#right now though i am very salty. i wanted to like this so much | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miraclewoozi · 1 year ago

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DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC. notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away. notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago.

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room.

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right.

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones.

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’.

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone.

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name.

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry).

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen.

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts.

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour.

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed?

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him.

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense.

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know.

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans?

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can.

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty.

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it.

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away.

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced.

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there.

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since.

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie.

There is one more.

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly.

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most.

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it.

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits.

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask.

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through.

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake.

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so.

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage.

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest.

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning.

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on.

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth.

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle.

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough.

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe.

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.”

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—” He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go.

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him.

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.”

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different.

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms.

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice.

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants.

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured.

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use.

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again.

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans.

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle.

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat.

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like.

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base.

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him.

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming.

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess.

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop.

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name.

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to.

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.”

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own.

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle.

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache.

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum.

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas.

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

#dino smut #lee chan smut #dino x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #kpop smut #j writes.#*#this description is ass we're gonna pretend it isnt. ok THANKS bye <3

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ladykailitha · 9 months ago

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Icarus Part 3

Hello! If you haven't seen it yet, I've got a set schedule for what story posts on what days now (as seen here) and this one as well as Well Met By Moonlight, Batshit Soulmates, and Never Hold Back Your Step... will still be posting just on rotation until I can finish some of my WIPs. (I may be stretching myself a bit thin having six going at the same time.)

In this one we have the concert. Eddie stumbles on something big and doesn't know how to deal with it all. And Uncle Wayne is bestest as always.

@emly03 @redfreckledwolf @itsall-taken @rozzieroos @mira-jadeamethyst

Part 1 Part 2

****

The day of the concert dawned abhorrently cheerful and bright. Not a cloud in the sky or any accidents that would prevent Eddie from having to take Dustin to this event. He wouldn’t deign to call it a concert. He had heard the album and seen their posters, but he refused to wander over to YouTube and watch videos of their concerts, interviews, their music videos.

He didn’t want to be even more disappointed that they were all flash and no substance then he was sure he was going to be for the next two hours.

Dustin rolled his eyes when Eddie parked in the huge concert parking lot.

“You’re just salty because I like them as much as I like Corroded Coffin,” he huffed getting out the car. “You have to concede that Abaddon’s vocals are killer.”

Eddie scoffed. “Do not. I haven’t heard them live. Way too many artists use autotune too much these days.”

“You sound like that meme,” he sneered, “‘Old Man Yells at Cloud’.”

Eddie swatted at him playfully. “Am not.” Dustin raised his eyebrow skeptically and he threw his arms in the air. “I’m not. I am a very serious musician, Dusty. The last thing metal needs is some band that can’t write or even play their own instruments. This isn’t pop.”

“You are such an asshole,” he said and turned toward the entrance, leaving Eddie to jog to catch up with him.

Eddie sighed and put his arm around Dustin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I am being an asshole. I turned into the person I swore I would never be. Those shit for brains critics that hated Corroded Coffin when we first got on the scene. And that was wrong of me.”

Dustin sighed, too. “I just want you to like them too. They are so good if you’d just give them a chance.”

Eddie breathed out through his nose. “Yeah. I can at least give them that.”

They got to their seats and Eddie was a little impressed at Claudia Henderson’s Ticket Master foo. They weren’t front row, but they were only a couple of rows back so you could actually see the stage without having to strain their necks and smack dab in the center of the row.

Dustin would have the best time. And now it was up to Eddie not ruin it for the kid. Because yes, he was still a kid as far as Eddie was concerned. Twenty-one was so fucking young. That was how old most of the band was when they got their record deal, after all. They weren’t prepared for what came next, that’s for sure.

They got settled into their seats and Eddie watched as the rest of the crowd shuffled in. They were all about Dustin’s age with very few exceptions in either direction.

There seemed to be a color theme going on with the girls in the audience though. They were grouped in clumps of red, black, blue, or white. Which made sense if each band member stuck to a certain color palette.

Well he was about to find out, he supposed.

The lights dimmed. The crowd quieted down. The spotlight lit up the drumkit first. And Eddie knew that Gareth would be drooling over it. It was all black with black metal fittings. The kit seemed to collect light almost like a blackhole.

Then from the ceiling, a man dressed all in black being lowered onto the stage with large black raven wings on his back. He wore a black hooded coat over what, Eddie couldn’t tell. It was all black. The shirt, the pants, the boots. Even his mask was all black with even the eyes appearing closed. His feet touched the ground and the crowd went wild.

“Azrael!” the announcer called out.

Azrael settled on the throne and picked up black drum sticks.He counted time above his head and played a wicked solo to the adoring crowd’s absolute delight.

Dustin jumped up and down, screaming.

The spotlight moved to the right side of stage and the next band member descended from the ceiling. Large bat wings adorned his back and he was dressed in red leather fetish gear. Complete with tight leather pants that looked painted on and a matching harness highlighting his bare chest, peeking out from the red leather hooded coat.

His guitar was fucking gorgeous, though. A Warlock, much like Eddie’s own. It was custom painted red with black flames licking up the neck.

Eddie rolled his eyes, but it seemed he was the only one who thought the whole thing was over the top judging from the screams from the girls in the audience.

He didn’t just land gently on the stage like the drummer did, oh no. He fucking stomped onto the stage with a howl.

His wings, like the drummer’s ascended back into the rafters as the announcer shouted, “Asmodeus!”

And then Eddie really did roll his eyes. The demon of lust. Of course he was.

But seconds later Eddie’s jaw dropped to the floor as the man wailed on his guitar driving the crowd further into the frenzy.

Once he finished his solo the crowd quieted again and he could see why. Because just then, descending on gossamer wings that shimmered like starlight, was their bassist.

Everything about him was midnight blue and shimmering like the night. His mask was the face of the moon. He had his own hooded coat, but it was like the night sky, with some kind of crystal or gem sewn in to make the coat glimmer like stars.

His bass was something that Brian would have sold his own mother for and they were as thick as thieves. Eddie didn’t know much about basses considering his sweetheart was an electric guitar, but he could tell it wasn’t expensive but was perfect for his style. A style he showed off with gusto to the audience’s obvious delight.

“Astraeus!” the announcer cried.

Eddie decided that this one was his favorite. It played up the whole mysterious thing without the over the top flash of the guitarist or the sheer void of the drummer.

The audience hushed as the three members of the band began to play what was clearly the lead singer’s entrance music.

And holy fuck was Eddie screwed. This man was descending like a fucking angel sent from God, Jesus pose and all.

He was all in white with an opaque lace mask that had his mouth and chin cut out for him to sing. That surprised Eddie somewhat. He figured that the guy would have his whole face covered like everyone else in the band and that he could lip sync.

But nope. Apparently no one in this band did anything by halves.

The lead singer was wearing a sheer mesh crop top under the hooded floor length coats the whole band was wearing. Only his was white with a silk powder blue lining.

Eddie winced in sympathy. They must get boiling under the lights with those things on.

A few feet from the stage floor there was an explosive pop! And the feathers from his wings flew out into the crowd who was now screaming as if their life depended on the sheer volume coming out them. He looked over at Dustin who was no different.

When Eddie could see the stage again, this angel’s wings were now skeletal and gothic.

He landed in front of microphone whose stand had been decorated with a scarf in each of of the band members’ signature colors.

“Abbadon!” the announcer yelled for the final time.

And Eddie was in love. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Dustin must have seen his expression because he was suddenly tugging on Eddie’s arm and screaming, “I told you!!”

“Indy!” Abbadon growled, grabbing the mic. “Thank you so much for having us! Let’s get this started.”

Then he began to sing and yeah, Eddie knew that the guy had charm, but this was a whole new level of epic. He was enthralled.

He didn’t utter a fucking word for several songs. But then it happened. Eddie couldn’t believe it. He hurried to snap a picture to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

But there it was it in living color. He turned to Dustin to see if he saw it too, but the kid was too busy screaming and jumping up and down.

Eddie’s jaw fell.

That couldn’t be right, couldn’t it? That Dustin didn’t know? Eddie looked back up on stage and a lot of the puzzle pieces started slotting in place. His heart sank a little.

He shook his head to clear it of dark thoughts. He didn’t know the reason for any of this and leaping to conclusions would only get a shit ton of people hurt. Especially the boy next to him.

Eddie let the music wash over him. Let the magic of metal soothe his soul. Soon he was jumping up and down and headbanging with the rest of the crowd. Right hand flashing the devil’s horns, left hand out to steady himself he let himself enjoy the band’s stage presence.

****

To say that Eddie’s mind was fucking blown would be an understatement. He pestered Dustin all the way home with rapid fire questions. Where did the band tour last time? What was their schedule this time? Was it a six month tour or an eighteen month tour last time?

Dustin answered each question with growing excitement, thinking that Eddie had finally grown to love this band as much as he had.

Eddie on the other hand felt a growing sense of dread. Well... maybe dread was the wrong word. It was certainly a sinking feeling. One he really had to exam closely.

At least he could honestly say that he fell in love with the music before he found out his little secret.

And fuck what a secret it was.

He dropped Dustin off at home and drove out to the ranch that he had gifted to Wayne when Corroded Coffin first made it big. It was a beautiful, sprawled out home surrounded by acres of land and Eddie loved it even more than Wayne did.

Eddie stumbled through the door and was surprised to see Wayne drinking hot chocolate and reading a sports magazine in his expensive recliner. And yet, at the same time, not really that surprised.

“You do realize I’m no longer that fucked up kid with anger issues,” Eddie huffed on his way to the kitchen to grab a beer, “that were almost as bad as the troubles with the law, right?”

Wayne chuckled. “Maybe so. But you’re still my boy and I’ll keep worrying about you until the day I die.”

Eddie popped open the can of beer and sat down on the sofa. He leaned his head back on the back cushion with a heavy sigh.

Wayne raised an eyebrow. “What’s stewing around in that head of yours?”

Eddie slowly raised his head. “What would you do if you accidentally found out something about a friend that they were keeping from everyone they knew?”

Wayne set down his magazine. “That would depend on the secret. Is it hurting anyone?”

“Is what hurting anyone?” Eddie asked. “The secret?” Wayne nodded and Eddie frowned, really thinking about it.

“Maybe some feelings,” he said after a moment. “But it’s not dangerous like they committed a crime or anything. It’s not even about their sexuality.”

Wayne hummed thoughtfully. “And is it a big secret or a little one?”

Again Eddie was forced to think hard about what that meant. “I guess it depends on the person, but in my eyes it’s pretty big.”

The elder Munson nodded. “Do you feel hurt by this secret?”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess I do.” He bowed his head and let out a shuddering breath.

“Is there a reason you think he wouldn’t have told you?” Wayne pressed.

“Of course no–” Eddie stopped as his brain caught up to his mouth. “Shit.”

Wayne raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Eddie admitted shyly. “There’s a pretty good reason why he wouldn’t have told me. And now I feel like the shit friend.”

Wayne stood up and pulled Eddie into a big hug. “Maybe so, but you have the time to course correct and show this friend that you are worthy of his secret.”

Eddie nodded. “Thanks, Uncle Wayne,” he mumbled into Wayne’s neck.

“I’m just glad I could help.”

****

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @goodolefashionedloverboi @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @yikes-a-bee @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @y4r3luv @cryptid-system @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar steve harrington #rockstar eddie munson #the fallen

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alonetimelover · 1 year ago

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Iga just lost 🥲 😭can you write something about that with harry? Xx

pairing: Harry Styles x tennis player!reader (she, her)

summary: YN lost at Wimbledon but Harry is still proud of her.

word count: 0,9k

a/n: had a few heart attacks while watching the match, not gonna lie. here is something that i wished i got after losing a match. i hope you like it, and thank you for requesting!

masterlist (with more of the tennis player!reader) ask, request

“So how does it feel to defeat the No. 1 player at the moment?”

Even though YN was already on her way to the changing room, she could still hear the interviewer. Defeat. Losing. Bad match. Problems. Mental blockade. Those were the sentences she heard during the past two minutes. Her face was stoic, as always. No one could know what was happening under the mask she had put on during the match. No emotions showing (which of course bothered some of the tennis enthusiasts). But just a few more steps and she would be able to let it all out, alone.

After closing the door and settling down her equipment, YN sat down on one of the benches and cried. It had been a long time since she felt this beaten and powerless. Nothing worked. And the more she tried to repair it, just like she had practiced, the more mistakes appeared.

“Get it together,” she sobbed under her breath, wiping off the tears. But they didn’t stop coming. Her face was once again covered in salty rivers.

In all her sobbing and sniffing, she didn’t hear the knocks and then opening of the doors. Only when someone sat down next to her and began embracing her, she was like back to reality. It didn’t take much to recognise the person disrupting her. His smell and the way he wanted to hold her was self explanatory.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he welcomed her, squeezing her tightly to his chest.

YN didn’t trust her voice, in the answer she hugged Harry’s waist and put her head over his heart. The beating of it, usually able to calm her down.

“Shhh.” He tried. “It’s all right. You’re not alone.”

“I’m sorry.” Her usually delicate voice, now even more quiet and fragile.

“What are you sorry for, my love, hmm?”

She took a deep, shaky breath in. “Losing. I know it’s one of the few times you see my play live. And- and we’re also in London, which you love. And-”

“Hey, hey, hey. Stop it. Stop.” Harry interrupted her immediately with a very serious tone. “None of it. Can you please look at me?”

“I don’t think I want to. I’m ashamed.”

Harry’s heart was breaking. Watching the whole match he saw how she was struggling with even her best moves. He watched her come back from losing in the second set and prolonging her time on the Wembley court. He couldn’t have been more proud. She overcame so much during this match. Yet, the outcome, he knew, wasn’t what she wanted to achieve.

“Please, YN.”

Reluctantly, YN looked up. Her puffy, shiny eyes staring right back at his loving ones.

“I am so proud of you.” Harry’s hand was stroking her cheek, drying it from tears. “Everything you’ve accomplished this year is extraordinary. The person and player you’ve become is worth hours of anybody's free time to listen to and appreciate. The path you are on, all the obstacles you’ve left behind, conquered. What happened today is a part of that path. Losing is a human thing, It's part of your career. The greatest tennis players lost some tournaments. Yeah?”

YN nodded her head, now seemingly less shaken up.

“I am proud of you. What you did today was extraordinary. No, don’t look at me like that. I’m telling the truth,” he scolded her, making her look at him by putting two fingers under her chin and directing her face towards his. “You’ve reached the quarterfinals at one of the most respected tournaments in the World. It’s huge. You're a three time Roland Garros champion, an US Open champion as well. You are the No. 1 tennis player in the world. But you know who you also are?”

YN, now looking at Harry with a hopeful and much less disappointed look, shook her head. His pep-talks would always help her. It was different from the one’s she had with her psychologist. But both were effective in their own way. Harry’s let her believe in herself, knowing no matter what there was that one person proud of her, cheering her up. Psychologist’s, on the other hand, helped her work on the emotions she had before, during and after matches, and acknowledged them at the end.

“A human. You’re the most gentle and loving human I’ve ever met. You feel your ups and downs ten times stronger than anyone else. And you care for others, sometimes more than you care for yourself. I am proud of you and nothing will change that. No match, no trophy, no point. No matter what, I am proud and I love you.”

The way those tears were falling down her cheeks and onto Harry’s lap, was not ideal but preferred to the ones from half an hour ago.

“I love you, Harry. I don’t know what I would do without your support. I really don’t.”

“Oh, you would’ve a queue of guys waiting for your attention,” he joked, finally earning a laugh from YN. Sound, he could never get tired of.

“Stop it!”

“Just telling the truth.”

Harry pecked her lips, and once more hugged her body to his. Her heartbeat finally steadied just like the breath. The warmth of her skin, even though not ideal, brought her comfort. Oh, how she wished they were just laying down in their bed.

“I really am proud of you, YN.”

“I love you.”

She wasn’t cured of the disappointment she had felt since getting off court. But she was assured that there really was someone for her, against the world, against her own judgmental mind.

Harry was there.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles #tennis player!reader

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luvrrgirl444 · 1 year ago

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chapter 14: genius

IRL, INSTAGRAM!

“hi, y/n and i’m here today with genius to explain the lyrics of my song ‘kill bill’.” you smiled at the camera.

“so, fun fact about kill bill is that it actually only took about 6 hours to produce. i, uh-” you laughed. “i saw this thing online and it made me feel some type of way, and i was like ‘i need to release what i feel right now.’ so, i took out my songbook and went crazy. i called up my friend jean, my producer, and i was crying,” you laughed again, and made a phone gesture with your hand and brought it up to your ear. “and i was like, ‘bro i just wrote these lyrics, can we make a song right now?’ and we did, in like 6 hours.”

VERSE 1

i’m still a fan even though i was salty

hate to see you with some other broad, know you happy

hate to see you happy if i’m not the one driving

“the person that this song is about is actually also an artist, and he’s actually really talented. so basically, i was saying that even though i hate that nigga,” you stuck up your middle finger. “he’s still a great artist, unfortunately. the next two lines are literal, uh, about a month, maybe a month and a half after we broke up, he was posted up with another girl. which was honestly really shitty because he broke up with me to ‘focus on his music’” you quirked your eyebrow and used quotation marks. “basically this whole song is about me being a jealous heartbroken bitch.” you sarcastically smiled.

PRE-CHROUS

i’m so mature, i’m so mature

i’m so mature, got me a therapist to tell me there’s other men

i don’t want none, i just want you

if i can’t have you, no one should

i might

“i was tryna convince myself that i was strong, and that this wasn’t hurting me as much as i thought it was, but it definitely was. literally wrote a whole muthafucking song about it.” you laughed. “we we’re dating for a long ass time to be honest, so with the ‘i don’t want none, i just want you’ lyric, it’s basically saying that i’ve been with you for so fucking long, it’s always been you, how am i supposed to move on, y’know? it’s lowkey corny but yeah. the last lyric is very um, yandere simulator vibes but it relates to the theme of the song, which is like jealousy and vengeance and possession.” you put your hands up. “don’t worry y’all, i’m not a criminal.”

CHORUS

i might kill my ex, not the best idea

his new girlfriend's next, how'd i get here?

i might kill my ex, i still love him though

rather be in jail than alone

“i can explain y’all, i’m not a killer or a criminal but imma be real, i was definitely having some intrusive thoughts. but everyone does. like, anyone who says they’ve never had thoughts about hurting someone that did them dirty, or fucked with them, they’re fucking lying, 100%. and relating to what i said before, we were together for so long. no matter how much i try to deny, the love is still there. it’s been built up for years, as much as i want to, i can’t magically forget it overnight.”

you continued on with singing the lyrics and explaining them until you completely finished the entire song.

“kill bill was an impulsive creation and release. we recorded and finished the song in like 6 hours, and i was like ‘i want to release this today’” you pointed downwards. “but everyone told me no.” you rolled your eyes. “so i asked when was the soonest we could release it, and it was like in 2 days. so the next day i posted on instagram saying that i was releasing a song tomorrow and that was it. there was no promo for it, which is why i’m so fucking shocked that it did so well. but, thank you to my fans, friends and family, i love you all. stream kill bill, album coming soon, bye!” you blew a kiss to the camera, before smiling and making heart with your hands.

liked by erenjaeger, latto & 588,087 others

y/nsinterlude kill bill interview w @genius out neowwww!! go run it up 🫣🫣🤍

comments

erenjaeger whole lotta yip whole lotta yap

⤷ y/nsinterlude BITCH

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y/nsbby ALBUM COMING SOON? HOW SOON IS SOON GIRL??

⤷ y/nsinterlude im doing good wbu

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user2000 i love u ur so real ❤️❤️

⤷ y/nsinterlude im the realest i love u too 🤍

conswife stop talking shit about connie omfg

shyshiloh i just died 😵😵

⤷ y/nsinterlude i’ll revive u bae 😘

user182 not u still in love with that sick man..

⤷ y/nsinterlude I DID NOT SAY THAT SHIT

aarlert second pic giving egg lowkey

⤷ y/nsinterlude bitch u did NOT js say that

jkirstein professional yapper

⤷ y/nsinterlude i’m beating your ass ho

user555 dont let c***** see that video..

view 86.7k others..

🦋 !

- this chapter is fr just a whole lotta yapping but 🫣🫣

taglist! <3 @lovelytayy @cyberkitty1 @sqlty @cr0quis @koreluvsspring @asp7n @lottiematthewsceo @shidousmainluvr @idontknowwhatnametochoosee @drugzforyou @astrokatsuki @crvzy-fujoshi @ncentic @ilyconnie @stellartoi @bubbabobabubbles @tee4str

#aot smau #connie springer #eren jaeger #aot fanfiction #aot x black reader #attack on titan #fake tweets #shingeki no kyojin #x black reader #jean kirstein #anime smau #genius #musician au #luvrrgirl444

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oweninadaydream · 8 months ago

Text

𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧!𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Steve and you interrupt your lazy afternoon to discuss a very serious (or is it?) matter...

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Modern!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 : pregnant!reader, established relationship, just pure fluff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 777

𝐚/𝐧 : I had lots of fun writing this at like 2 am lol. Hope you enjoy it! ☺️💐

Steve was in the kitchen, trying to cook dinner as fast as he could before your cravings had the chance to change and make you suddenly disgusted just by the smell of what he had been preparing for more than an hour. Today's delicatessen consisted of Hawaiian pizza with a side of pickles.

Normally, you would hate pineapple on pizza (you just can't stand mixing sweet and salty like that) and your hatred for pickles was known by all of your friends (specially by Robin, who had to hold up your hair as you vomited because she once gave you a bite of her sandwich which happened to contain the infamous ingredient), but your boyfriend wasn't willing to contradict his pregnant girlfriend who was extremely sensitive.

He was pulled out of his thoughts after hearing you call his name. "What's up, sweetheart? Everything okay?" he asked from his position.

"We need to have a very serious talk right now" you answered in a monotonous tone.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the end of Steve Harrington. After he felt that his heart had started pumping blood again, he hurried to the living-room where you had been chilling for most of the afternoon. You looked fine, there was nothing on fire and your stomach seemed as round as the last time he had seen it, so what was going on?

"Go on, I'm listening love" he encouraged you to begin revealing your thoughts.

"The baby is due in a couple of weeks and we haven't even decided which movies they're gonna watch in English and which ones in Spanish" the stress in your voice was easy to detect. Steve looked you straight in the eyes and he could swear that he had fallen in love with you all over again in that very instant. How could you be so adorable?

"Oh honey, I love you so so much" he cooed while leaving small kisses all over your face "we can discuss it now while the pizza is in the oven if you'd like" he offered.

Your native tongue was Spanish and ever since Steve and you started thinking about having children, you had known you'd raise your kids to be bilingual "They will not be no sabo kids, not on my watch".

Steve was more than thrilled at the thought of mini versions of you and him walking around, babbling in some strange form of spanglish. He had taken up Spanish after meeting you, and even though he was not the fastest learner, his disposition had taken him very far in his journey to be closer to you through language.

"Okay, so do you have any ideas?" he asked "Actually, yes I do" you quickly changed your expression to show enthusiasm "I've got a mental list of some non-negotiables. First, Enredados"

Steve hummed in acknowledgment as he had already guessed you would say Tangled, your mom's favorite Disney movie. Your mother didn't understand much English so this was a logical choice, as she wanted to watch the film with her grandchild and bond over it.

"Then, we've got Tarzan" "Tarzan?! The guy that sings the songs in the Spanish version is the same guy as in the English one, Phil Collins's accent is obvious. Also, y'know, it was my favorite movie as a kid" he tried to argue in a calm manner "...Well, I guess you're right. They can watch that one in the original version" One point to Harrington.

"What if you suggest one? I wouldn't want to impose" you commented. "Don't worry cielo, you keep going and I'll think of one or two more for me to choose" the fact that the first words he learnt were the pet names you liked the most was just one of the many proofs of his love for you " All right!!! So I had thought about El Rey León, Tiana y el sapo, Bichos, Aladdín..." you then proceeded to list almost every animated Disney movie. Steve could have stopped you at any point but the enamored haze clouding his thinking process wanted to indulge in your every desire.

The oven started beeping, alerting both Steve and you that dinner was officially ready. "Let's go, it's time for dinner" "But, what about the movies?" you pouted "Mi amor, we can do whatever you want in regards to our child's cinematic experience" "The bedtime stories can be in English, your dramatic interpretation of The three little pigs will impress them for sure" you suggested after realizing that you had monopolized the whole Disney films industry and feeling bad about it "Thank you, darling. Practice makes perfect"

Happy girlfriend, happy life, right?

P.D : Phil Collins ate and left no crumbs in the Spanish soundtrack, we appreciate him in this house !!!

#oweninadaydream #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x fem!reader #modern au #modern!steve harrington #fem!reader

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sinfulforrest · 9 months ago

Text

A Home drabble! Its about 1.4k words, and is about Home loving the taste of you! Contains slight elements of dubcon, some soft vore, eggpreg and a lot of tongue action!

[Home's appearance can be found here!]

Home likes to taste you, to feel you out with the long tongue that it gave its shell. Your skin always set its taste buds alight; it could taste your very emotions if it lapped at your skin for long enough, something that it liked to remind you of every now and again if you hid your feelings from it.

It’d just pull you into its lap if it sensed that you were feeling off, and it would slowly lick up from your shoulders and right up to your cheek, the pressure of its tongue deepening as it travelled further up you, and would pinpoint exactly what emotion you were feeling.

God knows how Home could do that; maybe it could pick up on your hormones or something, you wouldn’t put it past being able to do that.

The thick saliva residue used to make you feel ill, but you’ve grown used to it by now. You know better than to wipe its claim and scent off of you, so you’d smile along with it whilst cupping its unblinking face in your hands and pressing soft kisses along its sharp skeletal jawline. It would purr in satisfaction, nuzzling the top of your head and holding you tightly to it. You’d feel its body rippling and would pray that its shell won’t collapse in on itself and burst, becoming that ungodly, writhing fleshy mess that still makes you feel scared when you have to look at it.

Home found itself loving the taste of your body more appealing than the emotional aspect of it all, however, and would frequently salivate thinking about the rich and salty taste of your skin when it would make love to you. To Home, that taste couldn’t be beat- it was something that it could truly describe as divine.

One day, it decided to pluck up the courage to ask you something that had been plaguing its mind.

“Little love,” it rasps, “do you know how much I want to devour your precious form?”

The question stunned you, and immediately you started to panic- this was going to be it, wasn’t it? It’d finally had enough of playing with you and it was going to assimilate you-

“Hush, small one. Shhh...don’t be scared. You’re not going to go anywhere, you’re safe here in me.” Home whispers, holding you close. You realise that you’re shaking, and Home gently strokes your hair as it tries to calm you down.

“You promise?” You barely manage to whimper, looking up at its ever smiling face. It nuzzles your forehead.

“I promise. You’re perfectly safe, little love.”

You shakily exhale, forcing out a weak sounding laugh. Thank God you weren’t going to end up like others you’d seen.

“...I am being serious though. I want to truly taste you. Can I?” it whispers, slowly backing you against one of the fleshy walls that made up Home’s true form. You felt absolutely miniscule under its ever unblinking stare, and you didn't want to find out what would happen if you rejected its advances.

“O-Of course you can, Home. Here, let me just...” you begin to stammer, moving the collar of your shirt, but one of Home’s bony hands gently grasps your wrist.

“No. Not like usual. I want to taste you.” It grins, placing its other hand on your hip. The flesh you’re pressed up against shudders before it gives way, and Home pushes you into the unknown. You helplessly fall backwards, landing on a soft, quivering, slick appendage and are surrounded by darkness. The only light is from the entrance of this cavity, and it allows you to see the silhouettes of giant teeth surrounding you.

Your hands and feet start sinking into the warm wet flesh, anchoring you on what you now realise is a giant tongue. Saliva drips onto you in thick globs, dissolving your clothing from your body. Dammit, now you’d have to look through the assimilation pile again for some clothes that were left behind...

The tongue shudders and the tip starts swiping over your body, teasing you with its rough taste buds. It’s specifically rubbing right between your legs and there’s nothing you can do to stop it from teasing your crotch. All you can do is groan in pleasure as you sink further into the flesh, barely being able to buck your hips against the tongue to get that sweet, sweet friction to help ease that throbbing feeling from between your legs.

“Fuck...Home, c-calm down..!” you whine, drooling helplessly as the tongue picks up the pace. You hear Home chuckle from outside the maw.

“But you taste so good, little love. I really could just eat you up...” it giggles. You feel yourself getting moved further within the mouth cavity, but your hands and legs are still firmly stuck in the flesh. Panic rises up in your gut amongst your growing arousal. It gets to the point where eventually your head is laying on nothing, and you are dangerously close to being lost within this cavity forever.

“H-Home, you’re being a bit- ah...a bit risky here..!” you shout as best as you can, trying not to show your fear. The cavity shudders open and suddenly becomes lighter, before turning pitch black.

“I know I am,” it whispers into your thoughts. “But you’re safe. You’re very, very safe, and we’re going to make love here.” it ends with a giggle, and the tongue relents its assault on you before a familiar girthy tentacle bullies its way into your aching hole.

“Fuck-! What are you doing!?” You moan, feeling Home’s thin hands grasping the exposed area of your thighs. You can barely see anything- only the faint glow of its hypnotic bulbs on its chest and its eyes are visible. The sensory deprevation sends a jolt of excitement through you, however.

“Being one with you, and tasting you. Like we usually do.” Home sighs, picking up the pace. The only noises you can hear are the soft whimpers of Home, the slick plapping noises that are made when your hole greedily swallows its tentacle, and throaty, deep growls coming from the depths of the throat that your head dangles over.

Home looms over you now, resting its head by your heaving chest as its tongue curls around your nipples greedily and its tentacle continues pounding inside you. Home moves one of its hands down to your sweet spot, its lithe fingers finally being the push that shoves you over the edge into orgasmic bliss. You cry out, milking the tentacle with all you'd got.

“That’s it love, let it all out...you taste so good, you’re so, so good..!” Home whines. It holds you with an iron grip with its other hand as you tremble and shake under its worship of you. The flesh around your hands slacken and your arms, like they’re on autopilot, wrap themselves around Home, gripping onto it, stroking its soft hair, touching as much of it as you possibly can.

With one final whine, Home releases into you, burying its tentacle right into your fluttering hole. You feel a mixture of slime ooze out of you, and some of Home’s eggs being thrust within you as it keeps you plugged up. You chuckle breathlessly, stroking its hair as it continues dumping its load into you.

“S-sorry...y’felt so good...” it whines into your chest, still thrusting into you. It would be a pain to push these eggs out later, but you were honestly too fucked out to care.

“It’s ok Home, it’s...ok,” you sigh, trembling as its tongue laps against your skin, consuming your sweat and essence. “Maybe we could get out of here now though? I’d like to lay with you and get clean...” you smile. Home moves, probably to look up at you, and you feel its long hair brush against you in what you assume is a nod.

The maw opens, and you’re greeted with the soft light of your shared room once again as the tongue extends out from the wall. Home removes itself from you, slime and small eggs oozing from your hole, and it gently picks you up from the flesh that releases your flushed and tired body.

“You taste absolutely incredible though, my love. I don’t think I could ever get enough of you and your taste.” Home sighs, carrying you in a bridal carry to the ‘bathroom’.

You nuzzle against its warm skin, praying that it’ll never get bored with you.

(More Home posts can be found on its masterlist!)

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stargleam-star · 20 days ago

Text

My thoughts on Star, and A Starless Clan as a whole:

Spoilers ahead for A Starless clan amd a bit of Ivypool's Heart if it wasn't obvious. Time for me to go on a rant! It's gonna feature me mostly gushing about Frostpaw because she's the only character with enough substance to talk in length about. But I've got other things to talk about too I guess. Lets get into it:

As usual, Frostpaw was the best character of the book and honestly the most relatable. She kept Going Through It until basically the very end and I felt so bad for her.

What I am glad about though is that she got the killing blow on Splashtail! Fuck yeah that's my baby girl <3

But he did get a hit in on her before the end and left her basically comatose which was tragic. Reading Frostpaw drift in and out of consciousness and what she saw while knocked out was really cool tho. I especially liked that she got to have deeper conversations with Curlfeather. She wanted so desperately for her mother to admit fault, to show some remose for her actions. Instead Curlfeather kept focusing on how Splashtail ruined her plans, and how he's to blame. All she wanted to do was protect Frostpaw and Riverclan. There wasn't the slightest bit of remorse at all. It was so tragic reading Frostpaw wishing her mother would hold herself accountable. It really hit home with me. In the end, Curlfeather couldn't face the truth and left Frostpaw behind to conclude her mother wasn't a good person and learn to accept that so she could move on. Heartwrenching stuff imo

I got really sad when Frostpaw started taking a turn for the worse and finally got to see Starclan. She got to meet her dad and was so happy, he made her realize that she needs to focus on herself and her happiness instead of worrying about everyone else's needs. Nobody understands how fucking Relatable that is to me. Nobody come near me rn.

Frostpaw wanted so badly to finally give up and be at peace. She wanted to be happy and relax, and to help in other ways. As much as that would have crushed me for her arc to conclude with her death, it really did feel like a good end for her. She would have done so well as a Starclan messenger. She deserves the rest. Sadly the narrative didn't want that to be the end of her, so she got to come back. Hooray /s

I like the medicine cat name she was given! Frostdawn is pretty (although I am lowkey disappointed she wasn't named Frostfeather, and that's not because I wanted her sharing a name with Curlfeather. I've got an oc named Frostfeather and it would have been amazing for a canon POV character to have that name too. Alas).

I'm also going crazy over the fact that her and Whistlepaw (now Whistlebreeze) got named together. I love these two lesbians so much its insane. The speech Frostpaw gave Whistlebreeze about being a good medicine cat and how grateful she was to have been saved by her? I'm planning their wedding as we speak

Frostdawn ended up choosing Icewing as Riverclan's leader, which was the obvious choice from the start imo. Also very predictable but what do I expect from a series written for 6th graders? I'm still salty as hell we got to see her leader ceremony but never Squirrelstar's.

I find it weird that Icewing was against Frostpaw in the beginning of Wind but then came around to "omg you were right" because Splashtail got mean. It was kind ooc for her, but then again she stopped having a bigger role during that book up until the end of Star.

Why tf was Icewing's voice the loudest that Frostpaw heard when cats started singing to bring her back to life? Also how tf were regular warriors able to sing to reach Frostpaw's spirit? I get that Tree was with them, and Icewing had spent a few days with The Sisters in Ivypool's super edition, but it doesn't explain how they were able to get that power. Also it was "all the she-cats that love [Frostpaw]" which included cats such as Duskfur and Mothwing who'd been mean to her throughout a good chunk of the arc... ok. Anyways.

All of A Starless Clan should have been soley in Frostdawn's point of view. Nightheart and Sunbeam barely brought anything to the table

Might as well talk about them. I like how Nightheart's character arc finished. He wasn't a jerk by the end and started being more respectful. His POV felt pointless most of the time, but I liked getting a glimpse of the inside of Riverclan during the height of Splashtail's reign (more on that soon)

Sunbeam's POV was completely unnecessary. While I liked that we got deeper thoughts on Berryheart as a result of Sunbeam, I don't think we really needed it for the story. I don't even think the way things wrapped up between them was good.

I'm gonna talk about Berryheart now because she's more interesting. I've come to the conclusion that the Erins dropped the ball with her as a villan. By the end, she was nothing more than a traitor in every single way. She was untrustworthy and I cheered when she died. She should have died 3 books ago if she wasn't gonna do anything worthwhile. No her trying to get Shadowclan on her side to let her be leader in the end qhike trying to convice them to rise up against Riverclan was not good. It was stupid as hell, almost as stupid as her joining Riverclan and becoming its deputy

I'm gonna talk about Splashtail but there's not a lot to say that I haven't already (but I will repeat myself). It felt like the Erins were trying to remake Tigerclawstar and his villan arc with Splashtail. Think about it. Ambitious, broad shouldered, dark brown tabby tom, who conspired with cats from another clan to kill their leader in order to gain power for themself? Check. A merger of Shadowclan and Riverclan? Check. Evil cat wanting to rule all the clans? Check. A deputy slain for having a different opinion? Check that off too.

As stated before the only differences between Tigerclawstar and Splashtail was that Splashtail was a lazy coward, Tigerstar actually belived in Starclan and its strength, and Splashtail had none of the charm or support that Tigerclawstar had. Also Splashtail had to resort to threatening the life of kits to get cats to do what he wanted, while Tigerclan followed Tigerclawstar's rule because he was formidable and had cats in it who truly believed in him and his vision for the future

Splashtail was written to be so cartoonishly evil and it was a sad thing to read. I'm glad Frostpaw got to kill him, and I loved how he was tormented until the end by Curlfeather's demon spirit.

I didn't like how they implied Splashtail might be the way he was due to mental illness though. I'm probably gonna get hate for saying that, lol. But in the last book they wrote him to seem like s psychopath, as well as implied him to be schizophrenic because he was talking to someone that wasn't visible (even though he was actually seeing a real dead person. But nobody but Splashtail and the audience got to know that). They literally called him crazy throughout the last book, the entire time. And idk it just felt like they were villifying mental illness a bit as a result. Again I'm probably reading into it too much, don't come at me please

The leaders were not as impactful in Star as I'd hoped. But at least they acted and fought together in the end. I loved that the leaders actually participated in the battles to liberated Riverclan instead of only sending warriors to do it. I love seeing leaders fighting for the good of their clan and putting their lives on the line (that's what their 9 lives are for. Looking at you Brambleclaw)

I didn't like that sone of Riverclan's cats were trying to join Thunderclan near the end of Star and I liked how Squirrelstar acknowledged that they had too many warriors as itwas, and how they had to expand the warrior's den in the past because of it. Wish the Erins would do something about all those cats

99% of Thunderclan was not mentioned at all this book, including the elders + Brambleclaw from what I read (I might've skimmed iver smth tho idk) but there was mention of cats like Myrtlebloom and fucking Eagletail for sone reason (is that their name? I can't remember). Tell me why any of these cats are alive if they're not worth mentioning while we have a camp scene? At least I got to see my girl Daisy <3

A Starless Clan had so much potential and the writing and mystery in the beginning were really good. I just wish they'd kept it up throughout.

Star felt like a flat finish and while I liked the way Frostpaw's chapters concluded and the whole main plot of Riverclan without a leader, I hate that the book ended on a Nightheart chapter and that the last like was about how he "could be brave and loyal no matter what his name was." Like that was a really dumb final chapter of the arc, a genuinely novice choice. It ruined the arc conclusion for me. Frostdawn's chapter should have been last

OverallI I will give Star a 3/10, and A Starless Clan 5/10 stars. It could have been great. But then, it wouldn't be Warriors would it?

#warrior cats #a starless clan spoilers #asc spoilers #star spoilers #Ivypool's heart spoilers #a Starless clan

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neverpathia · 9 days ago

Text

well here's another one.

say hello to the voice of the paranoid. I think I made his head too big, oops.

and because I always post the lineart here's the lineart.

okay now here's the obligatory ramble

but this is a bit tricky because paranoid isn't like pretty much half the voices. he's very straightforward. I don't think his outward demeanour really masks anything too major, funnily enough, given how his entire character is driven by excessive fear and distrust and insecurity.

at the moment of writing this I am sneaking my device past curfew and obsessively checking the room door like mother dearest is going to storm in any second now so it's pretty easy to get into his headspace at least

see, it's pretty obvious that he wants safety, survival, and a solid escape away from his fucked up situation. he's like hunted in this aspect, except unlike the instinct-driven hunted, paranoid is more logical and--dare I say it?--retains more of a personality. hunted and paranoid are both limited by their perspectives (duh, they all are, like that's the thing with being a voice in someone's head.) but paranoid's train of thought is far more human. and he copes with a greater and more human range of mechanisms. like panic, denial, panic, more panic, contrived explanations, panic, and sassing the panic away. hunted....he a runner he a trackstar 🎶

there's something about the fact that he's the most given to denial, to convoluting logic. as much as he's the first voice to highlight danger and be scared, he's also often the first voice to grasp for straws and bullshit up some sort of this-cant-be-real. he wants to escape so he tries to delude himself into living in an escape. like, this dude gaslights himself into seeing danger everywhere because that's how anxiety works. half the time he tries to find a logical precaution against the (less logical) danger. but many times, he also attempts to gaslight himself into pretending the danger does not exist. stp is stp so it sometimes works. but most of the time he's met with varying shades of failure and further anxiety. and he just lives in that cycle forever. yeah no wonder he's salty

and yes it's also quite obvious that as bitter as he is (man he really drops some of the snarkiest quips in this game and I'm here for it), he still cares about living. if heart-lungs-liver-nerves is any indication. he's desperate and it's rendered him completely incapable of giving up.

see, that's the thing about anxiety. it's stupidly persistent about staying there and making one feel like absolute cow-dung.

but he wants to be there. he feels too much and it's way too unhelpful, but the fact remains that he feels. so as much as he may snipe at everyone and everything, not that he doesn't usually have a point, he still cares. as much as he fears and panics and sees everything as a potential threat, he still cares. he still sees some measure of worth and goodness in it all. this includes his companions (except perhaps narrator because that motherfucker got them all into this situation in the first place. oh, him? fuck that guy.) he still strives for some measure of genuine optimism. not just the blatant made-up explanations for coping with the fear. but he loves having a life, and he really wants to retain that life, and he wants to consider that life worth living.

I feel like paranoid is a little bit tsundere. though not as much as, say, opportunist and cheated. but it's there. he really is scared and he doesn't want to let himself trust anyone or anything at all because it may hurt him. but, like I mentioned above, he still wants to believe in them. and this dichotomy is just horrible, so he goes right back to doing what he was doing: living in fear and being sarcastically bitter about it. he still works with them, though, and at least acknowledges LQ and the other voices as allies.

he just wants to exist. then again, they all do.

okay now on the design I wanted to make para sort of like a cleric or an apothecary. I've seen a fair share of medic para designs, but it didn't really sit right with the high fantasy vibe I was going for with my little guys. so I settled for this compromise.

the collar of his little tunic was supposed to be reminiscent of a neuron. yep, he's wearing a heart around his neck. no, it was not supposed to be a ball sack despite a friend's remarks. I apologize for any inconvenience caused. also you can see that his wing doesn't fully cover his eye and he can still see through it, because he's the one who most often deduces the true nature of the stpverse. like, his perspective is still limited, but he's able to at least see the truth through it? does that make sense? it's like 12am already and I have no idea what I'm writing anymore.

went with bone because like, anatomical motifs. but at the same time there's stitches on his face and body and stuff, and the shading on his skin isn't shiny. I wanted him to kinda look like a cloth doll. I have no idea where that art of MOC was but there was one where she was like making LQ dolls before tossing them aside. that's, like, para's route so I had to do that. organic doll para. weee, he's falling apart anyway.

you can't tell me my paranoid isn't going to completely geek out over herbs and poultices. and he has a ton of messy notebooks filled with cluttered pages, diagrams and notes scribbled all over. and he tends to his boyfriend hero after adventures and stuff. yep I'm a parahero shipper go figure

#slay the princess #stp #slay the princess fanart #slay the princess vouces #voice of the paranoid #stp paranoid #i am literally doing all the fan favorite voices why am i getting no clout #slay the princess analysis

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greenaway-torres · 1 year ago

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Do you mind if I make a Captain James Hook x reader request? 🪝❤

I don’t mind at all lol. Coming right up!! Sorry if this is a bit short.

The water lightly hit your face like rain, the salty air filling your nose as the Jolly Roger went down the water at half sail. The soft sea breeze sending chills down your spine. It was some time after the sun kissed the sea. Most of the crew were either eating dinner or were playing cards on the lower deck. You could hear the cheers from them as they continued to place bets.

You had been on the ship for little over a year now after your night with Hook. I mean, James. It didn’t take the crew long to warm up to you. It was the first time in a while that they saw their captain with a genuine smile. He was always around you, a hand around your waist.

But that wasn’t the case now.

Outside of the occasional kiss, you’ve rarely seen him. At least during one-on-one time. His mind was preoccupied with his pursuit for Peter Pan or anything that would lead him to him. He was close a few times, but not close enough to get him which frustrated him. Hook spent his time in his quarters, planning and scheming to catch his nemesis. And that meant you went to bed alone, your eyes getting heavy as you watched him at his desk scribbling and mumbling.

You would feel him in your sleep, cradling you in his arms and his mustache tickling your neck. But when you woke up, he was off making his rounds on the ship.

You looked up to the window where his quarters were. You wanted to see him, but you knew by the light that he was more than likely working away and you didn’t want to disturb him.

You turned your attention back to the water before you felt a hand hold your hip. You quickly turned around to see his face. His smiling face. “Hello, my dear. How’s my sea maiden?”

You relaxed, letting out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding. All you could do was hug him, taking in the warmth of his arms. You really did miss him.

He took your hand and led you to his quarters. When he opened the door, you saw a table set with wine and dinner set for two with a flower set in the middle.

“I know that I’ve been pretty busy lately.”

“Very busy,” you added while crossing your arms.

“Yes, very busy,” he said with a laugh. “And that hasn’t been fair to you. I want to make up for that, and do better.”

He pulled out a chair, inviting you to take a seat. When you sat down, he kissed your temple. He then squatted, making himself lower so that he could look up at you. “Am I forgiven?”

You couldn’t resist those eyes of his, and he knew it. You kissed his lips, missing the way they felt against yours. As rested your forehead against his, you took his face into your hands. “Forgiven.”

Wine was poured and the food smelled good. Even though you weren’t hungry before, you sure were now. Outside of the sounds of silverware against dishes and the sound of glass, your voices filled the room. Well, yours mostly did as you shared stories of the crew. Of the bets they were placing on card games and some dares they had to fulfill if they didn’t have the money. You told him of the routine you started to keep yourself busy, and how much you were learning from the crew.

And the whole time, he listened. Never taking his eyes off of you. And you loved him for it.

#x reader #captain hook #captain hook x reader #x reader fluff #disney peter pan #disney captain hook #disney fluff #disney imagine #Captain Hook imagine #captain james hook #captain james hook x reader

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popcat69 · 21 days ago

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Maybe In Another World

"If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled?"

warning: death, blood, angst

Apocalyptic future donnie x reader (can be read as platonic or however you want)

Bits and pieces of once beautiful, proud standing buildings now decaying on the ground, pink gum wrapped around them marking its presence, large rocks the shape of spears emerging from the deepest parts of hell into the once green, enchanted globe. Dust dancing around slowly filling my lungs with a slow death, hopefully a peaceful one. Unlikely, however, I'm told it's a good quality to be optimistic. Mikey would be proud.. Right? Then again i'm mostly far beyond from recovering,

Calloused hands stiff and a victim of repeated harsh tasks that i said were easy, not making me break even a single sweat, you not allowed to be weak in an apocalyptic world, its survival of the fittest out here, i learnt the hard way, even if you try and try it's impossible to save everyone and useless, we don't have the support to help everyone. It's hard to move my eyes around, it's as if I'm crawling through a desert, everything feels so dry but it feels like I'm sweating a lake. I feel so empty, everythings kind of peaceful right now, I never thought I would experience a quiet moment since the start of this recheted downfall on my and many other lives. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, children…..

HGK!

Why is everything starting to burn? It's slow but it hurts, my skin itches but i can't move , i can't move? Why can't I move? My matted tangles locs becoming more reteched smelling and dirtier by the second. Salty drops start to run down my face, my eyes becoming less dry, its getting easier to see. There's a small blur of purple coming my way, its too far to make out what it could be but as it comes closer I can understand who it is. I want to say ‘hello Donnie’ but only my lips move and not a sound comes through them, it's weird though i don't feel motivated to say hi. I’ve always loved greeting people, maybe thinking that it would give everyone a little bit of hope that we will get out of this piece of shit world alive. He's kneeling down beside me, his eyes are shaking… he looks scared? Not like him, he's quite ‘idgaf’ about everything. He's saying something, i can't make out what the ringing in my earring is becoming louder, more uncomfortable. I’m pulled up and placed with my back leaning onto a small mountain of bricks. Dark green hands swiftly moving its way to wrap around my bloody waist.

Bloody?

Blood?

Why am I bleeding? I thought I was careful, apparently not. He looks at me as if saying sorry, i look back not really connecting the dots before he puts pressure on a wound i didn't know i had, and its if in that moment i woke up. I can hear the screaming of children, the bones that the resistance is stepping on trying to flee to safety. A hole in my lower torso spilling red profusely, how am I alive? I should be long gone. The intense taste of blood fills my mouth, spilling out uncontrollably. He just stares, i never seen anyone who looks so helpless, i don't like it, i want to hug him and tell him everything is going to be ok, it's not though. We both know it. Everything hurts, I feel like I'm on fire, I need to move, do something to try to get rid of this pain but I physically can not, my body has given up. I don't want to give up yet. There's so much still to do. I'm not ready. But I have to be, there isn't much of a choice. With the very last strength I had I was able to lift my hand, my bruised, abused hand and it rest on the side of his face. I try to voice my last words.

“I’m so proud”

Tears flowing down mixing with the blood splattered around my face. I try to get one last look but my body doesn't allow me to, it is trying to get me to rest and give up. I'm not ready but I wasn't ready for my world to become…this. I'm never gonna be ready, I think I'm starting to accept that. Maybe in another world we all lived together, happily.

#tmnt x reader #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt x you #rise of the tmnt x reader #tmnt 2018 #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise donnie #rottmnt donatello #tmnt donnie x reader #donatello x reader #donnie x reader #future donnie #peepaw donnie #rise donatello x reader #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donnie #tmnt donnie

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thiniceofeternalyouth · 2 months ago

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MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DAMOCLES SWORD

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.

Words count: ~11.5k

tw: rape

⊲ previous

It was an obscenely sweltering day. The damp air slid over your skin, touching your cheeks and arms, then slid deeper and enveloped your whole body, salty drops of sweat dripping from the back of your neck. The sun disappeared behind a shroud of milky gray clouds, leaving the world pale and lonely, and the darkness crept out of its corners. It lured people in with the promise of coolness, but there was no better liar that day than a stray shadow.

Neither ice cream, nor cool water, nor the gazebo in which you were sitting saved you. With a job like Frank's, you didn't get to choose which day you spent time together. Though the time was nearing evening, there was hardly anyone at the amusement park - only the equally desperate or busy.

Rachel was whining under your ear about wanting to go on the roller coaster again, and Frank and Kyle were soothing her, trying to tell her that after a big lunch, the best thing to do was to wait a little longer. You could understand Frank - he did care about Rachel, but as you glanced slyly at your brother and remembered his squeals, you sensed a certain falseness in his words.

"Adoptee," Rachel whimpered, almost climbing on top of you. You lazily tried to shove her off - already in her teens, she was much bigger and heavier than you, and you were afraid your bones might just broke. "Let's just leave them and go alone, hmm?"

"Rachel, don't call her that," Frank said in a mentoring tone. "Your sister might not like it."

"What?" she muttered carelessly, wrinkling her nose unhappily at the unwanted intrusion. "If she didn't like it, she would have said so long ago."

"Young lady," he addressed you gently. "Why don't ya go back to the tent and get some cotton candy for all of us, 'kay?"

You nodded obediently and took the money from his hands and stood up from the bench. Frank watched you very carefully as you moved as far away from them as possible. Still feeling like an outsider, he was unsure of himself or the usefulness of his parental lectures. Was it too late to parent all of you? "Rachel, honey," he sighed, tearing his gaze away from you - you were already talking to the salesman, poking at the display case. "Not everyone gets to talk about their feelings directly."

"What's the big deal?" the girl asked incredulously, frowning her eyebrows. "What's the problem with just saying it?"

"Because we all have different personalities," Frank answered evasively. "And there's nothing ya can do about it. Ya can only accept it, and if ya love a person, you have to accept them as they are."

"And how am I supposed to know she's not happy with something if she doesn't say it?" Rachel resented, splashing her hands. She glanced in your direction - you were still chatting vividly with the salesman, and the one making cotton candy was laughing every now and then. Is that the behavior of someone who's been hurt by something recently?

"I can't answer that question either," Frank said, scratching the back of his head thoughtfully. "I think time and empathy will help ya smooth things over. But, of course, ya'll have to learn to communicate and talk your problems out loud."

"Not me. Her," Rachel snorted pompously, crossing her arms over her chest and throwing her leg over her foot.

"That's right," chuckled Frank nervously.

They'd all let their guard down too much. The stifling, smoky air was accompanied by serious conversation, making the environment unbearable as Kyle, Rachel, and Frank sprawled on the bench like melted jelly. Each was thinking as hard as he could, though each thought was blurred into a sloppy puddle of salty, endless sweat. Every now and then one of them would jump up, breaking free from the clutches of the vile damp half-sleep as people passed by their gazebo, talking lazily about something. No one wanted to get up from their seats. No one wanted to stay here any longer. No one noticed the cotton candy vendor standing all alone in his tent.

No one noticed you were missing.

[August 7, 2020; 08:31am; hunters' hq]

There was a tense atmosphere.

Gojo hadn't said a word to you since this morning. At first you were greeted only by sleepy grunting and the rustle of sheets; everything after that was accompanied by total silence as if someone had broken a radio that barely worked. You tried to keep your distance, respecting his personal boundaries, though all you wanted to do was follow him around and ask him what had happened.

You knew how and when the sorcerer was silent, and it hadn't made you uncomfortable before, but now the silence was tearing at your nerves, and you wanted to plug the void as soon as possible, no matter what it took. For a moment, you felt like a stranger - is he behaving the same way with them?

You sat on the bed, sat in the chair, paced back and forth, keeping your eyes on his back. Gift paper was strewn all over the workroom, ribbons of crumpled tape sticking to your feet as Gojo tried to pack a small, flat box, which, surprisingly, caused you not only amazement, but also feel the sting of a needle of indistinct size, whether it barely grazed you or went straight through your heart.

You finally dared and came closer, sitting down on the table. You stared at his fingers smoothing the paper, then at his face. It was uncharacteristically blank, and it was as if you were facing not a person but a likeness of one - no facial expressions, no color. "Who's this for?" you asked awkwardly, but the sorcerer didn't respond, just cut off more sticky tape. "Satoru, did ya have another fight with me in your head?" you chuckled nervously, and without waiting for an answer, you felt empty again. Snickering and bowing your head, you poked your foot at his shin in embarrassment. "Why aren't ya saying anything?"

"Knife in my back gets in the way of talking," Gojo muttered, giving up, but you didn't hear his muffled babble.

You looked up. "What?" you asked, delighted at the long-awaited answer from your favorite voice.

"If you got someone, why didn't ya tell me?" he'd better be pouting his lips theatrically or clutching at his heart like he always did. You'd rather his indignant voice hit your eardrums again, making you squint. It would be much easier for you to endure the flashy drama than this unfamiliar, uncharted and frightening ocean of indifference. Gojo's voice may have been like the waves - soft, smooth, lulling, but it was imbued with a coldness unlike any the North had ever seen. "I'm kinda your best friend, aren't I?" he added more quietly.

"I explained already, it's not exactly a date," you tried to justify yourself, desperately grasping at the attempt you'd been given. "It's a business meeting. Really."

"How long have you been wearing dresses to business meetings?" sorcerer asked absently, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, let's just say I've never seen you in a dress, and for some... barely a stranger you suddenly decided to do such an honor," the more Gojo spoke, the more paper and sticky tape flew to the floor, and the more he thought about what had happened, the more tattered they were. "Did you even see yourself when you got the message?" he asked wryly. "Oh, I have a date, oh, I don't have a dress," he parodied your voice and your lost state, looking around the room with open eyes. "Just ridiculous," Gojo spat out quietly, nearly squeezing and breaking the gift box.

"I... I don't know what to say," you admitted confusedly, tucking your legs under you. "If ya think I don't trust you again, and I'm holding something back, I told you right away," you said, shrugging embarrassedly.

It was as if Gojo hadn't heard you. "Are you gonna take off the mask for him, too?" your palms instantly went cold, both at the question and at the sound of his voice. "Okay, I'm sorry," he tossed carelessly as if closing the annoying topic once and for all. "Here you go. Give it to Nobara," he shoved a box under your nose, poorly wrapped and ridiculously tied with a satin ribbon. For some reason, his old words about being perfect in everything came to mind.

"Nobara?" you worried, pressing the gift closer to you.

"Yeah. It's her birthday today," Gojo nodded and glanced at his watch. "That's it, I'm late," he touched his lips to your forehead, and the kiss was like water to your anxiety sprout. You should have ripped it out, but as you watched Gojo walk away, you realized that your hands were just buried in the ground. "Oh yeah," he remembered. "Tell her this gift is from you," sorcerer asked, stepping from foot to foot as he stood on the threshold. "If Nobara finds out it's from me, she'll just throw it in the trash."

He didn't wait for your answer, didn't even wait for your nod - he just disappeared from sight. You were left alone with a small box that looked like a maimed man under the care of a negligent doctor, only instead of bandages, it was gift paper. You ran your finger over the mottled patterns, repeating their motifs.

You didn't know how the day would end for you or if it would end at all - you might be here forever. It was anticipation. It was the running. From it and to it. It was something cautionary and mesmerizing at the same time, like a lonely firefly that somehow found itself in the empty, impenetrable darkness - following it, the traveler would never be able to guess whether the firefly was paving the way to freedom or luring into the abyss. It was revenge.

You didn't know how the day would end for you. You just wanted Gojo to come home soon.

The kitchen and living room looked like a small hurricane had blown through. The letters of the brightly colored 'Happy Birthday' sign hanging on the panoramic window were bent as if someone had tugged on them. There was confetti everywhere, so much of it that you could almost feel it on your tongue - you wanted to spit it out. Printed gift boxes were hiding behind the couch, shiny, colorful ribbons were tied to chairs, and food wrappers were everywhere. Though the mess looked deserted and abandoned, there was someone else here besides you.

Thinking the kids had gone to the second floor, you slipped past Shoko, who was sitting at the dining room table sipping wine. "They're not home," her warning made you stop short. "They went to the movies a couple hours ago."

You felt naked, and you clutched the gifts - one from Gojo, the other from you, which you bought in panic. "Uh," you mumbled timidly, turning around. "Okay," you didn't even have time to realize the awkwardness of the situation as your feet led you back to the workroom. "Ya know," you stopped at the threshold of the kitchen, turning around and looking Shoko in the back. You didn't know this girl, and you didn't understand why she suddenly decided to set you and Rachel up again - she had absolutely no use for it. "I just wanted to say-"

"Don't sweat it," she interrupted you unceremoniously with a wave of her hand. "I won't tell anyone," Ieiri didn't know if she was lying or not, but it was your conscience that she was hoping for at that moment.

"That's not what I meant," you cut off, and you went over to the table and sat down next to her, setting the presents on it with a thud. "I just wanted to tell you, uh...," you scratched the back of your head confusedly. "Thanks."

Ieiri stood up, and, taking an unopened bottle of wine from the refrigerator, sat back down. Her leisurely movements made you uncertain - maybe you'd expressed your gratitude in the wrong way? Perhaps you should have said something else? And why was there another glass on the table?

Shoko didn't like you, but more specifically, she didn't care about you. She thought you were heartless and didn't care at all even when her last best friend started hanging around you. After yesterday, she had come to a realization after her fear, and if she still didn't accept you, she now at least understood why you acted the way you did. Looking at your black mask, she now knew there was another mask behind it, and it was so deep in you that it completely hid your heart. "Just don't tell Gojo about this," she clicked her tongue lazily, sliding the glass toward you. "Otherwise he'll whine later about me being a bad influence on you."

You were disconcerted by this show of approval, and didn't immediately realize that the glass was meant for you. "What are you staring at?" she asked quietly, throwing back her head and glaring at you. "Drink," under the invisible influence and charms of this eternally tired woman, you obediently tasted the wine, which immediately made you cringe - it was dry and sour. You almost dropped the glass when you heard Shoko laugh. "And yesterday you were guzzling tequila like you've been drinking it all your life."

"A dubious compliment," you squeaked, pinching your nose - it stung in your nostrils so badly it almost made your eyes water.

"Oh, come on," Shoko drawled, patting you on the shoulder condescendingly. She was already fully sprawled in her chair, elbows on the back - you got the feeling she'd be smoking if you weren't here. Watching her, so simple and open, you relaxed yourself. "So," she began in between. " Who else knows?"

"Well...," you grasped your glass, then rubbed the fingers of your hands together. "Higher-ups," you said with a shrug. "Kyle, Rach, Frank too-"

Shoko, losing patience, interrupted you again. "And Gojo?"

"He's aware of it too," you rolled your eyes at her inept attempts at interrogation - couldn't she just ask the question head-on?

"And why am I not surprised," she sighed, raising her eyebrows in feigned exasperation. "Look...," her tired and detached demeanor was too quickly replaced by a fraternal and cavalier one, and you didn't know which corner to shove yourself into - the one where joy sat, or the one where wariness lurked? "Now that this is going on, and the human-alien connection is suddenly punishable, could you-"

"Keep distance with him?" you finished indifferently for Ieiri. "That's all I'm doing."

"No offense," Shoko said, refilling her empty glass. She had counted on this dialog, but right now it felt to her like two particles that were inevitably approaching each other only to collide with tremendous force and fly back to a distance whose extremes no measure known to mankind could reach. "And... No, I'm sure he'll try to break those boundaries more than once," Shoko knew him, and she was sure he would break those boundaries relentlessly and very brazenly - it was only a matter of time. "You just don't fall for it, okay?"

"Whatever," you'd already spent your whole life doing nothing but running, but next to him the landmark kept getting knocked off and you'd end up in his hands.

"I'm just...," Shoko began, hesitating, and it was the first time you'd heard her sound anxious. "I'm just worried about him," she admitted on an exhale and immediately muffled the confession with wine - dry and sour, which washed away any anxiety. "Even though that asshole spent half his conscious life talking about being alone, I've always been there for him."

"Shoko," you turned to her confusedly. "I think ya just meant two different lonelinesses."

"Maybe," she nodded, wiping a drop of alcohol from the corner of her lips. "But it doesn't make me feel any better."

The lonely gifts that had been lying on the table all this time were finally waiting for their time. When Shoko had almost finished the bottle, there was laughter and shouts from downstairs, hurried stomping and the creaking of metal stairs, and when the door opened, the whole party was in the same room with you.

You squinted suspiciously at Itadori's slightly askew and reddish face, then shifted your gaze to the same Yuta, only he was different from Yuji in that he was very embarrassed, while Megumi stood aside and pretended not to know these people. Only Nobara, ever combative and restless, greeted you cheerfully. "Hey," you grinned softly and stood up from your chair, pushing the gifts closer to the edge of the table. Nobara, completely shocked, pointed a finger questioningly at her, which made you shyly duck your gaze and laugh. It took only a nod from you for her to immediately dismiss her stunned expression and grab the larger box.

As she unwrapped the gift, you unconsciously grabbed the glass and sipped the wine, and a subdued warmth spread inside, shifting your excitement. "Holy…," the girl drawled mesmerized, gently moving the folds of delicate silk in her hands. The dress was simple, fitted and strappy, but she was primarily fascinated by its chromatic color - it shimmered incessantly from blue to emerald, each color wanting to draw attention to itself as it flowed relentlessly through the silk. "It's worth as much as an airplane wing," Nobara whispered, unable to tear her hands from the dress, though an inner voice screamed at her not to dare touch it with her dirty fingers.

"There's a receipt in the box," you said, touching the blush on your cheeks - it seemed tangible. "If anything, ya can exchange it or get a refund-"

"Thank you!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, throwing herself around your neck. You, overwhelmed with shyness and breathless, barely found the strength to hug her back. "If this is how you express your love, I'm all for it," she smiled, patting you on the back.

Another gift made her pull away from you - otherwise, she would have been hanging around your neck. You somehow reached the chair on weak legs and plopped down, taking the bottle from Shoko and filling your glass with the rest of the wine.

It turned out to be not so difficult. You were delighted by their almost unfamiliar smiles, delighted by their words of gratitude, but none of them suspected the pain of that rapture. Your fingers shook, your throat tightened, and you couldn't make a sound - you'd been in unemotional oblivion for so long that you seemed to have forgotten how to control yourself. 'Breathe,' you ordered yourself, rubbing your throat. 'It's okay.'

Before you could take a sip, you squeezed your eyes shut at the shrill scream of the girl. There was stomping and clattering, and it sounded like every chair in the vicinity was falling, and you were afraid to open your eyes. "Get them off me!" screamed Nobara hysterically, and you opened your eyes to see her pummeling Itadori with everything she could reach. It wasn't until you saw the many tiny spiders that were scattered across the table that you realized what had happened. "Rip them off me, or I'll rip your skin!" she demanded, desperately trying to shake off the invisible spiders.

"I'm trying!" echoed Yuji in her voice.

Yuji shook Nobara off with all his might, spinning her from side to side, though his own eyes were full of terror. Yuta was not trying to crush the arthropods as a kind-hearted man should, but to catch them. Megumi, on the other hand, sat down on a chair while watching this spectacle. All he was missing was the popcorn. "That wasn't your present, was it?" asked Shoko meaningfully.

You clicked your tongue lazily, shaking the wine in your glass and watching the tiny spider swaying on those burgundy waves. "Nope," you replied, pursing your lips.

When your whole body began to itch involuntarily, feeling the phantom (or not) stomping of little paws, you realized - they wouldn't forgive you. Maybe you deserved this setup. Maybe now you'll both have the same reputation whether you start making excuses or not. Or maybe the kids will figure it out for themselves, like Shoko did.

Walking over to the sink, you poured the wine along with the spider, pulling your phone out of your pocket. "I wanna break something beautiful," you muttered, typing a message.

[16:29] Mochi: u sleeping in the gutter tonight

Not the kind of message Gojo expected to get from you. Even considering the fact that you'd had a bit of a fight. With one last look at the screen, he quickly tucked the phone into his pocket, stopping himself from trying to apologize again. First, he needed to finish what he'd come here to do.

In all his time as a sorcerer, he was used to seeing landscapes like this. He was used to it, but he still didn't want to. There was almost nothing left of the small village - no houses, no trees, no livestock, no inhabitants. There were no more voices, no more dreams or hopes - it was all burning with blue flames. Branches and bone ash crunched beneath his feet, and Gojo only looked around, sensing the thin veil of cursed energy.

His thoughts were not here, not among the dozens of lost souls, but with you. The sorcerer could still feel your confusion and your awkward and desperate attempts to get him to talk, and oh gods, how embarrassed he was. Gojo had long ago learned how to talk and get on everyone's nerves, but he still hadn't learned how to talk. He remembered your frightened face when he'd said that ridiculous thing about the mask, and he wanted to bury his head in that scorched ground.

He came to the fire that was burning more than the others and stopped at a pile of smoldering beams, laying on top of each other as if someone had just broken them down like a house of cards. He stepped carelessly over them and walked to where the cursed energy was growing as if playfully beckoning to him.

The sorcerer could still hear your footsteps that timidly followed him - it was only now that he realized he shouldn't have taken it out on you, shouldn't have been sarcastic, and when Gojo remembered how he'd mocked you, a lump came to his throat. Instead of taking his anger out on you, he should have asked you not to go, or at the very least, just let you go. When the last words rang in his head, Gojo slapped his cheeks and shook his head.

As he approached the beam where the energy traces had led him, he grinned thoughtfully, kicking it aside - there was a tiny, barely visible scolopendra beneath it. It scurried, trying to get away, but not before Gojo grabbed it and held it up to his face, examining it. It didn't look much different from a normal millipede, except that its shell occasionally lit up with swamp-green streaks. "You're not the instigator of this whole mess, are you?" Gojo asked, twirling the wriggling scolopendra in his hand. "Pipsqueak," he chuckled, tossing it into the air and catching it deftly.

There was something else amid the crackling of the fire and the rustling of leaves, though he could feel no one at his back. The flames were growing stronger and stronger, pulling their burning claws in every direction, wanting to spread and take over everything around them. It was clearly the work of someone bigger, but was it here, or had it cowardly fled when it saw the sorcerer on the horizon? "Tell me, is your mother still here?" cooed Gojo, and when the scolopendra began to reach for his palm with fierce force, clacking its jaws, his suspicions were dispelled, leaving only conviction behind. As if sensing his intentions, the millipede began to shriek, its shrill cry frozen in the hot air, and it merged with the ashes of the inhabitants it had destroyed.

Gojo shook off the dust from the millipede and shoved his hands into his pockets. He moved forward a few feet, and the spot where he'd been standing exploded, fire splintering through the clear air. When he turned around, he saw a scolopendra of unbelievable size standing on its haunches, legs flapping. Its jaws snapping, it lowered itself, ducking as if preparing for another attack. "Where were you when I killed your child? What the hell kinda mother are you?" he grinned mockingly, reaching for the blindfold, but when his fingers touched the fabric, Gojo froze.

It was immature and childish, beyond anything the sorcerer had ever pulled off. Maybe the plan wasn't meant to work, or maybe it would get you to stay with Gojo for a little while longer. He couldn't accept his behavior, and there was no longer any confidence in him that you would continue to accept him like that either. "You know, though," he turned to curse, grinning sadly and removing his hands from the blindfold. "I think I'll let you hit me once."

Were you guilty of being deceived once? Was it your fault that you didn't see his true nature right away? Perhaps you should have been grateful - thanks to him and his unconventional ways, he'd gotten the power out of you, or rather forced it into existence. It was a power Rei feared himself - how did he live with the idea that he was the reason the hunters had gotten so close to them? Was he familiar with the feeling of regret? Was he familiar with anything human or was he always pretending to be?

There was only an hour left before the meeting - the most desirable and the most frightening. You'd spent the day in prostration, unable to grasp a single thought - it was as if your head was filled with a viscous absorbent cotton, tamping down your prudence. You tried to focus, looking at yourself in the mirror, but there was only one question - what kind of person would Ray see you as? Would he be pleased, or on the contrary, would he look at you with eyes full of disappointment? Will you remain his liebe after this meeting, or will you become a pet again?

It made you sick to think about it, and you didn't know why you were still looking to this creature for praise and recognition. What he'd done to you was right in front of you in your own reflection, but it was as if you were blind, your eyes no longer seeing the scars or the time you'd spent imprisoned.

Were you beautiful enough? Were you strong enough? Anything could upset him, from messy mascara-molded eyelashes to mannerisms. Ray never said what behavior he liked - what pleased him yesterday became an excuse for lashings tomorrow. You couldn't figure him out, and he remained a blurry silhouette that hurt you forever, only occasionally patting your head gently.

You shuddered, nearly dropping the hairbrush from your hands, when the door to the workroom swung open. When you saw Gojo holding his side and clutching at the wall, leaving bloody marks on it, you thought you were dying yourself. "Hey, hey," you whispered quietly, running up to him and throwing his arm over your shoulder. You frowned, sensing that he was much lighter than he looked, but you didn't realize that he wasn't actually leaning on you, only pretending to.

After dragging Gojo to the bed, you laid him down on the white sheets, ignoring the dirt. "What... What happened?" you asked in a faltering voice.

"Nothing serious," he grinned weakly, and you couldn't realize how genuine his smile was - his eyes were still hidden by the blindfold. You'd never seen him like this before. "I guess after the fight with Sukuna, my reverse technique still refuses to work as it should."

"I'll get Shoko," you stated anxiously, rising from your knees.

He stopped you by taking hold of your wrist - his grip wasn't so much weak as gentle. "I called her," he lied sincerely. "She's not home, said she wouldn't be here for another hour and a half at best."

"How come...," you exhaled nervously, holding your head. "I just talked to her literally a couple hours ago," your train of thought was interrupted by a cough, deep and hoarse, the kind that could cut one's throat. "Doc's not here either, it's Friday," you whispered, on the verge of a breakdown, and plopped back on the floor in front of the bed.

"He has an official day off?" he asked playfully, swallowing more blood than saliva. "Lucky him."

"Shut up," you cut him off sternly. As you began to carefully but quickly unbutton the jacket of his uniform, it came to him that the real lucky one was himself. As you unbuttoned the jacket, you saw a huge bloody stain on the side of his jacket that completely soaked the shirt. Holding your breath, you grabbed the edges of the T-shirt and began to slowly pull it up, the bloodier picture emerging as you did so.

It was as if someone or something had torn a piece of him off. There was an intact hip bone visible among the mess of innards - you covered your eyes and felt saliva start to pool in your mouth. "Okay," you said quickly. "You have two options. Either the old-fashioned way, with a surgical needle and thread, or... dark energy."

Gojo frowned unhappily when you mentioned a sharp object. "The second option," he said firmly.

"Ya sure?" you asked gently and sympathetically. "The first time can be very painful."

"I feel like a maiden on her wedding night," the sorcerer giggled, but you didn't even have to appraise him coolly - the karma had caught up with him. He sucked in air through clenched teeth as he felt a sharp pain in his side. "Doc's treated me before, right? So it wouldn't be the first time."

"Ya were unconscious then," you scratched the back of your head thoughtfully, but realizing that he had chosen his own fate, you didn't interfere and decided for him. You started to open all the drawers of the bedside table, but you found alcohol wipes. Wiping your hands clean, you took a couple of deep breaths, trying to concentrate. Gojo wasn't ready for this - , for some reason it hadn't occurred to him that in the case of dark energy you'd touch him. "Oh shit," you whined, annoyed. "I forgot to bring a towel."

"What's that for?"

"Then for ya to get it between your teeth," he laughed in your face again, and your patience broke. Okay, since he thought he was the strongest and most invincible, let him prove it.

The sorcerer felt the warmth of your hands long before you intended to place them on his wounded torso. He heard your shuddering breath and began to shiver himself as if in the embrace of a blood-chilling cold, but he was not satisfied with any embrace but yours. He was afraid to look at you, and he wanted to laugh out loud at how scared he was that you would suddenly disappear, taking away everything you had once given him.

When you touched his aching torso, Gojo was ready to give himself up - a quiet, unintentional moan was already there, right on his lips, and he could almost feel what your touch tasted like, but a sudden wave of agony tossed him aside, mockingly taking away the moment of long-awaited intimacy. The incredible pain was embodied in a stifled, muffled scream.

When the very first and most agonizing moment had passed, Gojo, drained of his strength, collapsed onto the pillow, breathing intermittently. "You...," he began, panting - his chest heaving in and out haphazardly. "Do you put up with this every time?"

"We get used to it eventually," you chuckled softly, still touching him and letting the dark energy spread over the sore spot.

"God bless reverse technique," Gojo exhaled in relief, making the sign of the cross.

"Eh? Aren't ya a Buddhist?" you asked suspiciously, frowning your eyebrows.

"At that point, I didn't care who I prayed to at all," he whimpered, pulling himself up. "How much longer is it?" Gojo asked grudgingly, feeling a tingling and burning sensation in his side.

"Nope," you said, and he dejectedly hung down his head, realizing you'd soon remove your hands and rob him of your warmth.

You watched the dark lines spread smoothly across him, snaking back and forth, creeping up and down his pale skin, crawling over his organs, forming new clumps of flesh and joining them together. "You... You don't want to see me?" asked Gojo weakly, wrapping his forefinger around yours.

"What makes ya say that?" you wondered, cocking your head.

"You're just now looking at me for the first time," he remarked, pursing his lips in embarrassment.

"Ah," it hit you. "Well, just...," you stammered involuntarily, realizing you couldn't even scratch the back of your head - your hands were still on his body. Remembering that, you shook your head, pushing away the thought that it wasn't getting any cooler, just continuing to burn the same way. "It's just the first time I've seen ya in a blindfold, and I honestly don't feel very comfortable."

The sorcerer, perking up, immediately pulled it off of him and smiled at the way you were looking at him just as you had before. "Is that better?" he asked softly, lifting up and resting his forehead against yours.

"Uh-huh," you chirped quietly, trying not to take your hand off him and interrupt the flow of dark energy.

He pulled away a little and looked at you, and for the first time you couldn't recognize what made his blue eyes shine so dimly. "I'll be fine. You should go," his actions contradicted his words - Gojo unconsciously pressed your palm harder against his body.

"I'm not done yet," you stated firmly, shoving him with your shoulder, ordering him to lie back down. "Ya'll probably have a high fever in a couple hours," to hell with Ray's expectations. To hell with his parenting methods. To hell with the pain he'd once caused you. You didn't want to be his pet or his liebe. If fate was fair, it will bring you two together, but you will not indulge him and dance to his tune. You've spent too long looking for him and running away from him at the same time, and even if it was your only chance to face him, you've never regretted it. Today, for the first time, you chose something more instead of revenge, albeit something completely forbidden to you, without thinking about the price you'd have to pay for it. "So I'm not going out tonight."

"Really?" the sorcerer didn't jump up in joy only because you were doing your best to hold him in place. "Mochi," he whispered into your head, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you close to him, a position that made your bent hands ache and made you grimace. "I know I acted like the asshole again. I know I have no right to pry into your personal life," his own confession came like a traitor - it hit Gojo in the solar plexus and made him gasp. "I know I had no right to lash out on you just because I got it in my head that you behaved wrongly. I mean, I... I'm still learning, really," he sighed, completely dissolving into you and no longer noticing the pain the dark energy was bringing him. "After all, it's a complicated thing. You know, this... What's it called..."

"Communication?" you ask, chuckling into his shoulder.

"Yeah, right," he laughed in relief upon hearing your reaction. Gojo was almost disappointed in himself when he remembered his recent slipping thoughts. How could he have thought you would just up and leave him? "By the way," he whispered slyly in your ear, intending to give you a slight shiver. "You do realize that you have to marry me after this?"

"You can only dream without the sparkling ring," you said just as slyly, and he could almost feel you patting him comfortingly on the shoulder, though your palms were still on his torso. It was just a joke to you, but Gojo, feeling his face burning, was already mentally in the jewelry store. "Okay," you blurted out, and pulling your hands away from him, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and laid him on the bed. "Lie still. I'll be right back."

Before, Gojo would have died rather than show himself to anyone like this, almost defeated and helpless. He'd never imagined what caring looked or felt like, but now he knew all about it, still feeling your slightly rough palms on him. He worried like a child, waiting for you, hands clasped on his chest and feet kicking as if to the beat of some song as you swarmed into the bathroom. He was glad he'd missed the feeling before, and that you were the one who'd been the one to make him stop and look around. "Take your top off," you ordered, returning and holding a wet towel in your hands.

"Take me to dinner first," he muttered in reply, wrapping up the jacket of his uniform.

His grunt woke up a slumbering memory of days gone by. "Actually, ya were supposed to do that," you muttered almost resentfully to yourself, remembering how you'd yelled into your backpack in Shibalba. "I was just gonna wipe ya, but since ya're a chaste man, ya'll do it yaself," you announced cheerfully, tossing the towel right in his face.

"Me and my big mouth," the sorcerer sighed and pulled off his T-shirt. You almost whistled under your breath and wondered about the room - how long had it been since the light ceiling had turned so gray? As you came to life, you realized how silly a statue like you looked right in the middle of the room. Gathering your strength and suppressing your impudence, you walked over to the bed and flopped down on the floor again, trying not to stare at his body. If Gojo noticed, it would only be a new reason for ridicule. "You really weren't scared?" he asked quietly, hurt, taking his time wiping the blood from his skin. Before that curse, the sorcerer had shown nothing but his own superiority even when he bled - and so it was with others who got in his way or got behind his back with the sole intention of doing so. Until recently, strength had been his only ally, but that relationship couldn't save Gojo from himself, lost and stuck somewhere in between, forever justifying his position with the fact that he alone was honored one. "Weren't you scared at all that I came home barely alive?" he continued, not raising his eyes to you. It's a strange feeling. Having shown hurt in front of another person, he hadn't disappeared, turned to dust, and no one had pierced his heart. An alliance with strength always demanded reciprocation, but weakness held him without demanding anything in return. Gojo swallowed involuntarily as he waited for your answer, and with a glimpse of you, he resigned to it. His weakness had your face.

"So what's to worry about if ya came alive?" you asked, shrugging.

"Next time I'll come dead," he grumbled, frowning, and wiped away the rest of the blood. When he set the bloody towel aside, you were about to reach for it, but Gojo caught your hands and lifted you up, throwing you into the bed beside him. "Really, Mochi," he smiled warmly, brushing the strands from your face. "Are you afraid of anything?"

"Well...," you drawled uncertainly, squirming and trying not to touch his naked body parts. "I think it's a bit of an irrational fear because it's gonna come true one way or another," you chuckled, and he didn't catch a note of sadness in your laugh. "Ya know, I... I'm afraid of missing out on a lot in this life," you admitted honestly, almost burying your face in the pillow with embarrassment.

"Why?" he grinned softly. "Quite a good fear, there's nothing to be embarrassed about," he encouraged you, trying to draw you back out - after all, he didn't often have to witness your shyness.

"And ya?" you ask suddenly, taking Gojo by surprise. "Are ya afraid of anything?"

The most expected answer in the world followed. "Nope," he drawled contentedly and haughtily, hiding any doubt behind a wide smile. The sorcerer had long ago admitted it to himself, but was unprepared to tell you - he was as afraid of saying it out loud as he was of your reaction. He hadn't been able to identify those touches that had sent shivers through him earlier, but now he could describe with precision how cold the fear of loss was.

"Even spiders?" you asked slyly, raising an eyebrow - he immediately flinched, realizing what you meant.

"I do repent," he murmured, and grabbing a pillow, held it against him like a shield.

"Ya'll tell Nobara tomorrow that it was your gift," you muttered indignantly, remembering the commotion in the living room.

"Your wish is my command, my lady," he agreed easily. In the pause, Gojo found the right moment for a transparent hint. "Mochi, listen... Have you thought of going back to that nightclub?" he suggested, his hidden doubt dispelling your confusion.

You, surprised by the question and how your thoughts coincided, nodded your head. "Thought so. Actually, for your amusement, I wanna tell ya that ya were right back then," you admitted, cautiously expecting a tease, but there wasn't even a squirm on his part. "So I wouldn't mind going there again, this time without being too careful."

"Good," Gojo chirped, snuggling up to you. You felt his pale skin blazing, and mentally swore as you obediently accepted this blessing or curse with blue eyes that didn't want to leave you for a moment.

The carpets spread out under the chairs made them look softer. It looked as if this office had been made for a very old man - everywhere you stepped, there were places to sit down. Surprisingly, there were no windows - no beautiful views of the city or the river at night, just blank walls that looked like they were about to start coming together. You were genuinely puzzled by the levitating books, but when you got closer, you saw that there was nothing surprising about them - they weren't flying, just standing on a transparent shelf that blended in with the brick wall.

There was even a personal bar counter, which was loaded with dozens of unopened expensive bottles - all the same, an interior decoration without any functionality. It seemed to be just an area for negotiations or just a pleasant pastime for the club owner away from the loud music and sweaty, heated bodies.

Your attention was drawn to the marble archway, and everything beyond it was hidden behind a heavy, dark emerald curtain. You didn't have time to skulk that way - Gojo was right ahead of you, swinging the curtain open in his own way. "What do we have here?" he chirped, stepping inside.

The space here was cramped and dark, almost intimate. There was only a wide, corduroy sofa and a table in front of it. At first you thought the table glowed, but when you looked at its surface more closely, you realized that it was actually made of a thousand tiny prehnites. They were glowing. There was an unfinished glass of whiskey and an empty wine glass with dark scarlet lipstick on it, and there was an ashtray, still smoking, and you wondered as you saw the laptop. Was it the same one?

"Okay," Gojo clapped his hands happily, and you cocked your head in surprise. He walked over to the table, and, going around it, sat down on the couch. The sorcerer remained true to his impatience - the laptop was immediately open.

"What is it?" you asked, coming closer and sitting down on the armrest.

"Password, which is to be expected," he scratched his chin thoughtfully, looking at the blank line of input. "You take a look around for now, and we'll deal with it."

"We?" you interjected, squinting skeptically.

"Me and Meg, of course," Gojo grinned, pulling an earbud out of the case. "You'd better keep an eye on me, or someone might take me away."

You froze for a second at this unexpected collaboration. "Okay," you said, still dumbfounded, then turned and walked away, looking around the office.

It looked exactly the same as it had five minutes ago - expensively furnished but unremarkable, almost empty, the only precious thing here was your time. You kicked back all the rugs that were here, but there was nothing underneath but accumulated dust. You even opened a few sealed bottles, but it really just turned out to be alcohol. Your hands were itching to do some real vandalism - you wanted to rip through every chair for anything, but you stopped yourself and headed back to Gojo.

Looking around the small and hidden room once more, you only now saw the painting hanging to the right of the couch - how could a person working here be forever under such a gloomy and blank stare from a pale girl?

As you moved closer to the painting, you gently ran your hands over the canvas as the girl seemed about to squirm from the unwanted touch. Your palms felt not a single scratch, not a single bump or imperfection. You tried to remove the painting, but it was fixed to the wall as if it had limbs, and it held on as best it could. With a hum, you felt the dagger in your hand.

When Gojo heard a tearing sound almost under his ear, he glanced in that direction, but before he could realize and understand what was happening, he was back to his laptop. It wasn't until a couple seconds later that the sorcerer realized what he had seen, and he turned around sharply. "Calm down one minute, will you?" exasperated Gojo, watching you slash at the edges of the painting canvas.

"I was just about to break something beautiful yesterday," you justified, crumpling the canvas and tossing it aside - the silver frame was still hanging on the wall, only now instead of a painting on the wall there was... A safe. "Hmm...," you drawled, tapping on the metal surface. "Can ya give me a hand?" you turned around and, smiling happily, pointed a thumb behind your back.

Gojo looked at you with a steady gaze, his eyebrows raised - you looked like a child who was always mischievous, but he didn't have a drop of anger inside to give you. Behind you, there was a deafeningly loud click and thud.

The safe door didn't look blown up - one side of the door was torn to shreds, like the jaws of a predatory beast. Standing up on your toes and peering inside, you saw that it was stuffed to the brim with money - those wads of bills closer to the lock were torn and no longer of any value. "Well, we're not leaving here empty-handed at least," you murmured contentedly, taking a step back - you took one last look at the money and sat down next to Gojo on the couch, tucking your legs under you. "Anything interesting?" you asked, peering at the screen.

"In fact, it's so transparent it's boring," Gojo admitted honestly, sighing. "No money laundering, no fake financial statements, no shady dealings," he muttered, running his eyes over the lines of yet another document. "But there is something," he clicked his tongue, opening another tab. "Does the name S&M mean anything to you?" asked Gojo, looking at you closely.

"Uh...," you pondered, looking not in front of you, but inside yourself. "No," you shook your head, still not remembering anything, and pressed your lips together. "What is it?"

"All the financial records show the same account," Gojo said, scratching his temple. "It belongs to S&M Construction Company, and Meg already made a bank statement, look," he opened the statement and you stared at it. "They seem to be the ones sponsoring this club," Gojo ran his finger down the leftmost column where the construction company's account appeared. "Right here is the personal account for this nightclub," he pointed to the rightmost column. "All the transfers match all the documentation," Gojo said, looking at you warily, but you, trying to make sense of all the symbols, didn't notice the worry in his eyes. "Except for one thing. There's an amount here that is very large and stands out from the rest, and it's not transferred to the club's account, but to the personal account," your gaze stopped on the line that stood out. Gojo gently, slowly took your hand in his, intertwining his fingers as if to keep you from falling.

"What do ya think 161 million yen looks like?" you asked thoughtfully, swinging your legs over the table. The sudden dizziness had erased all clear images from your eyes, and you could barely make out the money in the safe. You, now realizing exactly what was there, turned around and stared at the statement again. That transfer was dated the day after Kyle's death.

"Maybe it's just a coincidence?" he suggested softly, not believing himself.

"Who...," you began, nearly swallowing all the words. "Who does this account belong to?"

"Mochi," he whispered. "Do you know someone named Takamura Yoichi?" when you nodded silently, Gojo realized that he had been following you all this time, not realizing that you were lost yourself. He would have been able to give you anything, tear out anyone's wings just to keep you from falling into the abyss right now. Even if the wings didn't save you, he was already ready to pull you back and, if need be, take your place altogether. "Meg, can you get the address of the head office?"

***

Everything she'd done seemed to have been for nothing. The ghosts of Danielle's deeds haunted her, cornered her, and when she slowed down because she was tired, it dug its sharp claws into her back, crept higher, leaving lacerating scratches, and finally reached her mind. Her legs and arms grew weak, and sometimes she couldn't hold a glass of water - she saw blood everywhere. Even on her own hands.

It was quiet, but not for her. Her ears were ringing, and it sounded like someone was sharpening knife blades right next to her, sparks flying in every direction, hitting her eyes and making them water. Her lips trembled as if there was nothing around her but immense cold and hunger, not even the warm, subdued light from the chandelier above her, and she felt as if she were the only one in the spotlight, defenseless, naked, unable to fight back.

When she was required to do something, she was usually found in unremarkable alleys, cheap and godforsaken eateries, but she had never been called directly to the office of a superior. How long has it been? Five minutes? Ten? Only Christian and Yoichi were here, and they hadn't said a word to her since Danielle had gotten here. The girl stood with her head bowed as if expecting to be hit.

It wasn't total silence - the men were talking quietly among themselves, and Danielle, unable to make out clear words, trembled again, the disorderly muttering seeming to prey on her, wanting to close its paws around her thin neck. "If you...," she began in a gray, thin voice, drawing attention to herself. "If ya have called me to give me a mission, I'm afraid that's impossible," she stated, coughing. "I am not of the old generation."

"Oh," Yoichi marveled, raising his eyebrows and flashing a smirk. "Did Y/N really put you through isolation by officially making you a voidrunner?" he asked, smiling wryly.

"No," Dany admitted weakly, biting her tongue.

"That's rather odd," the higher-up shook his head sympathetically. "You've been under her command for over five years now, and yet you still walk around as an apprentice. Is it because she doesn't trust you?" the girl's fragile conscience was splintering more and more with every word uttered. "Maybe she's doing the right thing after all?"

"Why did you call me?" she asked quietly, ready to do anything to make it stop, but unfortunately for her, wishes did have one very unusual, albeit rare quality - from time to time, they came true.

When Yoichi opened his mouth, Christian lightly held up his palm, telling him to shut up. "We just wanted to express our gratitude," he smiled softly, which warmed the girl - she almost stopped shaking. Christian took out a small briefcase from somewhere below and placed it on the table.

Dany stared at him in horror. "I'm not taking anything from ya," she shook her head desperately, involuntarily backing up a step. "I-I didn't do anything like that."

"Really?" wondered Christian sincerely. "You did, and a great deal," whereas before Danielle's memories had been separate entities catching up with each other, now they all came at once upon the girl. Her actions were very far from exploits and incredibly close to betrayal, and the realization, taking the form of tears, overtook her. "I know your performance was far from perfect, but it was your doing that put Y/N in the void without a watch or phone," he reminded her, shrugging indifferently. The floor beneath the girl's feet became a viscous and sticky soil, like a swamp. "But you didn't know she'd find her way out then. You're the one who got your boy talking about the void, and he got so into it that he ended up there, though you were worried sick about him," he savored the way the already fragile girl in front of him grew even smaller. "And on top of all the information you gave me, you're the one who made Y/N stay that day."

"No!" she bellowed hoarsely in his face, raising her head. "She... I wasn't the reason she didn't go on the raid that day," she sobbed raggedly, hiding from the two pairs of mocking eyes again. "I had nothing to do with that."

"Maybe," Christian agreed with her cordially. "But in the end it was you who reported that Kyle was coming, right?"

"Just tell me what ya need," she began choking, not daring to wipe away the tears that flowed relentlessly down her face.

"Well, stop crying, child," Christian consoled her. "Come up," Danielle, exhausted and embarrassed, obediently climbed the steps to the table. "As promised, that was your last assignment. We called you in today just to thank you, that's all," he soothed her in a soft, enveloping voice, and she, relieved that the viscous floor was no longer trying to drag her down, sobbed softly. " But since you don't want money, I'll just have to give you my gratitude. One more thing," he looked the girl carefully in the eyes. "We promise that Megumi won't be touched by anyone. You don't have to worry about that anymore."

Danielle nodded, barely aware of her surroundings. "Can I go now?" she asked barely audibly, mechanically.

Yoichi and Christian exchanged glances, the latter noticing nothing but predatory urging in the former's eyes. "Have fun," Christian smirked quietly, indicating the girl with a nod.

Yoichi stepped around the table and leaned on it, stopping beside the girl. She didn't raise her head, her face hidden behind golden hair that had lost its shine, now resembling straw rather than jewelry. Removing a strand of hair from her face, he saw her glassy gaze, but it wasn't empty at all - terror and fear swam in it. "Since you've already stirred in the dirt, you're not going to say no to me, are you?"

She had no strength to resist. She felt neither hands nor feet, remembered neither her aspirations nor her desires. All she wanted when she was roughly taken by the neck and leaned against the table was death, to be rid of those slippery hands that had torn her blouse from her back and were clutching her body. The tainted places fused like metal - the girl wanted to just melt away, to dissolve, to get rid of suffering and torment, but every painful thrust brought her back to reality, forcing her to memorize every humiliating moment.

Christian could not take his eyes off her naked, defenseless back as if it was begging to be torn off. She didn't even scream or beg for help - she just whimpered and sobbed quietly, which made him want to praise her. He loved obedient pets that accepted their fate favorably.

With a satisfied hum under his nose, Christian got up from the table and headed for the exit, no longer paying a second of his attention to the torment of the other person, small and fragile, who seemed about to fall apart without leaving a bloody stain behind. As he stepped outside and closed the wide doors behind him, Rei was pleased with what had happened - he was long overdue to remind you of the consequences of your worthless stubbornness.

This feeling was fickle, windy. It would abandon you, then come again and make you work even harder, taking away your peace and sleep. It was acting on your nerves, constantly breaking them, then exploding in your imagination with bright realistic colors, made you calm down, leaving behind a bitter taste of unrealization. Revenge roamed around you, humming its cold songs, reciting its relentless mantras, but as soon as you turned to it, it ran away. As soon as you gave up on it, it crawled back again, begging for forgiveness.

Hundreds of windows looked down at you from the skyscraper, each with its own eyes, its own thoughts, and its own life left behind. Glass shone brightly, shimmering in the sunset light as if trying to remind you of what life was really like, but you saw no other color than retribution.

It was his own choice, and you couldn't accept it. You wanted to beg and demand that Gojo leave everything else to you, but he followed you everywhere - you were beginning to choke on the feeling that you couldn't escape. You were torn by insecurity under the oppression of blue eyes from which there was no hiding. A simple desire, hidden in the unchanging silence - you wanted to be alone, not thinking for a moment about what would happen to you if you were really abandon.

Gojo never voiced his concerns aloud, only held your hand in his persistently and annoyingly as you stealthily passed the reception desk and made your way up the interior fire escape. You were annoyed. No, rather you were angry - a feeling that roamed to depths no ordinary man could reach, but a sorcerer never was. In your touch, weak and almost squeamish, Gojo felt he had no place here, but he couldn't leave you alone with something dark, always wandering around, wanting to lure you in and then tear you apart. It would take on a clear shape, and then it would dissolve back into transparent smoke, leaving no chance for the sorcerer to reach out and be the first to kill. All he had to do was get on your nerves, not letting go of your hand, and keep silent about the fact that his rage was much stronger than yours. Someone was trying to take away his sacred creature, but for the first time, Gojo didn't have the strength to do anything about it.

When you got to the right floor, the sorcerer was ahead of you. Gojo opened the door with a light movement, hiding you behind his back - there was a pleasant bustle on the floor. The employees, tired and happy, were about to go home. Some of them were discussing how and where they would meet and where they would eventually go. Some of them said that there were delicious food just around the corner, others objected, telling about some bar that had huge discounts on alcoholic cocktails. Gojo whistled, drawing everyone's attention to himself. "Where's the head's office?"

"Further down the hall...," one of the employees said dazedly, pouring herself some water from the cooler.

"And who the hell are you?" bellowed a man suspiciously in your direction, already wearing a coat - the sorcerer, without thinking, squeezed your hand harder, and you ran. "Hey!" yelled the man in your wake.

The corridor felt infinitely long. It seemed as if there were no people running behind you. Your heart refused to beat - it was tired of the eternal worry and tossing, the doubts and fears. The door was near and it was only a short distance away, but you felt as out of breath as you had ever felt before - no days in the void could compare to this moment. Were you ready to plunge the dagger into Rei's heart? Or would you be too weak as you always were?

The open door sounded like a gunshot. There was no one in the room, nothing but the table where the note had been laid. You smirked wistfully, wiping at your eyes - note was akin to an eyesore. Pushing away everything that kept you afloat, from hope to Gojo's hand, you walked over to the desk and picked up the piece of paper. After a moment's hesitation, you turned it over and were greeted by a refined, painfully familiar and mocking handwriting.

"You're late for dinner, liebe."

You had money to pay him back. You had jewelry to throw in his face. You had a soul to sell. But you knew what Rei would take his payback with, and he would do it gradually, agonizingly long, painfully twisting your swords. Maybe you really should have just given up, then none of this would have happened. It was all your fault, and your selfish desire to live.

The phone vibrated in your pocket and brought you back to reality. Seeing the doc's name, you answered the call. "Speak," you gritted through your teeth, crumpling the note in your hand.

"Go home. Now," he ordered and immediately hung up.

You knew that this was just the beginning, but what hurt the most was that you had just been twisted like a puppet, and then all the strings and limbs were ripped off, leaving you lying in the corner, unable to do anything about it. You could only hope that someone would find you, pick you up and glue you back together, and do it so firmly and carefully that no force could break you again.

But as you lay there alone, all you could do was store up the rage inside, and the more there was, the more it festered, growing and leaving behind bloody trails that obscured all common sense.

Revenge, baring its venomous fangs, has once again sunk into your heart.

You, frightened and out of breath, were stunned to find yourself here in the alley. That same cotton candy tent stood far away, though it was still visible. What just happened? How could you have moved here so quickly? "Hey," someone behind your back said and put a hand on your shoulder - you, choking on the flame that burned your chest, recoiled in fear and backed away.

A strange man stood before you. He was scrutinizing you carefully, almost caringly as if he was afraid that he might hurt you with his light touch, or was it something else you didn't know? "Don't be afraid of me," he said softly, squatting down. You, having learned from Frank's stories about strangers, were ready to run or pounce on him. You watched cautiously as the man bowed his head - you couldn't quite make out his face. "I have to show you something to make you believe me," you didn't have time to step or squeak - the man raised his head, and you met his dark, all-consuming eyes.

You no longer felt the stuffiness of that day - this man dispelled it with his voice, which was akin to a cool breeze. "Who are ya?" you were still as frightened, but intrigue took over, and you remained standing with the man in the alley.

"You know what I am," the man smirked softly, rising. "A demon, of course," there wasn't an ounce of malice or predation in his voice, his eyes didn't scream that he wanted to tear you apart - the kind of picture Frank had never told you about. "At least that's what the hunters call us," he added as if he'd read your mind. "In truth, though... I'm a part of you, you might say. As you are mine," the man smiled warmly as your fear was replaced by confusion. "And we have many such parts."

"What are ya talking about?" you alarmed, shaking your head. "I... I'm not like ya. I'm not...," feeling tears come to your eyes, you quickly brushed them away with your hand. "I'm sorry, I' have to go," you apologized, stepping awkwardly from foot to foot.

"Are you sure you want to go back to them?" you paused when you heard his attentive tone and heart-piercing question. Turning around, you met the same black eyes that held no spite in them. "Next to them, you can't even laugh normally, can you?" the stranger sighed sympathetically, examining you. "Believe me, I know the feeling," the man stated, and you, suddenly feeling the truthfulness of his words in your chest, could no longer budge. "The feeling that you don't belong here. The feeling that you have to constantly hold back just to be accepted as an equal," you couldn't tell if those were actually your true emotions. You felt as if someone was ordering you to experience this gamut of feelings that overlapped one on top of the other. "You can come with me," he said firmly, letting you know that for the first time in your life you had an escape route.

You turned around, anxious and worried again. Frank was already outside that tent, talking to the salesman, gesturing vigorously - even from here you could see that he was worried. Kyle and Rach were nowhere to be seen. Where'd they go? Had they noticed you were missing? "I know this isn't an easy choice for you," the man sighed understandingly, looking with you at the people you hold dear. "But next to us, you'll be able to laugh when you want to," he continued to pull the threads of your thoughts as he pleased. "You'll be able to cry when you're hurt or sick. And no one," he pressed the last word. "No one will dare judge you for who you are."

Whoever you really were, some part of you really wasn't from around here. It didn't belong to this world, and this world didn't belong to her. Always suspended, standing in the middle, not knowing which way to go. Constantly holding back it's hearty laughter and genuine tears, just so it wouldn't hurt anyone. Will they miss you if you leave? Or would they breathe a full sigh, getting rid of the burden that they never raised their hand to kill before? "Fine," you said hollowly, watching as Frank slapped the counter with force. Though n if they genuinely loved you, it couldn't make them safe from that entity inside you that didn't love anyone.

"Really?" marveled the man joyfully. Deep down, he didn't expect you to agree so easily - he was ready to persuade you further, to give you arguments, but as a special method of persuasion, there was a strand of red hair in one of his hands, hidden behind his back, and as soon as you agreed, it immediately turned to dust. You seemed to be obedient as it was. "You can call me Rei," he said, holding out his palm to you. You took it and felt a lightness as if the emotions that had been built up in your soul were immediately released, making room for a new future. "Come, liebe. I have much more to show you."

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