I don’t know. Seeing him again made me realize how much of me was still tangled up in those feelings.”

Vernon’s eyes soften, but there’s no judgment in his gaze. “It’s not a bad thing, you know. Loving someone doesn’t just vanish because time passes. But it also doesn’t mean you can’t move forward.” He pauses, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. “It’s not about forcing yourself to stop loving Joshua. It’s about figuring out what you want. Whether that’s with Mingyu, or by yourself for a bit, or... I don’t know, maybe with someone else. But it has to come from you, not from what you think you’re supposed to do.”

You feel like the world just got a little clearer. Vernon always had a way of cutting through the noise, of getting straight to the heart of things without overcomplicating them.

“I guess... I just need to decide what makes me happiest,” you murmur, staring down at your coffee cup as you swirl it absentmindedly. “But what if I don’t know what that is? What if I can’t make a decision without messing everything up?”

Vernon leans forward, his eyes intense, but his voice soft. “You can’t avoid it forever. But you can take your time. Don’t rush it, Y/N. You’ve been through a lot, and you don’t owe anyone an answer right away. You just need to listen to yourself, and the answer will come. It’s okay not to have it all figured out right now.”

You nod, feeling the tension slowly ease from your shoulders. Vernon’s words are a relief, even if they don’t make everything clear. They give you permission to feel, to not have to have all the answers just yet.

“You’re right,” you finally say, the knot in your stomach loosening a little. “I guess I’ve been trying to avoid the truth for so long that I didn’t realize it wasn’t about fixing everything, but about understanding it.”

Vernon smiles, his usual playful grin returning. “Exactly. And remember, whatever you choose, I’ve got your back. No judgment.”

You let out a breath, grateful for the simplicity of his support. You realize, with a little more clarity than before, that the road ahead doesn’t have to be so overwhelming. You don’t have to force any decisions. You just need to take it one step at a time. And no matter where you end up, you’ll have the people who care about you, like Vernon, guiding you along the way.

“Thanks, Vernon,” you say softly. He grins and lifts his coffee in a toast.

“Anytime.”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next few days pass in a blur. After your conversation with Vernon, you feel a sense of relief, but that clarity doesn’t come overnight. It’s not that you’re afraid of the truth—it’s more like you’re afraid of facing it too soon, of rushing into something without fully understanding what it means.

Life moves forward, and in a way, so do you. You throw yourself into your work, meeting with clients, attending events, living your life. Mingyu’s presence in your life is steady, reassuring, and kind. There’s a warmth between you both that feels so natural, so comfortable. You laugh with him, share quiet moments, and everything about your relationship with him feels easy.

But then, you catch yourself sometimes, still thinking about Joshua.

It’s not the first time you’ve had moments like this—where you catch yourself remembering how things used to be between you two—but the frequency is different now. They’re more frequent, and the moments are sharper, clearer. And, each time, it’s like your heart beats a little faster in those quiet moments when you catch yourself missing him.

It’s not even about wishing things had worked out the way you wanted them to. It’s not about regret. It’s about the way he made you feel—the way he understood you in a way no one else ever did.

You remember the quiet, cozy nights you spent together, the way he’d laugh at your bad jokes, how he’d rest his head on your shoulder during long drives, the way he could always make you feel like everything would be okay, even when everything was falling apart.

And you start to realize something—those moments, those memories, the way he made you feel—are still alive inside of you. They're not just memories of a past life. They are a part of you.

As you sit on your balcony with a glass of wine, the city lights twinkling below you, your phone buzzes. It’s Mingyu, asking if you want to meet for dinner tomorrow. You smile at the message, heart light, and yet, when you go to type a reply, you hesitate.

For the first time in weeks, a thought crosses your mind that you can’t shake. Am I really letting go of Joshua?

It doesn’t feel like guilt, not exactly. But it does feel like something is missing, like you’re trying to keep moving forward, but a part of you is still looking back. And that part isn’t easy to ignore.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Then, one day, after a busy meeting, you find yourself walking past a café you and Joshua had always gone to when you’d visited the city. The memory comes rushing back in a flood—his laugh, the way he’d always get extra whipped cream on his coffee, his habit of teasing you about how you always had the most ridiculous requests at the counter.

You pause outside the café, suddenly overwhelmed. A wave of nostalgia swirls through you, soft and lingering, like a shadow of something that once was. You let out a breath and step inside, the familiar scent of coffee beans and pastries filling the air. You sit at the same table you used to sit at, sipping your own coffee. For a moment, everything feels like it’s frozen in time, as if nothing has changed.

And then it hits you. The sudden realization doesn’t come with panic, or regret. It’s more like a quiet understanding, a subtle truth you’ve been avoiding.

The truth is, you still love him. Not in the same desperate way you loved him before, not in the frantic, consuming need to have him back in your life. But there’s a part of you that’s never really let him go.

The thought doesn’t sting like it used to. It’s not even painful anymore—it’s just there, settled into your chest like a permanent mark, something that’s been carved into you. It’s a love that’s glowing in the dark of your heart, a faint, steady light that’s always been there, even through all the changes and the years that have passed. It’s a mark you didn’t ask for, but one that you’ve learned to live with. A love that, despite everything, will never truly leave.

You don’t waste any time. The moment you make up your mind, you know you have to talk to Mingyu. This isn’t fair to him, and you can’t keep carrying the weight of these feelings without being honest.

You find him in the small restaurant he likes to go to when he needs a break from work. It’s quiet, and there’s a warmth in the air from the soft glow of the hanging lights. The kind of place where the world feels a little slower, and it’s easier to think.

He looks up from his coffee as you slide into the seat across from him, his eyes lighting up for a moment before they settle, sensing the seriousness in your expression. He doesn’t need you to say anything for him to know that something’s on your mind.

“I’ve been thinking,” you start, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “About us.”

His brow furrows, but he nods slowly, waiting for you to continue.

“I can’t... I can’t keep doing this to you. I feel like I’ve been unfair. I’ve been holding on to something that I should’ve let go of a long time ago, and it's not fair to you."

Mingyu looks at you, a quiet understanding in his eyes. “Y/N...” he murmurs, reaching out to rest his hand on yours. You don’t pull away, but his touch feels different now—timid, careful.

“I still love him,” you say, the words tasting bitter and raw as you say them out loud. “I thought I was over it, thought I could move on, but... he’s still there, in my heart. I don't know how to explain it, but I can't ignore it anymore."

Mingyu’s expression doesn’t harden. If anything, there’s a tenderness to the way he listens to you. He knows you better than almost anyone. He knows that you don’t make decisions like this lightly. But there’s a sadness in his eyes too, a kind of quiet hurt that makes your heart ache.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your hand. “I... I knew something like this would happen, Y/N. I knew the moment he came back into your life, you’d be torn. I guess I was just hoping... hoping that it wouldn’t matter, hoping I could be enough.” He shakes his head a little, like he’s trying to laugh it off, but there’s no humor in it. “But I get it. I really do.”

Your heart breaks a little, seeing how much he’s trying to hold it together. But you know, deep down, that it’s the right thing. Mingyu deserves someone who can love him completely, without any lingering doubts about the past.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say, feeling a lump form in your throat. “You’re amazing, Mingyu. You really are. But I can’t keep pretending that I’ve let go of Joshua when I haven’t. And I can’t keep you in limbo.”

Mingyu takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. His hand squeezes yours one last time, and then he lets go. “I think we both know what needs to happen. I care about you, Y/N. More than I ever thought I could. But I want you to be happy, truly happy. And if it’s not with me... if it’s with him, then you have to go after that.”

You stare at him, your heart aching as you realize how much he’s letting go of. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper.

He shakes his head, smiling softly, but there’s a sadness there too. “You don’t need to apologize. I knew what I was getting into. And I meant what I said... I want you to be happy. Even if it’s not with me.”

The weight of the decision sits heavily on your chest. But at the same time, it’s a release. You’ve made up your mind, and you’ve made the choice that feels right—no matter how much it hurts.

Mingyu stands up then, offering you a last, lingering look. “I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. Always.”

You nod, but the words feel stuck in your throat. You watch him leave, knowing that you’re walking away from something good, something that could have worked... but it’s not the thing.

And now, with a clear heart, you know what you need to do next.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

After breaking up with Mingyu, you feel a weight lifted, but at the same time, there's a gaping hole in your chest, a kind of emptiness that’s hard to fill. You never wanted to hurt him, but you also know that you can’t keep running from the past—especially not when the past is currently in your city.

You try to keep yourself busy, focusing on your work, keeping up with your friends, but every so often, your mind drifts back to that night at Thanksgiving—the way Joshua looked when he walked in, how his gaze kept shifting between you and Mingyu, the quiet distance that grew between you two in the hours after.

It’s been a few weeks since then, and you’ve thought about reaching out to him more than once. You’ve wondered if he’s still in the city, if he’s still staying in that empty apartment. You wonder if he’s moved on, if he’s forgotten all the things that used to matter to both of you.

One night, when you’re heading back home after a long day, your phone buzzes with a message. You don’t recognize the number at first, but when you open it, your heart skips a beat.

Hey, it’s Joshua. I know it’s been a while. I’m in the city for a little longer than expected, and I was wondering if you’d want to meet up for coffee?

Your fingers hover over the screen, uncertainty flooding your chest. You’re not sure if you’re ready for this—if you’re ready to face him and untangle all the feelings that have been buried for so long. But then, you remind yourself: you’ve already made your decision. You’ve made peace with Mingyu, and now, this is just a conversation with someone who was once everything to you. It doesn’t have to mean anything more.

You take a deep breath and type out your response.

I’d like that.

The meeting is set for the next day. It’s a cozy little place, the same place you used to go when you’d sneak away from high school for coffee and talk about your dreams. You arrive early, sitting at the table near the window, watching the rain softly tap against the glass. The café is quiet, and the smell of fresh coffee fills the air.

You see him before he sees you—his broad shoulders, his walk, that familiar way of running his hand through his hair. When he spots you, his expression softens. His eyes look tired, but there’s something else there, something you can’t quite place.

He sits down across from you, offering you a small smile. You can’t help but smile back, despite the tightness in your chest.

“You look good,” he says, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You nod. “So do you.”

The silence stretches between you two, both of you unsure how to navigate this conversation. There’s so much history between you, so many unspoken words. The years spent apart have changed you both, but there’s still a familiarity in the way you look at each other.

“I... I didn’t know how to reach out,” he admits after a while, his voice quiet, the weight of his words heavy. “I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to hear from me.”

You take a deep breath, leaning back in your chair. “I didn’t know if I was ready to hear from you either.”

He looks down, clearly grappling with his own feelings. “I’m sorry for how everything ended,” he says, his gaze meeting yours. “I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing, but I see now that I wasn’t.”

The apology hits harder than you expect. You knew it was coming, but hearing him say it out loud brings back everything—the hurt, the confusion, the unanswered questions. You’ve spent so long trying to piece it together in your mind, and now, hearing it from him, it feels both relieving and painful.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you say, your voice steady. “We both made mistakes. I’m not angry anymore, Joshua. I just... I had to move on.”

As you sit across from him, your heart heavy with memories, you find yourself reflecting on everything that’s led to this moment. You feel the weight of the past, the good and the bad, the love that once felt so natural, so easy, but also the pain of it falling apart. Your fingers absentmindedly trace the rim of your coffee cup as you consider what to say next.

“You know,” you say softly, your eyes meeting Joshua’s, “this love we had... it was both good and bad. There were so many great moments, but then there were times when it hurt more than I could handle.”

Joshua’s eyes are searching yours, his face filled with an emotion you can’t quite place—hope, guilt, maybe a little bit of both. He doesn’t interrupt, just listens, his gaze never leaving you.

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about us,” you continue, your voice steady but soft. “And sometimes, love just... doesn’t work out the way you want it to. You can try to hold on, but sometimes, you just have to let it go.”

You can see his face change, but there’s no anger, just understanding. He knows what you mean.

“And I did,” you add, almost whispering, “I had to let it go. I thought that was the only way for me to move on, for me to heal. I didn’t want to keep holding on to something that was only hurting me.”

Joshua nods slowly, his fingers fidgeting with the handle of his cup. “I get that. I do. But... you don’t have to let go forever. Sometimes, when you let someone go, they come back to you. If it’s meant to be.”

There’s a brief silence, the words hanging between you both, heavy with meaning. It’s almost as if time slows down for a moment, allowing both of you to understand the full weight of what’s being said.

“That’s the thing,” you say, your voice quiet but resolute. “I think I had to let it go... because I had to learn to let go of the past. But now, looking at you... looking at us, I’m starting to realize that maybe it’s true. Maybe when you really let go of someone, when you give them space to grow, they can come back to you. And it doesn’t erase the pain or the mistakes, but it’s a chance for something new, something different.”

Joshua’s eyes are softer now, the tension that had been in his posture earlier slowly starting to ease. “I don’t want to rush anything,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’m not asking you to forget everything that happened or pretend it didn’t hurt. I just want a chance to show you that I’ve changed. That I’m not the same person I was before.”

“I know,” you say, nodding slowly. “And I’m not the same either. But maybe, just maybe, this time... this love can be something better. I’m not sure what it looks like yet, but I’m willing to find out. I think, for once, we’re both in the right place.”

There’s a quiet understanding between you both, a silent agreement that neither of you wants to rush. The love you had, the good and the bad, the way it glowed in the dark and left a permanent mark on your hearts, is still there. But now, it’s different—more mature, more thoughtful.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel like maybe, just maybe, things could work out. The past doesn’t define you anymore. You’ve both grown, you’ve both learned, and if it's meant to be, the love will come back to you—stronger this time, in a way that it couldn’t have before.

As you sit there, staring at him, you realize that sometimes love doesn’t just fade away—it evolves. And when you’re ready to accept it for what it is, and what it can be, it might just come back to you. Maybe not the way it once was, but with something new.

Joshua leans forward, his hand gently resting on yours, and you feel a familiar spark. It’s not the same spark you felt years ago—it’s warmer now, softer, more knowing.

“You’re right,” he says, his voice low but steady. “This love has always been ours. And I’ll wait, however long it takes. I’m not going anywhere. Hell, I'll even fill out a permanent transfer application at work."

You smiled once again, taking his hand fully in yours, "We'll figure it out."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

author's note 𝟅𝟈 yall i literally cooked so hard with this one, lowkey made myself emotional while writing it.

masterlist.

#kpop #jaeyunluvbot #y/n #seventeen #joshua hong #joshua #hong jisoo #svt #svt angst #seventeen angst #joshua x reader #joshua x y/n #angst #lovers to exes #exes to lovers #reunion #i cooked #mingyu x reader

219 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

Text

Zuck’s gravity-defying metaverse money-pit

Tomorrow (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

Think of everything that makes you miserable as being caught between two opposing, irresistible, irrefutable truths:

"Anything that can't go on forever eventually stops" (Stein's Law)

"Markets can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent" (Keynes)

Both of these are true, even though they seemingly contradict one another, and no one embodies that contradiction more perfectly than Mark Zuckerberg.

Take the metaverse.

Zuck's "pivot" to a virtual world he ripped off from a quarter-century old cyberpunk novel (reminder: cyberpunk is a warning, not a suggestion) was born of desperation.

Zuck fancies himself an avatar of the Emperor Augustus (that's why he has that haircut) (no, really). The emperors of antiquity are infamous for getting all weepy when they run out of lands to conquer.

But the lachrymosity of emperors has little causal relationship to the anxieties of tech monopolists! Alexander weeps because he just loves a good conquest and when he finishes conquering the world, he's terminally bored. That's not Zuck's problem at all. When Zuck attains monopoly status, his company develops an autoimmune disorder, as his vicious princelings run out of enemies to destroy and begin to knife one another.

Any monopoly faces these destructive microincentives, but tech is exceptional here because tech has the realtime flexibility and speed that brick-and-mortar businesses can never match:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

Sociopaths with tech monopolies are worse for the same reason that road-rage would be worse in a flying car: adding new capacity to indiscriminate self-destructive urges turns ordinary car crashes into low-level airburst warfare:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

The flexibility of digital gives tech platforms so much latitude to break things in tiny increments. A tech platform is like a Jenga tower composed of infinitely divisible blocks. The Jenga players are the product managers and executives who have run out of the ability to grow by attracting new business thanks to their monopoly dominance. Now they compete with one another to increase the yield from their respective divisions by visiting pain upon the business customers and end users their platform connects. By tiny increments, they increase the product's cost, lower its reliability, and strip it of its utility and then charge rent to restore its functionality:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/24/cursed-bigness/#incentives-matter

This is the terminal stage of enshittification, the unstoppable autocannibalism of platforms as they seek to harvest all the value created by business customers and end users, leaving the absolute minimum of residual value needed to keep both stuck to the platform. This is a brittle equilibrium, because the difference between "I hate this service but I just can't stop using it," and "Get me the fuck out of here" is razor-thin.

All it takes is one tiny push – a whistleblower, a livestreamed mass-shooting, a Cambridge Analytica – and people bolt for the doors. This triggers the final stage: the "pivot," which is a tech euphemism for "panic."

For Zuck, the pivot got real after a disappointing earnings call triggered a mass sell-off of Facebook stock, history's worst one-day value incineration, which lopped a quarter of a trillion dollars off the company's market cap:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2022-12-19/dramatic-stock-moves-of-2022-led-by-meta-dive-nordic-flash-crash

This was when the metaverse became the company's top priority.

Now, in my theory of enshittification, the step that follows the pivot is death: "Finally, they abuse those business customers to claw back all the value for themselves. Then, they die":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

Many people have asked me about the conspicuous non-death of Facebook! That's where I have to fall back on Stein's Law: "Anything that can't go on forever eventually stops." Facebook can't continue to annihilate value, alienate its workers, harm the public, hemorrhage money in support of a mediocrity's cherished folly forever. Can it?

Admittedly, it sure seems like it can. Facebook's metaverse pivot has thus far cost the company $46,500,000,000. That is: $46.5 billion. That's even more money than Uber torched, seeking to maintain the illusion that they will be able to create monopolies on both transport and the labor market for driving and recoup the billions the Saudi royal family let them use for the con:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/11/bezzlers-gonna-bezzle/#gryft

Don't worry: the Saudi royals are fine! They cashed out at the IPO, collecting a tidy profit at the expense of retail investors who assumed that a pile of shit as big as Uber must have a pony under it, somewhere:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/19/fake-it-till-you-make-it/#millennial-lifestyle-subsidy

Uber has doubled the cost of rides and halved drivers' wages, using illegal gimmicks like "algorithmic wage discrimination" to squeeze a little more juice out of the nearly exhausted husks of its workforce:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

But Stein's Law hasn't been repealed. Drivers can't drive for sub-subsistence wages. Do that long enough and they'll literally starve: that's what "subsistence" means. We lost a decade of transit investment thanks to the Uber con, at the same time as traditional taxi drivers were forced out of the industry. Uber can't be profitable and still pay a living wage, and the fantasy of self-driving cars as a means of zeroing out the wage-bill altogether remains stubbornly, lethally unworkable:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Which means we're at the point where you can get off a commuter train at a main station and find yourself stranded: no taxis at the taxi-queue, no busses due for an hour, and no Uber cars available unless you're willing to pay $95 for a ten-minute ride in a luxury SUV (why yes, this did happen to me recently, thanks for asking).

As more and more of us are exposed to these micro-crises, the political will to do something will increase. This can't go on forever. "Don't use commuter rail" isn't a viable option. "Walk three miles each way to the commuter rail station" isn't viable either. Neither is "Pay $95 for an Uber to get to the station." Something's gotta give…eventually.

"Eventually" is the key word here. Remember the corollary of Stein's Law: Keynes's maxim that "markets can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent." Sure, anything that can't go on forever eventually stops, but that is no guarantee of a soft landing. You can't smoke two packs a day forever – but in the absence of smoking cessation, the eventual terminus of that habit is stage-four lung cancer. Keep hammering butts into your face and your last smoke will come out a crematorium chimney.

Zuckerberg hasn't merely blown a whole-ass Twitter on the metaverse with nothing to show for it – he's gotten richer while doing it! In the past year, his net worth increased by 130%, to $59 billion, thanks to an increase in Facebook's share-price, driven by investors who stubbornly remain irrational, keeping the Boy Emperor solvent long past any reasonable assessment of his performance.

What are these investors betting on? One possibility is that the rise and rise of Facebook's share-price represents a bet on technofeudalism. Since the Communist Manifesto, Marxists have been predicting the end of capitalism. That end seems to have come, but what followed capitalism wasn't socialism, it was the return of feudalism, an economic system where elites derive their wealth from rents, not profits:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/28/cloudalists/#cloud-capital

Profit is the income you get from investing in capital – machinery, systems, plant – and then harvesting the surplus value created by workers who mobilize this capital. Capitalism produces massive returns for its winners – in the Manifesto's first chapter, Marx and Engels just geek out about how productive and dynamic this system is.

But capitalism is also a Red Queen's Race, where the winners have to run faster and faster to stay in the same place. Capitalism drives competition, as other would-be winners pile into the sector, replicating the systems that the current winners are using and then improving on them. This is why the prophets of capitalist end-times like the FBI informant Peter Thiel say that "competition is for losers."

Capitalism's "profits" stand in contrast to the feudalist's "rents." Rents are income you get from owning something that other people need to produce things. The capitalist owns the coffee-shop, but the feudalist owns the building. When a rival capitalist opens a superior coffee-shop and drives the old shop out of business, the capitalist loses, but the rentier wins. Now they can rent out an empty storefront in the neighborhood everyone's coming to because of that hot new cafe.

Feudal and manorial lords also made their fortunes by extracting surplus value from workers, but these rentiers don't care about owning the means of production. The peasant in the field pays for their own agricultural equipment and livestock – control over the means of production is necessary for worker liberation, but it's not sufficient. The worker's co-op that owns its factory can still find the value it produces bled off by the landlord who owns the land the factory sits on.

The jury's still out on whether American workers really see themselves as "temporarily embarrassed millionaires," but America's capitalists have a palpable, undeniable loathing for capitalism. The dream of an American "entrepreneur" is *PassiveIncome: money you get from owning something capitalists and/or workers use to create value. Digital technology creates exciting new possibilities for rent-extraction: a taxi-operator had to buy and maintain a car that someone else drove. Uber can offload this hassle onto its drivers and rent out access to the chokepoint it created between drivers and riders, charging all the traffic can bear. This is feudalism in the cloud – or as Yannis Varoufakis calls it, cloudalism.

In Varoufakis's Technofeudalism, he describes Amazon as a feudal venture. From a distance, Amazon seems like a bustling marketplace of manic capitalism, with sellers avidly competing to offer more variety and lower costs in a million independently operated storefronts. But closer inspection reveals that Amazon is a planned economy, not a market.

Every one of those storefronts pays rent to the same landlord – Amazon – which determines which goods can be offered for sale. Amazon sets pricing for those goods, and extracts 45-51% of every dollar those sellers make. Amazon even controls which goods are shelved at eye-height when you enter the store, and which ones are banished to a dusty storeroom in a distant sub-basement you'll never find:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/14/flywheel-shyster-and-flywheel/#unfulfilled-by-amazon

Zuck's metaverse is pure-play technofeudalism, Amazon taken to the logical extreme. It's easy to get distracted by the part of Zuck's vision that will convert us all into legless, sexless, heavily surveilled low-resolution cartoon characters. But the real action isn't this digitization of our fleshy wants and needs. Zuck didn't spend $46.5B to torment us.

The cruelty isn't the point of the metaverse.

The point of the metaverse is to rent us out to capitalists.

Zuck doesn't know why we would use the metaverse, but he believes that if he can convince capitalists that we all want to live there, that they'll invest the capital to figure out how to serve us there, and then he can extract rent from those capitalists and start earning "passive income." It's an Uber for Cyberpunk Dystopias play.

Zuck's done this before. Remember the "pivot to video?" Zuckerberg wanted to compete with Youtube, but he didn't want to invest in paying for video production. Videos are really expensive to produce and the median video gets zero views. So Zuck used his captive audience to trick publishers into financing his move into video. He fraudulently told publishers that videos were blowing up on Facebook, outperforming boring old text by vast margins.

Publishers borrowed billions and raised billions more in the capital markets, financing the total conversion of newsrooms from text to video and precipitating a mass extinction event for print journalists. Zuck kept the con alive by giving away (fewer) billions to some of those publishers, falsely claiming that their videos were generating fortunes in advertising revenue. These lucky, credulous publishers became judas goats for their industry, luring others into the con, the same way that the "lucky" guy a carny lets win a giant teddy-bear at the start of the day lures others into putting down $5 to see if they can sink three balls in a rigged peach-basket.

But when we stubbornly refused to watch videos on Facebook, Zuck stopped spreading around these convincer payouts, and precipitated a second mass-extinction event in news media, as the new generation of video journalists joined their predecessors in Facebook-driven unemployment. Given this history, it's surreal to see publishers continue to insist that Facebook is stealing their content, when it is so clearly stealing their money:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

Metaverse is the new Pivot to Video. Zuckerberg is building a new world, which he will own, and he wants rent it to capitalists, who will compete with one another in just the way that Amazon's sellers compete. No matter who wins that competition, Zuckerberg will win. The prize for winning will be a rent increase, as Zuckerberg leverages the fact that your "successful" business relies on Facebook's metaverse to drain off all the value your workers have produced:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/18/metaverse-means-pivot-to-video/

This can't last forever, but how long until Zuck's reality distortion field runs out of battery? That's the $46.5B question.

The market can certainly remain irrational for a hell of a long time. But the market isn't the only force that regulates corporate outcomes. Regulators also regulate. Europe's GDPR is now seven years old, and it plainly outlaws Facebook's surveillance.

For nearly a decade, Facebook has pretended that this wasn't true, and they got away with it. Mostly, that's thanks to the fact that Ireland is a corporate crime-haven with a worse-than-useless Data Protection Commission:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

But anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop. Facebook has finally been dragged into EU federal jurisdiction, where it will face exterminatory fines if it continues to spy on Europeans:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/07/luck-of-the-irish/#schrems-revenge

In response, Facebook has rolled out a subscription version of its main service and its anticompetitive acquisition, Instagram:

https://about.fb.com/news/2023/10/facebook-and-instagram-to-offer-subscription-for-no-ads-in-europe/

For €10/month, Facebook will give you an ad-free experience across its service offerings (it's €13/month if you pay through an app, as Facebook recoups the 30% #AdTax rents that the feudal Google/Apple mobile duopoly extracts).

But this doesn't come close to satisfying Facebook's legal obligations under the GDPR. The GDPR doesn't ban ads, it bans spying. Facebook spies on every single internet user, all the time. The apps we use are built with "free" Facebook toolkits that extract rent from the capitalists who make them by harvesting our data as we use their apps. The web-pages we visit have embedded Facebook libraries that do the same thing for web publishers. Facebook buys our data from brokers. Facebook has so many ways of spying on us that there's almost certainly no way for Facebook to stop spying on you, without radically transforming it operation.

To comply with the GDPR, Facebook must halt surveillance advertising altogether. There's no way to square "spying on users" with "you can't surveil without explicit consent, and you can't punish people for refusing."

And of course, "not spying" isn't the same as "not advertising." "Contextual advertising" – where ads are placed based on the thing you're looking at, not who you are and what you do – is hundreds of years old. Context ads underperform surveillance ads by a slim margin – about 5% – but they're vastly more profitable for publishers. That's because surveillance ads are feudal, controlled by rentiers like Facebook, who own vast troves of the surveillance data needed to run these ads. Traditional ad intermediaries (agencies, brokers) took 10-15% out of the total advertising market. Ad-tech companies – the Google/Facebook duopoly – take 51% out of every ad dollar spent.

Eliminate surveillance ads and you torch their feudal estates. Facebook will always know more about someone reading a news article than the publisher – but the publisher will always know more about the article than Facebook does:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-ban-surveillance-advertising

There are rents under capitalism, just as there are profits under feudalism. The defining characteristic of a system is what happens when rents and profits come into conflict. If profits win – for example, if productive companies beat patent trolls, or if news publishers escape Facebook's rent-extraction – then the system is capitalist. If rents win – if investors continue to bet large on the metaverse as its losses pass $50 billion and head for the $100 billion mark – then the system is feudal.

Anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop. The question isn't whether the platforms will eventually become so enshittified that they die – the question is whether they will go down in an all-consuming fireball, or whether they'll go down in a controlled demolition that lets us evacuate the people they've trapped inside them first:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/09/let-the-platforms-burn/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/30/markets-remaining-irrational/#steins-law

Image: Diego Delso (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Puente_de_las_cataratas_Victoria,_Zambia-Zimbabue,_2018-07-27,_DD_10.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

#pluralistic #mark zuckerberg #meta #enshittification #facebook #twitter #elon musk #billionaires #follies #failing up #metaverse #steins law #big tech #technofeudalism

1K notes · View notes

thisapplepielife · 6 months ago

Text

Written for @steddie-week.

Reach Out and Touch Someone

Steve dials the number messily scrawled on the scrap of paper. He’s nervous. He’s always nervous when he has to stick his neck out and make a move on a girl these days.

Yeah, he did the first bit of legwork and got her number out at the bar last night. But he's fumbled the ball and failed enough times, Robin's loving, but accurate, "you suck" burned in his brain, that he's always leery to try again. He should be used to it by now, but it’s still uncomfortable and awkward, every goddamn time. If his friends weren't all fretting about his emotional well-being from being so terminally alone, he wouldn’t put forth half the effort anymore.

He has Robin. He has his cat. He's happy.

It rings three times before he hears it connect, “Hello?”

It’s a man’s voice, and he hesitates for just a moment, “I’m looking for, uh, Lyla?”

“Sorry, man. Wrong number.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must have misdialed,” Steve says, a different kind of embarrassment. But this is one he can handle easier, for sure. So he pushed the wrong button somewhere along the way. His eyesight isn't the best thing he's got going for him.

“No worries, man,” the other guy laughs, seemingly carefree about being bothered.

They each disconnect and then Steve reads, and re-reads, the number before dialing again. More carefully this time.

It rings only once before it’s connected.

“Still me, dude,” the familiar voice relays, still light and friendly.

“Wow. I’m so sorry. Clearly, I was given a fake number. That's embarrassing,” Steve laughs, because this is more embarrassing than misdialing. He's uncomfortable and mortified to admit that this girl just didn't want him to call her. Even if he's only admitting it to a stranger.

She should have just told him no. He hates that she didn't, for her sake, too.

“Shitty move,” the other guy answers.

“Yeah, well. I'm sorry I bothered you. Again. I promise to cross-check any future numbers against yours before dialing, just in case.”

The guy laughs, "Well, now. Don't go to any trouble for my sake. Honestly,” and he doesn't sound put-out at all, “don’t worry about it. She clearly didn’t have the balls to just, be, like, honest. That sucks.”

Steve laughs, maybe if she'd had balls this wouldn't have happened at all. Most men feel more comfortable just saying no, he thinks, which is sad but true. He swings both ways, and maybe he should take this as a sign to lean the other way for a while. See if that works out any better for him.

It probably won't, but he could try.

“There goes my big weekend plans,” Steve teases, uncertain why he does it, even as the words tumble out of his mouth. He needs to hang up the phone and let this guy get back to his own life.

“Dude. That's a problem I can solve. I’m gigging tonight. You have to come. Let me entertain you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Whatever. I want to. Just show up. It’ll be a great story, will it not?”

It would be a great story. One he could even tell Robin to convince her he’s living a little, “I don’t even know your name. What if you’re a serial killer or something?”

“Yep, that’s me. Vicious killer,” the guy laughs, “I’m Eddie, man. And I’m a fucking ball to be around. You’ll want to take me up on this awesome offer. We’ll all be down at Hellfire Club around eight. Show up. If you think we’re murderous, you don’t have to follow us to any secondary, secluded locations.”

Hellfire Club is literally two blocks from Steve’s apartment. He's been past it countless times, but never inside. It's always dark. Like it's not even open, making him unsure about what kind of bar it is, it's so nondescript from the outside. Not to mention the name is a little intimidating. He'd half-convinced himself it's a BDSM club.

But, now that he's been invited, he could just walk down and see what’s the what, “How will I know which guy you are?”

Eddie laughs, “You’ll know. Trust me.”

Steve has a hard time trusting anyone new these days, but Eddie seems friendly enough.

Steve realizes he must have been quiet for too long, because Eddie starts talking again.

“I’ll have on a badass battle vest. Look for that. You'll see me. It's impossible not to. I promise.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, even if he’s not sure what a battle vest even is.

“Now, are you going to tell me your name, or will that just be a surprise?” Eddie asks.

Steve laughs, “Steve. I’m Steve.”

“Well, I’ll see you later, Steve.”

Steve stands in front of his closet for far too long, trying to find something to wear that doesn’t look too nerdy. He assumes Eddie's cool. He sounded cool, and Steve may have been cool in high school, but these days he just keeps his head down and goes through life, content to be fairly unnoticed. He finally settles on a black t-shirt. Basic, classic. Timeless.

Boring.

But that's a risk he's willing to take.

He walks down the street slowly and arrives around eight-thirty. The windows are still all blacked out, tinted to the point he can't see anything inside. There's just the neon sign with the Hellfire Club over the door.

When he pulls open the door, he's in a hallway that's painted all black, with a bouncer at the end, stationed at a door. Steve kind of wants to turn around, flee, but he doesn't. He's already here. He might as well at least see. Robin will kill him if he chickens out.

He gives his ID to the bouncer, and is directed down a staircase. He really hopes this isn't a sex club.

It's not.

And as soon as he crosses the threshold into the bar, yes, he knows Eddie instantly. He’s gotta be the one on the bar, pouring shots directly into various mouths. Steve knows he could turn around right now and this adventure could end. But watching Eddie laughing and prancing up and down the bar with flourish, clearly having fun, makes Steve want to go up and meet this guy.

Steve takes an open seat at the end of the bar, kind of out of the way, and just watches Eddie work the crowd.

The bar is blaring It's Raining Men and Eddie is playing up the song, big time. He's not a stripper, at least Steve doesn't think he is, but he's working the crowd for tips, absolutely. He keeps handing them down to a curly-headed guy, who keeps stuffing them into an overflowing jar.

Steve's pretty sure this is a gay club, or at least queer friendly. Maybe he has found a place for himself, something that's been right here under his nose, all this time.

When Eddie finally jumps down off the bar, Steve watches him work the rest of the room.

The other guy comes over and takes Steve's order, and he doesn't quite have the same flourish, but he's efficient and confident with a bottle and jigger.

"Name for the tab?" he asks, shaking the drink Steve had picked from the list.

"Steve," Steve says, and the guy looks up and meets his eyes.

Surely not. This doesn't feel like this is Eddie. He is wearing a vest, a red plaid one, but the other guy also has a denim vest on, full of patches.

"Eddie?" Steve questions, needing to make sure.

"Gareth," the guy says, "that's Eddie," he clarifies, pointing at the one Steve had correctly clocked as Eddie to begin with. "You're his wrong number guy, right?"

Steve nods. He supposes that's what he is, "Yeah. That's me. Loser in love."

Gareth laughs, and it makes Steve smile.

"That's our specialty here, you'll feel right at home," Gareth teases.

"Glad to hear it."

"I'll tell him you're here," Gareth assures, "he wasn't sure you'd come."

"That makes two of us," Steve admits, and Gareth smiles as he finishes shaking Steve's drink, putting it down in front of him.

"On the house. First-timers to Hellfire drink free," Gareth says, and then he's walking away.

Steve's eyes follow Gareth across the bar, watching as he taps Eddie on the shoulder, leaning close to his ear, pointing right at Steve.

Eddie looks, meets his eyes, and Steve raises his hand, giving him a small, little wiggle of his fingers.

A huge smile spreads across Eddie's face as he bounds in Steve's direction.

Eddie's quickly right in his personal space, squeezing both of Steve's shoulders, greeting him with a smile, "Welcome to Hellfire."

Steve smiles, liking the feeling of Eddie's hands bleeding through his t-shirt, warming him.

Eddie lets go, and Steve misses the feeling already, but Eddie stays. Sliding onto the stool next to Steve, "I'm glad you came."

And Steve's completely honest as he answers, "Me too."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddie-week and follow along with the fun!

Notes: If you're too young to remember it, reach out and touch someone was the slogan/jingle for Bell System telephone company back in the day. So, that's where the title comes from, as a play on the wrong number phone call trope.

#steddieweek2024 #day seven #free space #wrong number trope #meet cute #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #steddieweek #steddie #thisapplepielife: steddieweek #thisapplepielife: short fic

400 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

New Soul 3

Warnings: age gap, Auggy being a mean mean man, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

Ft. August Walker

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You focus on not moving. It’s hard to keep from squirming as turbulence shakes the plane and the seatbelt light flicks on. You buckle up and the plane shakes. You slap your hand down on the armrest, clutching a sleeve instead. You squeak and fold your arms over your middle as the man next to you growls.

Despite yourself, you can’t stay out of his way.

As the rattling winds continue to batter the airplane, you bring your fingertips to your mouth and chew nervously. You close your eyes and focus on keeping your breaths even. You jostle in the seat and bounce off the man’s arm. His low rumble is scarier than the unwieldy weather.

The light blips off and the pilot reassures you over the speaker. You keep your belt down up as the stranger unclasps his own and sighs. He leans his head back and closes his eyes. You hope he sleeps. It would make you less nervous if you couldn’t inadvertently annoy him.

He tries. You can sense the tension roiling from his large figure. He grips the armrest, then stretches his fingers, then squeezes again.

You only just recall the movie playing on the tiny screen as the credits roll. You exit the playback and pull out your headphones. You can’t focus on that right now.

You sit back and the man’s elbow brushes you as it overhands the plastic rest. You ignore it and lean into the wall of the plane. It’s chilly. You strain against the seat belt and try to make yourself small. He taps his fingertips and huffs.

The man on his other side snorts and snores, unbothered by the world around him. You envy that passenger. On your best days, sleep is a tall task.

You turn your head and do your best to block out the rows of people, yawning, chattering, coughing, and all of that. Only seven more hours...

✈

The plane lands but your destination is still far away. You don’t stand right away. You can wait. You’d rather be the last off than get in that man’s way again. You’re more relieved to be away from him than to be back on the ground.

At last, he sidles out of the row. You wait but the passenger in the row behind you waves you out. You’re not rude enough to refuse.

You come out into the aisle and reach up to grab your bag. You edge it out of the compartment but you’re unprepared for the weight. You nearly drop it, saving it from crashing down though not without knocking into the man’s back. You cringe as he grunts.

You wait. He doesn’t say anything. He just keeps going. You exhale and follow a few paces back. You go down the ramp and come out into the bright terminal. Free... sort of.

There’s still a maze laid out between you and dorm. Customs, a taxi ride, and check-in. You have it all in your head but the more you try to keep it all in order, the more of a mess you become.

At the customs counter, you drop your folder as send a splash of papers across the floor. After gathering them up with the last of your dignity, you’re let through and the next obstacle awaits you. You could try the underground but a taxi is more direct and less crowded. So you think.

You go outside and find the pavement crowded with new arrivals and departures; some waving for a cab, others hurrying in with their bags. You’re stuck in the shuffle, hidden in the bodies as you try to flag down a ride of your own.

You push through the horde and try to find somewhere sparser. Somewhere you won’t be trampled. You see a black cab and flail desperately as you run up to it, your bag tumbling around behind you. Before you can reach it, the door opens and you collide with the man’s suitcase, your own rolling free of your grasp.

Oh no. What are the chances?

The man keeps his hand on the door and sneers down his nose. He collapses the handle on his bag as the driver comes around to take it. He shoos the man and points to your fallen suitcase.

“Ladies first.” He snarls.

The driver nods and grabs your bag before you can react. As he tucks it into the trunk, you’re seized by your elbow and directed over the curb. You catch yourself on the door and glance over your shoulder at the large man.

“You heard me.” He growls and shoves you.

Your arms give out and you hit the seat. You barely drag your tangled carry-on in behind you as he sits without waiting. You just manage to get out of his way as he does.

“What are you doing--” You squeak, confused.

“You're in my way,” he snarls and turns his head slowly.

“I-- I’m sorry--”

The drive gets in and you choke on your words. The man leans forward and pauses. He gestures to you. “Where?”

The blunt question makes you flinch. You don’t know what to do. At least he isn’t taking you somewhere strange, still, you don’t think you should be giving out your address.

He sighs and snatches your bag, sliding free the folder as it peeks out from the open zipper. He filters through it and pulls out a paper and reads of the dorm building address. Shoot.

“Yes, sir,” the driver replies and eases out into the line of cabs.

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #series #new soul #drabble #au #mission impossible: fallout

148 notes · View notes

hl-obsessed · 9 days ago

Text

✨💎 a yuzu grows in brooklyn by @stylinsoncity

(M, 67k) harry is a recent implant in new york and a young chef opening a restaurant called yuzu. louis, a music teacher and broadway lover, has been around the block for a while. in a city that's so fast-paced, they're slow to catch on to each other.

✨ You Took My Heart By Surprise by @loveislarryislove

(T, 39k) There is reason to believe Prince Harry’s life is in danger. After a failed kidnapping attempt, Louis is assigned to guard Harry around the clock. He is the best at what he does, but he has a tendency to not get along with clients. Louis and Harry start off on the wrong foot, but it soon becomes clear that neither is at all what the other expected.

~*~*~

Queen Anne met Louis’ eyes. “While your file documents many remarkable accomplishments, it also contains a number of early terminations. Why is that?”

“It all depends on what your priorities are,” he said slowly. “If your primary concern is protection, I’m your guy. If you’re looking for someone polite…” He shrugged. “I don’t generally try to be rude, but social graces aren’t what I’m being paid for. If someone values being sucked up to over being protected, that’s their problem.”

“You seem quite well-mannered,” Anne said, frowning.

Both Nick and Louis snorted at that. “You’ve only known me for ten minutes,” Louis said. “Give it time.”

✨ Put It On Me by @stylinsoncity

(M, 15k) Harry's bachelor party doesn't go as planned.

✨ so many birthdays (that I missed) by @tofiveohfive

(NR, 11k) Louis doesn’t know nearly enough about science and the cosmos to explain how every atom in his being stands to attention; how his body immediately knows who he’s bumped into.

It’s somewhat underwhelming when the first word he hears out of Harry’s mouth after twelve months is, “Oh.”

AU inspired by Julia Michaels’ Into You

✨ No Place I'd Rather Be by @iamasphodelknox

(E, 39k) Harry's had a crush on his stepfather's friend for six years. A small crush. A tiny crush.

Honestly, if you don't look at Harry's dozens of poems about Louis Tomlinson, the crush is practically infinitesimal. They haven't even had a conversation.

But then a car wreck prompts them to finally have a conversation.

Christmas works its magic, Harry pines, Louis fonds, and they just might make it.

✨ The Places I Share With You by @iamasphodelknox

(M, 7k) Five times Louis comes home to Harry and one time he's ready to welcome Harry home.

The process of Louis and Harry finding home in each other.

Sequel/Coda/Epilogue to No Place I'd Rather Be.

Primal and Divine by WordsInBloom28

(E, 33k) Embarking on a mission to save his pack, Louis is pushed to the brink after his friend is killed in a dangerous forest. Awaiting the graces of death, Louis is saved by a peculiar healer who lives alone in the woods.

Throughout his healing process, Louis forms an unlikely bond with the healer and, with it, a life of serenity. His body grows stronger and his heart grows fonder, allowing love to take root.

In order to protect his new found peace, Louis and his companion work together to fight against the evil that threatens to take it all away.

It was always you by @defences-down

(T, 1,3k) It's their first Christmas living together, and Harry has been trying to figure out how to talk to Louis about his feelings for weeks.

He could never have expected what would happen next.

Ideal: An Advent Fic by @iamasphodelknox

(M, 40k) All Louis wanted was some god-damned time to write his novel. He didn’t expect to move his and Liam’s entire production of a Christmas variety show to a small inn in Vermont just before the holidays. He didn’t expect to save Niall’s inn. He didn’t expect Liam to fall in love. He definitely didn’t expect to fall in love himself. And he certainly didn’t expect it all to feel so much like a Christmas movie.

Oh hell. There’s a lot of things Louis didn’t expect.

A White Christmas au, complete with drama, fluff, choreographed dance numbers, and idiotic boys falling in love. Just your typical Christmas fun.

Frankincense-ational by @londonfoginacup

(T, 31k) Harry Styles works at the Hillsyde Library with his friend Zayn and best mate Niall. It’s December, which means Christmas, which should be the happiest month of the year…

Except Niall just broke up with his boyfriend, Zayn needs to let up on the rules a little, and the library is getting their fire alarm system replaced, which means that for the next few weeks there are going to be firemen patrolling the library ‘looking for fires’ while the system is down.

Harry almost hits one of them with his car right off the bat - and of course he’s the hot one.

Happy Christmas, here’s to many more.

Is that a candy cane in your pocket? by @kingsofeverything

(E, 4,8k) Louis accuses Harry of shoplifting. Harry was definitely not shoplifting.

They work it out.

Close To You by yourgorgeouscolors

(E, 5,7k) “You’re lovely,” Louis rasps out. He feels so close to Harry in a way that's different from the other intimate sex positions they’ve tried. He can see Harry, feel him all over. Feel the way he’s clenching down on his cock as he adjusts. He can feel Harry’s hot breath prickling his skin, and can feel his body everywhere. Each point of contact feels like a zap of electricity.'

Or, Harry and Louis try a new sex position.

Listen To Your Heart by @chloehl10

(E, 35k) Are you kidding me right now?

I… No? Louis frowned, feeling angry now. It wasn’t fair, he knew that, but at the same time, he couldn’t help his feelings. It felt like this had been brewing for weeks, and this was it. Give it a rest, Harry.

Why are you such a brat? Why can’t you just be happy for me for once?

You think I want to hear about you kissing James? Really, H? There’s things I just don’t need to know, okay? I’m your best mate, not your fucking relationship advisor…

***

Louis has always been comfortable being Harry’s one and only. When Harry starts to branch out, Louis has a hard time letting him go.

Harry is very lucky to have someone who listens to what he has to say, despite the fact that he’s deaf. He’s finally feeling like he’s coming into himself, but Louis seems bothered by his newfound confidence.

(do you think it's easy) being of the jealous kind by @the-larry-way

(T, 0,8k) Harry is mad and Louis isn't exactly sure why.

(or Louis comes home smelling of another omega and Harry is near heat and jealous)

Make a Dime Go One Hundred by screwstyles

(E, 18k) “Hey, Haz,” he says, encouraged in equal parts by the weed and the cocoon they seem to have created around themselves. “Do you think you could trust anyone enough to have full control over you?” he asks into the night, hoping his sentence won’t break their bubble. It doesn’t, if the way Harry’s eyes meet his is any indication.

“What do you mean?” Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough from the singing they had done earlier. Louis wants to keep this memory forever.

“You know, if someone wanted to, uhm,” he coughs, “to tie you up, or blindfold you.”

Friends to Lovers AU: Harry volunteers to help Louis experiment with bondage. Things don’t go exactly to plan.

✨ Chestnuts Roasting... And All That by @elsi-bee

(M, 47k) Louis is apparently the only person at his new job who is single as can be. It’s not a big deal to just tell his new colleagues that he has a boyfriend, right? Until he has to make this imaginary boyfriend magically appear at the office holiday party. Cue fake relationship antics with a certain someone who is more than willing to play along.

Linger by @yourpricelessadvice

(E, 136k) Louis has a truckload of painful memories and a custody arrangement where a family could’ve been. The last thing he’s looking for is a new relationship.

Harry has accepted that he’s not made for relationships and isn’t interested in getting burnt again.

It’s a good job they’ve both got meddling friends.

° ✨ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ✨ °

more recs | recs masterpost

° ✨ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ✨ °

#there is break in my bookmarks between 10th and 26th of december 👀👀👀#my fic recs #28th appreciation #yep ik i'm late #but anyway #larry fanfiction #larry fic #larry stylinson #larry stylinson fanfiction #1d fic #1d fanfic #1d fic rec #larry fic rec #1d #fic rec #larry

76 notes · View notes

heelluring · 6 months ago

Text

please . . . | en— x reader

apocalypse, so instead of the vampire termination program... they have zombies. mentions of chloe, of course! hurtful words, pain, a n g s t

this is my own take to enhypen's concept film for romance untold. ever since i watched it, i can't stop thinking about it. the boys are so talented 🥹 i wrote this without thinking abt anything so please bare with me if there are mistakes

"The sun has gone down completely. We need to leave" Heeseung ordered, swiftly putting his gun on his waistline.

The group moved with haste. Jay immediately swiped the stocks left for them in a bag while the others prepared the guns and ensured the bullets are well taken care of.

In a few minutes, they're all ready. The car roared to life as Jake maneuvered it to swiftly left the building. But even before, the car passed the walls, a person blocked the road with its body causing the man to hit the break with a curse.

"Fuck, she caught us..." Sunghoon whispered gripping his hair in annoyance looking over the woman who's hitting the rear with its bare hands.

"Guys! Please talk to me, please." You shouted in panic while continuously hitting the car with your palms.

On the other hand, protests were heard inside the car the same time one of the doors opened before seeing the cat shaped eyes meeting yours. The same eyes that belonged to the person you're familiar with.

"Jungwon..." you breathlessly called. Hope swelled in chest. The man didn't reply, instead he haphazardly grabbed your arms and pushed you away from the car disinterested in your own well being.

"Wait— J-jung...won" You struggled to breath, "it hu-rts... you're hur... ting me" and the pain only intensifies when the man even shoved you down. Your eyes caught the other guys in the process, who are now standing casually outside near the car observing the scenes to unfold.

You felt new batches of tears swelling, before crawling the best you can to grab the man who called you his friend just a few days ago.

"Please, jungwon. Let me go with all of you. I-U promise I would never be an obstacle. You can even use me as bait," Your hands hardly hit your chest desperate to prove your worth, "or— or I would never ask for food. Just! Just please, let me go with you. I just wanted to find my mother" You pleaded. Your knees were near the floor while your shaking hands desperately hold on to the man's denim jacket.

"I will never ask for anything. Please. You can just drop me near busan and I can—"

"Why can't you understand anything, y/n? We will no longer help you find your mother. She might be dead now for all we know." Jungwon relentlessly replied cutting you deep with those words, "That means you're being a burden to us, and we're just wasting each other's time"

Y/n stared at her friend. Shocked was an understatement to what she just heard. Is this a dream? A nightmare? Because, jungwon would never do this to her. The jungwon she knew will never do this to her.

"But— you promised..."

"That promise? Promises are meant to be broken from the very start. We're now living in a different world, y/n. Promises are meant nothing in here"

"Finish that now, jungwon. Chloe's waiting..."

You sneered at what you heard. "So that's the reason. Because of that girl."

Jungwon stopped walking but didn't look back, "Chloe was in busan just like my mother so you will never waste time. I'm not asking for anything. I just... just please, I beg you. Let me go with you to get my mother! I will never ask for anything. Just for me to get there fast, to get her fast." You were now practically bowimg your head agaisnt the ground trying to seek mercy to the men you considered as brothers.

"We left some weapon and some stocks inside. Help yourself." His voice was loud and clear, his voice spiked with apathy. "We can't waste any more time helping you."

With that your cries only got louder. You tried to call for jungwon again but he never looked back, instead he walked straight to the car.

"Sunoo...! Please! Jake! Jay! Sung...hoon! Please! Anyone, please I beg you! Please, just this once! Ni-ki! Heeseung!" Tears flowed freely from your eyes, you can't even see anything from how blurry your vision was. But instead of wallowing in your cries, you still call their name. Begging, trying to spark any pity inside them.

The way they easily turn their back on you and walk away makes the numbing pain more evident on your system. You heard doors shutting before the car roared to life again, before it finally vanished from your sight.

"please... don't leave me alone..."

#enhypen #enhypen au #enhypen ff #lee heeseung #kim sunoo #nishimura riki #park jongseong #park sunghoon #sim jaeyun #yang jungwon #enhypen x reader #enhypen angst #enhypen imagines

142 notes · View notes

voxmortuus · 2 years ago

Note

I have a very specific DARKFIC request for you with a pretty serious trigger warning.

Tangerine and non-con with a virgin fem reader. Eventually the reader starts to enjoy it as the scene caries out. Bonus points for pet name use and a splash of breeding kink.

✧*̥˚ PAIRING: *̥˚✧ Dark!Tangerine x F!Reader ✧*̥˚ UNIVERSE: *̥˚✧ Bullet Train ✧*̥˚ WORD COUNT: *̥˚✧ 2.6k ✧*̥˚ TRIGGER WARNINGS: *̥˚✧Dead Dove Do Not Eat | Virgin Reader | Rough Intercourse | Hitting | Spitting | Choking | Hair Pulling | Bleeding | Degradation | slamming readers into bathroom wall | Pressing readers head against the wall | Taking it from behind | NON-CONSENSUAL UNPROTECTED INTERCOURSE | Eventual consent with reader enjoying the scene | Mention of Cock warming | Eager to please Reader | Pet name | Breeding Kink | Cream Pie | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this… ✧*̥˚ DISCLAIMER: *̥˚✧ DO NOT ROMANTICISE OR GLAMORIZE SERIAL KILLERS OR RAPE! I do not condone these actions, nor do I support them! This was written upon request. Do NOT send me hate mail, you will be blocked, do not post on this with any sort of negativity you will be blocked. If you don’t like it don’t read it it’s that simple!!! If you ever encounter this in real life please contact the Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline. Please understand this is a fanfiction, think of it like Hollywood. Also, I’m sorry if this is horrible….. ✧*̥˚ NOTES: *̥˚✧ I hope this finds you well, I hope this hits all the right notes with you. ✧*̥˚ IMAGE & DIVIDER CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @nyxvuxoa ✧*̥˚ My Master Masterlist | Aaron Taylor-Johnson Masterlist *̥˚✧

It's like his nose was a hound dog for that virgin blood. Watching you sit there on the train in an empty car you were reading your most current favorite book The Terminal List by Jack Carr, with your earbuds in listening to the latest song you were hooked on by Ice Nine Kills. You were minding your own business when this man dressed sharply sits across from you. Looking up you give him a polite smile and went back to your book.

After a brief observation of the man sitting across from you, you noticed he had blood on his shirt, but you didn't think much of it. Sure alarming, but it was what it was, especially these days. Licking your lips, you turn the page. You feel these eyes on you. You glance up and sure enough, he's looking at you like you were some delicious snack. You give a slightly tense smile and look back down at your book.

You start to feel uncomfortable; your heart is racing; your mind is focused less on the book and music and more on this strange man sitting across from you staring you down. You lick your lips once more before you gather your small backpack and excuse yourself. You feel him watching you, but you don't look back, you just keep going.

Upon excusing yourself, you head toward the bathroom. Closing yourself in there you try and calm your nerves. You look over yourself in the mirror and shake yourself a bit and let out a slow breath. You plan to go back out after a few more moments and move to a different car.

After fixing your makeup, you finally get your nerves calm enough to return to the car. Opening the bathroom door, you walk right into his chest, and you stumble a moment.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry." You say softly.

He didn't say anything. He gripped your throat and moved you back into the bathroom closing the door and locking it.

"Excuse me... no. Let me out." You state firmly.

"Babydoll, you need to be relax and be polite." He smirks.

"You need to fuck off... no." You state trying to push past him.

He pushed you back against the wall and shook his head and licked at his lips. "I don't think so Babydoll."

"I'm not you're Babydoll, and you need to back off." You state firmly, but it appears he's not listening.

You try and push him off you but his strength wasn't letting that happen. His hand starts to roam your body.

"What the fuck! Stop it!" you snap.

"You need to shut up." He states as he slams you against the wall.

Turning you around he reaches around and slips his hand under your shirt groping you. He lets out a soft groan against your neck. You begin to panic and pushing back but he keeps you in place with his forearm.

"Stop... please stop." You plead.

He hears you, but he doesn't listen, and he moves from your chest to slipping his hand into your leggings and realizes you're not wearing any panties and he smirks.

"Such an easy little slut you are huh?" He muses.

"Please don't do this." you beg. Your eyes well with tears. Closing your eyes tears drop.

"Oh come on now Babydoll, I love when they cry..." He purrs into your ear as he starts to massage your bud.

You begin to panic, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind running miles a minute. You try and choke back tears, but you feel like you can't breathe, and you try and fight him off but he's just keeping you there.

Closing your eyes you let out a soft breath and you attempt to push yourself away again, trying to escape from it all, your mind races, your heart pounds, your eyes crying.

"Please, please don't do this. I'm begging you. I'll give you whatever you want, but please stop." You plead.

"Oh Babydoll, you're going to give me exactly what I want." He smirked as he pressed himself against you.

Was he hard? Oh geez... oh no, yes, yes he was and then you knew your fate. He slips your leggings down as he presses your head against the wall. Your breathing quickens. You had no idea what to expect, you were saving yourself for the right person, the right moment, and here he was getting ready to rob you of that, to take it all away from you.

Thoughts ran through your head. Why you? Why now? Why this? What did you do to deserve this? Why won't he listen? All these on repeat, and it wouldn't stop. Why won't he stop? Why is he doing this?!

Trying to find your words to plead you turn around to try and push him but he is quick to slap you across the face and it causes your lip to bleed. You whimper a moment, and you try and fight back but he again, slams you against the bathroom wall. With a hand around your throat he spins you back around and slams you against the wall again.

"God damn it Babydoll, be a good girl." He snarls into your ear.

Moving from your neck to your hair he grips a hand full of your hair and moves you so he can position himself, but you fight. He snarls again before he says fuck it, and shoves his hard cock between your virgin lips and rips your innocence from you in one swift thrust.

You scream, in pain, the snapping, the hot pinch of pain, the searing hot rush hits you and you take in a jagged breath.

"No... no no no! Stop! PLEASE!" you plead but there is no stopping.

You try and fight him, but with him pinning you against the wall you can't escape him. His thrusts become quick, they become hard, and they hurt. His growling his snarling, his grunts and groans fill the bathroom and all you want is to be let go, return to your seat, read your book, listen to your music, that of which was now on the floor from the fighting. Your ear buds letting the music escape from them freely while you're being held hostage against this bathroom wall.

You begin to cry, hard, but this only seems to fuel him even more. Why was this happening right now. You begin to breathe heavily in panic. Your chest moving rapidly with each thrust, it wasn't out of enjoyment, it was out of panic, and anger, and aggression. He tilts your head back and your mouth opens only for him to spit in your mouth. You growl and spit back but he slams your head against the bathroom wall as his thrusts become harder.

You try and find your happy spot, but it wasn't working, everything was becoming too much. You couldn't get your mind to focus. So you focus on what's around you. The buttons for the toilet, the scent of the bathroom, the scent of him, the scent of blood... wait, blood? Oh, yeah... blood... that happens in moments like this. And then you feel angry again. This hot rush of anger hits you and you start to fight again.

"LET ME GO!" You start to fight again. Trying to push him away. But with the angle he's got you at makes it difficult.

"Babydoll, shut up." He growls. "You can fight all you want, you're giving me nothing but a harder cock." He smirks.

You growl and try and fight but that wasn't happening. His thrusts were hard, rigid, painful, your hips felt like they couldn't withstand the thrusts. You take in a jagged breath, you clench your jaw and you try and jerk your head with his hand in your hair and he only slams your head against the wall again.

You feel this daze hit you, one too many slams against the wall, you feel this tingling in your nose as he starts to thrust a little slower. Was he taking his time? You close your eyes trying to find that happy place, but all you can feel and see and focus on was his face, and how he felt stretching your virgin cunt. You clench your jaw breathing out of your nose.

You didn't want to think about it. You didn't want to feel this, you wanted this bubbling feeling to go away. You clenched your jaw and attempted to think of something else. The harder he thrust, the slower he took, the more your mind focused on the way it felt, how his cock felt slipping in and out just enough to tease the length. You actually felt yourself getting wet and you clench your walls around him. Not out of pleasure, but out of hopes of stopping yourself of getting wet, you didn't like it, you didn't want it.

You wanted to save it... but there was no saving anything. You hated him, you were angry with him, you hated him, you wanted to kill him... to rip his heart out and eat it with a side of french fries. You sniffle as you try and regain yourself and pushing back against him he shoves you forward again, his thrusts deep, slow, almost teasingly slow. What was he doing? Oh no, no he knew what he was doing. He wanted you to cave, but you weren't going to. You didn't want to.

This wasn't a game, this was a fight, and you wanted him to stop, taking all the stops but you weren't able to move, you felt this sense of defeat, accepting what it was. You just stood there, as he used you.

"That's it Babydoll... acceptance. You're tight little cunt feels so good... that tight little cunt belongs to me now. It's now molded for my cock. I'll be keeping you close Babydoll, use you whenever I want." He purred against your ear with a slight snarl.

You had no words, but why were they doing something to you, why were they making you feel conflicted. Why were you liking this? Your breathing picked up. You bite your lip a little harder.

"I'm going to breed you, fill you every day. Use you like the little slut fleshlight you are." He mused.

Okay now that did something. You whimper softly. Biting your lip, your hips spread a bit as you arch back a bit taking in more of him. He doesn't say anything in this moment, you just take his cock, focusing back on the feel of it, focusing on the way it fit inside you just right. Focusing on how it made you feel, you feel yourself loosen up around him, feeling yourself getting wetter.

"You...you... want to breed me?" You ask with an almost timid voice.

"I'm going to breed the fuck out of you Babydoll. You like that?" He asked.

You think a moment and nod. "Are you going to fill me up?" You ask.

He laughs with a slight groan. "Whenever I want." He purrs against your ear again.

You focus on the things around you, and you realize the title of the next song. Dirty Thoughts by Chloe Adams. You bite your lip and you let out a soft whimper, feeling how long he was, how wide he was, how he stretched you, you think about his words, how he wanted to use you, how he breathed, how he wanted to breed you. Your breathing picks up a little more.

It went from you hating this moment, to you starting to enjoy this moment.

"I want you to use me... to breed me... to fill me up..." You admit.

The thought of it, dripping his seed from your cunt was something that actually really turned you on. Biting your bloodied bruised lip you let out a soft moan as you spread your legs a little more letting him slip deeper and you press your ass toward him letting him take even more.

"That's it Babydoll, take more of my cock." He growled as he started to thrust upward into you.

You gaps feeling him slip fulling into you, feeling him hit right to the base of his shaft.

"You're so big... you feel.... you feel..." you don't want to say it.

"I feel what Babydoll?" He asked.

"You feel good... I like how you fill up my virgin pussy." You state. Where was this smut coming from? Where was this seeping from? Must have been all the fanfiction you were reading before coming on this train. "Please... fuck me a little slower... I want to feel all of you." You plead.

He blinked a few times and smirked. "My pleasure Babydoll." He mused.

Slowing his thrusts, you think a moment and you reach down to slip your pants off your leg.

"I want to face you.... please... I want you to face me and fuck me." You plead.

He smirks and pulls from you. This moment you could run, but you slip the pantleg off and place your hands on his shoulders and he lifts you and presses you against the wall, noticing the bruising on the side of your face, the blood from your lip, he leans forward and licks at your chin and sucks on your lip as he slips his cock back inside your slightly bleeding wet drippy cunt.

You let out a soft moan against his lips as you wrap your legs around his waist and feel him thrust deeper within your walls. They begin to message him.

You rest your head against the wall behind you. Your hands move from his shoulders to play at the hairline at his neck. As he bounces you against his cock your bud is rubbing against him and the sensation is overwhelming. You let out a loud moan. Feeling yourself getting wetter you close your eyes as they roll back. You whimper and moan rather loudly.

"That's it Babydoll, enjoy yourself." He smirks.

"Oh fuck... oh fuck... breed me... fuckin hell breed me. Pump me full." You moan loudly.

He looks over you and tilts his head and smirks as he picks up his pace, thrusting faster, harder, deeper. You feel yourself getting close. You clench your jaw as you drop your head against his shoulder. Your breathing quickens, he begins to pick up his pace a little more, his breathing, his moans quicken as he pumps into you.

"FUCK!" you scream as your body begins to shake.

Never experiencing pleasure like this, you were going to quickly get addicted. He slams you down on his cock.

"Fill me! FILL MY CUNT! BREED ME!" you scream.

He chuckles. "An eager Babydoll you are... I'm going to enjoy filling you up everyday." he smirked as he gave a few more slams and lets out a heavy groan.

Your body shook as you just let everything go. Your whole body just releases and takes his hot ribbons of breeding seed. You scream with a finish as he continues to pump his load into you.

You grip at his hair a moment, your breathing erratic, your mind calm and quiet, your body tingling, sore, and euphoric. Everything felt good and sore at the same time.

"Fuck..." You pant. You look over him. "Do you have a name?" You ask him.

"Sir works just fine, Babydoll." He smirks.

You tilt your head and smirk. "Does this mean I'm all yours now?" You ask.

He looks at you and smirks. "With a mouth like that, damn fuckin straight it does Babydoll." He states with confidence.

"Can we do this again soon?" You ask.

"Are you going to fight me next time?" he asked.

"No... but maybe I can make you hard and I can sit on it while we wait for the next stop?" You ask.

"Cock warming may be a little too advanced for you." he smirked.

"And this wasn't? I'll warm your cock, and you can fill me up again." You smirk.

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

Tagging: @earth-elemental18 @nyxvuxoa-writes

541 notes · View notes

dykekarkat · 4 days ago

Text

taking a break from writing to play mc and now im thinking about the foxes on a server bcus i have many terminal diseases in my brain about them....

anyway renee and nicky are The builders of the server and their corner of the world is so gorgeous and pretty it is also where allison sets up (she pays renee in diamonds + netherite to build her a very elaborate mansion. tbc she has never been mining in her life neil just gives her his spoils). also when neil comes over he never fills in the creeper holes he leaves behind (he's got the most deaths in the server by far) and they put him in jail for a week.

matt lives in a dirt shack with neil and they're going on adventures 24/7 usually into the mines/caves. which neil loves mining it's his favorite thing that boy yearns for the strip mine. he doesnt know whats valuable or not but by god is he gonna get that ore. he just gives people stacks of whatever they need bcus he doesnt care. doesnt even wear armor most of the time. also they accidentally summon the warden the Only time kevin and aaron join them on a mining trip and it leads to a fall out the foxes haven't seen since allison slapped aaron.

dan has a thriving shop system she is making the economy Work in her favor (the power has lowkey gone to her head but she's also the only reason diamonds are even valuable anymore). kevin is her main competitor but the foxes like to boycott his stores bcus he gets really mad about it and its hilarious.

also kevin + aaron are the optimization gods. iron farm. villager farm. gold farm. they're breaking the nether ceiling and creating fast travel. aaron gets the killed the ender dragon achievement and is the first one to get elytra. neil pushes him off the edge of an end island with all of his stuff in his inventory and aaron's crash out is so bad he almost committed another murder (neil works for like 4 months to replace all of his stuff).

everyone doesn't expect andrew to join up but he does and as SOON as he's in that server he fucks off to the middle of nowhere. literally thousands of blocks away from everyone else. neil is the only person who knows where his base is and he shows them a screenshot and jaws are DROPPING. he's got one of those giant gorgeous hermitcraft bases and fully optimized tools + armor. also it's a base that's hidden by one of those really cool giant mechanical redstone doors like. inside of a mountain or smth.

#aftg #neil josten #andrew minyard #kevin day #aaron minyard #sorry for torturing him btw #but i feel like he is the most likely to crash out over minecraft (next to kevin)#um not tagging everyone bcus thats a lot of work soz

49 notes · View notes

nanowrimo · 1 year ago

Text

4 Ways To Cure Writer’s Block

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. NovelPad, a 2023 NaNoWriMo sponsor, is a novel drafting software designed to make it easy for writers to write. Today, they're sharing a few tips to help you beat writer's block:

NovelPad loves NaNoWriMo because we have the same goal: Helping authors get the thing done!

Starting a book is usually fun and easy—your fingers dance across the keyboard as you explore an exciting world, meet your characters, and stir up intrigue for the coming plot. But once you get into the weeds of how that all works, and how you and your characters get from Point A to Point B, you might find yourself losing momentum. You might find yourself so encumbered with obstacles that you might get a case of the dreaded writer’s block.

The very good news is that writer’s block isn’t terminal, and I certainly don’t think writer’s block is as enigmatic as some people seem to think. I believe it’s actually quite a simple problem, and usually due to one of a few common factors. Let’s look at four ways you can push yourself through your case of ye olde block.

1. Check in with yourself.

Step one is always to check in with yourself.

Start by reviewing your basic self-care needs:

Are you staying hydrated?

Do you feel hungry?

Would a shower or a nap be beneficial?

Is it time for a walk or some stretching exercises?

Consider your environment as well. Maybe you need:

Noise-canceling headphones

A change of scenery

A babysitter or someone to help around the house

To open or close some windows

Next, evaluate your level of focus. Is your mind wandering elsewhere? It can be useful to create a "dump list" to jot down anything that's causing you stress, such as work-related issues, pending tasks, or upcoming events. Setting that list aside can give you the tangible feeling of pushing those things off your desk to worry about later.

Once your body, mind, and environment are sorted out, you'll likely discover that writing becomes a bit easier!

2. Look back at where you’ve been.

Even if the first tip did or did not do the trick, let’s take a look at the project itself.

Sometimes writer’s block is a blessing in disguise! Your creative gut might be telling you that something went awry. Try reading your project back and pinpointing where it became difficult to keep going. Consider alternate plots or paths to get your writing flowing again.

If you're managing multiple plots and subplots, identifying the moment you deviated from the main path can be quite challenging. To pinpoint which plot line is causing issues, you can take advantage of NovelPad's handy feature: Plot tracking.

On the Plot Board, you can review every scene of a particular plot in order, making spotting those errors in your plotlines much easier.

3. Rewrite a problem scene.

Once you've identified the scene causing issues, it's time to make improvements! This can be challenging because there are countless ways to approach a scene.

However, don't hesitate to embrace revisions. Often, a scene benefits from a thorough rewrite. With NovelPad Revisions, you can save limitless scene revisions, compare them side by side, and effortlessly switch to the one they want in the live manuscript. This keeps your different versions safe, well-organized, and readily accessible.

4. Freewrite to free yourself.

Freewriting is a great way to get your creativity flowing again. Write some poetry, compose a letter to a friend, or simply let your thoughts flow without judgment. Freewriting without judgment can help turn on your writer mode and even help you solve some problems! It's especially beneficial when you're stuck on something specific, because we often find brilliant solutions when we stop being so critical of our ideas.

Kick writer’s block off your desk with NovelPad! It's free to use throughout NaNoWriMo, and we offer discounts to participants and winners afterward. If you find that NovelPad isn't your cup of tea by the end of November, don't worry—you can still access and download your project at any time. Just write!

Our team at NovelPad believes in making it easy for writers to complete their books. That’s why we built an uncomplicated, intuitive system that stays out of the way until you need it! We want writers like you to #JustWrite without burdening you with excessive features. Speaking of features, software updates at NovelPad are based entirely on user feedback from authors to keep our features sharp, relevant, and minimalist.

All NaNoWriMo participants have access to a 15% discount on NovelPad with code WRIMO2023 — use the code during checkout to redeem your discount. Offer expires April 1, 2024.

Top photo by Richard Dykes on Unsplash.

#nanowrimo #writing #writers block #writing advice #by nano sponsor #novelpad

218 notes · View notes

kalpeavaris · 3 months ago

Text

MD: Echo Info Post #1 (Character Edition)

So I reblogged this image about wanting to (over) share about OCs... and then I got a mysterious message telling me to speak about my OCs... 👀(*cough* @inkyprince I said I'd tag you hehe *cough*)

So I've decided to just do it, lmao. I love sharing stuff about my OCs, stories and whatnot and this is my blog, imma do what I want!

Gotta lay out some trivia & information about my Murder Drones AU, Echo! Wether it be characters or concepts, because maybe it'll get some people interested :D All of the info is below the cut, and for the first iteration of this I've chosen Kira, aka "ZWEI", for this!

Kira - "ZWEI" - White Witch

A lot of her information can also be viewed on her ToyHouse Profile (logged in user only, sorry!)

Playlist - Pinterest - Voice Claim - Theme Song

Content Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts (non-explicit), chronic (terminal) illness (in... robot-terms?)

(older art, but it does the trick lmao)

Kira was one of the Drones that were tested and infected with the Absolute Solver code back in the 3040s and 50s in the Cabin Fever Lab Cathedral with her number being 24.

As a Communication Drone the Solver's abilities affected her in a different way than her fellow Worker Drones, causing the humans to become aware of certain powers that she exhibited which weren't displayed in other Drones.

Her "exorcism" (or, well, patch) was botched as Kira's OS wasn't capable of adapting to the patch version, causing it to corrupt and allow for a vunerability that lead to Echo (a mutated version of the AS) planting it's own code inside of Kira's, which jump-started Echo's influence on Communication Drones.

Kira's Solver is always active - that's why her eye doesn't return to normal and only ever displays the emblem. She overheats extremely easily all the time and is prone to physical pain and tinnitus due to her being unable to block out inbound signals if she picks them up.

This has her health deteriorating quickly over the course of the MD: Echo story, slowly succumbing from it, though she keeps on pushing forward to stop ECHO and it's hosts. She needs actual medication to keep the pain at bay and constantly consumes Oil at a high rate to stop overheating. If her Solver was to deactivate she'd most likely pass away within a few days.

Her secondary name, "ZWEI" means "Two" (or could also be interpreted as "the second") in German. It is a reference to her part in the story, as well as her connection to ECHO. (won't be spoilered for now 8D) She associates alot of trauma with it and doesn't like being referred by it.

Personality wise Kira seems fairly withdrawn from everyone around her except her friends and partner/family. If she's in a good headspace she's fairly open and confident, almost fierce in the way she appears to others. Kira's keen on keeping up a strong facade to not show strangers her weaknesses or true condition.

"But what are Communication Drones?"

I'm glad you asked! Communication Drones look like normal Workers, though the one thing that sets them apart are the two antennas on their head which can vary in size & style depending on their desired function (short-range, long-range, ground signals, air signals etc.)

These antennas function as ears for them, so if they're removed, their hearing is damaged (not entirely deaf, but definitely worsened). So if a "normal" CD loses their antennas they're having a harder time adapting as their intake of sound is greatly reduced.

As an AS user/host, Kira's able to pick up on stronger signals from far away or even sending out signals to stun/manipulate others around her in a short radius. This effect doesn't stay though, it'll wear off over time and actively consume energy from the Drone using it.

Disassembly Drones can also have the subtype of a Communication Drone as shown in the sketch below (left DD) - their antennas are usually shorter and made for short-range and aerial signals as they're capable of flight, too.

(I almost made them a polycule not going to lie they all hot as fuck) wish that was me-)

(Kira on her way to cast 'gun, prepare to meet god' in the face of a fucking angel-robot-AI that believes to be god itself)

Kira plays a big part in the MD: Echo universe next to some minor characters & canon characters. Her main motivation is to help stop Echo, as it also tries to infect her via the unstable Solver code in her OS.

Crucifix Symbolism

(the power of christ compels you!)

Something very important to Kira is her botched patch / "exorcism". She's obsessed with crucifix looking symbolism which continues to haunt her almost 30 years later during MD: Echo's timeline.

She's desperate to break free from this, but cannot help herself. She compulsively collects cross-shaped imagery and in the first few months after her escape from the Lab she actively built crosses from all sorts of materials.

It's mainly coming from her OS being overwhelmed by the botched patch and the crucifix imagery of the USB burning itself in her memory files as some sort of "salvation" she has yet to achieve. Luckily, this started to fade out over the years, especially after meeting T who helped her to overcome the trauma of the incident.

(CW: Mentions of Self-Harm)

After being infected by the Absolute Solver, Kira desperatly tried more than once to remove her antennas to keep the voices from appearing. It talked to her from the inside, but she didn't realize this yet. Like almost all other AS Users however she kept on regenerating, unable to escape the inner turmoil of the Solver's possession and Echo trying to get inside of her OS as well.

Effects of the AS on her psyche

(holy shit have you ever seen a centipede that big? what is this? australia?)

Haunted by visions of the Solver, it's communications with the other Drones and later on the landing pods of the Disassembly Drones Kira had a hard time to tune out these visions she got from time to time. Similar to Nori in that regard Kira wrote everything down she heard through these intercepted signals, amassing hundreds of pages of logs she was able to get.

Meeting her partner

("Girl I swear I have normal hands too don't be distracted by my sexy claws")

In the 3060s, she stumbled upon one of the Disassembly Drone squads outside of the colony's Outpost she was seeking shelter in. She had intercepted their landing pods signals and was "curious" to seek out whoever had arrived, trying to solve the mystery of whatever the Solver had her experience.

That's when she found Serial Designation T - the navigator of the squad, who at first attempted to kill her like he'd been tasked to do. After all, Kira was a Solver Host that couldn't be fully mind-controlled anymore. But in the middle of him attacking her T's code was halted by Cyn herself, deactivating his executive task to kill the Host he had infront of him. He himself didn't know why exactly the Solver did this, but in hindsight it was due to the fact that Kira was still able to be of use to it later on.

(POV: you deleted system32 from your PC because some random kid on roblox told you to)

Now neutral, T got curious about Kira whom he tried to speak to with her Kira (driven by curiosity on why he had stopped being aggressive all of a sudden, being able to intercept the communication he had with Cyn) staying to talk to him.

Over the following weeks the two grew acustomed with each other, slowly building a friendship that later on evolved into a more romantic nature. Kira hid him in the Outpost and brought in food for the two of them as she constantly needed oil as well.

48 notes · View notes

trueshame · 8 months ago

Text

Live streaming gamer attacked and stripped naked during live broadcast

Location: Croatia 🇭🇷 Year: 2019 Genre: Stripped Naked

Young man who was playing computer games and was live on a webcam with his fans went to open the door because someone had knocked. He muted himself but didn't turn off the webcam. After opening the door he was attacked by the intruder who beated the gamer and stripped him naked in front of approximately 40 watchers. Then the intruder walked the naked man outside and since then the webcam transmition has lasted for almost 90 minutes! The man didn't come back by this time and the broadcast was terminated, probably by the streaming platform staff.

We do not know why the man was stripped and walked out of the apartment. Some comments said that it was due to unpaid rent for the apartment, the other said the man insulted the intruders girlfriend and he walked the gamer outside to make him apologize to the woman.

The video has no sound so we cannot know what the men were talking to each other. But they are talking for sure.

The Naked Man (NM)

Name: Unknown Age: 25-28 (estimated) Nationality: Croatian (based on the t-shirt logo)

Before being stripped we can see a young man in his 20s sitting at the computer desk with earphones, talking to his fans. The man has a skinny-fat body type. His hair are dark. We can notice pale, almost pasty skin.

The man puts down his earphones and mutes himself from the webcam. But doesn't turn it off. Probably he was in a hurry to quickly open the door and go back to play games. Sadly, the man who was knocking the door had other plans for him.

The man was thrown on the ground several times and had his clothing removed, almost piece by piece. We can see that the man is fighting back, trying to keep his pants on and block the slaps he's receiving from the intruder.

Finally the man has everything removed from his, except his socks. He gets pushed hard and falls down on his butt, revealing his hairy dick to all his confused and now flushed fans. At this point someone probably reported the forbidden content that further led to broadcast termination.

After being pushed, the man got up and ran inside the other room, which looks like a bathroom. The Clothed Man (CM) walks after him and after a short time the naked man appears again, fighting for his dignity.

The man was exposing his naked ass to the webcam while trying to fight the intruder from further slapping him. He was pushed inside th bathroom again. We estimate that the intruder was trying to take the man socks off too, but he dropped that idea later.

Finally the man was successfully walked out of the apartment, leaving his viewers confused. We can only imagine what had happened to him next: was he paraded naked on the neighbourhood? Was he forced to apologize naked? Was the police called and arrested both men? This mistery remains unclear since 2019.

The Clothed Man (CM)

There is only two images of the clothed man: when he walks inside the bathroom and then when he walks out, leading the naked man out.

According to some online comments, he might be a landlord annoyed with his tenant who was not paying rent or he was the boyfriend of a woman the naked man insulted the day before. We didn't find any facts that would support any of these thesis.

#croatia #enm #stripped naked

88 notes · View notes

coochiequeens · 2 years ago

Text

'There are wonderful surrogates but the system is also allowing others to take advantage.' Says a woman who exploited another woman

Twins? No, but this couple's baby boys were born just five months apart after a terrifying tale that raises grave questions about modern-day surrogacy

Cáhan and Cómhan Kilgannon look to the outside world like they are twins

But pair from County Fermanagh, Northern Ireland were born five months apart

Parents Kiara and Stevie conceived naturally just after using a surrogate mother

By JENNY JOHNSTON FOR THE MAIL ON SUNDAY

PUBLISHED: 17:16 EST, 18 February 2023 | UPDATED: 17:16 EST, 18 February 2023

Snug in their double buggy, peeking out with matching, adorable blue eyes, Cáhan and Cómhan Kilgannon look for all the world like twins as they enjoy a stroll with parents Stevie and Kiara.

'When we are out in shops, people assume they are twins,' says dad Stevie. 'When they were younger and the size difference between them more noticeable, we'd explain that there was actually five months between them.

'But you could see people doing the maths and getting confused.'

Cáhan (it means 'little battler' in Irish) is 15 months old, while his brother Cómhan (meaning 'twin') is ten months.

And there is a fascinating and heartwarming reason for the age discrepancy.

Biologically, Cáhan is Kiara's and Stevie's child, conceived through IVF using her egg and his sperm, and born via surrogacy after Kiara had been told she would never carry her own child.

The couple opted for an increasingly common surrogacy route – delighted to find a stranger who effectively offered them her womb.

Stevie says: 'We explained it to family and friends as 'our bun, her oven'.'

Yet five months into the surrogate's pregnancy, the 'impossible' happened – Kiara became pregnant herself. Entirely naturally.

'The doctors – we'd been to them all, even an expert in the US – said it simply wasn't possible for me to carry a child,' she explains.

'When it happened, we couldn't believe our double miracle. The boys will be in the same class at school, so we have years ahead of having to explain why they appear to be twins, but aren't.'

At their home in County Fermanagh, Northern Ireland, this couple's joy is palpable

So too, though, are more complicated feelings. It turns out their 'surrogacy journey' was anything but joyful.

Indeed, they're speaking out today because they want to warn other couples – 'who may be as desperate as we were' – that the whole experience can push you to the edge.

The reality of their situation is that the relationship with their surrogate broke down during her pregnancy.

They even feared she would abort their child.

'It was a real worry – later confirmed when she posted on social media that she'd considered a termination,' says Kiara. '

At another stage she threatened to keep our baby if a whole list of requests that had never been mentioned before were not met.'

It sounds as if everything that could go wrong with the surrogacy agreement – 'a piece of paper that is legal but not legally binding', says Stevie – did.

Petty disagreements, mostly about money, escalated to the point where they were consulting lawyers and trying to get mediation.

'In the process, she cut us off, blocked us from messaging her, refused to allow us to go to scans, which she'd previously said we could attend.

'She told midwives and hospital staff – who deal with surrogacy arrangements all the time, and had been wonderful about making us feel part of it – not to include us.

'In the weeks coming up to the birth, we had moved over to England, where she lives, to be in place for the birth. Yet for that full four weeks we had no contact with her.

'We had no idea if she would even hand him over when he was born. We discovered – the hard way – that biological parents have no rights,' Stevie recalls.'

Kiara – pregnant during the latter stages of this delicate process – was distraught.

'My pregnancy was deemed high-risk and the doctors said I must I avoid stress.

'But I could not have been more stressed. I thought I was going to lose both babies.'

It is very rare for a couple to be in this situation – and also uncommon for a couple who have had a 'successful' surrogacy journey to talk about the pitfalls.

They can share their story now because, in December, a court granted them a Parental Order, giving them full legal responsibility for Cáhan.

In any surrogacy situation, there is a period of some months when the intended parents are in a legal limbo.

Although Stevie was eventually named on Cáhan's initial birth certificate – they had no birth certificate at all for him for several months – Kiara was not, as the surrogate is always the mother, by law, until a Parental Order is granted.

Issues such as who is authorised to make medical decisions can be contentious – but in amicable surrogacy arrangements, these things can be agreed and made workable.

The frustrations were made all the more difficult with two babies in the mix.

Kiara says: 'It meant we were in this ridiculous situation where I could get treatment for Cómhan, but with Cáhan, Stevie had to do everything.'

It has long been accepted that the law surrounding surrogacy in the UK, which has not been changed in 40 years, needs to be updated, but a much awaited review by the Law Commission has been delayed.

Meanwhile, the number of couples using surrogates has quadrupled over the past ten years.

Commercial surrogacy is banned in the UK, but surrogates can be paid reasonable expenses, which Stevie and Kiara believe has 'led to commercial surrogacy under the table'.

Stevie, who works in the justice system, says: 'It would be more transparent to allow commercial surrogacy because, as it stands, there are no rules about what constitutes reasonable expense. We came to feel we were cash cows.

'Our surrogate alerted us to a chipped windscreen on her car, and we paid for a replacement tyre.

'She charged us £1 for an envelope to send a scan picture and refused to post it until the money was in her account.

'It all got incredibly petty, but when we asked for documentation for expenses over the agreed figure, she cut contact.

'We discovered surrogates advise each other about how to push their expenses up.

'One couple even paid for a gardener to mow their surrogate's lawn – then learned she had no grass.

'Surrogates even discuss charging for slimming club memberships, spa treatments, even car valeting after vomiting in the car because of morning sickness.

'This is not about money – we paid our surrogate expenses of about £15,000 but we'd have paid much more from the off if the process had been fair.

'Our point is that we felt held to ransom.

'There are wonderful surrogates but the system is also allowing others to take advantage.'

See rest of article

#Anti-surrogacy #Anti exploiting women #Anti turning babies into commodities

563 notes · View notes

ilove-masked-men · 5 months ago

Text

Say no to this - hamilton

yes i did disappear and then randomly come back to drop a Simon x Reader fic based on a hamilton song, and what?

contains - smut (a lot) an argument, lyrics duh, reader is a little slut in the good way, girl called samantha idk, degrading, unprotected p in v!! ghost referred to as simon, pet name doll

implied consent! no yes said! if you don’t like that don’t read because that’s the whole plot of the song.

female anatomy, no she used i don’t think, reader has breasts and a pussy

plot: i changed the lyrics to fit the modern day and to suit it being abt military. you seduce simon and then he gets yelled at by your tasks forces captain yada yada, there’s smut in there it’s easy to understand

There’s nothing like summer on base, Simon was under stress from the workload he had on him. There was trouble in the air you could smell it, vanilla and coconut of course. Simon was in his office all by himself, he hadn’t slept in a week he was growing weak. You’ve never seen a lieutenant more in need of a break. He was longing for Samantha, missing his wife, until you stumbled into his office, the vanilla and coconut smell strengthening.

“I know you’re doing your mission reports, i’m so sorry to bother you while you work. But i don’t know my way to my barracks, and i’m here all alone.” Is what you’d said to him, leaning on his door frame. Your hair was in a braid and you wore a shirt that pushed up your breasts, leaving little to the imagination. You wore a mini skirt, low rise and barely on your butt with some sneakers. “My Captain’s doing me wrong, beating me, overworking me, mistreating me. Then suddenly he’s terminated me, i don’t have the means to go on.” You said with a small pout, looking at him with your lashes.

Simon offered a loan for the pay check you wouldn’t receive this month, you took it and your hands graised. He offered to help you find your barrack.

“You’re too kind, Sir…” You said quietly with a smile. The loan was about £900 he said he didn’t use. Your barrack was a block off of his own you said. “This one is mine, Sir.”

Simon watched you unlock the door and waved. “Well i should head back to my office.” He said slightly awkwardly. Your face went red, you gently grabbed his wrist as you lead him to your bed, you sat there and let your legs spread with him in the middle of them. “Stay..” You said seductively, lolling your head back.

“Hey…” He said, his hands moving to your knees as he didn’t know what to do.”

“Hey..” You replied with a small grin.

Simon began to pray silently, lord tell me how to say no to this. He said in his head “I don’t know how to say no to this..” He muttered to you, his eyes taking your whole figure. Sat there you looked so helpless, and your body was beckoning him in, saying hell yes.

His hands moved to your inner thighs, his face closer to yours. “Woah..” You whined out, beckoning him further.

Simon was still trying to figure out how to say no, almost like he had lost the vocabulary for the word and its synonyms. In his mind he is already gone. But you lift his mask over his nose and your mouth is on his own. he does not say no.

He kisses you back eagerly, his hand moving underneath your thighs to keep you there as your hands went to the back of his neck, keeping him in the position he was in. Your tongues slip into each others mouths and his hands squeeze your thighs as he pulls you closer to his body, pulling you onto his lap and sitting on your bed, his hand moving into your mini-skirt as your hands found the hem of your shirt, pulling it off of yourself with ease as he miraculously found out how to easily get your panties off before he pulled down his lower half and you removed his upper.

You start making out again, your hands on his chest and his on your ass. His hands slip and one of his fingers are inside you, moving in and out desperately, pushing in another finger and then a third as he opens you up. Your nails scratch at his shoulders, mouth agape as you whine and whimper, watching his fingers moving in and out of you. But he pulls them out of you all too quickly, you drip on his thighs as he pulls his boxers down and you’re quick to move on him, gently tapping his head on your clit with a giggle before gently pushing it inside and both of you moan at the feeling. His hands go to your hips as your nails dig into his back and your head falls against his shoulder.

“Simon..” You whined out as he gently pushed you down onto him. He was stretching you open, you were scared he was going to rip you in half when he bottomed out, he paused to catch his breath. “Doing so well for me, Doll.” He groaned, his fingers held your grips tightly, most likely going to bruise. He finally bottomed out, you almost came then and there and not to your knowledge but he was right with you. “Fuck-“ He groaned as he began to slowly lift your hips up, only pulling you up halfway before he greedily slams you down and you moan.

He slams you up and down him and picks up the pace as he goes along, your nails on his back spurring him on as you knew they were leaving a mark. “Simon..” You whined, looking into his eyes as you picked your head up, he moved his mouth onto your neck, kissing it but not leaving marks as he knows it would spark up something with the higher-ups. He used you like a fleshlight and you let him, you finished quickly, him not so far off you. He gently lays you down on your bed, finding a towel in your room and cleaning you up before he got dressed and left.

That wasn’t the last time, he wishes it was but it became a past time. A month into this endeavour he received an email from a captain of a different task force, even better it said.

Dear Sir, i hope you read this without your wife present and in a prosperous enough position to put wealth in the pockets of people like me down on their luck. You see, that was my lieutenant you decided to-

“Fuck..” He groaned as he read on, his hand on his head as he scrolled down through the email.

Uh-oh! You made the wrong sucker a cuckold so it’s time to pay the piper for the pants you unbuckled!

But you can continue to see the whore soldier (if the price is right) if not i’m gonna tell your wife and captain.

He archived the email and ran to her office. “How could you?!” He screamed in her face and she looked up at him.

“No, Sir…” You whined, tears welling in your eyes.

You were half dressed, apologetic a mess and you cried. “Please don’t go, Sir!” You yelp desperately.

“Was that whole story a set up?” He asked you angrily.

“I don’t know about any email!” You whimper, grabbing his wrist.

“Stop crying- god dammit get up!” He growled and took his wrist back.

“I didn’t know any better.” She cried, standing up and looking at him

“I am ruined!” He said in frustration, placing his hands on his face.

“Please don’t leave me i am helpless…” You whined.

“How could you do this?” He groaned, not paying attention to much your saying.

“Just give him what he wants and you can have me..” You tell him, placing a hand on his neck.

“I don’t want you- i don’t want you!” He responded, swatting your hand away.

“Whatever you want, if you pay, you can..” You peek your shirt upwards, exposing your chest. “Stay..”You told him

“No that’s-“ He cut himself off once he saw you and he groaned in frustration, his jeans getting tighter

“Lord show me how to say no to this..” He muttered to himself.

“I don’t know how you’d say no to this..” You mutter with a pout.

You close your office door behind him, there is nowhere he can go now so he sits on your office chair, you sit on his lap and he doesn’t say no.

He should be pushing you off, he has a wife and he could lose his job to this. But his hands are in your back as he feels you grind against him and he can’t help but reciprocate.

He pushing down his jeans and boxers slightly, enough for his cock to get out, he moves your panties to the side and puts himself in without preparation, bottoming out in one large thrust which made you finish with a loud cry of his name. He still pounded into you, getting his anger out through groans and treating you roughly. “Slut..” He groaned, but it only spurred you on further.

He finishes with a groan, burying his cock inside of you. He pulls himself out of you and places you in your desk, putting himself away and walking out like nothing happened.

Later on that day he met up with your task forces captain, his face more concealed then ever, not wearing his skull, a plain black balaclava, his hood up, hands in his pockets as he grabbed a white envelope. He wore black gloves, not skull ones. People would think some sort of drug deal was happening if they saw.

“Nobody needs to know.” He told him with a groan, his voice quiet. As soon as the envelope was out of his hands he bolts off, only to find himself knocking on the door to your barrack.

#cod #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwf2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley

20 notes · View notes

heliopauseentertainments · 9 months ago

Text

Solar Flare

Now a complete 92k word novel. Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus, one-sided Starscream/Rodimus, Megatron & Starscream, background relationships

Major Characters: Megatron, Rodimus, Starscream, Zeta Prime, Ratchet

Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of VIolence, Blood & Gore, Serious Injuries, Weddings, Suggestive Themes, Horror Elements (I.E. Horror of the Divine), Reincarnation, Ambiguous Relationships, One-Sided Relationships. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags. AU: Canon Divergence, Gods/goddesses, Early War

Summary: "To destroy a corrupt system, we must first destroy its gods, starting with this one." In which Megatron makes a mistake by sparing Rodimus, the Prime of the Sun.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Note: inspired by this art piece on Tumblr.

1st chapter under cut; the full length is on AO3.

"To destroy a corrupt system, we must first destroy its gods, starting with this one."

Megatron, at first, had been so sure of his words as he pointed at the red and yellow mech across the hall, bedecked in jewelry and silk.

The ornate metal doors that had blocked off the throne room laid crumpled on the polished marble floor under his feet, a testament to the temple’s weakness against real resistance.

In his initial planning, after storming the Temple of the Sun in Nyon, he had thought killing a false god would be the easy part. Especially since this Prime did not have a Lord Protector, no zealous paladin dedicated to defending his worthless spark, Megatron had assumed that there would simply be one less obstacle to his goal.

The defenses had been minimal. Pathetic guards ran screaming for their lives after the mundane frontal assault on the main reinforced doors. There had been no point in giving chase, so Megatron had ordered his soldiers to let them flee. Better to have terrified survivors tell the tale, whereas dead mechs couldn’t spread word of change.

If the other Primal temples were built like this one with pitiful security, their job would be a lot simpler. Megatron doubted that would be the case, but he had also doubted this push would have gone so smoothly.

Now he watched as Primal acolytes pulled on the Prime’s arms and hands, trying in vain to tug him to safety, wherever that might be found, far away from the armed intruders.

The Prime shook them off with an undignified curse before marching unhindered towards Megatron, whom he’d fixed with a glare. Not one of anger, no, one of being inconvenienced.

“What are you doing in my house? You’re freaking out my dudes!”

What.

Megatron wasn’t often taken aback, but it appeared today had yet more surprises in store for him than a suspiciously easy siege.

He had just blasted through reinforced doors with his mechs, neutralized several guards with nary a fatality, and kicked down the door to the sacred throne room where the Prime was expected to waste away his days in luxury and splendor. Yet this… this garish half-pint approached him, fine brocades and bangles swaying with the motion, with neither fear nor hesitation.

Megatron hadn’t been prepared for this.

He had been prepared for the pampered brat cowering on the beautiful, shining marble, begging for his miserable, privileged life. He had been prepared to mercilessly terminate that wastrel with a fusion cannon blast, right through the spark and through that stupid Matrix.

Just as soon as Megatron tired of the sniveling, of course.

Consternation on his face, he powered down his cannon with a soft whir as it was lowered to his side.

“Excuse me?”

The Prime planted his hands on his hips, the bejeweled and festooned fins of his spoiler tilted upward in bold defiance.

"You heard me, bolt brain."

Now that wasn't a very godly thing to say at all. What were they teaching these high-caste deadbeats these days? Insults like that were what Megatron would have expected from an overcharged cadet at a seedy spaceport, not the alleged reincarnation of Solus Prime.

For all the supposed elegance and grace of a Prime, especially the Prime of the Sun, this was a smart-mouthed little punk.

This wasn't remotely what had been expected.

Megatron scowled down at the mech who dared call himself a god.

With a wave of his arm, some of his lollygagging soldiers dispatched towards the back of the throne room to seize fleeing acolytes.

"Don't you realize what's happening here?" Megatron asked, staring right back into the defiant, burning blue gaze. "Are you really that brave or are you just foolish?"

"Oh, yeah, I know what's happening.”

Megatron sincerely doubted that, but better to hear what nonsense this unknowingly condemned moron could come up with. Maybe it would be amusing.

“You're being a total spike right now, bursting in unannounced and trashing my house like one of those medical academy parties they show on the holonet. Wreck your own house!"

Not nearly as amusing as Megatron had hoped.

What in the damned hell was this punk talking about?

No wonder this one had no Lord Protector. Who would tolerate this? Shooting him now would do the world a favor. Making a political statement at this point would be a bonus.

"Didn't your caretakers teach you any manners? Rude." Well, Terminus had tried but…. That was hardly the point. The sheer impertinence of this idiot who had no idea he was about to have a hole put through his spark at point-blank range by a fusion cannon.

"I'm about to kill you and you're upset by my lack of aristocratic manners?"

Manners hadn’t really mattered much where he came from, the predominantly manual-class and disposable-class underground city of Tarn, in the various mines where he’d labored in dangerous conditions for ages, or in the black-market pop-up gladiatorial arenas of Kaon. He had never had use for such niceties and this punk was upset that he wasn’t holding out his little finger while seizing the Primal temple.

Ridiculous.

What next? Did he expect Megatron to use a napkin when painting the floor with the Prime’s slowly dimming lifeblood?

Despite the situation and his rapidly approaching final moment, the Prime relaxed slightly, seeming to consider the contradiction now that it had been pointed out, rubbing his chin all the while.

"I suppose when you put it like that, but only a Prime can kill a Prime so like do whatever—Hey! Wait!"

The hand rubbing his chin abandoned its work to point squarely at Megatron's nose.

"I know you! You're that lunatic that got Kaon blown to slag!"

That was it; they were done here. He had tired of this highborn simpleton’s antics.

“Enough!” Megatron bellowed, smacking that accusing point away with the back of his hand. “I don’t have time for your inane blathering!”

“Hey, rude—“

“Seize him!”

Mechs surged forth, several making grabs for the Prime’s limbs.

The Prime struggled, swearing as he strove to free himself of unwelcome hands. He kicked and punched, denting plate. More than a few titanium teeth from Decepticon mouths pinged against the floor after being knocked out.

Flatline would be rather busy later patching up these morons, Megatron thought, intrigued by just how much of a fight this pampered fool was putting up.

The struggle went on until the soldiers managed to immobilize the Prime’s limbs, removing any space for him to get in another good swing.

"Might I suggest something?" A high-pitched voice piped up behind Megatron’s back, persuasively smooth with all the owner’s public speaking practice despite the underlying tinny screech.

"You may not, but you'll do it regardless of my permission, so out with it, Starscream. Let’s get your suggestion over with."

Starscream stalked closer and began to circle the restrained Prime, as though inspecting a new, expensive purchase. His thrusters clicked haughtily against the smooth floor with every step.

"Rather than immediately dispatch this 'god,' why not simply keep him prisoner?"

"What purpose would that possibly serve?" What a waste of precious fuel and man-hours that could be better allocated elsewhere. Why take on the unnecessary responsibility of babysitting?

"Well, would not a new mech simply be chosen as a puppet to take their place? A supposed reincarnation plucked from a hot spot like a shining miracle in the dark night. The Senate and their drooling lackeys will rally around the divine newspark, stir up the people's faith, and so on and so forth. Keep him alive and that little problem just solves itself, doesn't it?"

Starscream had always had an optic for political nuance, even if Megatron often discarded it in the name of idealogical stringency. He generally felt his time was better spent not playing those games. Direct action tended to suit his purposes far better.

“What of the Matrix?” Megatron asked, gesturing with his thumb at the Prime’s chest. Each Prime had one, bestowed upon them by the priesthood that served their predecessor. Relics passed down between supposed incarnations, a symbol of divinity. Turning that worthless relic into a profane trophy of scrap that would almost as profoundly undermine the blind faith of the populace as actually murdering one of their so-called “gods.”

Megatron tapped his finger against his chin in thought.

“Would not destroying the Matrix render the point moot?” A new god couldn’t be reformatted without it, right? At least, not as far as he knew. The whole thing was rustwash anyway, but that was the official narrative.

Starscream scoffed, waving a hand flippantly at the very idea as he continued to circle the immobilized Prime. His wings fluttered with interest, a behavior Megatron had seen his second-in -command perform on several occasions when he wanted something.

Something about this useless creature had caught Starscream’s attention. That would need to be ironed out later.

“Please. They probably keep a bunch of them in the basement or in a bunker somewhere or something. You break one, someone steals a backup and claims it’s the real thing, safely defended from our destructive irreverence. You get accused of having destroyed a fake one for publicity and the whole ‘message’ you want to send crumbles in shame. You know how it is with these ‘relics.’ A shanix a dozen. Best keep this one as ‘proof’ for now.”

A broad, knowing grin stretched across Starscream’s face, shining with implication.

“And, after all, you can only have the fun of killing him once.”

He hated that Starscream had a point—several, in fact. Telling the seeker so, however, would just cause more problems—the overinflated ego sort—down the line.

Megatron would settle for a simple acknowledgment as he leaned down to get a better look at this bedighted speedster.

The Prime was practically encrusted with jewels and precious metals in the form of ornate jewelry, brocaded mesh draped luxuriously over the fins of his spoiler. Feet planted firmly on the ground, the Prime glared defiantly back up at his captor. In any other situation, Megatron would have thought him a beauty to behold, but now the red mech was just a symbol of resources squandered on mere opulence.

The sight disgusted him or… it should have.

“Very well, Starscream.”

Megatron heaved a tired sigh.

“I haven’t decided what his fate will be just yet,” he said, straightening back up. “Lock him up somewhere. I don’t care where. It doesn’t matter. Just get him out of my sight.”

A few of his mechs hesitated, the ones holding the arms and shoulders of acolytes, as though they weren’t sure what to do with their prisoners. Megatron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stood back up. Did he have to spell out everything for these idiots?

“The cultists too! Just go!”

Finally.

The throne room was at peace without that Prime spitting and screaming, now that the brat had been hauled off somewhere in the temple complex, preferably kept under lock and guard.

With the quiet, Megatron could finally get a look around, take stock of the damage and what exactly they had just conquered. This place held many, many valuable resources that they could utilize, either directly or by fencing the goods. Furthermore, he’d gotten it all for the low price of a few explosives, a couple of boot-licking lives, and inadvertent custody a very rude little “god.”

He would figure out what to do with that brat later.

Megatron took a long and slow ventilation before approaching the now abandoned, golden throne at the far end of the room. It glittered in the warm yellow-orange light from the lamps. An impression of the sun was embossed into the high back of the throne and again, smaller, on the arms and seat. It was almost too small, hardly having room for the treads on his back. It was made for more regal frames than his own, intended for heavy industrial work below ground.

The soldiers that still lingered in the room, along with his few lieutenants that had accompanied him, watched in silence.

“We will reinforce the Temple of the Sun, make it an impregnable fortress,” he said, sitting and relaxing into the Primal throne. He supposedly “desecrated” it merely by touch, let alone smearing it with spilled energon and oil from fighting his way through the temple. A shame some of that shed fuel didn’t belong to the previous occupant of this glorified chair.

No matter. It belonged to him now.

From here, it was a short step to de facto controlling the city of Nyon and its weak council.

“With a little work, it’ll make a fine base.” The first, in fact, unless one counted the ruins of Kaon, the last city he and his forces held, he thought, caressing one of the cushioned arms of the throne. After Senate forces bombed the city from the surface of Cybertron, the revolutionaries were forced underground.

Megatron gestured for his lieutenants to approach.

Starscream strode forward, an impatient twitch to his wings and several complaints no doubt already at the tip of his tongue. He still looked smug from his earlier “victory” in changing Megatron’s plans. In stark contrast, Soundwave, ever the professional, simply walked and waited in inscrutable silence for his orders.

"Now, as you know, the Senate is de facto independent, even if they nominally operate under the First Prime in Iacon. They serve no gods but themselves,” Megatron began, “we need to work quickly to fortify our position here. We have some time because they need to calculate the political risk of assaulting Nyon."

They could make good use of this place if they were quick, before the Senate could retaliate for the revolutionaries’ transgressions against the gods. Nyon, however, had one beautiful advantage that Kaon did not: a Primal temple. Even they would hesitate to simply annihilate a sacred location, no matter who held it. Not because they believed, but because the face they would lose with the public would be incalculable.

Megatron smirked, getting comfortable in the stolen throne. Just sitting here was daring the Senate to do something self-destructive and drastic. It was perfect.

Starscream opened his mouth, probably to object, but before he could get words out, he was cut off by a finger pointed in his direction.

“Organize the fortification efforts and recall Shockwave to our new position. Soundwave—“ The blue mech straightened up further to show he was giving his leader his undivided attention. “Round up and contain the remainder of the priesthood. We’re moving in. Once you’ve done that, turn your attention to following the newsfeeds. I want to know the nanoklik Iacon thinks about making a move.”

With a nod, the Soundwave turned on his heel to carry out the command.

Now he just needed to figure out what to do with the blasted Prime of the Sun. Throttling him was unfortunately off the table, for today at least.

Starscream loudly cleared his vocalizer, apparently having something else to say before getting on with his duties.

“What is it now, Starscream?”

“Well, if I may, I have a potential solution to your little Prime problem,” he started, still beaming. It was as though he had guessed Megatron’s thoughts.

“One that could legitimize our position here.”

“I’m listening.” Begrudgingly, but he would hear Starscream out. Might as well.

Megatron narrowed his optics but said nothing as he leaned his face on a raised fist. The seeker took that as permission to continue, a slippery grin stretching across the smooth metal of his face.

“What do you think of the title of Lord Protector? ‘Lord Megatron’ has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

#fic #chapter fic #fic solar flare #maccadam #idw1 #megarod #megatron #rodimus #starscream

40 notes · View notes