#quick sketch before I clocked in

[pepemoon]

head empty just tommy taking tubbos body measurement for lmanberg uniform

[marvyu]

MIDNIGHT INK

pairings. jungkook x female reader genre(s). smut,fluff

summary. a faded tattoo marks your heartbreak. desperate for a fresh start, you visit Jungkook, a trusted tattoo artist and secret confidant you secretly love.

warnings. explicit language, sexual themes, past relationships, heartbreak, and emotional healing, swearing, unprotected sex, lots of kissing, oral sex, missionary position, and implied consensual rough sex.

sitting on your bed, you watched your reflection in the mirror, your fingers tracing the outline of the faded tattoo on your lower back. once a symbol of love, it had become a haunting reminder of heartbreak. you needed to rid yourself of it, something to signify a fresh start.

finally, you picked up your phone from the desk and called the one person you trusted implicitly.

"hello?"

"hey, before you leave, can i get a quick one done on my lower back?" you asked hesitantly. "trying to get a cover-up."

"yeah, sure, be here by eleven-thirty, okay?"

"alright, cool, thanks." you stayed silent for a minute, hoping he'd say more, but the call ended abruptly.

glancing at the clock, your eyes widened. it was 11:20. with a groan, you grabbed your keys and rushed out. the tattoo shop was only five minutes from your home, but october's chill and early darkness made the journey feel longer.

despite the recent breakup with your boyfriend, you always found yourself returning to him—jungkook. he was the man you confided in, sharing all your problems, including tales of your toxic relationship. though he listened, sometimes distant, you sensed he disliked hearing about your ex. yet, he was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on; truth be told, he was the reason you frequented the tattoo shop.

upon arrival, the sign's lights flickered at the entrance. taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open. jungkook looked up from his station, his sleeves rolled up, revealing his tattoo-covered arms. his dark, intense gaze swept over you, making your heart flutter.

"hey," he greeted, a slow smile spreading. "ready?"

you nodded, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach. "yeah, thanks for staying late."

"no problem," he replied, his voice low and soothing. he gestured to the tattoo chair. "take a seat. let's see what we're working with."

as you settled into the chair, a mix of nerves and excitement coursed through you. jungkook moved with practised ease, gathering his tools and preparing the area.

"alright, let's take a look," he said calmly, lifting the back of your hoodie. his fingers brushed against your skin, lingering longer than necessary, sending a shiver down your spine.

jungkook's gaze flickered to yours, a hint of desire in his eyes before he focused back on your skin. "15th of… december… 2023," he murmured, staring at your tattoo.

embarrassed, you leaned your head against the seat. "yeah, that's when we started dating."

he hummed in response, studying the faded tattoo. "this will be a great cover-up. do you have a design in mind, or want me to freestyle something?"

"i trust you," you whispered. "just something that represents a new beginning."

jungkook nodded, his expression serious and thoughtful. "got it. i'll sketch something out quickly."

you watched as he worked, his hands moving swiftly and confidently. the room was filled with the soft hum of the neon sign outside and the quiet scratch of his pencil on paper. after a few minutes, he held up the sketch for you to see.

"how about this?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for approval.

the design was beautiful—delicate yet bold, perfectly capturing what you wanted. "it's perfect," you grinned.

"glad you like it. let's get started," he smiled.

he carefully transferred the design onto your skin, his touch sending another shiver through you. "ready?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

you nodded, unable to find your voice. the first touch of the needle was sharp but bearable. the pain quickly faded into the background, overshadowed by the sensation of jungkook's hands on your skin. each touch, each brush of his fingers, felt amplified in the intimate quiet of the shop.

jungkook worked with steady precision, his eyes never leaving your skin. "you're doing great," he murmured, his breath warm against your back. "just a little longer."

you tried to focus on the rhythm of his work, but your mind kept drifting to the closeness of his body and his hands' warmth. the tension between you was palpable, each minute passing in a haze of anticipation and desire. his fingers occasionally brushed against your skin in a way that felt more intentional than accidental, sending waves of heat coursing through you.

as the tattoo session continued, you found yourself mesmerized by the sensation of his touch. the combination of the late hour, the dim lighting, and the intimate nature of the session made every moment feel charged with electricity. you could feel the heat of his body close to yours, the soft brush of his breath on your skin.

"how does it feel?" he asked softly, his voice a soothing balm with a dark, underlying current.

"it's… it's good," you managed to reply, your voice shaking slightly. "thank you, jungkook."

he smiled, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "almost done. just hang in there."

the final strokes of the tattoo machine were almost a relief, though you couldn't deny the pang of disappointment at the thought of his touch ending. when he finally finished, jungkook leaned back to admire his work, his expression of satisfaction mixed with something deeper.

"all done," he said softly. "take a look."

you stood up and walked to the mirror, turning to see the new tattoo on your lower back. it was beautiful, a perfect cover-up that transformed an old regret into something new and meaningful.

"wow," you said, your voice filled with genuine awe. "i love it."

he stepped closer, his gaze intense and dark with unspoken desire. "i'm glad you like it," he said.

for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. it was just the two of you, standing in the quiet, dimly lit shop, the air thick with unspoken feelings and charged with undeniable tension.

"thank you," you whispered, your eyes locking with his.

jungkook's hand brushed against your cheek, and your heart skipped a beat. his touch was gentle yet firm, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath catch. "you're welcome," he murmured, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine. "anytime."

as you stared into each other's eyes, the air between you seemed to crackle with electricity, the line between professional and personal blurring beyond recognition. the tension was almost unbearable, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving more.

jungkook's fingers trailed down your cheek to your neck, his touch igniting a fire within you. "you know," he said softly, his lips just inches from yours, "i've always been here for you. and i always will be."

his hand lingered on your neck, his thumb gently brushing your jawline as he stared into your eyes. the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine, and the air between you crackled with unspoken desire. you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each beat echoing the growing tension in the room.

"you have no idea how long i've wanted this," he whispered, his voice husky and filled with longing.

your breath hitched, and you leaned in closer without thinking, your lips just a breath away from his. the anticipation was almost unbearable, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body, drawing you in.

unable to resist any longer, you closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a tentative kiss. jungkook responded immediately, his lips soft yet insistent against yours. the kiss deepened slowly, fueled by the weeks of suppressed desire and the intimate setting of the tattoo shop. his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further. the sensation was electric, sending waves of heat coursing through your body.

your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. the sensation of his heartbeat under your palm matched the frantic pace of your own. every touch, every movement was charged, making your skin tingle with anticipation.

jungkook broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he trailed kisses down your neck. "god, i've wanted this for so long," he murmured against your skin, his hands roaming over your back, tracing the newly inked tattoo.

you let out a soft moan, arching into his touch. "me too," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "i've wanted you for so long."

he pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and filled with desire as he looked at you. "then let's not waste any more time," he said, his voice a low growl.

with a swift movement, he lifted you onto the tattoo chair, positioning himself between your legs. the cool leather against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat building between you. jungkook's hands slid under your hoodie, pushing it up to reveal more of your skin. he kissed a trail down your collarbone, his fingers deftly undoing the clasp of your bra.

your breath hitched as he pulled the bra away, his lips capturing one of your nipples in a hot, wet kiss. you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he lavished attention on your breasts, his hands kneading the soft flesh.

"jungkook," you moaned, the sound of his name a desperate plea on your lips.

he responded by kissing his way back up to your mouth, his tongue parting your lips as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. the kiss was deep and fervent, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips when they parted. his hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and dip, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

you could feel his arousal pressing against your thigh, and the sensation only heightened your own desire. with a trembling hand, you reached down, palming him through his jeans. he let out a low groan, the sound vibrating through you and making you even wetter.

"need you," you gasped against his lips, your voice breathless with need.

jungkook pulled back just enough to tug off his shirt, revealing the expanse of tattoos that decorated his chest and arms. you couldn't help but run your hands over his skin, tracing the lines of ink with your fingers.

he made quick work of your clothes, stripping you bare before him. the cool air against your heated skin made you shiver, but the look in jungkook's eyes sent a new wave of warmth through you. he kissed you again, his hands exploring your body with a fervent intensity.

his fingers found their way between your legs, sliding through your wetness with practiced ease. you gasped, bucking into his hand as he teased your entrance.

"you're so wet for me," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. "i want to taste you."

before you could respond, he knelt between your thighs, his tongue darting out to taste you. the sensation was overwhelming, and you cried out, your hands gripping the edges of the tattoo chair as he licked and sucked at your most sensitive spots.

jungkook's tongue moved with expert precision, driving you closer and closer to the edge. just as you felt the first tremors of your orgasm, he pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal.

"i want you to come with me inside you," he said, his voice rough with desire.

you nodded, too breathless to speak, and he quickly shed the rest of his clothes. the sight of him, fully naked and aroused, made your mouth water. he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locking with yours as he slowly pushed inside.

the sensation of him filling you was indescribable, a perfect mix of pleasure and pressure. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as he began to move. each thrust was deliberate and powerful, driving you closer to the edge with each stroke.

jungkook's hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he moved faster, his breath hot against your neck. "you're mine," he growled, his voice filled with possessive desire.

"yes," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "i'm yours."

the words seemed to spur him on, and he increased his pace, driving into you with an almost desperate intensity. your orgasm built rapidly, a tight coil of pleasure that finally snapped, sending you over the edge with a cry of his name.

jungkook followed you over the edge, his own release shuddering through him as he buried himself deep inside you. he collapsed against you, both of you breathing heavily as the aftershocks of your orgasms coursed through you.

for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. it was just the two of you, tangled together in the quiet, dimly lit shop, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

"that was…" you began, but trailed off, unable to find the words.

"amazing," jungkook finished for you, his lips curling into a satisfied smile.

you nodded, a matching smile spreading across your face. "yeah. amazing."

jungkook pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. "i told you," he murmured, his voice soft and tender. "i'll always be here for you."

you nestled closer to him, savouring the warmth of his body against yours. "and i'll always be here for you," you whispered back, feeling a profound sense of connection and contentment.

jungkook pulled back slightly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "we should get cleaned up," he said, but made no move to let you go. instead, he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle and affectionate.

you smiled, leaning into his touch. "yeah, but maybe we can stay like this for just a little longer," you suggested, not ready to break the intimate cocoon that had enveloped you both.

he chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "i like the sound of that."

the two of you lay there for a while, wrapped up in each other's arms, the quiet of the tattoo shop providing a serene backdrop to your tender moment. the reality of the outside world seemed distant and unimportant compared to the warmth and closeness you shared.

eventually, jungkook sighed and pulled away, albeit reluctantly. "as much as i'd love to stay here with you forever, we should clean up and get you home."

you nodded, understanding the practicality of his words even though you wished the moment could last longer. "okay."

jungkook helped you off the tattoo chair, both of you moving slowly, savoring the lingering touches and stolen kisses as you gathered your clothes. he was gentle as he helped you dress, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made you want to pull him back into your embrace.

once you were both dressed, jungkook guided you to the small bathroom at the back of the shop. he wet a cloth and began to gently clean the areas of your body that still tingled from his touch. the intimacy of the moment, even in such a simple act, made your heart swell with affection.

"thank you," you said softly, your voice filled with sincerity. "for everything."

he smiled, his eyes locking with yours in a way that made you feel cherished. "anytime, y/n."

with a final, lingering kiss, jungkook finished cleaning up and walked you to the door. the cool night air was a stark contrast to the warmth you felt inside, but you didn't mind. you knew that the bond you had forged tonight was something special, something that would stay with you long after you left the shop.

as you stepped outside, jungkook held your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "call me when you get home, okay? i want to make sure you're safe."

you nodded, squeezing his hand in return. "i will."

he watched as you walked away, his figure a comforting presence behind you. as you made your way home, you felt a sense of peace and fulfilment that you hadn't felt in a long time. the night had been more than just a tattoo session—it had been a new beginning, a step towards a future filled with promise and love.

later that night, as you settled into bed, your mind was filled with thoughts of jungkook, completely forgetting he was waiting for your call.

the intimacy you shared, the way he looked at you, the feeling of his hands on your skin—it all replayed in your mind like a beautiful dream. just as you were about to drift off to sleep, your phone rang, breaking the silence of the room. the screen displayed jungkook's name, and your heart skipped a beat.

you answered the call, trying to keep your voice steady. "hey,"

"hey," he replied, his voice warm and soothing. "i just wanted to make sure you got home safely."

"i did," you said, feeling a rush of warmth at his concern. "thank you for checking."

there was a brief silence, filled with the unspoken feelings hanging between you. finally, jungkook broke the silence. "i can't stop thinking about tonight, about you, y/n."

"me too," you admitted, your voice soft. "thanks for the special treatment."

"it was special," jungkook agreed. "i've wanted to tell you how i feel for so long, but i didn't know if you felt the same way."

"i do," you whispered, your heart pounding. "i feel the same way, jungkook."

he let out a relieved sigh, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "i'm glad to hear that. how about we make this official? can i take you out to dinner tomorrow night?"

your face broke into a wide smile, your excitement bubbling over. "i'd love that."

"great," jungkook said, his voice filled with warmth. "i'll pick you up at seven. sweet dreams, y/n."

"sweet dreams, jungkook," you replied, ending the call with a smile.

the next day was a blur of anticipation and excitement. as the evening approached, you found yourself carefully selecting an outfit, wanting everything to be perfect. when the clock struck seven, a knock on your door made your heart race.

jungkook stood on the other side, looking effortlessly handsome. he greeted you with a bouquet and a shy, endearing smile. "you look beautiful," he said, his eyes filled with admiration.

"thank you," you replied, feeling your cheeks flush with warmth. "you look great too."

the dinner was perfect. the two of you shared stories, laughter, and tender glances across the table. every moment felt charged with electricity, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing second. after dinner, jungkook took you for a walk in a nearby park. the night was clear, the stars twinkling above as you strolled hand in hand.

as you reached a quiet spot, jungkook turned to face you, his expression serious yet tender. "y/n, i meant what i said last night. i'll always be here for you. i want to be with you if you'll have me."

your heart swelled with emotion, and you nodded, tears of happiness brimming in your eyes. "i want to be with you too, jungkook. more than anything."

he pulled you into a gentle embrace, his lips finding yours in a soft, tender kiss. the world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in your perfect moment.

the weeks that followed were filled with joy and discovery. jungkook became not only your lover but your confidant and best friend. each moment spent together strengthened your bond, and your love grew stronger with each passing day.

you found yourself spending more and more time at jungkook's apartment, where he would cook for you, and you would talk for hours about everything and nothing. the walls that once seemed to contain just his life now felt like a shared space where your love blossomed.

one evening, as you lay in bed together, jungkook traced patterns on your skin, his touch sending shivers through you. "i've been thinking about something," he said, hesitating.

"what is it?" you asked, turning to face him.

"i want us to move in together," he confessed, his eyes searching yours. "i want you to be a part of my everyday life, not just the special moments. what do you think?"

your heart swelled with joy, and you couldn't stop the smile on your face. "i think i'd love that. more than anything."

moving in together felt like the most natural step in your relationship. you merged your lives seamlessly, finding comfort and joy in the little things—cooking together, late-night talks, and lazy sunday mornings.

one evening, while unpacking the last of your things, you came across an old photo album. sitting on the couch, you and jungkook flipped through the pages, laughing at childhood photos and sharing stories from your pasts. it felt intimate and suitable, a testament to how deeply you trusted each other.

jungkook pulled you close, his eyes filled with love and promise. "we've come a long way, haven't we?"

"we have," you agreed, resting your head on his shoulder. "and i wouldn't change a thing."

as the evening wore on, you found yourselves on the balcony, watching the sunset. jungkook wrapped his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. "i can't wait to see what the future holds for us," he murmured.

"me too," you replied, your heart full of love and excitement. "with you by my side, i know it will be amazing."

as you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, you felt a deep sense of fulfilment and contentment. the journey began with a simple tattoo, which had transformed into a beautiful love story that would continue to unfold with each passing day.

your past no longer held any power over you; you could embrace a future filled with love, promise, and endless possibilities. together, you and jungkook would face whatever came your way, knowing that your love was strong enough to withstand anything.

as you closed your eyes and leaned into his embrace, you knew this was just the beginning of your happily ever after.

(sorry omg i love this pic sm rn 😭😭😭)

© marvyu 2k24 — please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms: i do not tolerate them at all.

[tetzoro]

FROM THE START — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. jean kirstein !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : your last semester is coming to a close with finals only a breath away. but your feelings for jean rage now more than ever. with a ticking clock now set, there’s only a matter of time left to confess your true feelings.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI! f!reader. college au, pwp, mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex, praise, fingering, pet names (pretty girl, baby), jean has a horsecock, creampie. — WC : 5.1k.

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : this was going to be from a series i started a long time ago but i just condensed it into one lil fic. enjoy ^_^

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

“alright hot shot, tell me what you see.” jean asks, readying his pen up, wiggling himself in false anticipation. you roll your eyes and lay your head back on the towel.

you took a moment to appreciate your surroundings. the way the sun kissed your face, it’s touch warming your whole body up in the softest form of intimacy. gazing up at the clouds, you see a few notable shapes you could point out but your eyes wander to the water. the sound of crashing waves further soothing your mind as you take it all in. off on the horizon, you see the perfect formation of clouds.

“there!” you point up at a cluster of clouds. “it looks like a pirate ship with a whale swimming under it.���

“where the hell-“ jean trailed off, searching the sky for whatever abomination you were looking at. it was your guys' favorite game to play. you got to cloudgaze and point out the shapes in the sky while jean did a quick sketch of it so you could hold onto your piece of the cloud forever. “you’ve been watching too much one piece.” he grumped, starting to sketch.

“oh shut up.” giggling, you flip onto your stomach, watching him as he sketches. he always did a quick one, not wanting to linger on something for too long as he wanted to keep playing. his face was relaxed except for his eyebrows. the furrow of his brow matching the intensity of the grip on his pencil as it flew across the page. he was so lost in his own little world he didn’t realize you were staring. 

sighing from the lack of attention, you flip back over to look at the water. the waves were a force today, so strong that it scared even you to go into the water. but everyone else chanced fate as they swam around the shore.

“you better get your asses in the water!” eren shouts, making his way to you guys. judging by the look on his face, he was serious. 

“it’s too salty, i always get the water in my mouth.” jean complained, tucking his sketchbook away as eren made his approach. you never knew what kind of stunt he was going to pull.

“yeah? you wouldn’t even go in to save a damsel in distress?” eren smirked, his gaze turning on you as the water droplets dripped down his body.

“eren don’t you da-“ you squeal as he hoists you up, running towards the water as your literally kicking and screaming. eren just laughed as he rushed into the waves. the water wasn’t as cold as you thought it would be but it was still a shock. one that shut you up and made you cling to eren. “don’t you dare drop me.”

“wasn’t planning on it.” he smirked, giving you a tiny wink. “i was going to throw you.”

“eren!” you scream as he tosses you into the waves, water flowing into your mouth as you sunk down a little. you weren’t under the tide for long as an arm wrapped itself around your waist, pulling you up from under. 

“you’re such an ass.” jean’s voice rang out over erens laughter. you rub your eyes, trying to get excess water out before you turn your glare towards eren. you break from jeans’ hold as you launch yourself towards him, trying to push your weight on his head to push him under the water. but of course, he doesn’t budge.

“you’re so annoying.” you hiss, trying not to break out into giggles. “you always pull that shit.”

“come on, you like it. otherwise you would’ve learned your lesson by now and come swim with all of us sooner.”

you scoff, knowing that in his own twisted way, he was right. beach days like this were hard to come by, and with finals around the corner, it was much needed. 

mikasa and armin were on the shore, oblivious to the games that you guys were playing as they looked for shells. armin had his collection in his dorm, all the ones he’s found stuffed into a jar. 

connie and sasha had been in the ocean awhile ago but got out to take a snack break, leaving eren all alone in the water. hence, eren coming to bother you and jean. 

“still.” jean rolls his eyes, making his way by your side. “it’s not like you give us a chance to come in by ourselves. we’ve been here for what, 30 minutes?”

“classic jean, always complaining about something.” eren rolls his eyes right back at him, effectively pushing jeans buttons.

“why you little—“ jean took a step forward, only to be stopped by your hand on his chest. you look over and eren who tried to puff up his, ready for jean to come at him.

“alright guys, knock it off.” you sigh, looking over to mikasa for back up. like a sixth sense, she knew you needed her and made eye contact with you. it didn’t take her long to reach your side.

“eren, come help me and armin with the shells.” she said, her gentle yet commanding voice taking over the previous tension. eren scoffs again, immediately turning pink as mikasa touches his arm, trying to coax him to come with her.

that was all it took— the two setting off to the shore and back to armin. leaving you and jean alone once again.

“anyway,” you drag out the word, turning to face jean. he had calmed down a little but no one could rile him up like eren could. “wanna find connie and sasha? maybe see what they found to eat?”

“like they’d share.” he laughed, looking down at you. “besides, i’m kind of used to the water now. we might as well enjoy it since we are here.”

“are you being optimistic?” you tease, splashing him with the water. he looked at you with intense mock offense.

“i’m always optimistic!” he retorts, splashing more water back at you.

“yeah, right. you mean you’re always so dramatic.” you laugh, keeping up the game your started as you push water towards him.

“i’m gonna get you for that.” he laughs, splashing again. you two go at it for awhile until jean accidentally took in a mouthful of water — one of the waves not too kindly crashing over him. he spits it out with a disgusted face, his tongue slightly hanging out as the salt water rests on it. “blegh. this always happens to me. c’mon, let’s get out of here. we should probably get ready for the party tonight anyway.”

you nod, excitement flooding your veins for the party later. everyone was going to be there and you needed time to get ready and more importantly, get the salt water out of your hair.

you didn’t get a chance to look at him before, but as jean walked out of the water, you were painfully reminded at how fit he was. water droplets cascaded down his body, following the dips and curves of his muscles. even his mullet looked good, all slicked back and drenched in the salt water.

you let out a silent sigh as you follow him out of the water, mentally kicking yourself for staring at him for too long again. but the feelings he gave you swirled in your stomach, expanding to every synapse in your body before exploding.

tonight would be the night you tell him. tonight will be the night everything will change.

jeans fingers clenched around the solo cup, the sound of it snapping easily getting lost in the sea of voices that filled the room. the remnants of his beer trickled along his fingers before he threw it to the side, wiping the rest on his pants in a haste.

it only took him a few steps to get where he needed to be — right in front of you. you with your perfect smile, perfect laugh, perfect perfect perfect. it’s all he could think when he saw you. how could you not realize that?

“you okay, jean?” you ask, the words sounding so sweet coming out of your mouth that all he wanted to do was savor them. your expression caught him off guard though, the sweet words not adding up to the coy grin you had spreading across your plush lips. “you look kind of angry.”

jean didn’t know what to say. did you know how he felt? were you trying to play him out to be a fool? but as soon as he heard erens stupid giggle, the words didn’t stop flowing from his mouth.

“you got a problem jaeger? something seem funny to you?” he snapped at eren, his voice low, signaling he wasn’t in the mood. but of course, eren was eren, and he loved nothing more than making a fool out of jean.

“yeah, actually.” he sneered, taking a step closer to jean. “i do think something’s funny.”

“enlighten me then. id love to hear what you find so funny.” jean fired back, taking a closer step to him, clenching his fist. they hadn’t fought in awhile but today, jean needed to let out some of his frustration. why did eren get your attention tonight? why couldn’t you talk to him instead?

he didn’t realize how close he had gotten to eren, practically touching noses, until he felt your light touch on his shoulder. a touch he had grown to be familiar with, something that never failed to soothe him, even just a little bit.

“guys, stop.” your voice breaks out. it was smooth, soft, but they both knew that underneath it lied something vicious. neither one wanted to see that side come from you, especially since mikasa was already side eyeing them. the two of you together was one of the scariest things anyone could ever face.

jean and eren took a hasty step away from each other, scowling and avoiding eye contact with one another. your hand slid from his shoulder down jean’s bicep, holding onto him gently. the act itself was so soft yet it held so much power over him. he couldn't help but lean into it before deciding to throw an arm around your shoulder.

something always felt so right when you were tucked under him like this. you fit so perfectly. your arm wrapped around his waist and he led you to the living room, away from eren.

“so, wanna tell me what happened back there?” you ask as the two of you manevoured towards your favorite spot. at every party, you guys would always find yourself at this spot by the end of the night. it was so cozy, the couch tucked in the corner of the room, away from the main sitting area.

he sat down and you followed suit. looking up at him, he looked slightly disheveled. his normally tamed mullet was all of the place, the result of him running his hands through it one too many times. plus, he didn’t look back at you. the bob of his left leg going up and down at an incredible speed. 

you place your hand lightly on his leg and the response was immediate. his leg halted its movement and his eyes found yours in record time. offering him a small smile, you reach up to smooth his hair back.

“nothing happened.” he said softly, watching you very carefully as you tended to him. relishing in the touch you gave him. “don’t worry about it.”

“jean,” you start, your hand caressing down his cheek, moving over to tuck some of his hair behind his ear. “you know you can talk to me, right?”

his cheeks were tinted pink, something you chalked up to the alcohol he was drinking earlier. but his gaze was set on you, peering down deep into your eyes. the contact almost made you shudder. 

“i know.” he bit the inside of his cheek as he contemplated what he wanted to say— or rather, how he wanted to say it. “i just got jealous is all.”

this, you weren’t expecting. out of all the things jean could’ve said, this never crossed your mind. the shock had your head reeling back, removing your hand from his hair. the loss of contact stirred a panic within him, mirroring the panic that was starting to bubble up in you.

“jealous?” you squeak out. jealous of what? of eren? or you? or what? jean stared into your eyes for a moment, the anticipation was rippling down your spine, finding it’s home in your stomach. 

“yes.” he breathed out softly, placing his hand over the one you had resting on the couch. “i was jealous.”

“of what?” you blink, at war with yourself. his hand felt heavy, almost suffocating but it was the only thing that could soothe you. the room was too small and the alcohol was churning in your stomach. your hand turned over, gripping onto his as a way to ground yourself in the moment.

“of eren.” he said, his brows furrowing as he took in your reaction. he didn’t mean for this to come out now, but you looked so sincere when you told him to talk to you. all the things he’s never told you bubbled up in his throat, threatening to spill out if he didn’t do something. his fight or flight was activated, and he didn’t want to run away this time. “i wanted you-“

the gears start turning in your head as he spoke, knocking off the dust before it struck like clockwork. 

the room around you guys came back into focus as someone knocked their drink over you both. the liquid seeped into the fabric of your dress, eliciting chills all over you but you weren’t sure if it was from this or from the conversation you were having.

normally, you’d laugh something like this off. it had happened before and it was bound to happen again. but the stakes had been too high, your emotions were already being drawn out and this was just too much. 

“im so sorry-“ reiner said, trying his best to find something to help clean you up. all you could do was stare at your stained dress. what was jean going to tell you?

“way to go reiner.” jean hissed, standing up to face him. reiner was at a loss for words; it was an honest mistake. but jean wasn’t mad at him, he wasn’t even mad that he spilled his drink on you guys — accidents happen. no, he was furious because you were on the verge of tears and he couldn’t tell if it was because of him or not.

“jean.” you say, grabbing his clenched fist. he hadn’t even realized he had been so wound up. he helps pull you up, tucking you back under his arm. the smell of his colonge enveloped you in a warm embrace, one that felt familiar to you and cleared your head from the fog that was slowly wrapping itself around you. “let’s get cleaned up.”

he froze. he absolutely froze. the tiniest smirk rose on reiner’s face as he turned away, getting back to the party. jean wanted to punch it right off. 

“let’s go to the bathroom.”  he steered you away from the party towards the back of the house. many faces passed you guys as you walked forward, but all you could do was look at the man leading you. he held onto your hand as he dragged you through the party, pulling you behind him so you don’t get separated.

your eyes trail along his arm, lingering ever so slightly at his bicep — was his shirt always that tight? he looked good, even though parts of it held remnants of reiners drink. continuing upwards, you land on his face. 

his jaw was tensed as he pulled you through the crowd. determined, fierce. like it was his duty to escort you to the bathroom and it wasn’t something he took lightly. in all your years you knew jean, you don’t think you had ever seen him as clearly as you did in this moment.

you two make it to the bathroom that was connected to his bedroom, shutting the door and closing you both in. 

“i’m sorry about reiner.” he sighs, moving to grab a towel as you hop up on the counter. you watch him move with a strong purpose, a serious one that involves drying your dress. 

“it’s okay, accidents happen.” you shrug as he starts patting the towel against the cloth, trying to absorb whatever he can. but you both know the damage was done — the dress was stained and seeped with alcohol, it’s only hope was to throw it in the washer. 

“i think we need to call it.” he says with a small smile, looking up at you perched on his counter. you smile back down at him before feigning a frown. 

“so soon? not even giving her a proper fighting chance?” you sigh, “but if you insist, what are our options.”

“well,” he took a step back to hang up the towel, the loss of his presence already hitting you in the gut. “you’ll have to wash it but in the meantime i can give you some of my clothes to wear.”

“aw, thank you jeanbo.” you hop off the counter. “that would be perfect.”

taking your hand, he leads you into his bedroom before he searches for something suitable for you to wear. you look around his room in the meantime, your eyes landing on his sketchbook — open to the boat he was drawing earlier at the beach. you smile to yourself, glad that he has kept it. 

jean breaks you out of your head, tossing you some clothes and you go back into his bathroom to change into them.

after peeling your dress off and throwing on the clothes he gave you, you walk back into his room and see him sitting idly on the couch, twiddling his thumbs before you capture his gaze. 

“what?” you ask him, eyes widening as you catch him staring. he clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away like he wasn’t just giving you his undivided attention.

“nothing!” he quickly says, slightly pink in the cheeks as he turns back towards you. “it’s just, you look good in my clothes.”

“oh?” you give him a little smirk and he regrets ever opening his mouth. rolling his eyes, he goes to retort but it dies in his throat before he ever had the chance to spit it out.

you were right in front of him — how you got there so quickly, he’ll never know. the palms of your hands rest on his shoulder before you lower your face to his level. 

“you really think so?” you tilt your head to the side with a smile, one of your hands running up along his neck and to the back of his head, playing with the edges of his mullet.

you weren’t sure what made you feel so emboldened, the alcohol you had earlier was long out of your system. but something pushed you towards him like a magnet, a voice in your head encouraging you to finally confess like you planned.

“i really do.” his breath almost hitches as he looks at you. “you always look good though, the prettiest girl in the world.”

his compliment hits you in the chest, blooming into a warmth that seeped through every nerve in your body. your faces were so close, your breathing was shallow, all it would take was a little nudge to — 

but he beats you too it, forever a man driven by impulse. surging himself forward to capture your lips against his, pouring every ounce of passion into it — desperate to let you know how he feels without uttering a word. 

his hand cradles loosely around your neck, using it to pull you forward so you’re falling into his lap. your heart was soaring with each kiss, already addicted to the way he makes you feel — how dizzy your mind grew as his sweet kisses filled your head.

“is this okay?” jean whispered against your lips. everything was so warm; like the beginning of summer igniting that special buzz in the air. you wanted it to swallow you whole, you wanted this more than you have ever wanted anything before in your life. you nod against him, moving your lips back onto his in a hurried fashion. 

jean wasted no time now. he wrapped his arms around you and hiked you further up onto his lap, groaning so sweetly into the kiss you two shared. as each passing second went on, the messier the kiss got. breathing was the last thing on your mind right now, all you could do was feed off of what jean was giving you and hoped it would be enough to sustain you.

jean was no better, his hands couldn’t stay still. finally, he was able to be with you, no more dancing around each other. a part of him wanted to kick himself for waiting so long but the other part told him to enjoy this moment. so he planned on it.

his hands slide up under your shirt, the cold metal from his rings causes you to gasp at the sudden contact, arching your back and pressing your chest against him. jean took the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth, pulling you in closer. 

there was no telling how long you two stayed tangled up together on the little couch in his room, the make out session only growing needier and needier. years of pent up tension was finally able to flow. 

“let’s move on the bed, yeah?” jean asked, his eyes still shut from your kiss.

“yeah.” you nod, pulling him in for another kiss as you both stand up. he walks backwards toward his bed before the back of his knees hit it. he sits, pulling you down on top of him once again, his hips moving up so you can feel his hardness ache for you.

“been wanting this for so long.” he murmurs, moving his lips from yours, to your cheek, down your jaw and back to yours for a heated kiss. “ever since i met you.”

“me too.” you breathe out, already craving to be closer to him. “can't wait any longer.”

hooking his hands under your backside, he quickly flips you so you’re under him, sprawled out on his bed in ways he’s dreamed about for years. 

“me neither.” he surges back down, his kiss growing needier with every second. the clothes you had just graciously put on were now being pulled off by him — along with his own. he pulls back for a moment to admire you, taking in every curve of your body. you almost want to shy away from his gaze but the look in his eye was so loving, so full of adoration, that you didn’t. “you’re so beautiful.”

and with the way he said it, you believed it.

he doesn’t waste anymore time, moving you around so he can ease himself over you, slotting himself between your legs. his hair fell in front of his face a bit so you reach up, tucking it back behind his ear. the sweet, simple gesture sent him into overdrive, hungrily kissing you as a man who had been deprived of it since the day he met you.

his hand smoothes down your side before his fingers find themselves between your thighs. hestitantly, he prods against your slick entrance, almost nervous to take the plunge. but you’re quick to reassure him, rolling your hips to greedily suck his digit in.

he moans into your mouth, feeling how tight you are around his finger. his mind already wandering to how snug his cock will feel once he’s  finally inside of you. but he knows he has to prep you first, slipping in another finger to properly stretch you out.

and the sweet noises you make fill his head with a peace he’s always longed for. every sense was focused on you, addicted to showering you in pleasure. he could spend all day doing this, soaking up every mewl of his name.

“jean, please.” you pull back a bit to speak, the sounds of your cunt squelching from his fingers filling the room. “need you to fuck me.”

“anything you want.” he kisses the corner of your mouth, quickly taking a hold of his cock and pressing it against your entrance. “you ready for me?”

“i am.” you nod, hips already moving as you try to find friction. he starts to push in, the tip of his cock already stretching you out. the girth alone has your toes curling but it felt like his cock was never ending — consistently shoving more of it in, inch by thick inch. 

“almost there, pretty girl.” he grunts, eyes trained on you, searching for any hint of pain. the stretch felt so good, splitting you open as he finally bottoms out. you both let out a gasp, your warm walls snuggly wrapped around his cock in a heaven he never dreamed of existing.

he murmurs sweet praises in your ear as he lets you adjust, telling you how good you are, how tight you feel. softly kissing your temple as you give him the go ahead to move.

he starts slow, sensual. taking his time and dragging his cock in and out, searching for that special button deep inside of you. 

it felt like he was everywhere, so lodged up into you, you swore you could feel the tip of his cock pressing against your heart. it stole your breath away, lungs losing function as you gasp for air.

“that’s it, baby, just keep taking it. i promise i’m gonna make you feel so good, okay? you don’t have to do a thing.” he kisses your neck, leaving little marks of love in his wake. “you’re already doing s’much, making me feel so, so good.”

“jean i-.” you croak out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he finds the soft, cushiony part of you, a place where your fingers could never reach. he completely filled you up, your mind already growing hazy from it.

“gonna go faster, okay?” he presses a soft kiss against your jaw, your head nodding along to whatever he was saying. “so good f’me.”

his praise has you clenching around him, eliciting a guttural moan from him. it was all it took to break the last bit of his resolve — hips starting to snap against yours.

there was no way you could stay quiet, the pleasure was overwhelming, leaving you to forget where you were. the cry of his name had his ego soaring, cockiness filling his veins. his hand covers your mouth as he drives into you harder.

“can’t be too loud, unless you want everyone at the party to know how good i’m making you feel.” he murmurs. you could tell by his tone that he was feeling as good as you were, pleasure already threatening to consume him the longer he thrust into you.

his hand lowers from your mouth, opting to use it to hike up your leg, propping it over his shoulder. if it was even possible, he was deeper — his cock practically kissing your cervix.

he knew he wasn’t going to last long. a nearly impossible task that he knew going in, he’d fail. but as long as you came around his cock, he’d count it as a win.

his deft fingers find your neglected nub and your body all but jolts under his hold. he swirls your clit around in measured circles, your cries only growing louder. but he’s too entranced to cover them up — every instinct telling him to keep giving you more.

“jean!” you cry, “i’m s-so close!”

“go ahead and let go f’me, need to feel you.” he encourages, hitting that spongey part harder as his fingers deliciously dance along your clit. his approval pushed your over the edge, back arching up as ecstasy took you away.

the sight alone had jean’s hips stuttering. as if you could read his mind, you said, “cum inside, jean. need you to fill me up.

the whine you let out had him pushing his pulsing cock as deep as he could before releasing inside of you. his hips jolt with each rope of cum, groans of your name slipping out of his mouth as he fills you up. every time you clenched around him only pulled more cum out of him.

“cant stop cumming, fuck-.” he rasped out, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he finally finishes. he falls beside you, trying not to put all his weight on you as his cock continues to twitch in your warmth.

all you can do is try to catch your breath, gazing at each other, sharing the same thought of why did this take you so long.

he slowly pulls out of you, both of you letting out a soft noise. pressing a kiss to your head, he stands up and grabs a towel, carefully cleaning you up. 

once he’s done, he lays back down in bed, his back hitting the pillows as he pulls you up into his arms. your head rests against his chest, no doubt listening to his ever-racing heart — the one that only beats for you.

“jean-“ you say at the same time as he says your name. you both giggle at each other, feeling weightless in each other's embrace. 

“you go.” he encourages you, moving so he can get a better look at you. 

“i um.” you feel heat rise to your face. after everything you just did, confessing your feelings still feels nerveracking. but looking into his warm eyes, it melts away those doubts, filling them with hope instead. “i love you.”

“i love you too.” his face splits into a smile, one that eases your soul and lulls you into him. he takes a deep breath, ready to spill out everything he’s been feeling. “i want you to be mine. i want to wake up next to you everyday, i want to draw you pictures of the clouds all day long, i want to kiss you whenever you need a kiss, i want to hold your hands on the days that life feels too much. please, be my girlfriend.”

“of course jean.” you smile, leaning up to press a lingering kiss on his cheek. “i was yours from the start.”

[rieamena]

the first date!

a continuation of my ino has a crush on you post wc: 0.6k honorable mention: that special nonnie who motivated me to write this

ino who waits patiently for your shift to end, seated at a small, corner table near the café’s counter. his outfit—a soft gray sweater and dark jeans—is casual yet thoughtful, a reflection of his nerves and excitement. he watches you with admiration, noting the way your smile brightens the room as you interact with customers. as the clock ticks closer to the end of your shift, he can barely contain his anticipation

ino who greets you with a wide, relieved smile as you finally clock out. he stands up, the bouquet of flowers he’s holding looking slightly wilted from his nervous grip. "hey, beautiful," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "ready for our date?" he presents the bouquet with a shy smile. "i thought these might brighten your day after your long shift." "oh my god, thank you! they're so pretty." you reply, your smile genuine. you glance at the wrapped package in his hand. "and what’s this?"

ino who looks slightly flustered but quickly regains his composure. "oh, it’s just a little something i thought you might like," he says, looking away bashfully, placing the mystery gift in his bag. "but the real surprise is the location. follow me." he takes your hand and leads you to a charming rooftop garden tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the city

ino who set up a cozy picnic in the garden, the area softly lit by fairy lights and adorned with comfy seating. as you both arrive, you see a table set with a spread of assorted pastries, fruits, and a bottle of sparkling cider. "i wanted to create a relaxing atmosphere since working at the cafe can get a bit hectic," ino says, nervously arranging the last few items. "i hope you like it." eyes sparkling with appreciation, the crinkle of the bouquet's packaging was heard as you set it down on the table. "like it? i love it! it’s incredible!"

ino who, as the evening progresses, grows more comfortable and opens up about his own interests. "i’ve always admired people who can get lost in a good book," he says, laughing softly. "i tried writing a short story once, but it ended up being a total disaster." you laugh along with him, taking a sip of your cider. "oh come on, i’m sure it wasn’t that bad. maybe one day you'll let me read it!" "maybe…"

ino who surprises you with a gift towards the end of the date. "i remember you mentioning your love for journaling," he says, pulling out the wrapped box from earlier. giving it to you, you tore off the wrappings, revealing a beautifully crafted book. "i thought this might be a nice place for you to jot down your thoughts or sketches." you take a moment to admire the journal’s intricate design before looking up at him, "you really didn't have to." "i wanted to."

ino who walks you back to your place, making sure you’re comfortable and safe. as you reach your front door, you turn around, "takuma," he looks at you with an unreadable expression. something between, nervousness, confusion, and anticipation. "i'll be planning our second date. let's say a week or two from now?" "what?" "second date. you. me. together."

ino who can’t help but grin widely. "YES! i mean, uh, awesome," he says, his excitement poorly contained. "i’ll be looking forward to it." "and so will i." inching closer to him, you gave takuma a quick peck on his cheek, squealing and running into your home immediately after. "goodnight!!!" "goodnight sweetheart…" he mutters, brain still processing everything. as he walks away, hand planted his cheek as if to protect the kiss you gave him, he reflects on the evening with a satisfied smile, already eagerly anticipating your next date

I LOVE YOU INO TAKUMA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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[wisteriaiswriting]

Tire Me Out

Words: 650

Stumbling through your dark room, having stubbed your toe on your bed frame twice. Lightly kicking anything in your way, with only the faint moonlight guiding you to the lightswtich near the door. Shutting your eyes and covering them when the light was turned on, slowly pulling them away as you adjusted.

The clock on the wall told you the time, 2:52. Fuck. What was wrong with you today? Shaking your head before looking around, hoping to find something to steal your attention until you pass out where you were. Something you would definitely regret in the morning, but much to your dismay there was nothing.

Huffing as you switch the light off, reaching for the door only to hit the wood. Taking a deep breath in, silently but seething as you let it go. Finally getting the door open to find a pitch black hallway, unable to see even arms length from you. Scrambling through a nearby storage bin full of junk, luckily finding a small torch.

Now that you were awake and outside your room you realized two things, how dry your throat was, and it was fucking freezing. But you couldn’t find the energy to search for something warm or return to bed yet, so you quietly made your way down the hall.

Normally you’d find others awake, like cascading from under doorways with whatever they did cutting through the silence. But not tonight, it seemed what Medic said had everyone listening. The medbay door was slightly open but he wasn’t anywhere in sight, who was likely off in Heavy’s room.

Sniper wasn’t even in the base but you couldn’t care less to check on him, not like he had much else to be doing anyways. Hearing snores from a variety of rooms, Demo, Soldier and even some from Scout. Not daring to enter Spy’s or Pyro’s room, but you were daring when it came to Engineer.

Warm light was covering the ground and you, swear to god, could feel the heat from how long he’s had the light on. Without the background noise of tools running you had to be quiet entering, which he didn’t notice. Finding him hunched over his desk, sketching on some blueprint paper.

“What are ya doing cowboy?”

He dropped his pencil in an instead, reaching for a nearby wrench. Slouching when he noticed it was you, only to pick up the pencil again.

“Could say the same for you darlin~”

“You could, but I asked first!”

Not noticing him wince at your voice, walking around him. Unable to fight the urge to pick up and look at everything in reach. Stopping when he took something from your hand,

“Now, what are ya doin’ up this late?”

Only able to shrug at his question, watching him huff.

“If you're gonna stay, lay down in the cot.” Pointing his thumb towards the back of his workshop, finding a cot with a thin blanket and flat pillow. Sensing your thoughts he continued, “Or my bed might be better for ya.”

Instead of choosing any of the options he gave, you decided to sit on an empty spot on the desk.

“Don’t you go ruining anything now.”

“Me, break something of yours? Never.”

Feeling gunslinger sit on your hip, his flesh hand pinching the bottom of your shirt.

“I’d rather not risk it, so why don’t you hop off.”

“Then where would I go?”

Wordlessly he picked you up, quickly and surprisingly gently placing you onto his lap.

“That’s where, or would ya rather go back to bed?”

“I’d rather not, but what about you?”

“I’m more than comfortable here sugar,” A quick scan of your face revealed… some intentions alright. “What are ya planning there?”

He was surprisingly out of his usual overalls, which you welcomed. Lowering your hand under his shirt, laying it on his stomach.

“Oh don’t you worry about it~”

[bokutooooo]

Dream Ride PT- 2 ᰔᩚ

The annoying sounds of my alarm clock going off waking me up almost instantly and I can already feel my head pounding. Last night I ended up going to one of Han's infamous parties and let's just say it was fun. "Morning Cassidy, how'd you sleep?" Cassidy was my aunt, one of the main reasons I came to Japan after mom threw me out. "it was fine, woke up a couple of times but nothing to bad. How's Neela? you girls have fun? being careful I hope". I grab a box of cereal and a bowl "It was fun I mean just regular car stuff.. Neela likes my car so that's good" I laugh thinking about how Neela kept asking me to let her drive it. "I'm glad, just make sure you guys are being careful and staying out of trouble" I give her a nod walking towards the small couch. I haven't really told her anything about Han I don't think she'll like it, which means I probably shouldn't be getting involved with him but can you blame me? his shoulder length jet black hair, his little smile and I mean have you seen the 1997 Mazda RX-7 it's almost to nice. "Hey? you going to start getting ready? Don't want you getting yelled at again."

"Hey Neela whatcha doing?" I say as I'm walking into class. "Nothing too exciting just sketching something knew, you think I should get a Toyota Supra? I mean how cute would that be." I lightly laugh "I think you should get whatever you like, you have the time and money right? so do it." she gives me a small smile and continues sketching away.

I sat down as our professor walked in, all I could ever think about was cars, friends and.. well Han. I know it's stupid, thinking about a guy who pays me little to no attention but I can't stop. My grades were going down, I was starting to care less and stop trying but If I don't start picking them back up my aunt will notice and question me than I would have to tell her something. "Hey! let's go times up" I look up and Neela's waiting for me "class is over? already?" I swear class just started "Yeah??? let's go weirdo."

Me and Neela were out shopping "What about this one? it's cuteee, c'monnnn look at the lace lining" I look up from my phone. She was buying a new skirt.. yet all the ones she's tried on were kind of.. ugly? "No." I look back down "whatever!" she aggressively shuts the the curtains of the change room. "How's Hanny booooo have you texted him? "Why would I be texting him?" she pops her head out "because you like love him? and you always want to talk to him."

"Well I haven't talked to him since the party so." It's true I do love finding an excuse to talk to him but I guess I'm starting to realize that we have like no chance together. "What's up? you suddenly stopped liking him?" "No it's just- It's not going to happen. Like ever, so I'm going to stop being a fangirl and find someone else. Plus Cassidy would ever approve and I won't let her down."

"Oh come on! you guys like.. love each other!! maybe thats to quick.. but! you guys love talking to one another and love hanging out, so who cares what others think? Cassidy you'll talk to when it happens, don't worry about before it even happens."

Neela had a point but I'm not even sure I was ready, I don't even know how Han feels.

Once Neela found an outfit she liked we went to go eat. "Hey Neela I'm gonna go grab something from Starbucks want something?" "mmm.. sure! just an iced coffee please."

"Hey Neela got your ice-" I paused, DK and Morimoto sat on either side of her. "Oh hey DK what are you doing here?" "Just came for something to do, ran into you two." Neela looked a bit uncomfortable, DK practically breathing on her and Morimoto right on the other side "Me and Neela were just about to leave but we'll probably see you guys tonight." "Yeah sorry guys see you later!"

Tonight was one of the biggest Drift events of the year. It would be packed, cars in every spot, people everywhere, music blasting and food. That's why me and Neela went shopping, had to look extra good tonight. "Why was DK like breathing down you're neck? he's pretty clingy for someone your not dating" "I know but we've been best friends for agesss, kind of hard to just stop you know?"

"Eeee! look at it! so cute!!" I was admiring my self In the full body mirror. I had white leg warmers with pompoms on them, and light pink tank top with a dark pink outline and a white headband. "look at you cutie!" "never mind meee look at you beautiful" Neela had on a short denim skirt, black military boots with a heel and half up half down hairstyle with a bow. "ready to go? we should try to get there before it gets to packed, gonna need to park somewhere."

Hope you enjoyed this part!>

[charliedawn]

What if the slashers kept a journal ?

Bo was taking care of one of the employees' car—which had a flat tire—when you decided it was the perfect time to do a round check of all the bedrooms. All of the slashers had to keep a journal and you thought it would be alright to just give it a quick look to see their progress.

However, Bo's journal seemed very well hidden and then, you found out that his desk was slightly off-centred. It was by palming haphazardly the underneath of his desk that you found the journal—hidden inside a secret compartment he had surely crafted himself.

"You clever clock.", you whistled admiratively with a proud smile. You then opened it and frowned as you noticed that the first page was blank...and the second...and the third. Why was it empty ?!

"Can I help ya ?"

You were surprised to hear Bo's voice behind you and quickly turned around. He eyed the journal in your hands and looked up at you before blinking several times. He seemed to catch up quickly on what you were doing by how guilty you looked.

"Anythin' interesting in there, nurse?"

However, instead of replying, you threw the journal on the bed scurried off of the room as quickly as you had entered it. As soon as the door was locked, he smiled and walked to his desk. He checked that his real journal was still there—hidden underneath some mechanical engineering book—and smiled when he realized it was...

He chuckled knowingly.

"Noisy lil' darlin'."

In Vincent's journal, there were merely animal pics and various unreadable scribbles. You couldn't possibly read the things written, so you focused on the photographs and smiled at the various subjects...until you arrived to the last days' entries. Now, you knew Vincent to be easily obsessed. He had once followed a bird for hours—only to draw a sketch of it. However, you had never seen him get obsessed over an actual human being—until today.

There were only photographs of you.

You. Eating.

You. Talking.

You...Sleeping.

Oh...You blushed and promptly closed the journal before hiding it back underneath his pillow. However, when you turned around—you fell face to face with Vincent.

He looked successively between you and his pillow and finally, it clicked. He tried stop say something—but by then, you were already gone. You had snuck past him. He stood still for a second or two before re-opening the diary. He gently stroke the last photograph he had taken of you—smiling at him.

It was his best one yet...

Sex jokes. So many sex jokes. You thought that man would take the time to write profound meaningful things ? Ah ! Joke's on you.

However, he smiled when he saw you reading his diary. He stayed there for a moment before creeping his way in and surprising you by suddenly pulling your head back.

"Haven't you heard the expression curiosity killed the cat, sweetheart ?", he asked with a threatening grin and you shrugged.

"Haven't you heard bastards usually get cooked ?", you shot back.

At this point, you didn't give a toss that he had caught you—with the amount of garbage you had read. His whole brain needed to be purged in holy water.

"It doesn't make any sense.", he snarled and you offered him a sweet smile before taking a lighter on the table.

"Yes. It means let me go, Krueger...before I burn you somewhere that REALLY hurts.", you his in-between meaningfully—but it didn't seen to be efficient. It only spurred him on as he closed the door with his foot.

"Hmm...Nah. Don't think I will."

No need to say...Freddy got more than one additional burn that day.

Brahms was so discreet—you didn't notice when he approached you from behind. He glanced at what page you were on and realized it was a part when he described you.

Curious. Nice. Beautiful...

You smiled at the compliments, but realized that he had missed the point of the exercise. It was to focus on himself and reach deep. However, Brahms didn't like people reading his secrets.

His chest heaved heavily and in a matter of seconds, your back was against the door and he had removed his mask. You wanted to read all about his secrets ? He would make you sing yours.

Jason mostly wrote random words he learned. He couldn't make full sentences yet—but he mostly tried to write words and various emotions or actions of the day.

Cutting. Eating. Cooking.

He didn't like making sentences—so he usually only writes down random words. He described people he met, places he went to and his feelings.

You smiled.

He might be the only one who had listened to you and tried to fill their journal with what they felt. You flipped quickly through the different entries until you reached the final one. You were then pleasantly surprised by finding a few sentences. But that pleasant feeling quickly disappeared when you read.

'Hello, mommy. I have friends now. I think you would like them. And I...I met someone. I think you'd like them too. They like us. They take care of us. I miss you. But I...I think I'll be alright.'

You let out a few tears as you imagined Jason writing those words. He had learned so much and you weren't afraid to say that you were proud of him. And you were sure his mother would be too if she could see him.

Michael could smell you. He knew you had been in his room and every single thing you touched. The scent lingered on his diary and on one page in particular—one he didn't think was that important.

It was a photograph. A photograph of all the slashers reunited on Christmas. It was also the only day Carrie and Sadako were allowed in the facility.

Jason had taken that photograph before giving it to Michael as a present. He is completely forgotten about it, but smiled faintly at the realization that you had chosen this page in particular made it special.

He sighed before sitting on his bed and closing the journal. He looked out at the garden where you were helping Freddy with the bad weed.

You looked so...perfect. And that made you precious in Michael's mind—but also dangerous. He had this urge to protect you clashing with the need to kill you. It was exhausting to keep that last urge at bay, and he was afraid of what he might do if you were to ever know about his feelings...But, he wasn't worried.

You would never feel the same...right ?

Jack writes down everything—and I mean everything. He can fill an entire book about his day. He also has a big memory and can remember the tiniest of details.

That was the reason why you had decided to read his entries—in case he would have written something you had missed.

What you found inside made your eyes widen.

He had studied them all. And it wasn't just moments. It was fully-detailed portraits. Physical. Mental. Psychological...He had recorded ever trait, every change...And not only about the slashers or the other patients.

But the staff as well. And of course, you. You learnt that he had memorized everything to you taste of cake and the type of clothes you wore for every occasion. It was impressive—but also rather worrying.

"Well well...Wasn't expecting any visitors."

You turned around swiftly add found him standing there with a smug look on his face. He didn't seem to mind you reading his journal. He simply tilted his head with a knowing smirk and you let the journal fall to the floor before slowly backing away.

"I was just..." His eyes didn't leave yours before he stepped out of the way.

"Here you go, nurse. You can go."

You eyed the door suspiciously. Could you...really ? But, you didn't want to stay and ask—so you walked out. Jack's eyes followed you until you were out of view before smiling and picking his journal back up.

New entry: Nurse Y/N doesn't seem to be very happy about being the studied subject for once...

Pennywise hadn't written anything. You were partly disappointed, but not that surprised. Pennywise didn't like sharing—and that was even with himself. He was complicated and he refused to acknowledge his own feelings.

But, that was okay.

You closed the diary and looked at Pennywise who was sitting in his favorite rocking chair and was staring ahead at things you couldn't fathom.

Maybe were there ghosts of his past ? You didn't know. Maybe would he open up some day. But, you'd wait until then.

They ran. They all ran. And I chased after them. Their little hearts pounded loudly in their chests as I trapped them. Their wide eyes fixed on me.

You had mainly a lot of notes on his time when he had to face the Losers' club. Penny was oddly specific on the gore details of his past kills. But, you needed to understand him—so you digged dipper.

You read everything—everything until you found something truly important.

I'm losing my memory...Pennywise says it's normal. But, I can't even remember who I was before. What was my name ? I think I was a clown...But, I don't know anymore. I think I had a daughter. But, I don't remember her name.

Penny was...losing his memory ? You looked up and saw him playing with the other younger slashers in the garden. He was smiling and carelessly chasing after them. But, what if...there was more to him than you had initially thought ?

Ghostface had refused to show his face to anyone. You had simply wanted to get to know him better. You knew that searching though his personal entries for answers wasn't really nurse-worthy...But, he refused to open up. However, before you could read as much as a few words—he had grabbed the diary from your hands and pressed his knife against your throat.

"Now now...nursy. Spying ? That's not very ethical of you.", he teased and you closed your eyes.

He seemed pissed by the way his voice became slightly more high-pitched and you knew that you should be afraid—but something else crossed your mind.

"What is you favorite scary movie ?", you muttered and Ghostface tilted his head quizzically.

"...What ?"

You slowly turned around to face him fully and he didn't stop you.

"That is the question you ask to all the patients. The question you always ask to everyone you meet. Are you...", you looked up—even though you couldn't really judge his reaction. "...searching for someone ?"

Ghostface stayed uncharacteristically quiet for a moment before clenching his fists.

"Leave. Now.", he uttered in a quiet whisper and you didn't dare defy him—as you knew by the way he had suddenly tensed up that you weren't welcome anymore.

The moment you were out, he slammed the door and locked the door before removing his mask and throwing it to the ground angrily. He was was conflicted. He was ashamed that you had succeeded in seeing right through him so quickly. And, he couldn't tell you—not yet. He opened his diary and sighed. He couldn't tell you that the answer he was searching for was Psychose. 1960. His father's favorite scary movie.

It was the only information he had—that and that he was a patient in St Louis. He looked up at the ceiling and suddenly threw the diary in the fire heating up the room.

No one would know. He wouldn't risk it.

[shadowy-lie]

"He who fights with monsters, should look into it that he himself does not become a monster...And if you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."

-Friedrich Netzsche

The words, quote, mocked him from where he sat infront of her. The clock on the wall ticks away as the seconds pass. He had made his choice, he had made it clear to her that he was saying anything. That there was no reason for these pointless-his words- sessions; "I don't need any goddamn therapy." Were his exact words.

His eyes fell back to her. She hadn't said a word since his statement, not even looking up at him. She'd wasted no time pulling out a fucking blank book and a pencil to do whatever-fuck-knows. The continuous scratching of the pencil on the paper made him huff in annoyance. The sound muffled by the plain black balaclava he was currently wearing . She didn't stop, hands maneuvering the pencil deftly across the paper. His hands cross over his chest as he shifts to a slouching position on the off-white colored couch, as he looks back up at the quote hanging on the back wall. His left eye twitches as he unwillingly re-reads the words again.

The silence irked him. He preferred it, but in this situation he found it irksome the current scenario brought back the three times she'd randomly showed up in the mission briefings, only to sit down and sketch away in her book silently. Price voiced his concerns to Laswell about it, but she waved him off saying: "It won't last long." But she stuck around.

Training, mission briefings, personnel recruitment, she was always there. An ever present presence on the base. It annoyed him. He hated that he didn't have much of an effect on her as she had on him.

He was known for being off-putting. Large frame, almost always clad in dark hoods and pants with an even darker mask that hid his cold, signature glare-

Loud sequential beeps filled the silent room, breaking his reminiscing-dont call it that. It's an observation. Their-his- session was over. An entire hour wasted in silence. The beeping continued for another five seconds, before slender fingers tap the top of the digital clock, silencing it. Red zeros blink repeatedly before disappearing altogether.

Blood rushed to his head, ears ringing as his eyes found her looking at him, staring at him, waiting for him to move. He almost missed the way her head tilted to the side, towards the door. Those eyes, a deep, rich blue-Indigo? They pulled him in, like a vortex, a whirlpool, A black hole, a shapeless abyss. Those eyes and that damn, polite as fuck, smile bore down on him as he stood up. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pant, hiding the way his fingers twitched rapidly, as he made his way over to the stark white door. He almost didn't want to touch it.

It was clean, the entire room, she was-is-too, unlike him. He was tainted, scared. He dared to look back at her. She was back to drawing again. He could make out a crude image of what it was, but he wasn't an artist. He couldn't understand her like she could apparently understand him.

Harshly, he opened the door, walked out, and slammed it shut. He didn't mean to, he just couldn't stay in that room any longer. He needed to leave.

Huffing, he marched into the training room-the in-house gym. The newest additions to the task force, two Sargents, occupied the treadmills each, to their own devices. Good. Carefully, with practiced movements, he tugs off his dark greyhoodie, mindful not to accidentally remove his balaclava.

Tossing his sweater to the side haphazardly, he wastes no time dealing a devastating punch to the sandbag. It was loud, the sound rang in his head like a gun shot. The sandbag swung slowly, mocking him. He punches it again, twice, in quick succession. It jerks on its chains, swinging faster, like a dead body hanging on a noose in the wind. It's getting harder to breathe, he's sweating profusely under the mask.

"Fucking hell..." He mumbles, British-Manchester- accent coming through thickly. He hisses, gloved hands clenched tightly into a fist. Another punch, another gun shot. Images flash behind his eyes. His past. It's unsavory, more than any one person should have to go through, but he did, and he survived, he lived, he's fucking alive!

He give the sandbag one last punch, sending it flying across the the gym floor, sand pouring from a hidden tear in the leather fabric. "Christ..." he hissed lowly, feeling the sweat running down the expanse of his shoulders.

Deep breaths.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Her words rung in his head like a church bell.

Again, slowly.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Loud and insistent. He couldn't help but listen to them.

Once more.

Inhale.

Exhale.

His breathing steadies.

He remembered where he'd heard them. She was comforting an operator who suffered from chronic panic attacks. Her voice was soft, smooth, and comforting, but steady, strong, balanced and firm. He'd never admit it to anyone, but it sent an unwanted shiver down his back and fluttering in the pits of his abdomen. He was still sweating and can feel the eyes of the Sargents staring at him.

He paid them no mind, yanking his sweater off some random part of the floor and trudging out, her words still echoing inside his skull like a broken record.

"Just can't leave me the fuck alone..." he mumbles through gritted teeth. Dark, menacing brown eyes narrow like needles, an arrow tip, a sniper finding an opening to take a shot at a target.

Bang. Head shot.

He hated this. Hated her.

That was a lie. He didn't hate her. If he was being completely honest, he prefered her above the other bloody bastards. His eyes lock onto a familiar warhawk. Dumb as fuck hairstyle. He rolls his eyes as the Scottsman, dreading another pointless, fruitless, attempt at a proper conversation.

"There ye are, LT! Laswell sent me to get ye." Soap, Johnny McTavish, bounded over to him with a shit eating grin on his face, picking away at dried beef jerky.

"Fuck off, Johnny..." he growled under his mask, shoving past the Scottsman.

"Aww, c'mon Ghost. We s'posed tae be getting some new help...PMC's."

The statement made him freeze in his tracks. Fire, bullets, and Graves' betrayal flash like lightning behind his eye lids. Slowly, he turns his to stare down then Sergent. "More bloody PMC's?"

"Aye, Laswell says they're our new 'hunting dogs', Wha'ever that means." Soap shugs, sauntering to Ghost's side. "Who knows, maybe we'll actually get some new enforcement, eh?"

Ghost sighs, shoulders slumping before tensing up again like usual. "Fuckin hell, Mctavish..." he hisses, pinching the bridge of his noes. Brown eyes harden and deepen into black pits, black holes, a shapeless abyss.

Soft mummers drew his attention to the two Sargents. They were looking at him, probably for the last 10 minutes. He saw them, and they saw him. It was awkward.

"She ought to be there too, I bet..."

Ghost stiffens, shoulders bunch up even more as he mutters obscenities under his breath. He forgot that she was an entity that made her presence known by just existing.

She was like a parasite. A deadly and unpredictable attachment he wanted to be rid of.

A want and a need are two different things, remember that, love.

He heard her say those words just a week ago, to a soilder who apparently had enough of the military life. Who wanted to leave, but consulted her for advice on the matter. She expressed indifference, but the way the soilder's face contorted into one of confusion, pain, regret and a plethora of other emotions.

He drags a gloved hand down his face, groaning loudly. He dreaded meeting, Soap knew it and even the new recruits new it. It radiated off him in waves.

Sighing softly, he continued the walk to his side of the barracks. Secluded, but not to far from anyone- perks of being a high ranking officer. Once inside he roughly sits down on the edge of the sorry excuse for a bed, the springs crying out under his weight, the mattress sinking, and the bed legs bending. How it hadn't completely given out yet will always be a mystery to him.

His lips felt raw-he'd been chewing on them for a while and the worn fabric of the old mask rubbed on them, irritating the flesh.

He wasn't nervous. Not in the least. Not like he was going to admit it to himself. The only reason why he was even considering going to that meeting was because it was Laswell, and she could get real finicky about information being spread word of mouth; "Miscommunication kills, Lieutenant..." a warning from experience or words of advice, regardless, he knew better than to test the formidable CIA agent.

His left eye twitches, annoyance and resignation comes through in a harsh sigh, broad shoulders sagging, if only slightly.

A change of appearance- sweats aren't exactly fit for a mission breifing, into something more fitting of the rank, his signature skull balaclava mask hiding an already shrouded identity-the embodiment of a ghost.

A broken mirror sits idly in a corner, shards missing and whatever remained had web like cracks, warping his image-his identity had been warped long ago, for a long time. He squints and huffs, tension rises in his shoulders, biceps contracting, trembling and stiffening under his skin.

He grunts, gripping the flesh and kneading it slowly as he leaves his room, lightly rusted metal door creaking shut as he steps out, Soap already waiting with a small grin on his face.

"Took ye time gettin pretty jus f'r me, LT?" he teased, head tilting to the side smugly.

"Gotta keep up appearances, Johnny..." Ghost hummed in response, making a beeline towards the briefing room, the Sargent sauntering beside him.

The hallway his mostly quiet, lower rank officers either in their barracks or out on the field running drills with their CO. A familiar feeling of...familiarity bubbles up in his subconscious, the base of his throat tightening, becoming hot and tingly. His strides become longer, faster, eager to get away from such...baggage.

"Ease up will ya, LT, no' everyone's big as you..." Soap chuckles, breaking into a light jog to keep up with the tall man. Ghost lets out a muted grunt, eyes darkening even more as he tries to swallow down that burning sensation that rises to the muscle in his jaw, the nerves sparking alight like whelding iron. The tension in his shoulders return 10 fold, neck muscles straining under invisible pressure as he reluctantly slows down so his Sargent can keep up-which was good, else he'd have passed the room to the meeting.

He steps in and almost freezes in the doorway.

His mouth dries as his eyes find her form in the furthest corner of the room.

He'd seen her not even an hour ago, but this was the first time he'd ever seen her out of her signature white coat-it was always buttoned close...but now?

He blinked as he took her in, Soap passing before his line of sight briefly before he's watching her again.

He instinctively glares at her, cold, steely and unyielding. If she noticed, she doesn't give it away. She remains still, hands clasped behind her back like the professional she was-certified, if you wanted to be literal.

She stood poised, face set to her default neutral, her eyes blinking at random intervals hiding that all-encompassing abyss behind lazy eyelids. It shouldn't- never mind.

His mind was drifting, as she described it from one of her many observations. She must watch him as well, not many can get away that.

His eyes twitches under the mask, irritating and annoying. He stood off to the side-as usual-with sniper eyes already scanning the room for the 5th time in under 2 minutes-

Could be undiagnosed anxiety, possibly paranoia, or even PTS-

The auditory hallucinations-his thoughts damnit-come to a halt when he feels movement to his left. He looks, eyes moving first before his head-useful.

Kyle Garrick, callsign Gaz, walked over(read sauntered) to him, gloved hands gripping onto the straps of the tacticle vest, dusty blue cap and sunglasses on, a signature part of his appeal.

"Garrick."

"Lt."

Acknowledgement and nothing more.

"Never seen her out that coat. Feels strange." Gaz started talking. Low and under breath, head leaning to Ghost's direction as he himself casted his eyes to her.

"..."

Acknowledgement and nothing more small talk.

"What'd you think she's here for this time?" Garrick was, unfortunately, a talker. Observant, but a talker, a conversationist.

"Can't say that I know, Garrick." Simon Riley, Callsign Ghost, was the furthest thing from a talker-telling terrible dad jokes served to "break the ice" more than anything.

"No' even a hint?"

"None."

Not like he would have gotten any. The woman was hard to read and her eyes were hauntingly expressionless-much like his own, if he chose to be honest.

Movements infront of him made the skin at the back of his neck prickle, suppressing a groan.

"McTavish."

"Agh- take the piss, Lt."

Ghost just huff and rolls his eyes.

"She looks like a statue..." Gaz suddenly speaks up, taking a step back and closer to Ghost's side, eyes trained on where their in-house therapist was still standing. Motionless.

"Thought she'd be sittin' down already, marking up 'er lil whats-it-called.."

Sketch book. His mind supplies. His lips utter in turn. Out loud, under his mask, and not as muffled as he would like to think.

The group goes silent, but it's loud regardless. He knows they heard him, but his demeanor gives nothing away.

No shame.

No embarasment.

All hidden beneath a homestitched mask. Carefully curated to hide and keep hidden.

Gaz shuffles on his feet before his eyes find where she now currently stood, arms folded and face set to a fierce neutrality.

She was -is- beautiful, yet unfairly intimidating.

"She's like a statue..." he murmured, filling the silence, drawing attention back to their hired confidant.

McTavish nods silently and Ghost grunts, unwilling.

Metal doors slam open-a normal occurrence- and Captain John Price enters with Laswell and another personnel, in-tow carrying a stack of intelligence papers.

Busy, bloody, body. Ghost squints as the person went around handing out papers to the team before approaching the lady therapist.

The trio-Ghost, Soap, and Gaz- watches on silently as the personnel stood before her with the same papers in hand.

Without missing a beat her hands unfolded to receive the Intel.

A breath isn't wasted before the personnel is out the room, door slowing closing behind them.

There is a dull chill that envelopes the room. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz watch on as she makes swift movememnt to a further corner of the room, almost floating across the floor.

She finds the corner adjacent to theirs, already skimming through the papers as Laswell began the meeting with standard exposition of the handouts.

"Why's she here?" Soap cuts in suddenly, crossing his arms as he asks the obvious question. Laswell only spares him a glance before sighing exasperatedly.

"There is a reason, and I'll tell you after the the debrief." She bargains, but Gaz speaks up next.

"You've never given us a proper answer, miss." He starts, respectful as always. "I heard that this mission is gonna have a lot more personnel involved, people we don't work with. So with all due respect...why is the shrink here? What use is she to this kind of thing." He too crosses his arms.

Ghost had only been half listening to the current conversation. His eyes were trained onto said shrink. Her form seemed incorporeal in the corner she stood in.

If Ghost wasn't a trained and battle hardened soilder, as a skilled sniper, he wasn't sure if he would be able to trust what he was seeing.

He'd noticed, for quite some time, she wasn't actually reading the information provided-just as he didn't, the papers taken away from him by his much cheerier counter- she was actually looking at them.

Abyssal blue locking onto each person in the room. Soap, Gaz and Laswell remain unaware. Price, who hadn't said a word since entering the room, remained occupied with the handouts. Simon Riley stands motionless, as usual.

But he notices her gaze. It's cold, almost unfeeling as it passes over everyone present.

.

.

.

[doctordeathawaits]

Transproxy tips? I'm a proxy to Slenderman (/srs I'm a pop culture pagan) and wanna feel more connected to him and use my transition as an act of devotion.

@radhell

I shall try my best , here is something similar that I have posted before that may also help . Once again , as a Jeff fictive , I'm mainly gonna be basing these tips from what I have personally seen proxies do .

TRANS - PROXY ...

Firstly - what do they do ? They maintain order around a given location , translating Slenderman's thoughts and speech , making sure nothing is in the way of Slender's orders . They work and serve Slenderman .

The man (?) tends to forcefully recruit his workers , yet I have seen some who ' enlisted ' on their own .

Before enlisting , you would be doing yourself the biggest favour by training . Start running , take up climbing and parkour , learn how to use a weapon / self defence . Already knowing those aspects will help you to not endure torturous training in the circle .

Know what you're dipping into , once you enlist , you can't leave - only death can take you out of that circle , so prepare mentally .

Know how to navigate forests , you're gonna be spending lots of time in them . Know how to use a compass , know how to quick-sketch maps , how to read the time without a clock .

Desensitize yourself to blood , you're gonna be seeing it more than normal .

Now , here's how to enlist into The Proxies ;

Make sure your devotion is known and heard - once you feel uneasy , as if someone is watch you , that's when you should do this ; .. At around midnight , on a new moon , go into the forest / woods . Take a known trail , if you see unfamiliar paths , ignore them . .. Do not bring any sort of cameras , phones , electronics . Bring a flashlight . You can use your phone flashlight - yet turn off your location / completely reset your phone . .. Keep your eyes to the ground , do not look up - if you feel / hear someone follow , do not run . Walk in a normal pace . If you feel sick , nauseous , hear ringing , have blurry vision , numbness ; do not back down , keep looking down and walking the path . .. If your flashlight starts flickering , do not freak out , keep going . If your phone starts to let out static / randomly start playing radio channels , do not freak out - you are allowed to brisk-walk . .. If your flashlight starts rapidly flickering , stop walking and close your eyes tightly . Listen around you , if you hear someone close - do not freak out , keep still . .. Once you feel a faint voice in your head - answer it out loud , answer it's questions truthfully and only truthfully . .. If you feel some sort of stinging / tingling at a specific point on your body , do not freak out , stay still ; congratulations , you were accepted . If you do not feel this , if the voice goes quiet for way too long , you shall walk backwards a little bit until you can turn around and leave the forest , you were not selected . When you have been accepted - the stinging point is generally where your identification symbol is ( The Operator Symbol ) . From what I've seen , it's in places where you can just easily flash it at someone to identify yourself - yet it can range from person to person .

So , if you became those proxy fucks , congrats buddy - from what I've seen , there is a hierarchy to proxies , the new ones don't get the dirty work , although worship has been positively received .

Hope the best for you and your journey - happy transitioning < 3

[bluegekk0]

Vyrm family home - Bottom floor pt. 2

Time to finish the tour of the bottom floor before I show the upper floor (which will most likely just be one post). This one will be long since I wanted to go more in-detail, as I wanted to include some subtle storytelling elements related to each character.

First, let's start with Holly's bedroom:

The room is cozy, but it's kept very tidy compared to the rest of the house. The only thing you will find on the floor, aside from the hide rug, are some pillows Holly sits on.

To the left of the door is Holly's desk, this is where they do most of their sewing and sketching (pretend the sketches on the wall aren't of human figures haha). They tend to find chairs fairly uncomfortable to sit on due to their height, which is why they use pillows for that purpose instead.

The two main themes of their room are plants and art. Since they enjoy gardening, they often move the former hobby inside to their little gardening stand. This is where they prepare all the potted plants you can find all over the house. A painting easel made by Vyrm is another feature of Holly's room, during bad weather you can find it here, but if it's sunny outside they will often move it to the garden area.

---

Next, there is Hornet's room:

A near complete 180 from the tidiness of Holly's room, Hornet seems to flourish in all the mess. It is by no means a gross room, it is simply used all the time. Books, pillows and hunting tools are all over the floor, often simply moved to the side to make way, which is why you'll sometimes find them piled up.

Unlike the rest of the family, Hornet's bed is elevated higher above the floor. She feels more comfortable sleeping above ground like this, likely a habit she got after surviving in the wilderness. Under the bed you'll find one of the two desks in Hornet's room, this one specifically used for reading and sewing. If you look closely at the bookshelf next to it, you may find a plushie. In this case it's a rabbit, but what I had in mind was that it was a stuffed toy Grimm gave her when she was a child, which she somehow managed to keep in one piece for all the years.

The corner to the right of the door is where she puts all her tools and bags for hunting, though you'll find some book piles there as well. On the wall are sketches of various flora of Hallownest, another hint at her hunter-gatherer profession.

To the other side, there is the second desk, the purpose of which becomes immediately clear. This is her work station, her job in Dirtmouth is to hunt and gather food. She displays some trophies on the wall, which is a hint towards another hobby of hers - she likes to make jewelry out of animal parts such as horns, claws or bones, which she then sells on the market for extra geo. The other weapons in the room aren't as in-universe friendly as I'd like, but I managed to find a neat little workaround for her needle (using a scaled up wand from the spellcaster pack haha)

And lastly there is a little corner which she likes to call her little unwinding zone. If she feels angry for whatever reason, she throws a bunch of small blades at the wall to calm down. On the other wall, she displays more weapons and tools, some made by herself, some made for her by Vyrm.

---

Lastly, it's time for Vyrm's workshop, and his shop.

The entrance to the workshop is in the living room, right by the door to the bathroom. It leads to a small corridor used mostly for storage. Behind the second door, you'll find Vyrm's workshop.

His main desk is right behind the corner to the left. This is where he does most of his planning and smaller tinkering work. On the wall next to it, there are sketches with clock-related blueprints, as well as little notes he writes down as reminders: special orders from customers, quick ideas he wants to expand on in his journal later, or simply reminders of specific dates and events so that he doesn't forget.

Nearby you will find his woodworking station. On top of working on clocks and similar mechanisms, he also dabbles in woodwork, mostly for specific projects, though in his spare time he also makes simple wooden figures to sell in his shop.

Next to it is another desk. This is where he experiments with prototypes for Holly's arm, and tries out designs for prosthetic limbs for anyone who may need them. If not that, then he simply uses it as extra work space in case his main desk ends up too messy to use.

Lastly, there is a little rest area right by the door to the shop, used primarily by Grimm who likes to visit Vyrm at the workshop in his free time, though Vyrm himself also uses it whenever he's studying literature related to his work (or to simply take a break if the shop is particularly busy that day)

Speaking of, the door leads right into Vyrm's Tinkerer Shop as he called it (name subject to change if I feel inspired). This is where Vyrm sells his creations and takes special orders from any bug who visits.

The counter is where he serves the customers, and displays some of his work that he can make for order (which he writes down in the book). This can range from wooden figures and clocks, to keys, prosthetic limb designs and even custom made blades. That said, if you look around the shop, it soon becomes clear that clocks and watches are his main specialization. His shop is fairly popular for that reason, as he was the one to introduce them to Hallownest after years of iteration and experiments. Bugs from all over the land and even outside of it visit his shop to buy his designs and request any repairs in case their mechanisms break, maybe even buying one of his other creations in the meantime.

---

Apologies for the extremely long post, I was considering splitting it into more parts, but I don't want to drag these posts for too long (especially since they're not as popular as my art)

Previous post (Bottom floor pt.1)

[hotxcheeto]

Hi!

I was wondering if you could write something with Ellie x fem reader where reader is like an actress/film director who's passionate about just filmmaking and acting in general, maybe her and Ellie met because they're jobs crossed over or maybe Ellie was a fan of reader or something.

━ 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, fluff, mention of crappy dating??,

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope/a lil

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - so sorry this took months, I'm so behind but I was going through some shit lmao, thank you for the rq!! <3 ALSO making these banners here and there cause I'm running out of good gifs and got a lot of good screen shots and photos.. :)

REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED AND NOTICED!

"Don't you understand, she was my daughter too.."

You muttered your lines to yourself as the artist did your makeup, brushing over your eyes as she captured an old timey look. Using so many reference photos that the entire table was filled when you walked in, giving you both something to talk about at first.

That was until a comfortable silence filled over, Mia having become a close friend of yours on set. You felt excited every morning to come and get done up for whatever scene you had as the duchess you played. Knowing she'd capture every dated detail on your skin.

But today your mind was filled with other thoughts than just the make-up. Stressed to all hell for the next few days, knowing you and the director needed to perfect both your acting and the shots that would make your performance come together.

And that was just it, you needed to be perfect.

"Nervous?" Mia asked with a smile, taking a hint from your shaky, silent nature, backing up to grab a different brush.

"Extremely." You responded with a light laugh, looking at yourself in the mirror. "You got this, you're being nominated for, not one, but multiple of the most prestigious awards in media. If anyone can pull off such an important scene, it's you. Especially with how pretty I'm making you everyday."

You nodded with a small smile, but still felt like you could pass out at any moment in time. Clutching onto the papers like they'd disappear while letting out a shaky sigh.

"I know, but-" "But you still act like you've never been in front of the camera every time they're ready for a big shellshock to be filmed. Mind you, the scenes start filming tomorrow, not today."

You winced at the very clear truth to her words.

"Too loud Mia." She laughed, continuing on with your makeup, ignoring the door opening to reveal your favorite stage manager, smiling too brightly for the fact that it was six in the morning.

"The painter is ready when you are, ready to be photographed Y/n?" You sighed in response, looking at the clock as Mia applied an old looking lip color to your mouth. "I'm ready to look like a renaissance portrait, that's for sure."

"She said she might need you for the sketch too, just to make sure she's got the best outline of you that matches, but other than that, you should be done quick and have some free time before shooting starts."

The stage manager spoke, looking down at the tablet in her hand while speaking. Mia pulling away to look at your face, turning your head lightly with her fingers.

"What's her name?" "Don't remember, all I know is that she's good and the directors favorite prop guy really likes her." Mia took the cover off your costume, allowing you to stand up in your long, olden style dress.

"Ready to be renaissanced?" You nodded, leaving the makeup trailer and telling Mia you'd see her later. Walking off towards one of the nearby buildings labeled for set creation and prop design.

The place was decked out too, even more so since the last time you'd come inside. Pieces from every time period hanging about complimented by posters on every wall. Familiar drawings and items from some scenes of your favorite shows displayed out to remind everyone that these people had made them.

They liked showing off their stuff where they could, most of the workspaces and offices a bit more boring depending on who you were talking to. But other than that, the entire building was the best on set.

"Miss Y/l/n?" An assistance appeared behind you, wearing pajama-like clothing making you wish you were them just because of how early it was. "That's me." "Right in here." They led you to an office room, though there was only a desk covered in papers and the walls lined with movie and TV art and décor.

The rest of the room had easels and different sized canvases against the walls and laid on the ground, tarps on the floor with paint covering every corner. Jars of different colors and paint brushes laid about on different carts and shelves.

"She had to leave but she should be back in a moment. She said though, you can sit there while you wait."

The person pointed at a stood that was set up across from an empty easel, a very dim light pointed at the stool.

"Alright, thank you." They nodded and left, closing the door behind them leaving you alone in the silence to admire the painters area.

Spaceships hung from the ceilings in one of the corners, little figurines and action figures on the walls and done up to look cool instead of just sitting there. But some were still in boxes making you wonder if she collected them or would eventually sell them. Judging by the room though, collector for sure.

You sat down with a racing mind, messing with your fingers while you waited. You liked the warmth the office brought, it was like a child's daydream and it made you smile.

This person definitely had an eye for the arts.

"Shit, I'm so sorry." A girl then stumbled in through the door, her black tank top covered in colors that were probably not there when she bought it, as well as her blue jeans and shoes.

Her grown out mullet pushed back from her face that only showed stress. Arms lined with paint and markings, some of it even looked like dry clay making you wonder what kind of things she'd made besides paintings.

"Fuck, I shouldn't cuss. Sorry." You laughed, finally catching her attention but not her eyes.

"I don't mind, everything alright?" "You know, it's early, people are tired, you might accidentally drop something. But a perfectly good fucking vase someone spent hours making should not be one of them."

You clenched your teeth, feeling familiar with her frustration while watching her grab a few things from her desk drawers.

"Yeah, I agree. But I've also broken bones this early in the morning, so, I should not be talking." The girl laughed, rummaging for something and then grabbing an expensive looking camera and opening the bottom of it.

"How long you been doing this?" "Uh, couple years now. Fresh out of college." She stood up turning around but not looking up. "Something that I liked besides playing video games." You giggled. "Same. But with acting and you know, the other stuff."

Finally she looked up, meeting your eyes and then seeing your smile. The morning sunrise reflecting off your irises and skin, making you glow more than you already were before the window had assisted you.

She found herself at a loss for words as you continued to talk.

"I'm Y/n, by the way, but I mean by slight chance you don't already know that. I do hate saying that though, makes me seem like I've got a big head."

The girl didn't respond for a moment, suddenly nodding and humming.

"Yeah, no, I know you. Dina- my friend- loves you. Big 'Walking Dead' fan." Ellie felt stupid in the moment, thinking you probably thought she was an idiot especially when you chuckled, covering your mouth lightly with your hand.

"Aw, that's sweet. Tell her I love her too." You winked, Ellie still struggling to speak. "Yeah, for sure. I'm Ellie by the way! Probably should've said that when I walked in."

Ellie whispered a few curses under her breath while switching the settings on the light, trying to avoid your stare that was still on her.

"Heard you were one of the best at creating stuff like this." "Really?" She choked, making you laugh with a shake of your head. "Yep. Inclined to agree, you seem cool and cool people are talented. Even if they don't know it."

"Thanks, just doing my job."

Face palm, Ellie, c'mon get it together.

"So, anything you need me to do?" Ellie stood back, hanging the camera strap around her neck while stepping in front of you.

"Just, turn this way." Her hands brushed your shoulders while you positioned yourself, noticing how close she was when she knelt down. Adjusting your limbs to look as perfect as possible.

"Chin up, like this." Her finger went under your chin making butterflies erupt in your stomach. You weren't going to lie to yourself, she was attractive, very attractive. Somewhere inside your head hoping to all that would listen that this wouldn't be your last time seeing her.

"Just like that." She muttered, making the nervousness you felt in the tense room even worse than it already was. "Better?" "Yeah, perfect."

Ellie then adjusted your outfit and look, backing up to make sure it was perfect.

To her, with the lighting, you already looked like a portrait.

"How do I look?" You questioned, eye flickering up to meet her green ones. "Good.. good, yeah." "I mean in terms of beauty on this Monday morning, c'mon. Am I just, 'good'?" Ellie froze up, grabbing her camera to distract herself.

"I guess you're pretty."

"Wow, I'm so getting your ass fired."

You both laughed, Ellie getting down to the level she wanted for the picture while aiming the camera at you.

"Just stay still." You heard the camera click a few times, wondering to yourself if she ever got sick of looking at some ones face for hours on end. She then stood up, looking down at the photos.

"Perfect, stay like that though, just wanna make sure I get the-"

"Outline?" "Yeah."

"Ever get sick of staring at the same picture?"

"Not if it's you."

It just slipped out, Ellie panicking as soon as it happened. Her face burning red while she grabbed the canvas she had set aside for your portrait. Swallowing hard when you breathed a laugh.

"I knew you thought I was more than just 'good'. Was that an attempt at a flirt? Because if so, it definitely landed."

"Good to know I've still got it." She picked up her pencil, smirking at you when you giggled, trying your best to keep your pose.

"What's it like being you?" Ellie then asked, beginning to draw the shape of your head. "Eh, not all it's chalked up to be. Scary sometimes. Awesome most times. Lonely.."

"All the time?" You shook your head slightly making your earrings move. "No. Dating fucking sucks though."

Ellie snorted, quickly following up with a quiet 'sorry' making you grin.

"Especially when you like girls, it's an even smaller pool of fish, maybe like a puddle." "Puddle o' fish?" "My favorite dating app."

You could hear the pencil against the white surface, going both quickly and precisely, her eyes moving to you and back to the work in progress.

You shifted just barely, eyes scanning over her desk once again, admiring her green rolling chair. It looked kind of like yours at home, the color just different, but the design all the same.

"I get it though, sometimes I even wonder if the light is too bright." You laughed to yourself, Ellie even chuckling at your words.

"I just don't like paparazzi because I know I look like shit on camera." Ellie then said, making you snort and barely cover your mouth before returning to your pose.

"I beg to differ." "Trust me, you wouldn't differ if you seen some of the photos my friends have." You giggled again, hearing her pencil moving slower now against the the sketch.

"They're idiots though." "Just like mine, my dorks are a hivemind of morons." Ellie nodded in agreeance, smiling. "What's it like being you?" You questioned, Ellie erasing something from the sketch.

"Eh, probably a slower life compared to yours. I get a lot of freedom. Get to do shit on my own time. I like making stuff, art." Looking around the room you realized a lot of the décor was her own, by her hand.

"I wish I could do that." "You do, in a different way." "How poetic, Ellie."

She wished she could hear her name pass your lips again and again. Something about the way you said it, like a sickeningly sweet hum.

Your eyes danced to the clock, noticing the time was becoming less and less, the sinking feeling of your departure creeping up your back.

"You gotta go?" Ellie asked, noticing your stare on the two hands pointing at their respective digits. "Not right this minute, but soon." "Might need you again."

No she wouldn't, not actually. But seeing you again was definitely on her bucket list.

"If I'm not on set, I'm available. Usually. For you though, I'll make time." You joked, copying her flirtatious nature from before. "Fuck me." She whispered with reddened cheeks, unheard by you, or at least she hoped.

"Yeah, I'll make sure to hunt you down." "Is that a promise?" Ellie felt like a school girl talking to her first crush, hoping the canvas hid her face well enough. "You bet it is."

You glanced at the time again, more minutes having passed.

"Times up Michelangelo. The camera needs me." Ellie felt a pang of disappointment, finishing up the near perfect outline of your upper half. "Alright, alright. I'm done with you, for now."

"Make me look pretty, 'kay?" "Can't fix what's not broken."

You picked up the bottom of your dress with a grin, standing up from the stool. Dusting off the long skirt as if anything had gotten on it.

"See you later?" You practically asked, walking towards the door with little happiness. "Door's always open."

"I'll take that as a yes, I'll be back to check on the painting."

"I'm counting on it." "Better be."

A/n: Argh ( in pirate )

[pisupsala]

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 14 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 7.9k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

Library

Chapter 14: Shadow Waltz 

Bradley sinks into his seat before his legs might give out from under him. What did he just see? 

His breath comes out in short bursts like he can’t fully draw a breath before it forces its way back up from his lungs. 

It’s like his throat is being constricted. Why didn’t he call out? He could have jumped. Pulled the emergency brake and jumped out. Ran to you. Warned you.

The thoughts are coming and going in quick succession, nothing fully taking hold. Burying his head in his hands, Bradley tries to calm himself. Eyes screwed shut, he replays that moment over and over. The figure closing in on you. You’re oblivious. Why didn’t you turn around? Didn’t you hear the footsteps?

Why didn’t he call out?

He could have done something. Helped you. Saved you. The doomed scene replays in cutting sharpness every time he closes his eyes, leaving his insides quaking. Every heartbeat is like a sledgehammer coming down. 

Bradley doesn’t know how long he sits there, hunched over on the hard wooden seat, backpack weighing him down. Everything is distant like he’s not really there.

He is stuck in the moment you disappeared.

“Don’t draw any attention to yourself once you get on the train,” Your voice is so close and clear that Bradley is suddenly back in that small room, in bed with you. A moment in time when this was all just a plan. A rough sketch. Bradley’s reality was entirely between those four walls. You’re laying on top of him, naked, soft breast pressed against his chest. Even now, it feels more real than the jerky cadence of the train. Fingers gently caressing the quickly forming scars on his face, your tone is distressingly businesslike. “It’s your one chance, Bradley.”

“I’m sure I can manage,” He replies easily, leaning into your touch, lips brushing against your fingertips. Your hands are warm.

But you never said it would be at the cost of you. The thought shoots through him like lightning, distorting the peaceful scene and drowning it in panic. Your giggle sounds strange in his memory, the once beautiful sound.

Time passes strangely; Bradley has no sense of how many stops the train has made, how many people flittered past him. Everything is a blur. The city is far behind him now, replacing the colorful buildings with green hills and lush forests. 

The train should take several hours before it reaches its destination. You told him so. Finally, Bradley’s breath evens out. It’s not the first time he’s seen someone seconds before their demise. Hell, he’s been the cause of those doomed final seconds plenty of time. He’s seen his brothers-in-arms go down in a ball of fire. 

He remembers all of them.

But it was never supposed to be you. No matter how blasé you were when you told him you could have died many times over already. How bravely you faced danger. Because Bradley remembers how softly your voice was when you admitted you didn’t want to die. 

No matter how much he tries to calm himself, focus on his breathing, and steer his mind to here and now, the strange tension won’t leave Bradley. It’s like a cold hand wrapped around his neck, setting him on edge. He is far from safety and should focus on the task at hand. Your sacrifice—the icy fingers tighten, constricting Bradley’s breath for a second as the realization that you might be dead sets in a little bit deeper—he cannot let your sacrifice be in vain. 

He is alive because of you.

He needs to go to the coordinates that you got for him. Find his contact. Get instructions. And get out.

It’s deep in the afternoon when the train stops in a nondescript town near the southern border. Most people have gotten off in the last large city about an hour ago—when Bradley looks up, only two other people are left in the wagon.

This is the place.

Getting up, his muscles and tendons creaking in protest, Bradley disembarks. He’s been sitting the whole journey but feels like his body has been through a marathon. Tiredness is seeping into his bones, overflowing from his brain. 

He looks around. The station is no more than a concrete slab and a small abandoned building in the middle of the forest. A single dirt road leads up the forest—the only sign of life is a sliver of smoke billowing up through the trees. There must be a house there.

“The station is here.” Your voice is eerily close again. Leaning over the table, one knee on the chair, your finger prods the map. Bradley leans closer. The map is slightly too large for the small table, with one side hanging off the edge. His compass, which he didn’t even realize you had, is in your other hand. 

“From there, you need to head…” You narrow your eyes as you think. The little crease between your eyebrows suddenly becomes evident again. “South-west.” You conclude.

“That will take me in the opposite direction of the path,” Bradley observes, his fingers brushing against yours as he traces a route over the green fields of the map. Nothing indicates there is anything for miles in that direction.

“Look for a game trail,” You look up, your face so close to his. Even now, Bradley can smell your soap. “A small path in the high grass, an opening in the underbrush.”

Your fingers follow his toward the small ‘x’ you’ve drawn on the map, the exact spot of the coordinates. On the map, it’s in an indistinct area in the middle of the forest. There are no marked paths or landmarks around. It has to be. It’s a delicate balance, as it needs to be a spot where you wouldn’t wander past wholly by chance but is also not terribly suspicious to be waiting there. 

Bradley will know when he sees it.

As suddenly as you appeared before his mind’s eye, you are gone again. Not even the smell of your soap lingers in the spring air. Opposite the dirt road, a trail of flattened grass disappears into the forest. Just like you said there would be. 

As he starts walking, he tries to remember how you looked as you did the mental math, trying to figure out how long he would be walking, figuring out which train to get. Your lips were pursed, still hunched over, fingers tapping against the map quickly.

“It should take me about 90 minutes,” Bradley offers. Your eyes flash, almost defiantly, as if you’re determined to prove him wrong. Mouth open, like you’re about to say something, he can practically see you do the math in your head.

“Yeah, 90 minutes sounds correct.” You finally admit, although not without difficulty, pulling away from him. It makes him laugh—you’re so determined to figure it out and do everything right. To eliminate every variable, be ahead of everyone and everything. But distance and speed calculations are daily chores for Bradley. There’s a surprising amount of math involved in flying—had he known that before he enlisted, he might have paid closer attention in school.

The track doesn’t stop when he reaches the forest. There are no markers, but the path between the blueberry bushes and ferns is clear. Now that he is sure no one is around him, he digs his compass out of his pocket. Heading south-west. Ninety minutes. 

Bradley glances around. It’s quiet—no one seems to be around. Although he’s only a few meters into the forest, it’s secluded.  Quickly slipping the backpack off his back, Bradley digs through the neatly packed contents. You’ve taken so much care getting him everything he’ll need; you had it all thought out. For a moment, Bradley’s movements slow. No. He needs to be on time. From the bottom of the backpack, he pulls his carefully wrapped gun. It feels strange in his hand, even though it’s his—he hasn’t seen it since you took it from him months ago. Unwrapping it, Bradley inspects the piece. It’s clean, and it’s still loaded. 

He desperately hopes he won’t have to use it. He has no spare ammo—it’s a tool of last resort. Choosing not to dwell on it, he double-checks the safety before tucking it into the waistband of his pants on his back. 

There is still no sound but for the forest. It doesn’t bring him any piece of mind.

Looking back, Bradley can barely remember the hike. Let alone the train ride. It already feels like everything happened in the past—a different lifetime. He’s lived so many now. The small room under the roof in Prague is just as far away as his barracks room in England. But the anxiety stays—it wanes in moments, only to come back full force suddenly as his thoughts inevitably turn back to you. You’re so intricately woven into every aspect of his life in the past months; almost nothing doesn’t remind Bradley of you.

The sun is streaming through the pine trees. In the forest, the air is cool despite that. Bradley needs to keep pace. Glancing at this watch, he knows he should soon be coming up to the rendezvous point—just ten more minutes.

His stomach growls. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, too distraught to eat anything on the train. Everything is still just passing by him. Bradley isn’t hungry. When he was in boot camp, fresh out of high school, he was never hungry either—so much was weighing him down. His mother’s death, Mav, and the horrid reality of boot camp. But Bradley also knows it’s not about being hungry; it’s about survival.

A clearing appears—although clearing might be too much credit for the sudden widening of the path. It’s just a few meters across where the ground has been walked bare to the mud. Overgrown with moss, a large log peeks out on the edge of the clearing.

This should be it—nothing strange about a weary traveler sitting on a log to rest. 

Bradley sits down heavily. The hike wasn’t strenuous, and the weather is pleasant, but the ever-present tension and the feeling of being caught between fight and flight are steadily sapping his energy. Unwrapping some of his provisions, he chews mindlessly. The bread, the cheese—everything tastes like nothing to Bradley right now. The water in his canteen isn’t in any way refreshing; it instead feels like it’s a stone on his stomach, weighing him down further.

Sitting there, the sounds of the forest suddenly intensify. Bradley can hear how the wind picks up through the crowns of the trees. Leaves rustle, branches creak—something small is scurrying through the underbrush. A mouse or a squirrel, perhaps. Bradley focuses back on chewing. The food still tastes like nothing.

From here on out, he has no idea how long or far he has to go. He has provisions to last him several days, hoping it will be enough. Sitting on a large log in a quiet forest on a sunny afternoon is strange—Bradley feels like he should be running, fighting, doing something. Anything. Not just sitting here, waiting. 

But right now, he can’t go back. Neither can he go forward. Bradley is precisely where he needs to be right now, and it’s out of his hands. Truly, everything had been out of his hands the moment that night fighter tore his fuselage to shreds with a well-aimed salvo of bullets. 

It was easier to just go along with it when you were by his side. It distracted from his doomed fate well enough and for long enough. But now, Bradley feels more powerless, more aimless than before. Despite all the precautions, it might not have been enough for you. To save you.

For all you did to save him.

Deep inside, the cold rationale of years of training, years of seeing comrades die, and the many decisions Bradley has had to take are clear. Going back for you would mean you both die. It would render everything you’ve done for him useless. You fulfilled your mission. Now, he has to fulfill his.

He doesn’t want to think about that now.

Bradley swallows heavily, trying to get the acrid taste out of his mouth. You were not just part of a mission—he is pretty sure it was not just a mission for you anymore. It wasn’t for him.

A pack of cigarettes is tucked into one of the backpack's side pockets. Just when he reaches for it, tension creeps up his spine. Bradley is not alone anymore.

The man appears suddenly like he just materialized in the clearing. Not a twig that snapped under his boot, not a rustle of leaves as he moved. His face is tan; the skin is weathered from this sun, aging him. He looks at Bradley top to bottom—the man is dressed like a tramp in old and faded clothes, patched up with mismatched fabrics, holding himself awkwardly, almost as if he's injured, but his eyes are sharp. Discerning.

When Bradley observes him a bit closer, he notices the man's boots are outfitted with new soles despite his overall shabby appearance. 

Grinning, he tips his hat.

“Flash.” His voice sounds raw, like he hasn't spoken out loud in years.

“Thunder.” Bradley replies automatically. The man grins a little bit wider but doesn't say anything else. Bradley waits for him to say something, to introduce himself, or to start a conversation. However, the man seems comfortable in his silence, simply grinning at him in a friendly manner, beckoning Bradley as he starts walking off the path into the thick of the forest.

He passed the challenge; this man is the contact, of that, Bradley is as sure as he can be under the circumstances. And while it's not like he expected this to be a hike between friends, the clearly self-imposed muteness of the man is unsettling.

Quickly repacking his rucksack, Bradley leaps up, following the man. 

They walk, with only a drink break, until dusk. The hilly terrain is turning more rugged, with boulders sticking up from the forest floor higher and higher. When the man finally stops and motions for Bradley to sit down with him, pulling out a tin of beans from his pack, Bradley cannot help but ask.

“Where are we going?” 

The man, focusing on prying off the lid of the can, ignores him, scarcely looking up to acknowledge Bradley even said anything. Hesitantly, Bradley starts unpacking some of his own food—bread doesn't sound so bad now. The long hike hasn't done much to make him any hungrier. But he needs to eat. And bread is better than the cold beans the guide seems to be spooning down without blinking, anyway.

After what seems to be a much too short time, they are up on their feet again, walking through the dark forest. He sets a relentless pace for all the posturing the guide does to appear awkward or injured, he sets a relentless pace.

Bradley can't help but try again.

“How long do we have to travel?”

No reply.

“Are we going to walk all night?” He grumbles under his breath, annoyed now. The guide is the first person he has spoken to, besides you, in months. The only other people he ever saw were your fellow resistance fighters—the officer from the signal corps and his angry sidekick. The disconnect from everyone and everything around him is a constant irritation, like a weeping wound.

“Patrouille.” 

The sudden, raspy reply has Bradley snapping his head up.

Pointing west, where the sun is rapidly setting, he continues: “Kaserne.”

The guide simply turns around and resumes his path as if that explains everything. German wasn't exactly on Bradley's curriculum, and languages weren't his strong suit. You would know. And if you didn't know, you would probably figure it out, if only to to outsmart him.

You would never fully admit it, but the reason you really didn't like doing crossword puzzles with him is not because you couldn't take on the challenge—it's because he would always guess the answer faster than you. And as it turns out, you are an adorably poor loser regarding intellectual pursuits.

What Bradley would give to see you frown at him again, just knowing you were safe.

So they travel at night. It’s cold and dark—the ground uneven and slippery, as you warned him. When dawn breaks, they hide in the undergrowth or caverns scattered through the mountainside. Bradley feels like he hasn’t slept in days, but neither has he been fully awake. He is sure he can hear your voice somewhere between dreams and waking. It’s always so close like you’re next to him on the cold ground—your breath ghosting over his skin as you whisper to him. He can hear but can’t see you; he’s scared to look around, only to find nothing. 

The small square of cloth stays securely tucked in the breast pocket of his coat. Close to his heart. Bradley’s hands are so dirty he’s scared to even look at it. Sometimes, he brushes his hand over the pocket, imagining he can feel the folded edges through the thick fabric. Imagining you are still with him, however intangible.

He scratches off the wax from a match with shaking fingers before lighting it. The faint light from the burning tip is the only clear shape he can see. Everything else is formless, different shades of dark. In the absence of snow, like when you led him down the mountain, there is nothing to reflect the starlight. It makes the forest feel emptier and darker—the sound echoes louder, and strange noises travel.

His mind is leading him in circles, down a well-worn path.

By now, Bradley has replayed those last few seconds of you on that platform so many times in his head, he’s not even sure anymore what he saw. Were you grabbed? Did they run past you? Did you turn in time?

He’s not sure if his brain is playing tricks on him through the sleep deprivation, or his heart is trying to protect him in the most horribly cruel way—but the memory that was once so clear, seared into his mind’s eye, is playing out just a little bit differently every time he thinks about it. You turned. You moved out of the way. Dashing past the figure, you hid in the winding medieval streets you know so well. You would be alright. 

You have to be.

The cold rational pierces his heart, but Bradley knows he has to accept it. He made the right choice. He shouldn’t have turned back—you wouldn’t want him to. Every time he thinks about it, the knife twists a little bit more, not allowing the wound to heal. Somewhere, he doesn’t want it to. He deserves to suffer. If - if something happened to you, it’s because of him. The pain should be all his. 

As the days and nights melt into each other on the way to the airfield, Bradley is less and less sure of what he actually saw. Just existing is sapping him of every bit of energy now. The food you have packed for him is running low, and Bradley would kill for a hot coffee by now.

The guide doesn’t answer when Bradley asks how much longer. Whether he doesn’t understand or chooses not to understand is moot. It’s not like Bradley has the energy to argue with him. He just wants to get out of here.

Three nights in, Bradley feels like he's at his limit. The dark, the silence, and the uncertainty grate him to the bone. But he has no choice but to carry on. Gritting his teeth, he keeps walking. His feet hurt. His head hurts. His heart hurts.

The torch's strange moving light, deep at night in the cold mountain air, gives Bradley more time to think than he is comfortable with. There is nothing to distract him from himself. People pay good money for a hiking holiday in Europe, but Bradley can't help but be bored. It's like every emotion is slowly getting filed down to a stump. 

It didn't take him all that long to figure that "patrouille" was German for patrol—freely inferring that "kaserne" is a base or stronghold of some sort, which is the reason they travel at night. Barely enough of a challenge to keep his mind occupied.

When you are continuously exposed to danger, when your fight or flight instincts are constantly kicked into high gear, everything becomes dull. The tension and anxiety are always there; they are just so constant they are now background noise.

Sometimes, when Bradley wakes up and he sees the open sky above him, his heart clenches. Like he expected to wake up somewhere else. Like he wanted to wake up in that small room again. At the same time, it fills him with dread. Making his heart race in panic. The idea of being locked up in a small room again terrifies him.

Another long day and an even longer night go by.

It’s late, pitch black all around, when Bradley feels tarmac under his boots for the first time in months. It’s a strange feeling. He has no idea where he is or what day it even is, but the tarmac and the vague smell of jet fuel lingering in the air feel familiar. 

As they emerge from the forest, Bradley looks around in awe. This is an airfield. In the middle of the mountains, shabby and clearly long abandoned. But an airfield. 

This must be it.

At the far end of the runway, he can make out the familiar, terrifying shape of a German warplane. 

A man disembarks from the cockpit of the plane, waving them down.

Bradley walks around the plane, inspecting it with fingers trailing over the body. He's been up close and personal with many makes of enemy planes, but never like this. It's fascinating in the most morbid way.

The men are talking to each other in low voices. Circling the plane, Bradley sees it's a one-seater.

“Am I flying?” He asks, interrupting the tête-à-tête between the two other men. Finally, he receives a full verbal reply—although it comes from the other man, a rather young-looking and even younger-sounding man, and not the guide.

“With me, yes.” As he steps closer to Bradley, he can now see he is dressed like a pilot. A German pilot, specifically, the iron cross displayed prominently on the collar peeping out from this thick lambskin jacket. His accent, however, is very precisely British—too precisely, it’s almost caricature-like.

Bradley doesn't get time to dwell on it, or ask any follow-up questions, as he is quite unceremoniously and forcefully helped into the hold where bombs are normally stored. The pilot hands him another jacket and together with the guide, they slide an oxygen bottle into the hold with Bradley.

“It gets quite cold, I'm afraid.” Everything the pilot says sounds strangely rehearsed, like he never held a conversation in English before. “Put on the mask when we reach altitude.” He adds.

Bradley just nods. The guide is grinning at him again, simply tipping his hat in greeting. 

“Thank you.” He replies, nodding back at the guide just before the hold closes.

It's safer for everyone if no one knows everything. Not even names. That also means you will never know who you owe your life to.

Oxygen mask clutched in his hand, Bradley closes his eyes. The sound of the engines, the smell—it’s like coming home. Not the home where he wants to be, but the one he knows best. Despite his nerves—this is the most dangerous part of the journey, relinquishing the last bit of control that he had—he starts dozing off.

Bradley is exhausted, physically and mentally. It’s bitterly cold.

He can feel your weight draped over him as he slips out of consciousness. He can smell your soap. Bradley’s fingers brush over his breast pocket. 

“Bradley, my love,” Your whisper floats through the air. The slightly lilting syllables of his name—only you say his name like that—still send shivers down his spine. It feels so familiar. 

The engine's drone fades into the background, warping into a soft hum. 

It’s not cold anymore. Bradley can feel the sun on his face, and he knows, without opening his eyes, that he is home. It’s high summer, and he’s sprawled out on the beach. And you are here with him. His heart soars at the realization—but his eyes are so heavy.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Your sweet voice sounds distant and incredibly close at the same time. Bradley blinks heavily against the burning sun. You are leaning over him, your hair blowing around your face. The sky behind you is cloudless, such a heavenly blue. 

Bradley’s limbs are heavy; he feels like he can’t move. He can barely keep his eyes open, but he wants nothing more than to see you. He can see you again. He still wants to tell you so much—the words stick in his throat, tongue paralyzed. You’re smiling down at him fondly. The summer sun is bathing you in a warm light, casting an ethereal glow around your body. 

“Shhh,” Your fingers trace over his lips. “You need to breathe.” 

Bradley blinks slowly. He is breathing. Like you can hear his confusion, you giggle—the teasing sound wrapping around him in impossible patterns, like it’s carried on a gust of wind. 

“You need to breathe,” You reiterate, grin still on your face, hands cupping his face. Brushing your nose against his, Bradley allows his eyes to close again. He’s fighting to stay awake. He wants to stay here with you. 

“The air is getting thin, my love,” Your voice sounds strangely distorted, overlapping like an echo without a source. His thoughts are sluggish, struggling to comprehend what you could be talking about. 

“You need to breathe.”

Your voice sounds more urgent now. Bradley peels his eyes open; you’re still smiling down at him, your face not betraying any of the urgency in your voice. Reaching out, his fingers trace over your bare shoulders—your skin is so warm from the sun. The silty sea air is crisp, brushing through your hair. Bradley shakes his head, still lacking the strength to say anything. He shouldn’t have to; all you need to do is lean closer and kiss him.

As if you can hear his thoughts, you move toward him again. Your lips are brushing against his tantalizingly. Why do you insist on teasing him so? Don’t you know how worried he has been? How much he has missed you?

He reaches out for you, limbs heavier than lead, intent on closing the space between you. Bradley is not in the mood for your games and teasing—not right now. He needs assurance you are okay. You are laughing, so light and carefree, but he wants to feel you. His fingers tangle through your hair, pulling your face to his.

“Put on the goddamn mask.” 

The sudden loudness of your voice, callous and commanding, like it’s been amplified to an almost deafening volume, forces Bradley’s eyes wide open. His heart is racing. It makes no sense; you’re still smiling above him. The blue sky is flickering with darkness, like someone is playing with the lights. 

Suddenly, Bradley’s neurons start firing again, and he forces the mask clutched in his hand over his face. As the oxygen fills his lungs, it’s like he’s waking up: the strength returns to his body, and his vision sharpens.

Unfortunately, all he sees is the darkness of the hold. 

It’s bitterly cold again. 

***

“Let me go!” You jerk yourself back so violently, desperate to free yourself from the iron grip in your arm, you nearly send yourself keeling backward, pulling your assailant with you. Stumbling, he pulls you back harshly, using his much more extensive and heavier form against you.

“Don’t make a scene!” He barks at you.

You never liked Jan. But now you hate him.

“Make a scene?” You hiss venomously, digging in your heels. “You’re dragging me through the train station like livestock.” 

You know people are watching, although they hurry past you without a word. People don’t like getting involved—no one wants trouble. You’re dressed for a day out in the country; Jan is wearing an old, ill-fitting suit. You make an odd pair if you were just walking down the street, but arguing like this, you’re practically a sideshow.

A man in a dark coat passes, staring at you both a little too long, disapprovingly. The moment Jan’s grip loosens, you yank your arm away from him, clearly awkward under the man's stare.

“Stop being so goddamn difficult,” He bites at you. “And start walking.”

You want to tell him to go fuck himself, turn on your heel and leave. But there’s a reason he made it out here. After the decimation of the resistance network, the survivors split off—some staying in the city if it was safe enough, like you. Others reformed as partisan fighting groups because their identities were leaked to the authorities, and they couldn’t reintegrate into society like Emil, or simply because they saw that as the way forward, like Jan.

As much as you hate to admit it, as much as you despise thinking about it now, Jan’s sudden appearance means something is happening. It’s probably urgent, but it’s undoubtedly important.

For five seconds, for five fucking seconds, you want to not think about the war. Whatever message Jan has for you should wait. You want to crawl into bed and cry, mourn having to say goodbye to Bradley.

Because you will never see him again.

You can wish, you can dream—but realistically? If you both make it out alive, god knows how long the war will be. He will have forgotten about you by then. 

You always knew this; you felt it in your bones, especially in the last few days. You set yourself on fire to silence that nagging voice in your head, so determined to experience everything about Bradley that you could, to the point you allowed yourself to believe him. Truly believe him, even just for a few days. Because no matter how much you want to soothe your hurting heart with his sweet promise, the illusion that he will come back, you need to face reality. The world didn’t stop. People are still disappearing, still dying. Every day, you still wake up in a country under brutal occupation. And Bradley is gone.

But you’re not even getting a chance to feel sorry for yourself, you think angrily. Crawl into bed and cry, drink too much with Eva, and probably cry some more—normal things.

Except you haven’t had a normal day in years.

Blinking rapidly to stop the tears, hands jammed deep into your pockets; you follow Jan like a child being led to detention. He walks several meters in front of you, stride confident, weaving past people—you follow, trailing, practically dragging your feet. To the outside observer, you are two strangers just going in the same direction. The streets around the station are busy; trams are thundering, cars are honking, and people are pushing past.

Shoulders pulled up; you stare at the tips of your boots as you walk. You can feel the corners of your mouth pulling down. At this point, you can’t even pretend to look neutral. You notice Jan turning into a side street from the corner of your eye. The narrow alleyway leads into a backstreet, connecting the city center to quiet residential areas. Sighing, you follow. 

However, he takes another turn, legging it to the park behind the national museum rather than veering further up the hill, away from the crowds. Jan doesn’t look back at you once, assuming you’re following.

Your curiosity won’t allow you to turn away and go home. So, with a face like thunder, you shuffle after him. It’s a beautiful day. You hate it.

It’s good for Bradley, though. It shouldn’t be cold tonight. And at least it won’t be raining as he hikes to the rendezvous point. You hope the weather stays mild; you hope he stays safe.

Your heart sinks further as you realize you’ll probably never find out. Bradley filled your head and heart with so many dreams; perhaps the kindest thing you can do now is dream for him. He’ll make it out. He’ll be safe. He’ll return to Virginia Beach and live out his days in peace.

Maybe one day you can find peace in that.

The gravel of the park path creaks under your boots. You wonder how much further Jan will walk to ensure you’re not being followed—it’s making you impatient, but you know better than to stop him or start looking around to confirm that no one is actually following you. Glancing at your watch, you realize it’s not even noon yet. The day feels so much longer—the rollercoaster of emotions seems to have expanded time. It feels like you’ve lived full days in just a matter of hours.

Jamming your hand back into your pockets, you descend the pedestrian underpass leading out of the park under a busy road. The rolling thunder of cars, trams, and trucks resonates through the walls of the underpass, almost overwhelmingly so. Jan stopped walking halfway through—he is lighting a cigarette, waiting for you to catch up.

The further you walk down the stairs, the louder the noise gets—it’s practically shaking the walls. It’s like stepping into a liminal zone, the sparse artificial light looking strangely ominous, with no trace of the sunny spring day outside. And the stench. God. Stale alcohol and piss - it’s so penetrant you swear the air feels heavier, like a haze, as you arrive at the bottom of the stairs.

You swallow heavily, unsure if you want to keep breathing through your nose but also not really wanting to open your mouth.

Sauntering up to Jan—the smell of the cigarette amplifies the underpass's stench in a wholly new, disgusting dimension—you send him a suffering look.

“Really?” You force out, unable to keep the disdain out of your tone.

The way Jan is moving has a measure of frustration to it; the way he flicks the ash off his cigarette is a little too fast, his shoulders squared, and his movements a little too sharp. He ignores your rhetorical question.

“The Gestapo is looking for you.” Jan doesn’t look at you, keeping his gaze averted toward the end of the empty underpass.

“What?”

It’s like a bucket of ice suddenly dropped down your stomach. Your heart is suddenly beating a mile a minute. Panicking, you grab Jan’s sleeve, forcing him to look at you.

“What do you know?” You demand forcefully, trying to keep your voice stable, but the panic is rolling off you in waves.

“Someone saw you -” He jerks back, but you don’t let go of his sleeve. “Look, I don’t know. All I heard was the Gestapo was looking for a cleaner of your description who works at the Ministry of Interior.

“Why?” You’re desperate now, grasping at any straw to get in control of the situation. “And who told you that?

“You know I can’t tell you that,” He sounds contrite, gazing down for a moment, taking a drag of his cigarette. “But you need to get out of the city before they arrest you.”

Stunned into silence, you finally let go of his sleeve. Jan’s round face looks pained, his eyes darting around the underpass. You are breathing hard, the noise from the underpass in your head now, roaring and pounding. You can’t think. The stench is burning your nostrils, choking you. 

“Go stay with your parents out east.” He adds, not unkindly. “Just until this all blows over.” 

You shake your head.

“I need to go home.” You can’t articulate why, but you need to go home. You need to get clothes. Pack. You need to burn your false identities before they search the place. Yes, that’s it. Home. 

“No!” Jan grabs your shoulder, shaking you out of your reverie. “Don’t go home. Get the first train out of here.” 

Where is this sudden urgency coming from? It’s not like he just led you on a walk away from the central station. You feel a strange twinge in your stomach, but it’s so slight you barely acknowledge it. 

“No,” You force out. “I must go home first—I can’t just leave.”

“Yes, you can.” 

“I can’t!” Your sudden exclamation echoes. Jan, whose face is growing red splotches from frustration, clamps his hand over your mouth, silencing you. Tearing yourself away from him, you bite your tongue not to scream at him again. He throws up his hands before digging out another cigarette. He doesn’t offer you one but focuses his angrily shaking fingers on striking a match.

“This isn’t a game.” Jan cuts at you. He keeps his gaze averted like he’s too furious even to spare you a look. You are just shaking your head like you’re trying to shake your thoughts into place—to start making sense out of the chaos. In any other situation, you would never let any comment like that from anyone, but especially not Jan, go without defending yourself. Fuck.

“I’m going home.” You leave no room for argument, turning on your heel. 

“Is he still here?” 

The question makes you stop dead in your tracks, the blood rushing in your ears drowning out the noise around you. You feel that twinge in your stomach again, stronger this time. One thought suddenly looms large over the chaos in your brain, silencing everything: you can’t make sense of this because it doesn’t make sense.

“I can help-” 

“The mission was completed.” You cut him off flatly, not turning back to face him. Don’t elaborate. Biting your lip, your mind races to put the puzzle together. Something is off. You can feel it in your gut. It just doesn’t quite fit.

How did Jan know you were at the station? 

If he knew you were there, he must have seen Bradley.

And if he didn’t see him, what did Jan think you were doing there?

Slowly, you turn to face Jan again, blinking, face wiped clean of emotion. His movements are sharper now, like he’s going through the motions forcibly, never looking anywhere for more than a few seconds. He’s shuffling in place, like he wants to run from the situation, but is rooting himself in place.

As you finally take the time to observe Jan, you realize his movements don’t look like frustration. They look like nerves.

Now that the maelstrom of emotions and panicked thoughts in you has finally stilled, you can feel it. The weight of the realization is crushing—it’s just not adding up.

Trust your gut.

It’s like the world suddenly jerks into movement again. The noise is picking up into a deafening roar, the stench so heavy it’s misting over your eyes. Your body sets in motion before you can fully rationalize what you are doing. You need to get out of here.

You’re halfway up the stairs out of the tunnel when you hear Jan screaming at you, his lumbering footsteps closing in. Now is not the time to stop—lungs burning, heart pounding in your throat, you push on. You have a head start, which is your only chance to outrun Jan, who is larger and stronger than you. Nearly tripping over your own feet in your mad dash to get away from him, you cut through the shrubs surrounding the park, branches whipping against your body. When you think back to the moment later, you have no idea how you summoned the strength to scale the iron-wrought fence, nearly pivoting off the top as you tried to avoid the pointy spears decorating the top.

Don’t look around. Don’t look around.

You have no idea if Jan is still following you, but looking around will slow you down, and you can’t afford to lose a single meter of your head start. Blind panic is your fuel now. 

The main street is busy. It’s nearly lunchtime, and people are filing out of offices into shops and restaurants. You’re attracting attention, dressed so casually, running like mad—but you can’t stop now. A tram is just leaving the stop, bells ringing loudly. If you go a little bit faster, if you push yourself a little bit harder—desperately, you reach out, your fingers only brushing against the open balcony's metal handle for the departing tram.

You are breathing so hard, your focus singular, to get out of here; your heart nearly stops when you hear Jan calling out your name. He’s so much closer than you anticipated.

Straining, a strangled sound escaping your lips, you push harder. The tram is speeding up, you only have seconds left.

You can’t miss this tram.

It one final burst of energy that you didn’t know you still had in you that propels you forward just enough to grab onto the metal bar. Using your momentum, you jump, crashing onto the rear balcony unceremoniously, bashing your head and elbow against the dirty floor. 

You stay down for a moment, your mouth completely dry, spleen aching, head throbbing.

It’s a good thing Bradley left today. If the Gestapo really is looking for you, you couldn’t protect him anymore. Now, all you can hope is that he makes it out. 

He will. He has to. 

Sitting up, you roll your shoulder back to give your lungs more space as you catch your breath like Bradley showed you. It’s a good thing he isn’t here anymore, but… who can you tell now what happened? It’s like only now you realize that Bradley is not waiting for you at home. It hurts.

He’s no longer there to kiss you, ease your mind, and help you navigate this situation. Despite your ceaseless attempts to convince yourself that everything about your time was temporary, a lightning-in-a-bottle moment between two lonely souls and nothing more would ever come from it, the realization is dawning on you that you’ve grown accustomed to having him around. 

The only person that you could speak freely to. The only person who could truly see you. 

Bradley was the only person that knew you—the person you are now, the person you’ve been forced to become.

And he accepted you.

Suddenly, you feel like crying again. Sitting on the dirty tram floor, people staring down at you as they pass—you feel so incredibly alone.

Finally getting up and dusting off your pants, you enter the tram, trying to blend in with the crowd. A part of you wants nothing more than to go home, crawl into bed, and forget this whole goddamn day.

But you can’t ignore what Jan told you—his story doesn’t add up, but surely he wouldn’t lie about the Gestapo looking for you. It’s not even a question of why; plenty of things you have done could get you arrested at any point. Stealing, forgery, break-ins, harboring a fugitive… 

So it’s a question of what—how much do they actually know? And how much more information will they want to extract from you?

Your head is still throbbing—from the impact, the confusion, and the tears you’ve been holding back the whole morning.

Whatever happens next, you need to get rid of any evidence. If the Gestapo wants to pin something on you, they will find a way, but the line ends with you. You will not give them anything that could lead them to the others.

That’s the least you can do.

The closer you get to home, the worse you feel. It feels like lead is being poured into your boots, making every step harder. You are completely unsure of what to do now. After you get rid of the evidence, what will you do? Should you stay with your parents like Jan suggested? Wouldn’t that put them in danger?

You can’t even think about that right now.

Your stomach is churning by the time you unlock the heavy wooden door to your building. Something is wrong, and if your head weren’t feeling like it was about to explode, you would probably have stopped to examine your gut feeling. But you don’t have time. The quicker you get this done, the better.

Blindly, you make your way up the stairs. Voices of neighbors are echoing through the halls—it’s strange for so many people to be out of their houses. You are not in the mood for building gossip, so you hope you can slip into your apartment without any nosy aunties catching you. As you reach the first landing, you hear someone call your name. Can you pretend you don’t hear them? You keep your head down, legging it to the next flight of stairs at the far end of the landing. 

However, before you even make it to the first steps, your downstairs neighbor blocks your way—despite her being old enough to be your mother, she exudes so much class it’s age age-defying today her normally carefully coiffed blonde hair is… well, messy. Flyaway hairs are sticking out of the casual bun on the back of her hair. The sleeves of her normally crisp ironed blouse are wrinkled as she rolled them up in a hurry. It’s certainly not how your appearance-conscious neighbor, in all her vanity, would ever show herself.

“Anna, don’t go upstairs,” Worry is etched on your neighbor's face, her piercing blue eyes imploring you to stay. She is holding you by your shoulders. It’s an almost motherly gesture—it’s possibly the strangest part of an already confusing situation. You’ve known this woman for the majority of your life—she lived here before your family moved in. But you think that in all those years, you may have at most shaken her hand.

You don’t have words. Unceremoniously, with an incredulous frown, you pull away from your neighbor, pushing past her on the stairs. You break into a jog going up the stairs.

Today can’t end soon enough.

Something changes in the air the moment you reach the top of the stairs. Your neighbor’s voice still echoes through the hall as she screams out your name. Her frantic footsteps are coming after you. The second-floor landing is unusually crowded; more neighbors are looking at you in shock. 

It’s like you walked on stage for an audition, unprepared. Eyes are on you from every angle, staring. 

Why is the door to your apartment opened?

You should have stopped walking at that moment. You should have listened. Turned around.

But you speed up. You need to know. You need to find out exactly what happened.

Tearing through the doorway, you immediately slip on the soaked wooden floor. Clumsily, you break your fall by planting your hand on the floor. Your palms take the brunt of the impact, the ache ringing all the way up through your shoulder, your hands getting coated in the sticky liquid covering the floor as you scramble to get up.

But you cleaned up all the coffee this morning.

There is commotion behind you, but it could be on the other side of the world as far as you are concerned.

Because across from you on the floor, in the semi-darkness of the apartment hallway, Eva’s lifeless eyes are staring at you accusingly. 

She’s wearing your skirt, the rusty color blotted with the blood flowing from her head.

note | sorry i was going through some shit and stuff and I literally just finished writing the missing scenes - sorry for any oddities, it's almost 1am here, I will revise this tomorrow again but I also felt bad for taking so long

taglist |@katieshook02 |@gretagerwigsmuse |@yanak324 | @helplesslydevoted | @benhardysdrumstick | @chaoticversion | @cherrycola27 | @roosterschanelslut | @notroosterbradshaw | @eli2447 | @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog | @m-1234 | @phoenix1388 | @galaxy-moon | @indigomaegrimm | @annathewitch | @kmc1989

[achromant]

Ranking all GW2 Specializations

by 1) Gameplay and 2) Visual

based on over 15k hours of playtime, supported by badly drawn Elite Spec Icons.

Feel free to make your own version and reblog or @ me. I wanna see your reasoning :3

Explanations, sorted by classes, below:

Elementalist

Base Elementalist: Pretty sturdy gameplay. Features both interesting interactions, as well as great utility. Versatile, and visually okay. Attack animations desperately need cleanup.

Weaver: Elegant gameplay. Flows smoothly during combat and offers great utility. Also has nice defensive options available. Requires experience and thinking ahead to pull off. Visuals are okay, and feel like a great fit for the aesthetic without being too overwhelming. Especially love Weave Self.

Tempest: Really cool playstyle. Requires a similar amount of attention as Weaver, but in a different way. Unmatched breadth of utility within elementalist classes. Could even be a contender for top spot at visuals, but Fire Overload visually drags the whole spec down.

Catalyst: This class has no right to exist. It feels like someone said "Elementalist doesnt deal much damage, let's give it some numbers." and then stopped halfway through. There is no utility, no elegance, no cool interactions with the gameplay. The whole class feels restrictive and clunky to use. If you like the hammer cata playstyle, better play Weaver. If you like nice interactions, play Tempest. Jade Orbs dont feel like a mechanic, but a punishment. Visually boring, horrible UI, aweful animations.

Mesmer

Base Mesmer: Elegant gameplay, but lacks flow in certain edge cases. Kinda wish greatsword was more melee, but with range capabilites. Needs some more fun interactions with its own mechanics.

Chronomancer: Essentially Mes Plus, when compared to Base Mesmer. Great gameplay, fun and flowey. Slightly choppy in some millisecond cases, but still amatzing to play. Visually striking, absolutely mindblowing sound design. Continuum Split could use a more impactful visual design, like a giant illusiory asronomy clock that ticks down.

Mirage: The self contained version of Mesmer. Lacks a bit in support options for allies, but offers elegant gameplay if timed correctly. Visuals are adequately unique, sparkly but still not overwhelming. Does not have the visual Boom that Chrono has, but feels just that more natural.

Virtuoso: What if took anything that that means Mesmer and just. Didnt do that. This class feels not like a Mesmer anymore, mechnically speaking. Lacks support options, and is outshined by Mirage when it comes to PvP gameplay. Also I'm so fucking pissed at the daggers floating constantly above my head. Animations are kinda cool, though a bit overwhelming. Fun Fact: I divined the coming of the Virtuoso in some sketches a while before EoD previewed. Though in my head it was a Guardian Spec, shooting small silvery stars with its Virtue skills. AND it had double Daggers.

Necromancer

Base Necromancer: It fills its role as master of death. Even the base version of Necromancer has impactful gameplay, and both okay utility, damage, and support for allies. Lacks elengance at some points, especially in Shroud. Visually okay, could use more explosions.

Reaper: Death Knight, here i come! Reaper offers amazing visual effects, and both impactful and flowey gamplay. Reaper Shroud has just the right oomph to make it feel like the steamroller it is. Even when playing without quickness during shroud, it feels amazing. The slight sluggishness just adds to the experience. Did you know that when you enter Reaper Shroud, the character grows giant feathery wings that explode within the fraction of a second? So fucking beautiful.

Scourge: As the absolute opposite of Reaper, this spec offers exactly what Reaper lacks: impactful gameplay at range. Though Scourge can absolutely hold its own in melee, this version feels like a true death mage. Only issue i have is that it's yellow. Horrible choice.

Harbinger: Why does it exist? Ugh, this thing feels so boring. Harbinger would've been a better fit as an Engineer spec. I don't even care about the utility of those damn potions, they lack uniqueness, aesthetic, even the skill icons look like placeholders. What does it have to offer? Well. It gives quickness. Though you could just use a Chronomancer Relic and play another spec. And why am i a black cloud midfight? hello?

Engineer

Base Engineer: The epitome of improvisation. Toolbelt, weird inventions. Explosions, potions, flamethrower. Engineer feels like Elementalist without the magic. There's amazing interaction between skills, great offensive and defensive options. Engineer feels like a hectic class at times, but with some experience it can just be as chill as any other class. Could use some more striking visuals, but still okay.

Holosmith: What if we take an Engi and give it just a smidge of magic? Holosmith feels like an extension of Engineer that pushes it into a slightly different direction. It's just as versatile as the base version, but has even better options for agressive gameplay. Playing a Holo feels elegant and has just the right amount of sparkle and whoom. Still has good interactions with other players, but can easily hold its own. 10/10 design.

Scrapper: Essentially the opposite of Holosmith. What if Engi, but even LESS magic? Though Scrapper can feel a bit sluggish at times, it still has a nice gameplay. Same issue as Base Engi though, it needs more sparkles.

Mechanist: Why put training wheels on something that already has so many levels of gameplay? Mechanist feels like the worst option in any situation. The only saving grace may be the alacrity (which is applied in the most horrifyingly braindead way possible). There's no visual connection between Base Engi and Mechanist, neither in color nor in shape. Why is the mech so that? The gameplay would feel more fluent if you just kidnapped a new player from Queensdale and gave them a gun. Would also be easier to handle than that damn mech.

Thief

Base Thief: There's elegance here, but it's quiet. The visuals underline the subtle beauty of this class. Even a base Thief offers nice utility and okay interactions with other players. The only reason i placed it that low is because how stealth works. A better idea would be to replace it with something like Blur, maybe granting a 50% chance to automatically evade an attack and avoiding being directly targetable in competitive modes.

Daredevil: This is the oomph Thief needed. it feels like it hits hard, but with deadly accuracy. You lose a bit of stealth capabilities, which is a plus in my opinion. Essentially, this is what a monk class in other games would be. It doesn't even need much utility by itself, base Thief already has a bunch. Only issue i have is that i would love it actually using fists to fight, preferably in addition to a staff. Maybe could leave weapons unequipped to swap to an unarmed fighting style? Fun though, great design.

Deadeye: The absolute opposite of Daredevil. This sharpshooter class prefers intelligent positioning rather than quick reactions. It offers great damage and okay support capabilites. Visual effects appear perfect for this class, though the sound design is only okay. Definetely needs a better interface for displaying Malice stacks. And maybe remove the casting time of Deadeye's Mark?

Specter: What if Necromancer, but. Not. Playing Specter feels like playing Core Necro, but with more teleports. Wells are, well. They exist, but only barely. Visual effects are underwhelming, the while class lacks the feeling of impact or elegance that even a base Thief has.

Ranger

Base Ranger: I can see how people like playing ranger, but only through a vaseline treated camera lens. The class itself has okay utility, but lacks in interaction with other players. Though a Ranger's defining feature is the pet, it's also its biggest flaw...

Soulbeast: ... which Soulbeast 100% solves. I will continue to ignore Base Ranger and just pretend that Soulbeast is what Ranger was always supposed to be like. Soulbeasts have the option to just. Not do the whole minion managing thing. Stances feel elegant and unique, and bring fresh air to a moldy base class. Really cool visual effects, though i wish i could turn off the green swirlies while merged.

Druid: I was in Druid Jail for most of my raiding days, so i know what i'm talking about when i say "Urgh." The base mechanic of a Druid is the Astral Avatar, which by itself is probably the best thing Ranger has to offer. It's pretty, it has boom, it's actually useful and elegant. The issue here is swapping in and out of it, which feels clunky and more of a hassle that a reward. To heal with the Avatar, you need people to take damage, so you can heal them, which fills the Avatar, which allows you to. heal. them? Better solution would be to make it similar to Firebrand Tomes so that it still needs energy to use skills, but allows you to spread out your healing a bit.

Untamed: What if Soulbeast, but. Thief. Well, the result is a clunky mess that looks like a swampy lump of bonk. Probably makes a wet smoph when it his a wall. There is no way for me to enjoy this class. The supposed flow of a good Untamed rotation is completely unknown to me, simply because it's so damn ugly. Play Soulbeast.

Warrior

Base Warrior: Hello, yes, it's the bonk class. Love it, have it, it still bonks. What looks like a braindead brick only people with a real life play, is actually an ornate pattern of golden filligree. A base Warrior offers elegant and flowy gameplay at a minumum of effort, and can with some experience still weave itself through the flow of battle. Wish it had more fun interactions with allies, aside from Shout skills. Could go great with Wells.

Berserker: Warrior, but with more bonk. There's exactly two issues i have with this spec. One, its visual effects feel lopsided. Needs more boom toward the target, and less burning man on myself. Two, it lacks utility. However, any rotation that's done on Berserker flows perfectly, it feels fast paced and has absolutely perfect sound design. Executing a perfect Axe/Axe feels like playing a rythm game in the way it bonks.

Spellbreaker: Less bonk, more tshink. Spellbreaker feels like someone took the best about a Thief and put it on a Warrior. The playstyle between Daggers and Full Counter feels elegant and smooth, but requires good reaction. Spellbreaker shines versus players rather than against monsters, which is probably the only issue i have with this spec. Beautiful shiny glitter sparkle capacity though.

Bladesworn: Okay, it says on the tin that it contains Flow, but no. Bladesworn trades movement for maximum bonk. Could use more elegance in its skills, but it makes up for it with great bursts, so much that you can almost feel pixels being cut. The absolute worst about this spec, and the reason why it's not in the legendary tier for me, is that damn Gunsaber. It either needs to be broader for more bonk (with a powerful downward strike as Dragon Trigger), or about 50% longer for ultimate tshink (with a ligering silver sparkly line where the blade sliced your pixels), you know what i mean? As is, the class feels like the definition of blue balls.

Guardian

Base Guardian: The first time I solo'd Twilight Arbor's Aetherblade Path was on a base guardian, some time before HoT. I used a mace and a shield and just slowly pummeled my foes to death. Base Guardian has the feeling of a true paladin class, with just the right amount of sparkle and utility. Only reason it's not way higher on my tier list is that it cant do much on its own.

Dragonhunter: Such a beatifully executed class! There are aesthetic parts that make Dragonhunter feel like a holy warrior, but without the support capabilites of a true paladin class. That's a good thing, by the way. Its playstyle feels unique, at most comparable to a Warrior, but just barely so. Dragonhunter has some small group support, but shines with utility and bonk. If it wasnt for the Traps' visual effects, i wouldnt even care for those (excep Dragon's Maw, like wow). The whole class is perfect. Would've been higher on the list if the rotations felt just a bit smoother.

Firebrand: This one is a more support oriented Guardian. It overflows with utility and support skills. Factually speaking one of my favorite classes. Speaking from a balancing standpoint, it can do way too much at once with its Tome skills. There's elegance in this class, mostly due to it being filled with skills to the point it overflows. Visually, amazing work, same goes for the sound design.

Willbender: A movement based version of Guardian. Willbender feels like it tries to be a monk class, but somehow misses still. There's something lacking from the whole design. You could probably slap this spec onto any other class and it would still work. Together with base Guardian skills, it's fun to play though. Still a balancing horror, for the same reason as Firebrand: It can do way too much for a single class. Aesthetically i find it absolutely revolting. I get that the Virtues are supposed to be movement skills, but they feel choppy to use and leave red-blue scorch marks on the ground. These weird trails look like an accident and are outshined by most other base Guardian skills. All over, a meh rating.

Revenant

Base Revenant: I am regularly confused when i see this spec's icon. There is absolutely no reason to play a base Revenant. There's not much reason for me to play Rev anyway, but hey. What i love about it are the Legends. What i hate about it. also Legends. There's utility and versatility, but both are locked behind Legends, which makes the whole class feel rigid and choppy. I am a fan of the energy mechanic though, and the visuals are also kinda pretty. Could use more sparkles though, maybe more in the Necromancer direction.

Herald: Since Rev came out with HoT, it released with its elite spec from the start. And to this day, Herald is the actual Base Rev to me. It sparkes, it bonks. It feels fine to play, not under- or overwhelmingly so, but just. pretty okay.

Renegade: This one feels like a base Rev (not Herald, in this case). It had the advantage of using a shortbow when it released, but since SotO it lost its usefulness to me somewhat. The Renegade Legend's skills are fun; somehow like Well skills, but visually more striking. The rest of the spec is only meh.

Vindicator: Another one with more bonk! Equip a Stamina Sigil and go stomping! Vindicator feels fun to play, has nice visual effects and great sound design. Similar to Reaper, you can really feel the bonk. Absolutely hate the double Legend thing though, it feels choppy and sluggish to use, similar to playing Elementalist while affected by Chill. I would love Vindicator on another class, like Warrior for example. But since it's a Rev. It's a No.

Conclusion, Expansion based:

EoD specs generally feel the worst of the bunch. booooring. There's no EoD spec in the game that i can really enjoy playing.

HoT specs feel bonky, but slower. On par actually with the whole maguuma jungle (except Pocket Raptors. wtf was anet thinking there)

PoF specs feel less bonk, but more elegant. Also matches the Crystal Desert (except Hydras. THOSE feel more HoT than PoF)

Elementalist is my favorite overall, followed by Mesmer, Engineer, Guardian and Necromancer in that order. Revenant and Ranger can dissolve into brown slidge for all that i care.

[rallamajoop]

Resident Evil Village: A needlessly detailed hour-by-hour timeline

Say what you like about Ethan Winters, that man can get a heck of a lot done in a day. Roughly the complete events of Resident Evil Village, just for a start – the timeline’s actually pretty clear on that front. Ethan stumbles into the village just before dawn on February 9, and fights his final boss battle with Miranda at just about the same time on February 10, the following day.

Look, he’s got a daughter to rescue, okay, he’ll sleep when he’s dead (almost literally, in fact – that period just before dawn after Miranda rips his heart out is all the shut-eye he gets).

Exactly what time everything happens within that day is a little less obvious – so naturally, it’s only after I’ve already posted a whole fic that kind of hinges on building a semi-complete timeline of every memorable injury Ethan receives that I went back to the game and realised, oh shit, there actually are specific times of day spelled out all over the place! There are clocks in some buildings, diary entries complete with date and time – and it (mostly) all stacks up!

I mean, up to a point – somewhere in Donna’s house, things get weird. But I don’t think that part will really surprise anyone.

And since I’ve already spent way too long piecing together disparate clues for my timeline posts about the ages of the four lords and when the Mia/Miranda switcheroo happened in the days leading up to the game, what the hell – let’s take it one level finer, and look at the hour-to-hour events of the game itself.

Our first major source is the in-game diary, which you can access via the maps page. I wouldn't take this thing too literally – I really doubt Ethan’s actually sitting down every so often to write about his day and sketch detailed pictures of whatever shit he’s just seen – it’s more here just to summarise recent events for any player who accidentally skipped some cutscenes or wants a quick refresher.

Times in the diary aren’t very precise, just ‘dawn’, ‘early morning’, etc, but they map out a rough series of events.

Dawn (or probably some time before dawn): Ethan wakes up after the truck crash in the forest Early Morning: Ethan reaches the village, encounters the old hag, etc Morning: Ethan reaches Luiza’s house, is put on trial by Miranda, escapes and reaches the castle Noon: Ethan escapes the castle and the Duke sends him on his quest Afternoon: Ethan defeats Donna and Moreau, and battles through the stronghold. Evening: Ethan sets off for Heisenberg’s factory, meets Chris, battles Heisenberg, etc Dawn: Final battle with Miranda

I’d have called it the middle of the night by the time Ethan finally battles Heisenberg, but the slight timeskip to dawn does make sense, since Ethan spends some time dead in the gap there. Also, damn, that was one busy afternoon! (Especially if you’re me, and squeezing all the optional bosses and side-areas into your schedule.) But maybe we can take it that not much actual time passes in Donna’s house – who knows how long hallucinations take in real time?

Anyway, those are the broad strokes, let’s get to finer detail: clocks!

The first clocks you’ll see in the game show up in the Winters’ home, both putting the time of day at 7:34 PM. Time for dinner, and to put the baby to bed.

There are no clocks available when Ethan wakes up in the snow in the dark, but the sun rises while he’s in the first hut you encounter just outside the village. The Internet would lead me to believe that sunrise in Romania in February is around 7:15 AM, so nearly 12 hours have gone by since our opening scene. So either that was a very long drive, or Ethan spent a lot of hours wandering in the woods in the dark, or he was "unconscious" for a long while after the truck rolled over (but then, I already got to share a few of my own theories about that one in that fic I mentioned above, so I get to feel validated there. *g*)

Note that Miranda also holds her ceremony to divide Rose into four crystalline pieces at dawn. The lycan attack on the village seems to have started before dawn even breaks (and I can only assume it's over by the time Eugen staggers home, presumably in too much of a funk to even notice, because there's no mention of it in his diary. But shhh, don't think too hard about that one).

As Ethan arrives on the outskirts of the village and sees his first view of the castle, an attentive gamer will hear a clock strike 8 times, so it's 8AM. Given the sun's just peaking over the mountains, that would about fit too.

There are no clocks that I’ve found in the village proper, probably so the devs don’t have to worry about updating them as the day progresses (though the light and position of the sun certainly changes through the day). But once you make it into the castle, there are clocks everywhere.

Most are either the large grandfather model…

…or the small, mantelpiece model.

There are also a couple of really small ones of a third model, which you can find in castle saferooms.

And they all tell roughly the same time, which is… er, 10:00? 10:05? 10:30?

Seriously, look at these things: the minute hands are pointing to the 5 (or 12 on the mantlepiece model, suggesting someone hasn’t synchronised their clocks perfectly), but the hour hands are consistently stuck midway between 10 and 11, which suggests it should be 10:30. But maybe this is just the devs' way of hedging their bets about the fact time passes while Ethan's in the castle. Or maybe this is just what happens when you eat the guy who comes in to do clock repairs before he’s even finished.

Still, let’s take this basically at face value: Ethan enters the castle around 10AM, and is out again by around noon (as per the diary).

Our next time-of-day indicator isn’t a clock, but the diary left by Chris’ team on the computer that shows up in the church.

So, sounds like the team legitimately arrived while Ethan was in the castle, around 11:35 AM. Presumably, Ethan isn’t supposed to be able to find the computer until after 1:10 PM (time of the latest entry). And while I'm here, I just have to point to that "Found evidence of EW" line ‒ found what evidence? A bunch of broken crates and dead lycans? A wallet dropped while frantically reloading his gun? Two severed fingers? We'll never know.

Also, for those keeping track: it is 100% canon that in the time Ethan needs to take out both Donna and Moreau, clear out the stronghold, battle his way through the factory, and defeat Sturm, all Chris has managed to do is futz around the factory for a bit, mess around with an old tank, and not-quite-finish planting explosives. Pff, loser. (Okay, I tell a lie ‒ he also shows up in the reservoir, so maybe he just procrastinated and hung out with his friends for a few hours instead of actually getting to the one job he promised everyone he was actually going to do. C'mon, we've all done it.)

Moving on, there are more clocks waiting for us in Donna’s domain, but here’s where things get… weird.

To begin with, the first clock you can find (ticking loudly by the stairs) thinks it’s 6 o’clock. Whether this is AM or PM, neither makes any sense here. But the fact it’s ticking suggests it’s working, and the time doesn’t change after Donna is dead and her hallucination-flowers are all wilted, so… I don’t know, maybe Donna and Angie just don’t live in the same mental time zone as the rest of us. Or maybe the devs just didn’t bother changing clock.asset from its default setting.

Downstairs, in the basement, you can find another clock in the workroom, and it’s not 6:00 down here, but 9:21. Again, the time doesn’t change as events progress.

More interesting is a smaller clock you might spot on a table in the hall on your way down, next to a lantern and a bowl of rotten fruit, which shows yet another different time.

What makes this little elaborate-portico-model clock interesting, though, is that it’s an asset from RE7 – cap below comes from the Baker house.

And like every clock in RE7, the one in Donna's house shows 10:15. The attentive player may even remember this, since in RE7 that time was part of a puzzle.

It’s not the only call-back you’ll find to RE7 down here – the ringing phone is other one I caught, very reminiscent of Zoe’s calls from RE7. The phone's actually not a reused asset, though – the RE8 version has an old-fashioned rotary dial, where the RE7 phones had buttons, making them substantially more modern.

I was thinking there were more RE7 assets down in this section – the torn floral wallpaper in a run-down corridor definitely has RE7-vibes, and the horror potential of sending Ethan back through a literal scene from his nightmares goes without saying. But I couldn’t find anything specific that was reused. Even the fuse-box puzzles use completely different assets.

Which all begs the question, are we supposed to notice that clock as an intentional callback on Ethan’s Hallucinatory Journey? Or is it just a casually reused asset without greater meaning?

In all honesty, I would not have noticed the portico-clock came from RE7 if I hadn’t seen it pointed out in a Reddit thread somewhere – and if we are supposed to notice it, it’s not the model I’d have chosen. The large grandfather clocks from RE7 are far more memorable (and, impressively, distinct from both the large-grandfather-clock models found in RE8). The portico clock is used in a couple of different places, but isn't super-memorable, and is easily missed.

You can find it there in the Daughter’s DLC as well (prequel set before the events of the game), though there it and all other clocks have been dutifully adjusted to show a different time (7:22PM).

What's much stranger is that there are actually two of these clocks in Ethan’s home back at the start of the game. And they read 10:15 there too, even though the main wall clocks read 7:34.

Heck, I even found this damn thing down in the Umbrella facility in the remake of RE2, still reading 10:15.

So… yeah, I’m gonna have to go with ‘clumsily reused asset’ for all appearances of this clock in RE8. And having now spent way too long down the mad rabbit-hole that is the clocks of House Beneviento, I'm forced to conclude: nothing means anything, everything is just here to fuck with me, and for all I know Ethan stumbles out of this place before he ever went in, IDEK.

It doesn't help that post-House Beneviento, I found no clocks anywhere, nor any more documents citing time-of-day. None in Moreau’s Reservoir, none in Heisenberg’s Factory (which doesn’t mean there aren’t any I didn’t catch, but I was definitely looking for them).

The sun’s pretty clearly setting by the time Ethan reaches the factory, and it’s set by the time you fight Heisenberg. What time of night it is while Chris is doing his mad run through the village is anyone’s guess, but presumably a bunch of hours go by somewhere, since the whole night has passed before our showdown. But then, as already established, Chris is a guy who can canonically burn most of his afternoon lost in one factory (granted, the place is one hell of a maze), so maybe he does the same down in the village.

The important thing is that the Duke’s here to get Ethan to his appointment with Miranda at dawn ‒ cue ending sequence and credits.

So, for those keeping track, here's the 'complete' hour-by-hour timeline for Resident Evil Village, as close as we can track it.

February 8 7:34 PM: Opening scene. Chris burst into the Winters' home, kills "Mia" and kidnaps Ethan and Rose.

February 9 Pre-dawn: Ethan wakes up next to the crashed truck. Lycan attack on the village begins. Dawn (around 7:15 AM): Miranda holds her ceremony to crystalise Rose and divide her into four pieces

8:00 AM: Ethan reaches the outskirts of the village, explores, encounters the the lycans and the old hag, etc Morning: Ethan reaches Luiza’s house, is put on trial by Miranda, escapes and reaches the castle 10:00 AM (approx): Ethan reaches the castle 11:35 AM: Chris' team arrives on site 12:10 PM: Chris' team infiltrates the village Noon (approx): Ethan defeats Dimitrescu and escapes the castle, and the Duke sends him on his quest 01:10 PM: Chris' team establish their base in the church and split up to investigate separately Afternoon: Ethan defeats Donna and Moreau, and battles through the stronghold Evening: Ethan sets off for Heisenberg’s factory, meets Chris, battles Heisenberg, etc Night: Chris fights his way through the village and discovers Mia in Miranda's lab

February 10 Pre-dawn: Ethan wakes up in the Duke's wagon Dawn (around 7:15 AM): Final battle with Miranda

So... yeah. Up to early afternoon on the 9th, the timeline here is surprisingly detailed. And considering what a chaotic fairy-tale mind-fuck of a game this thing is, that's actually pretty impressive. But beyond Donna's House of Extreme Mindfuckery, Ethan has lost all track of what's going on in his life, and I think we can all forgive him for that.

And now I will never be able to walk past a clock in an RE game without getting the urge to take a screenshot again.

[sauriansolutions]

Here's a little snippet thing to get myself started at having a blog with, like, content.

I was inspired by the absolute silliness that is the class of TWST item called "Secret Snacks." I just adore the concept that you can boost your friendship with game characters by, apparently, stealthily feeding them illegal snacks during class?

All my (excessive number of) Jade cards have full vignettes *cries* but I just want to keep feeding him forever... help...

"Secret Snacks"

You are sitting next to J.ade in class before lunch. You can hear his stomach growling and whining every few minutes. 

You occasionally catch him frowning down at himself after a particularly egregious rumble, like he's trying to scold his belly into silence. You can't help but let out a quiet giggle at his stern expression, and Jade, realizing he's been perceived, shoots you a sheepish grin.

"So sorry," he mouths, sotto voce.

You reassure him that it's alright. 

Towards the end of class, you notice Jade reaching down to fold one arm around his middle. His stomach's complaints have gotten quieter, but they've also become more frequent, to the point that the gurgles have become a near-constant background noise. 

As you watch, Jade looks up to check the clock for the umpteenth time, then sighs quietly and slumps forward a bit in his chair, lips pressed tightly together in a disappointed pout. You look up, too, and note that here's still about fifteen minutes before lunchtime.

Poor Jade. Since agreeing to switch seats with Leona (who wanted a spot behind the tall student so the professor couldn't see him as well), you've noticed that Jade gets distractingly hungry like this every day, around the same time. 

Jade is usually perfectly attentive and studious during class. But you've heard he also has, what he terms, "poor fuel efficiency. So, you guess that this is around the time his energy reserves from breakfast are nearly depleted. 

His empty, grumbling stomach clearly makes the mer student unhappy and fidgety, shifting in his seat, shuffling papers aimlessly, or doodling in the margins of his notebook. 

You've seen Jade's actual sketchbook, so you know the eel is quite artistically talented. But, humorously enough, as lunchtime draws near, Jade's sketches seem to inevitably devolve from nearly-photorealistic drawings of mushrooms, trees, and plants, to simplistic and almost cartoony renderings of his favorite foods. 

Octopus dishes, you couldn't help but notice, feature prominently. 

You've even caught Jade gnawing on the decorative filigree around the edges of his magestone pen, once or twice. Thankfully, the pens are apparently spelled to be highly durable and shatter-proof. Still, the grinding sound of Jade's razorblade teeth on stone or metal makes you wince every time you hear it. 

Jade, now nearly drooling, is putting the finishing touches on a drawing of what appears to be a steaming plate of grilled octopus. 

... Not for the first time, you find yourself wishing you had something to feed Jade. 

Students technically aren't allowed to bring food into the classroom, but you've seen your fellow classmates covertly munching on candies, meal bars, and the like enough times during class, that you feel like sneaking in a snack or two couldn't be *that* big of a deal. 

Maybe tomorrow, you think, you'll slip Jade one of those packets of barbecue-flavored dried squid that are on sale right now at the Mystery Shop. 

Smiling, you jot down a quick reminder to yourself in your planner. Next to it, you draw a little cartoon eel. You give it a big, toothy smile, and add lots of cute little sparkles in its eyes. 

Satisfied with your work, you close your planner and wait for the bell to ring. 

Classes have been getting increasingly more difficult, as midterms are approaching. 

But now, you think, you have at least one reason to look forward to tomorrow's lesson.

[vinetae]

Park Jimin as the hot professor who finds his goodie too shoes of a student in a strip club. It's safe to say that the classes after the encounter will be interesting.....

Ahaha! Perfect timing! I just came down with a really bad cold so I've got nothing better to do than to just sit in my reading chair and let my groggy, drugged imagination run wild LOL

This doesn't really make a lot of sense with the grant talk and stuff but IT'S A FANFIC, NONE OF IT IS REAL.

______________________________________________________________

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

Pairings: College Professor!Jimin x Student!Reader

Warnings: Angst. Sexual content, foul language, 18+

Summary: You had asked your Psych professor for his signature in signing off your volunteer hours. Only a few weeks later, you two are caught at the same club.

Strip club to be exact.

Where you work, to be exact.

______________________________________________________________

Find my main masterlist here

Find part 2 of this - here

______________________________________________________________

The clock's rotating tick echoes through the hushed, crowded room. Pages flip, textbooks slam, and the sound of pencils scratching against the papers could only be heard. The professor's hands clap, as he explains. 

"Let's go over the basics for this class." His hand follows up the path of the beautifully sketched cortex of the brain, showing his students their materials. 

"What is this?" He asks, turning his body towards the class. A few laughs and mocks enter, as he keeps his professional stance. He chuckles, shaking his head. 

"This is called the brain. Many of you seem to not have one, apparently." 

They all 'ooo' at his comment, as the chalk clacks against the blackboard. His hands draw a new image, as a smile tugs your lips. This had been your favorite subject for psychology. 

"Mental disorders, such as Anti-social personality disorder and Borderline personality disorder are in the category of.. ?"

The class goes silent. He sighs, flicking his chocolate irises towards you. A smile peaks his expression. "Miss Choi?" You take a stand, making your way to the blackboard as he hands you the little piece of white chalk. You raise the chalk to the board, starting to explain out loud. 

"Anti-social Personality Disorder and Borderline personality disorder is in the name. Personality disorders. Therefore, they would be categorized under personality Disorders." You finish filling in the blanks, as you continue. 

"Mood personality disorders are far more common. Such as the notorious; Depression. While other disorders such as anxiety and PTSD, would be filed in Anxiety Disorders." You set the chalk down, turning to the class as you noticed some had rolled their eyes. 

"Indeed, Miss Choi." He flashes you a smile. He watches as you return to your desk, sneaking a peak at the way your hips sway in your stroll. He clears his throat before continuing. 

__

The classroom bell rings, signaling for the rest of the bunch to hurry onto their next class for the day. You're quick to rush as well, throwing the ton of your things carelessly into your bag. You hear the clicks of shoes, eyes glancing to catch sight of someone's expensive Dr. Martens. 

"Leaving so soon, Miss Choi?" His voice was smooth like skates gliding on ice. The mixture of new-shoe-smell and his orange blossom cologne had almost stopped your senses. You straighten your back, flashing him a smile. 

"I've got study group today." He hums, as you watch the sole of his expensive-looking shoes tap on the hardwood. He takes in a deep breath, admiring the peace and quiet. "Well, get home safely." He's about to return to his desk to clean up his workspace, as he turns around, sending you a little smile as he adds; 

"Wouldn't want anything happening to my favorite student."

__

The beat had boomed through the darkened walls. The red and gold lights stream all around the expensive looking establishment. Your feet stride to the bar, greeting your favorite co-worker. "Well if it isn't miss priss" She comments, sending you a wink. You chuckle, taking a sip from your sparkling water she'd slid to you. "Do you really have to use that name when I'm off the clock?"

She chuckles, flipping the hand towel over her shoulder. "Do you really have to look like the mother mary when you come in here to clock-in?" You giggle, taking another sip from your bubbly water as you shrug. She smiles, sliding over your new outfit. "Kim's changed the theme. Tonight it's mystery and masks." You nod, taking the little pieces of cloth before making your way over to the changing rooms. 

You take a step back, admiring the seam work on your expensive looking attire. The golden, sparkling jeweled piece cups the curves of your breasts, blue butterflies clasp in the front to give a little peak to your cleavage. The matching sparkles trail down the front of your torso, meeting to clasp with the golden jeweled undergarments that barely covered anything. You sigh, slipping the final touch on before making your way out of the changing rooms. 

__

Loud music echoed through the place. Jimin's head turns to the side, looking to find an empty seat. His chocolate irises flick off-beat to the music pounding in the area. A soft female voice calls out, as his head cranes to the sound. "First time?"

He chuckles, nodding softly. She smiles, cleaning the inside of the shot glass. He watches, eyes narrowing on the way her breasts peak out to give him a little taste. His tongue unconciously comes out to lick the pad of his lips. She smirks, sliding the filled glass over his way. "I'm not part of the show, you know." He's quickly pulled from his trance, nodding before bowing slightly. "Sorry.." 

She nods, a smirk tugging her lips. "Anybody catch your eye yet? Well, besides me." He takes a look around, watching the women take a spin around the metal and golden hued poles, legs coming out to give hint to everything they hadn't even tried to hide. He internally cringes at the sight. Spinning his chair back around, he shakes his head. 

The bartender hums, before a wide smirk paints her darkened features. The red and gold lights bounce off her powdered face. "I've got just the girl."

___

His eyes take a second to adjust to the dimmed lighting, as the large framed man had lead him to a narrow hallway before opening the door to a large room. The walls decorated with splashes of reds and golds, with a hint of black to draw some in. "Here?" Jimin asks, as the large man had nodded, before shutting the door. He takes in a deep breath before walking over to sit on the red leather seats. He leans back, legs spreading apart just a bit to seem a little more experienced. 

He's never actually been to a strip club you see. 

Of course, this might've been obvious already..

He actually had to Wikihow how to act a strip club. Of course he knew the basic rules, but was he allowed to converse with them? No talking? How much would it cost? Even though money hadn't been an issue but still..

He didn't want to upset any of the.. uhh.. dancers.

The price wasn't bad at all. He had no idea what the hell he just paid for though..

This all seems confusing.

Don't worry.

He's just as fucking lost. 

The music starts to fade in, a familiar song echoes through the empty room. His eyes trail up, watching as a fit, young looking women had appeared on stage. Her body decorated in revealing gold and black laced jewels, her hips sway to the music beat, as she's now standing right infront of him. He clears his throat, shifting in his seat. His eyes glance up to meet hers, but she's quick to dismiss the contact. Instead, her legs swing over, as she straddles his lap. He swallows the lump in his throat, as her fingers come to toy with the clasps of his white button up, her manicured nails scrape his adam's apple gently. Her body slides down before returning to the pole. The red lipstick that had been plumping her lips had smeared just a bit, giving her a more sultry expression. 

He watches the way her legs wrap around the pole, watching as her body gracefully spins around the golden pole. Her soft moves reminded him of someone he knew. The way her head follows the beat of her own rymth, eyes peaking through the golden mask that had hidden her features, adorned with a innocence he felt too familiar with. The bottom of his lip pulls in, biting on the flesh as his mind wanders around her body movements and language. She was excellent at hiding what she had truly been feeling. Yet, he saw something he'd seen too many times before. 

___ (Two Weeks Before) ___

The school bell had rung once more, another day complete. Jimin's eyes lay upon the only body left in his class, as she strides over, settling some papers onto his desk. "Can I help you?" Her smile beams with confidence, as she taps her finger against the papers she'd laid down. "I'd like to apply for being your assistant." He chuckles at her cute expression. It had been filled with so much confidence and determination. "I don't really have a need for a class assistant." She takes a seat in front of him, a pleading look plasters her features. 

"Mister Park, I know it's too early in the semester right now, but this is for a very good cause." He leans back, hand coming to run through his blonde locks before questioning her. "Is that so? What's this cause." His fingers come up to quote her urgency. She nods, sliding the papers closer to him.

"The mental institute that I'm applying for is wanting me to have more volenteer hours. I've already tried with the community service department, but they said they only take juveniles."

He hums, pondering her proposition. Her eyes burns his own with passion. He saw how much she wanted this. 

"What about your other classes?" She shakes her head. "Miss Lee already had an assistant." 

"Aren't you in humanitarians as well?" She nods. "Mister Im was quite upset at the request.." Jimin silently chuckles to himself at her formal language. He sits up in his chair, nodding.

"Alright."

Her face lights up as she watches him skim over the papers. "Really!?" She stands, excitement bursts in her veins. He nods, standing to settle her down.

"You can start today, actually." She nods, her smile being brighter than the sun. He packs the rest of his things, flashing her a quick smile.

"Start by organizing the class's extra supplies." She nods, as her hand reaches out to his. 

His hand comes to meet his, watching as her sleeve lifts to reveal a small, magnolia shaped flower wrist tattoo.

___

Fuck. Oh fucking shit.

Everything hits him at once. The small tattoo the performer had, had matched Y/n's perfectly. The lump in his throat growing twice in size. 

What does he do? 

He can't just pause this session and say 'Oh by the way, I'm your psych professor.'

Shit. 

If he knows it's her and she's wearing a mask, and he's not.. 

Does she recognize him??

Her walks strides close to him, her body standing tall between his legs. Her body sinks down, knees resting between the space of his thighs. Fingers trail along the zipper of his trousers before her head rises up to meet his. She watches the way his blonde locks fall to the front of his face, head tilting to the side. She leans up, whispering into his ear softly. 

"Are you nervous?" Her voice sounded like smooth honey. One he'd heard too many times before. Usually, just asking if he needed help filing the class's test sheets. He gulps, feeling the way her body turns around, giving him a beautiful view of her backside. Her torso rolls to the beat, hands coming down to hold herself in place as she grinds against his hardening cock. He groans, hands fisting at the sight. His head lulls back, trying to think of himself anywhere but here; 

Where his best student is giving him a lap dance. 

He couldn't do this. 

He's quick to gently push her off, rising to make his way to the exit. 

You pause, scoffing.

"What's his problem?"

Your eyes glance down, taking notice of a little ring settled in the crease of the club's leather couch. You reach down, admiring the expensive looking band. 

___

He takes in a deep breath before walking into his empty classroom. He smiles at the emptiness, setting down his  Prada briefcase. Just as he's about to start writing the lesson down on the board for the day, a voice calls out to him. 

"Mister Park!" She smiles, running over to his desk, setting her pink and blue backpack onto his desk. His jaw tightens, ignoring her. She pouts, standing in front of his body.

"Mister Park, I've completed the spreadsheets for this year's schedule." She smiles, taking a few steps back to stand at his side. Explaining her ideas, while he's writing today's lesson on the board.

"I've also come up with a new item list for all the students to follow so they can pass your class with flying colors! Here-" He turns away, checking his sheet of paper summary on his desk before continuing to jot down the lesson. Her eyebrows knit together in questioning.

"Mister Park..? Is something the matter?"

He finally turns to meet her frown features. Body slouched and mimics one like a puppy getting kicked by it's owner. He internally breaks at her pout. 

"Miss Choi, this is my class. You have no say in how I run it." 

"Yeah but I was thinki-"

"That's the thing! You don't think. You're here to clean up the gum from under the desks, and maybe sharpen a few extra pencils. The only reason I let you be my assistant was because it was for your resume so you could look like a perfect little straight A student." She backs away, a hurt expression paints her features. 

"I- I was just trying to help.." He scoffs, pointing at her desk.

"Take your seat, Miss Choi."

___

You knew you shouldn't have gotten too friendly with your professor. You just thought that he'd be a lot less stressed if he had a schedule for his classes. A few new pencils in line, and an organizer you'd bought him for secret santa a few months ago before winter break. You'd been in this class for almost two years, and he'd always been so kind and friendly towards you. You thought that returning those gestures would be the right thing to do. 

Apparently, he actually hated you. 

Your eyes screw at his words, the feeling in your chest tightening, remembering his cold tone.

'Little straight A student..'

You sigh, slamming your laptop shut. You couldn't get his harsh tone out of your head. 

___

Jimin lets out a deep breath, pinching the space between the bridge of his nose in frustration. Maybe he'd been a little too harsh on you. You'd just been trying to help.,

Hell, maybe you didn't even recognize him that night. 

He groans, plopping down onto the comfort of his bed, a hand coming to shield the light from his eyes. The room had gone quiet, as his mind gripes at him for ever saying those harsh things to you. The more he replayed the scene in his head, the more of a dick he felt like. He sighs, sitting up, reaching over to grab at the TV remote. Once he's settled in, he flips through the daytime channels that had been playing some stupid rom or sit coms. Just as  his eyes were about to lull asleep, the ding from his phone jolts his body awake. 

___

His leg eagerly taps against the marbled floor's flat. His eyes flicker around the restaurant, as he takes in a few deep breaths. The moment he'd gotten that text a few hours ago, he'd been nothing but a nervous wreak. He'd gotten a random text from an unknown number, asking for him to meet up at a nearby place to give his ring back. 

Stupid fucking idea to have your name emblemed on his ring. 

He mentally groans at the thought, taking another sip from his drink. The ding of the restaurant makes his heart drop, as his eyes set on you. Your mini-skirt that revealed your tight-covered legs had made him more drunk than fifteen beers ever could. Your black turtleneck had wrapped around your neck, a golden, small necklace decorated your neck gracefully. You're quick to take a glance around, before stopping on him. You smile, making your way over to his table. You slide in the booth, flashing him a professional smile. 

"I assume you're aware of why I asked you here." He tries to keep the atmosphere light and short. He chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. She smiles, straightening her back. "You seem to be in a better mood." She comments, as the waitress takes her order. 

"I was feeling a little sick this morning." He watches the way her eyebrows knit together in concern, hands coming to clasp on the table. "Are you feeling better?" He nods. 

"I went home to take a quick nap, but then you texted. How'd you even get my number, by the way?" She smiles, leaning down to quiet her voice. "That's a secret, Park." He chuckles at her cute expression. Your light rosy cheeks and lips had been stained by the winter's harsh blows. The tip of your nose had resembled Rudolph's. That made him melt inside faster than Olaf. 

"So." She starts once more, sliding a small folder over the table top. He takes a silent gulp. 

"This was what I was trying to explain earlier this morning. This schedule has everything for this semester. You've always complained of struggling with organization, so I thought this might better with that. It contains contexts, a glossary, an index, cards, empty spaces for students to write their own thoughts, a feedback page so students can also make any comments about how well they're understanding the materials. What would need to be improved about it, and what you could do to possibly help them through the semester so they can do more than just just skim by."

He'd been all ears with your suggestions, until from the corner of his eyes, a familiar gold and black band wrapped around her index finger. He pauses, taking notice of the diamond placed right in the center of the ring. 

His ring. 

"So, what do you think?" He's pulled out of his thoughts by your voice. His throat clears as he takes a few glances around. You frown, leaning closer.

"You can just say you hate it, you know. No reason to avoid me.." He shakes his head, eyes glancing back to you.

"No, I'm not ignoring you, Y/n." You chuckle at his words.

"Loosing formalities, Mister Park?"

He chuckles, trying to hide the nervous tone in his voice. You watch as his eyes take a glance to your hand. 

"That's a nice ring." You nod, trying to be non-chalant about the story as possible.

"Yep, got it from work. Someone left it in one of the booths.." 

"I thought you said you worked at an animal shelter." Your eyes go wide at the realization. 

Fuck. 

"I.. quit a while back. I work in a restaurant outside of town now." He hums, taking a sip from his glass. "You don't think it's owner is missing it?" 

You shake your head. "Like I said. No lost and found, so my boss says we can keep anything we find." You watch as he raises as eyebrow. "That's odd. I used to work as a waiter as well, but we never got to keep anything we found. Seems like rules more fit for a club of some sorts." You choke on your water, turning away as to not cough in his face. 

He chuckles, setting his drink down to hand you a napkin. "Like a golf club of some sorts." You laugh along, trying to cover the absolute terrified tone in your voice. 

"You.. caught me. Hah.." You chuckle nervously. He smiles, taking a bite of his salad before continuing.

"Funny, Y/n. There's not a golf club around here for miles." 

You pause, trying to think of an excuse. "My.. father owns one. We go every Saturday." You watch as he raises an eyebrow. "Your dad makes you work at his golf club?" You nod.

"Well- I volunteer. Been doing it since I was 14." He nods, downing the rest of his glass.

"Does the ring have any writing? You might be able to return it to it's owner. Who knows," He takes a look at your folder, continuing. 

"Might even get something bigger in return." 

___

You sigh, spinning the circular golden jewelry piece around your index finger. His words ring in your mind, as guilt sets in. Even though it had been fair game, you still felt bad for taking the ring. It's not like you were going to sell it on the market or anything. You'd really loved the designs, especially the clear diamond set in the middle. It had reminded you of flowers for some reason. You loved it..

But it wasn't yours. 

So now here you were, sitting at the bar, waiting for your brain to make a decision. On one hand, you knew how important something can be to someone, and how it must feel horrible to loose such a precious item. On the other, you knew the ton of the men that come in and out of the club had been filthy rich, and probably could buy a million of these silly rings. 

Taking in a deep breath, you spin around to scan the club. You tried to remember what the man had been wearing. Something of a white button up and black trousers. 

Well this won't be difficult at all.

You make your way around the club for a few hours, pushing past the crowded groups of horndogs and co-workers who are giving lazy lap dances. After a while passes, you groan, taking a seat away from all of the crowded groups. You sigh, toying with the little golden and black band that wraps around your finger. The diamond shines through the dark atmosphere, glimmering even in the darkest of places of the club. Your eyes catch on a pair of black shoes stand right in front of you. Your eyes glance up, noticing the same sandy blonde hair illuminating more than the red lights. His hand reaches out, face being concealed with aid from the dark area.

"Care to dance?" 

Honestly, you denied. 

At first.

Hey man, listen. 

... *insert cricket noises here*

Okay there was nothing to explain it. 

You just wanted to have some fun, okay? You're off the clock anwyays. What's a little dance?

His hands come to gently trail up your sides, as your hips sway side to side along with the deep beat of the music. His lips come to tease the skin of your ear, as you felt his large arms wrap around your torso. Your body had been perfectly slotted between his chest and forearms, as he guides you through the songs. You felt high. You'd only ever watched from above, seeing all the crazy people going at it on the dance floor. You'd always scoffed at it, wondering why people just couldn't keep it in their pants but now..

Now you knew. 

"So what brought you here?" His voice is drowned a bit by the blaring music. Yet, you can still make out what he says. You tilt your head, giving him more access to the side of your neck, yet; he doesn't go for it. 

"I'm here with a few friends." You're quick to lie, reaching back to try and guide his lips to your neck. Yet, he stays right where he is. It felt more like a loving embrace than a quick grind on the floor. 

"Friends abandoned you I'm guessing?" You nod, turning around in his arms, but he keeps you still. Something about this felt off. 

"Who brought you?" You question, pressing your ass into his crotch. His hips move away, as you groan at his deny. He chuckles, a hand coming up to pet the crown of your hair gently.

"Myself." 

You really weren't in a loving mood right now. You wanted to get fucked, and that's it. Yet, this asshole had the decency to keep his hands to himself. 

Little fucker. 

"So why are you here?" You ask, reaching back behind to palm over his crotch. Yet, he's as soft as a pillow. His hand takes your wrist, as he chuckles against your ear, guiding your hand up to cup his jaw.

"Why so many questions?" He smiles, twirling you softly before pulling you back into his arms. You scoff at the move. You pull away, as he lets you go.

"You came to a club to spin a girl around?"

He shrugs. "Would you rather me be a creep?" 

"I'd rather you act like a normal person in a strip club." He raises an eyebrow at the comment. "How I'm acting should be the normal for any guy." You roll your eyes, walking away. He chuckles, following in your steps. You huff, spinning back around to face him.

"Listen man, this isn't the ninth-grade school dance. Either fuck me or go find a virgin mary to creep to." His eyes roll at your comment, as he folds his arms across his chest.

"So you'd rather have an asshole fuck you in the dirty alleyway of this club for maybe, what? A few minutes at most, than to have a real man take care of you like how it should be?"

You groan out, pushing at his chest a bit as you let out all of your frustration. 

"I don't need a gentleman, I need a good fucking. And your little goodie two shoes self ain't what I'm looking for." He chuckles at the name. 

"Thought you'd have the most experience with being a 'goodie two shoes', Y/n." 

You're quick to back away, but stand nowhere near as strong as he had. His arm comes out to catch your wrist, pulling you back into his sight of vision. Your eyes flash up to meet his, the professional aura had slipped with each passing second. The internal clock inside your head telling you to hurry up was ticking with cold blood. 

A smirk plasters his face, as he takes a look around the place. "So this is your father's golf club?" Your throat goes dry at his sentence. 

"Obviously not.." 

He chuckles, nudging your body forward before letting you go. His eyes take a glance back down to your hand, admiring the ring decorating your left index. 

"Got a reason for my ring being on your hand?" 

"Obviously I didn't know that it was your ring.." Your face lights up with idea to turn the tables. Your arms cross over your chest, finally finding your confidence his aura had drained of you. "Got any reason for being at a strip club?" 

"I was just about to ask you the same thing." 

Even though the music was blasting louder than a rock concert, the silence between you two had been deadly. His eyes matched the same, fierce and confident look you'd been trying to give off. 

"You grinded with one of your students." He chuckles at the accusation. 

"Actually, I danced. You were the one trying to grab my dick, were you not?" Your mouth screws at that. 

Fuck. 

He was right. 

"Well you were the one to ask." 

"didn't recognize you at first." He bites back. 

"At first?" Hah. You've caught him. 

His smirk screws tight on his face, the red and black strobes illuminate his aura even more. "I didn't want to be rude." 

"So you knew that I was one of your students? Yet, you still asked me to dance." 

"To dance. Once again, you were the one trying to implement more." 

You huff, tightening your arms in frustration. "Because I didn't think my professor would be at a strip club!"

He chuckles, voice lowering to a deep tone. "You don't think I have needs?" Your heart drops to your stomach. His smirk only urks him on even more. He leans forward, leaning against the bar's surface, sporting a relaxed position.

"Wants?" 

His lips brush past your cheek, tickling the shell of your ear as you hear the husk in his tone. 

"Desires?"

You shake your head, pushing him away quickly. "Well if you knew it was me, why'd you continue?" 

He chuckles, tilting his head to ask the bartender -your best friend- for whiskey sour. His head cranes back to you, smirking. She could obviously sense the tension between the two of you, but she had her own problems to deal with right now. 

His finger lifts, pointing around the room before contuining; "Does it look like we're at school right now?" 

You scoff. "You're a pervert." 

"Oh really? How so? I was just here, wanting to take a beautiful woman dancing, and she kept trying to grope me like a drunkie." He takes a sip from his glass, before settling it back down on the bar.

"If anything my dear, you're the pervert."

He chuckles, taking the extra lemon between his lips, watching as you swallow at the action. 

"I mean really, who's that desperate for a fucking that they just go at it with the first guy they see? That's how you get kidnaped." He shakes the lemon, acting as if he's giving you a lesson in morals. 

"For a psych major, Miss Choi, you're not very smart." Your hands fist at your sides. His pride swells a little too much in his chest. 

"Why are you acting like such an asshole!?" His eyes flick to yours, scoffing. 

"Why are you acting like such a brat?" You uncross your arms to hit his side. He's quick to catch your throw, eyes baring into yours.

"Not very professional of you, Y/n. What would the club think of their employee hitting a customer?" 

Your eyes blow wide. You can see his cocky smile from miles away. He takes another sip, watching as your forehead peaks a little vein at the top, your face completely red. 

"If you tell anyone I'll-"

"You'll what, Miss Choi? I'm the only psych professor on campus, and no other college will accept you so late into this semester." Your teeth grind at his words. 

"You're stuck with me, My dear." 

"Fuck. You." 

He sucks in a breath, before laughing at your anger. "Seems like that was your plan, wasn't?" 

You sigh, giving up. You had to suck it up to this asshole, at least for the remainder of the year. Your eyes shift from fierce and vexed, to soft and calm. 

At least you tried to give that off. 

He takes notice, laughing at the quick change. "Are you seriously worried THAT much about me telling someone?" His demeanor switches to one that mirrors yours as well.

"Who would I tell, huh? I've got no grudge against you, Y/n. You're my best student." You take in a deep breath, kind of agreeing silently to his words. He pats the barstool parallel to his, motioning for you to join him. You take a seat, sipping on the sparkling water you'd ordered previously. 

"It's just.. I don't come from a rich background like the other students on campus. There only reason I got in was because of my GPA and SAT scores that were through the roof. I had a three-thousand dollar grant along with the hope scholarship but.." You laugh at the reasoning for your job. 

"But?" He questions, leaning in to give you his full attention. 

You lift the can to your lips, taking a swig before continuing. "Tuition was fucking expensive.. I can't afford things like-" You take a glance down before motioning to his black suede Louis Vuitton suit. 

"that."

He glances down, chuckling at your pout. "I have noticed your style to be a bit.. diverse than the other students." 

Your eyes roll in your head at his choice of words. Of course your walmart plaid skirt and clearance section white button up from the men's department you tailored yourself was unusual. It didn't look like the other students Armani and Gucci outfits..

"Thanks for that." You laugh sarcastically. He taps on the counter as Milana sends him another whiskey sour quickly.

"Do you really have a passion for this?" He motions for you to take a glance around, watching as your co-workers dance on the laps of men who looked like they could already be considered for retirement settlements. 

"Oh of course. I just live for twearking on old geizers laps for a few bucks. Who fucking wouldn't." Your hand reaches out to ask Milana for another bubbly water but she hands you a shot glass instead.

"Trust me girly, you look like you need it." She pours the dark, syrupy liquid into your glass as your hand hesitates to pick it up. 

"Well did you run out of time for applying for more grants?" He questions, watching your hesitation towards your drink. 

"No. When I tried applying for the five-hundred grant, they denied."

His eyebrow raises at this. "Well, how many did you apply for?" 

Your voice goes silent. He takes that as a challenge to question it.

"Ten?" 

You shake your head. He continues. 

"Twenty?" 

You take in a breath, laying your chin on the bar's surface. "Try.. fourty-two?"

His eyes widen like cartoons at that. "Fourty-two grants?! Holy shit- You must have the money for sure now though, right?"

You shake your head. "Have to live on campus for at-least two years, remember? That's an extra eleven-thousand I didn't have." 

He scoffs, getting annoyed by your situation as well. His eyes soften, laying his head down to match your own. "I didn't know it had costed you this much, Y/n." 

You nod, straightening your back before shaking your head. "No matter. It's just life, you know? Gotta do the shitty stuff to make your future bright.. or whatever the fucking board says." He chuckles, before nodding in agreeance. 

"You know if you were to ask, you'd been doing such an amazing job at being my assistant, I would've paid you for it." You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. 

"Wouldn't be considered volunteer work then, would it?" He sighs, nodding. "You're right."

He takes another sip from his refill, teasing the cherry stem between his teeth. "There's has to be a better way than just being these asshole's wet dream." 

You shrug. "It's not really something my professor should be worrying about anyways." 

He takes in a deep breath, glancing around the room before an idea pops into his mind. 

"I can just write it off as volunteer work. You only need my signature as confirmation, right?" You nod at his question.

"Wouldn't they be suspicious of it?" 

"They've got too many things on their plates than worrying if a teacher is paying his student to help out in his classroom." 

Your voice lowers, only really wanting the idea to be heard by you.

"Sounds like the beginning of a porno.." 

He however, is quick to catch on, chuckling.

"dirty way to put it, I would say." Your cheeks go red at his tone. His eyes glance up to yours, lips wrapped around the edge of his glass, giving you a teasing 'what?' look. 

He sets his glass down, holding his hand out to reach yours. 

"So, deal?" 

You extend your to meet his, giving a firm shake. 

"Deal."

____

Taking in a breath, his smile radiates confidence and joy as he walks through the halls of the corridor where his classroom is. Students crowd around the halls, splitting down the middle as he makes his way through.

He greets them all with smiles and hellos before reaching his classroom. He takes his keys out to unlock the door, walking in, his eyes set upon your little figure fitting up under the empty space of his desk. He chuckles to himself, walking over to set hi briefcase on top. He bends down, tilting his head at your knelt position. 

"Cleaning included?" 

"Ow!"

You're quick to jump, which makes your head bump on the desk's underside. You whine, scooting out from up under before rising to meet his level. "A screw was loose under here. I thought I could tighten it with my hand." A greasy smile spreads his face.

"Now that sounds like the beginning of a porno." 

You scoff, turning your body away to place the stacks of paper in front of him. He glances down with a confused look. 

"These are the index and glossary portions of the guides I talked to about at the resturant." He nods, flipping quickly through the pages before taking a look up to meet your eyes. 

"Very.. thick." He awnsers, scanning over bits of the papers. Leaning back in his chair, his legs spread wide a bit, carding a hand through his blonde locks. "Did you have breakfast?" 

He watches as your eyes glance down quickly to his lap before switching back up to meet his own. Your cheek sinks in a bit at his physic as you shake your head. 

"I don't usually eat breakfast." 

He hums, leaning up to push his metal bento box to your side of his desk. You shake your head in denial. 

"Come on, breakfast is the most important meal. Here," He sits up, extending his arm to hand you his sterile chopsticks. His eyes narrow in annoyance at your stubborness. He leans forward, picking up a small bite of rice and spam before holding it up to your mouth. "Eat." 

"I'm not hungry." 

He scoffs lightly, scooting his chair closer to yours. "Bite." 

"I said I'm not hungry-"

"Open."

It took you a few minutes to realize his knee was slotted between yours, body propped up, barely being a few inches from yours. He's sat on the edge of his chair, as you take notice in how large he actually was compared to you. 

"I-..I'm not hungry.." 

"Did I ask?" 

You're quiet. 

He takes it as a notion to edge you on even more. "It's not polite to ignore your superior, Miss Choi. Once again; did I ask?" 

Your throat dries at his words. He's seemed to keep his professional tone, yet there's something else lurking behind it's superiority. 

"N.. No."

"Then open." 

Your mouth slowly falls wide just before the bell starts to ring, as students start flooding classrooms. You're quick to rise from the chair, returning to your desk. Jimin sighs, closing the lid on his bento box before standing to write the lesson of the day. 

___

Your stomach starts grumbling quickly as soon as class had started. Students starting pouring in like fish as the seats had been quickly filled. You groan silently, hand holding your stomach in agony. Usually, you'd be fine right now. But ever since you got a whiff of his ham and rice meal, your stomach could not shut up about it. Your vision had even started going wonky only a few minutes in. 

"Young-il's mother has been suffering from hysteria, paranoid ideation, and hallucinations. Which of these could Young-il's mother be diagnosed with?" His voice is drowned out by your gurgling stomach. Your eyes wince in pain, tapping your leg on the floor as a vice to gain some relief. 

"Miss Choi?" 

Fuck you were hungry. 

"Miss Choi?" 

If only you had taken that damn bite when he offered!

"Miss Choi.. ?"

"Fuck!" You whine, watching as all of the student's attention flashes straight to you. 

Oh shit..

"Are you feeling alright, Miss Choi?" Your eyes glance up, as he watches you wince in pain. He notices your hand clenching your stomach.

"U-huh." Your eyes switch to the board, squinting to try and figure out what the fuck he was explaining. 

"Uhm- I think his mother's diagnosis would be stimulant p-psychosis." He nods hesitantly before returning to his board.

"Correct. The usual symptoms for stimulant psychosis are paranoia, disorganized thinking, hysteria, hallucinations, and many more. Very good, Miss Choi." You nod silently, patiently waiting for the bell to ring so you can get some food in your stomach. 

Having prayers anwsered, the bell comes quickly after as the students clear out as quickly as they had flooded in. You stand up in a hurry, packing your thinks before making your way towards the exit. His voice catches your attention before you're able to leave. 

"Are you alright? You look a little pale-" You turn around, nodding. 

"Lunch time." You hurry towards the door before turning around. "Are you not coming?" 

He shakes his head, motioning to his bento box. "Cafeteria's too loud a lot of the times. I just sit in here and grade papers." You nod before rushing to the lunch room. 

He chuckles, watching as you run for the exit, taking a bite of his lunch. 

_____

"Thank you." You bow before taking your tray of goodies, quickly making your way back to class. After you had a few bites of the rice, you felt a lot better. Your hand reaches for the knob, before you heard a giggle coming from inside of his classroom. You move away from the glass so that you're not seen. 

"I just wanted to thank you for last night. Those papers never would've been graded on time if it wasn't for you, Jimin." 

"No problem. I had a little extra time on my hands anyways." Your eyes peak through the glass, gasping silently, watching the way the woman's legs swing back and forth on the front of his desk. Her hand reaching down to tug at his loose button up, manicured nails trailing along the prominent line of his jaw. 

"You know, I've always loved pyschology as well." His eyebrow quirks, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "Really? You seemed more like a sorority type of girl." She smiles, flashing her pearly white teeth, brushing his shoulder. "Ah, you're so funny! So what, am I like a sexy cheerleader or something?" 

He thinks for a second before replying. "No, more like the girl from Legally Blonde." She straightens at the comment. "Oh, so the sexy lawyer?" 

He shakes his head. "Nope, just look like you belong in a sorority. You know, with all the glitter and stuff." She chuckles before pulling on his collar to straddle his lap. Her hands drape down to grab at his, to steady her by the waist. 

His eyes widen at the sudden move, eyes flicking to the classroom door. "Uhm Miss Kim I don't think is a good ti-"

Her finger comes to press against his lips as her head lowers down to his waist. "Think of it as a 'thank you'. You know, for helping me with the papers?" 

He clears his throat, as his body goes stiff at her touch. 

"It's lunch period right now and I have another set of students to te- oh fuck.." His hands grip the arm rests, head lulling back as her lips wrap around the tip of his cock. She moans, coiling her hand around the rest of his length before moving it up and down. 

His hand comes to tug at her loose bun, carding through her black locks. His head falls back against his chair, mouth parting to let a certain name slip from his lips. 

"Fuck.. Y/n.."

Miss Kim's too deep into her own thoughts to notice the slip up. 

"Mmm how dirty of you, Jimin. Getting blown in your classroom.. what if a student was to walk i-"

At that, your body flies forward, the door slamming open as your figure hits the floor. Your lunch tray spilling all over the cold flat as the two stumble to fix their clothes. 

"Oh fuck!" He yelps, pushing the teacher off to fix himself. Your jaw drops at the scene. 

"I..I-" You're frozen in a pile of cold wheat noodles, kimchi and rice. Miss Kim is quick to adjust herself before trying to shoo you out. Mister Park just sits there with eyes just as wide as yours. 

"What the fuck are you doing!? Get out!" She yells, stomping her expensive high heel on the floor. 

You stutter, trying to pick up your things as your mumble a string of sorries. 

Once you've got to you're feet, you rush out slamming into a few people on the way. 

____

The following few days were a nightmare. You'd been extremely silent, and honestly? Jimin didn't blame you. 

You watched your professor get blown by another teacher.

He groans stuffing his face into the palms of his hands, wanting to crawl in a hole and die. 

He watches from his desk as you bend down to scrape the last bits of gum from up under the tables. He'd been pretending to grade more papers for the last hour and he had enough. He quickly stands, packing the rest of his things into the pockets of his briefcase.

___

Once he's gone, you bang your head onto the floor, not caring if it was goin to leave marks in the morning. 

Stupid.

Fucking

Stupid. 

You groan, standing to finish the rest of your duties. You're just about finished wiping down his desk before your hip bumps into the corner. 

"Fuck.." You whine, rubbing at the raw skin before taking notice of the little crack that had appeared. Your eyes squint some more, seeing a little shiny thing hidden away from sight. Looking around the room for any witnesses, you let curiosity get the better of you. 

Your hand wraps around the metal handle, popping the drawer open easily. 

"Y/n?" You jump from your spot, quickly shutting the drawer to back away from his desk. Your eyes flash up, seeing his large frame sling his briefcase onto his shoulder. A concerned look paints his expression. "Why were you in my desk?" 

"I- Uh.." Your eyes trail around, trying to find anything to back up your story. 

Truth is, you didn't even know why you were going through his drawers. 

You'd never been one to snoop around other people's belongings..

His arms cross his chest, eyebrow quirking at your stuttering self. "You..?"

Think, Y/n!

"I was looking for a pen!"

He quirks, walking over to his desk to shake the pen cup in the corner. "You were saying?"

Your hands comes to clasp in the front, head bowing from shame as you avoid eye contact. 

"I.. don't know why I was going through your things.." 

He hums, leaning down to catch your eyes, bringing your gaze to follow his back up. "You don't know why you invaded my privacy?"

You huff, biting the inside of your cheek from frustration. "It was her fault! She should've locked the fucking door at least!" His eyes widen at your tone. "You mean Miss Kim?"

You nod, not even realizing that's why you were snooping in the first place. 

"That doesn't explain why you're going through my stuff, Y/n." Your hands clench into balls at the thought. "I don't know, okay!? I hit my fucking side on your damn desk and it popped open! When I tried to go and fix it, it opened even more and I saw-" You stop, not really remembering what you had seen. 

Until some remembered what was next to his desk.

"You saw... ?"

"I saw my papers." Your eyes glance up to his, your blood starting to boil. "I saw my papers.. in your trash can." 

He quickly leans over, seeing your once neatly folded and organized ideas for the classroom thrown carelessly into garbage. His eyes widen, reaching down to pull the folders out. His eyes take a quick glance back to you before continuing. "I didn't throw these away, Y/n. You remember when I said how much I loved your ideas." 

Your head shakes, tears starting to well in your eyes. You worked for hours on end trying to perfect those. You wanted to do good in his class, and maybe he'd even give you some extra credit points for having such a high work ethic. 

"You never said how much you loved them.." 

"What? Of course I did." 

You sniff, drying your cheek with the puff of your sleeve. "In the restaurant.. Before class.. You kept changing the topic." He shakes his head, trying to catch your gaze once more. 

"Y/n, I loved your ideas." 

Your cheeks flush red, finally looking into his eyes. Yours, being glassy and watery. "Why did you keep avoiding them, then?" 

He reaches over, handing you a tissue. "They're thick folders, Y/n. I've had three classes today, I just haven't had the time." You wince from his words, replying. 

"I gave them to you over a week ago.." 

His eyes widen, mouth dropping to the floor as he tries to find something to stop your crying. "Y/n- I- I'm sorry.." 

Your face burns as your voice amplifies. "I worked forever on those! The estimated reading time was only about an hour!" 

He chuckles. "Estimated reading time? I didn't know you put so much effort into them-" 

"Of course I did! I wanted you to be proud of me!" That makes him pause. His hands suddenly felt heavy, as everything in the room had felt like it was more noticable than before. 

"Y.. You wanted me to be proud of you?" He watches as you sniff, teary and glassy eyes delve into his. His voice felt faded and nearly gone. He searched for any words, but nothing came to mouth. 

You take a deep breath, wiping the rest of your tears away before finishing. "Guess it doesn't matter anymore." 

You reach down, slinging your backpack over your shoulder about to make your way to the door before his wrist catches yours, pulling you into his chest. Arms coiled tightly around your frame, as his chin rested atop of your head. 

"I am proud of you, Y/n. You're my favorite student, you know that." You half-heartly laugh at his words. Eyes glancing up to meet his. 

"Do I? You seemed pretty occupied with Eun-ji."

His eyes bare into yours. "You mean Miss Kim?" He chuckles, loosening his grip on you. "She's your superior, Y/n. We don't use informal with teachers." 

Your arms reach around to clasp his waist, pulling your body flushed against his. "Really? What will happen if I do, Jimin."

His throat swallow a large gulp at your words. Your grip doesn't faulter on his body. 

"Y/n I don't thi-" 

"No. Don't you fucking tell me about formalities when you're supposed to be calling me by my last name as well." He's frozen. 

Because you're right. 

He's let it slip one too many times. 

Fuck. 

He watches your frown slip into more of a smile-smirk at his silence. "Teachers don't pay their students. Teachers don't hug their students. And teacher for sure don't moan their student's name. Do they?" 

Your grip loosens to snag his tie, pulling his body closer to yours. He groans as you rub your thigh against the tent of his suit pants. 

"Fuck.." He chuckles, running a hand through his hair before giving you a smirk. "You were watching me?" 

You lean back, planting your ass on the flat of his desk, pulling him between the space of your thighs, guiding him like a puppy by his tie. "How could I not? You could practically hear her from the other side of campus." 

His hands comes to caress your waist, leaning his head further down to meet your level. "How dirty of you." 

"Mmm, taking dirty talk from her?" You bite back, watching as his jaw tightens at the catch. His head lowers, nose brushing the side of your neck, inhaling your flowery scent. 

"Don't like it?" He quirks, leaning back a bit to watch your expression darken. 

"I want you to use your own words." 

A smirk tugs the corner of his lips. 

"Alright." 

His hand comes to trail and back of your spine before reaching inside to quickly pop your bra apart. You gasp at the sudden movement, his hand coming to kneed your outer thigh. His breath trails along your cheek, brushing the shell of your ear. 

"On one hand, I want to stay true to my promise and take you on a date, eat out at a nice restaurant, and take you back to your place like the gentleman I am." 

You scoff, caressing the side of his cheek, whispering. "And the other hand?" 

His voice lowers to where not even an echo can pick it up. "I want to put you in your place for ever using informalities with me." 

You smirk, rubbing the inside of your thigh against his outer thigh. "So I'm not allowed to use your name?" 

He chuckles, pressing you further into the surface of his desk, whispering into your ear. "Only when you're moaning it." 

"Fucking fine by me." A light slap to your out thigh makes you jump. "Another thing. It's not very ladylike of you to curse like that, now is it?" 

"Oh? So you don't want, Oh Jimin! Oh fuck, Jimin! Oh my God." Your faked moans make a little deep growl emit from his chest. 

"Brat." 

Your tongue comes out to lick at your lips, sucking on your bottom one. "Yes?~" 

He chuckles at that, shaking his head. "Dirty girl. Was this your little plan all along?" 

You shrug, innocent look peaks your expression. "Maybe, maybe not." 

"Volenteer service?" 

"Oh, that's real. I've got 82 hours left." 

He hums, watching as your eyes flash a little with your cute demeanor once more. "And the money situation?" 

"Broke as shattered glass." 

He chuckles at the joke. "Cute." 

You pout, wrapping your legs around his waist tighter. "Not sexy, stunning, gorgeous?" 

He shakes his head. "More than appearance, my dear. Body language?" 

You scoff, loosening your grip from his neck. "Yeah? What does my body language say?" 

He quicks a smirk before tugging on your white button up collar, face flush to his. "Needy." 

You whine, hips unconsciously grinding up against his own. He chuckles at the motion. 

"Submissive." 

His hand comes to trail along the skin of your neck, using his other hand to support your back. 

"Aroused." 

You whine out, pulling at his neck to bring your body closer to his. -if that was even fucking possible-

"You take too long." 

He laughs, watching you fidget in his arms. "And you're too impatient." 

"You know, I think Eun-ji tried doming you." He chuckles, pulling you up with his body a bit to get more comfortable. 

"Still naughty of you to be watching." 

You shrug, contuingng. "Just saying. I think she was like a domnatrix or something." His eyes roll playfully. 

"Why? Jealous?" 

"Of you? hell yeah. I mean she's pretty hot teacher, not gonna lie. I mean I'm sure some of the other students have thought the same-" 

He scoffs, pulling away. "Then go fuck her." 

You pout, playing with the fabric of his tie. "I'm not gay, dude." 

His eyes narrow, gripping your wrists to pin on each side of you. "Call me dude again and I'll make your ass redder than santa's fucking sleigh." 

You smirk, wrapping your arms back around his neck to catch his anger. "Oh so it's fine for you to cuss? Yeah, cause that's fair." 

"I'm older." 

"Psh, by a few years." 

"six years." 

your eyes roll at his words. "Psh, ain't nothing." 

His hands slam onto the desk, reminding you of how trapped you actually were. "You know what?" 

He backs away, leaving you frustrated on the desk. He starts buttoning his shirt once more, fixing his tie before picking his briefcase he'd thrown down for a hot minute. 

"Hey wait where are you going-" He smirks, walking over to the door, acting like he's about to walk out before you yell out. 

"Hey! You! Come back here and fuck me like a man!" 

He turns around before sending you a wink. 

"I'm good." 

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Haha. Oneshots are the easiest AND hardest things to write. This took about three days I think? I've lost count with all of my works.

For the person who requested this, you can ask for a part two if you want. (AKA lots of smut lol)

I hope you enjoyed!

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©vinntaege 2023. I do not condone any translations, copies, modifications, or repostings anywhere for ANY of my works.