#seems to have really dinged their view count

[cyberseong]

after hours.

pairing: seonghwa x f!reader

genre: smut/pwp, established relationship, idol au.

warnings/topics: there’s quite a bit of plot before it gets to the actual smut, seonghwa is pissed in the beginning, somnophilia, but everything is consensual, slight dacryphilia, dry humping, unprotected sex, plot twist(?) at the end ig.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: hi! this fic is slightly proofread but there’s still a possibility that there might be minor errors, but regardless, enjoy!!

seonghwa quickly exited the dressing room and back into the waiting room backstage; y/n was not present, so he began to check other locations such as the makeup and hair rooms and the small kitchenette.

he eventually concluded that she was simply not in the building.

seonghwa dialed her number over 10 times, each going directly to voicemail. anger was bubbling up in his throat; what reason would y/n have to leave the venue, especially after that was the only thing she promised not to do?

“hey, i know you guys don’t plan on leaving right away— but i’m tired, and… y/n is waiting for me at the hotel. so i’ll be leaving early. everyone did great and i’m so proud of all of you, but we’ll speak more tomorrow!” seonghwa tried to sound the kindest he possibly could, knowing the circuits in his mind were about to overheat and spark with fury and betrayal. he definitely didn’t want the rest of ateez to see him like that.

he ran out of the side door, immediately rushing to their van where their manager was waiting. “hey, could you take me back to our hotel early? i– i’m really not feeling well,” seonghwa’s words came out fast and nearly incomprehensible. the manager looked at him with worry, but he quickly nodded and started driving. their hotel was only 3 minutes away by car, so it didn’t take long for them to appear in front of the building. to seonghwa, however, it felt like ages until they reached their destination— he had no idea what y/n was doing right now, or even exactly where she was, and that thought alone was killing him.

as soon as the vehicle went into park, seonghwa jumped out of the van, quickly thanking their manager before rushing into the lobby. he entered the elevator, which, thankfully, was completely empty. he was way too distracted for fan interactions at that moment. his sole objective right now was to see his girlfriend.

slowly, the elevator approached the hotel's highest floor, and as soon as that ‘ding’ was sounded, seonghwa bolted out through the elevator doors and into the hallway. he found his way to room 1117, where he tapped his keycard against the door and opened it once he heard the lock click.

the room was dark, but he noted that the shoes y/n wore to the show earlier were the first thing he saw when he walked in. that was a dead giveaway that y/n was in this room.

“y/n. care to explain to me why you left the venue mid-concert? i’ve been looking everywhere for you, i mean you could’ve left a text, or a note, or someth– oh.” seonghwa’s confronting words quickly came to a stop when he realized y/n wasn’t listening; she was sleeping peacefully on the king mattress that swallowed the entire room. she wore one of seonghwa’s oversized animal crossing shirts and, from the dark out line of her hips and thighs, what seemed to be nothing but underwear on the bottom half of her body.

seonghwa’s entire being shivered at the sight— even imagining y/n coming back to their hotel room to wait for him like this sparked arousal within him. he took a deep breath before quickly kicking off his shoes, trying to get into the bed with the least movement and noise possible.

as his eyes had gotten a chance to adjust to the room's darkness, seonghwa could fully take in the view before him. the shirt had bunched up around y/n’s waist, presumably from moving around in her sleep. she wore a white lace thong that didn’t even try to cover her ass— seonghwa whimpered at the glimpse alone, his pants getting tighter with each thought that formed in his mind about y/n and he just knew he had to do something other than whine quietly like a bitch in heat.

seonghwa held his hips close to y/n's, thrusting up slightly in hopes of feeling any form of friction he could get against his dick. one hand of his rested on your hip as to hold it in place; the other remained over his mouth to block any of the sounds he was making from the oversensitivity. it’s not like an effort to keep quiet would work anyway— seonghwa’s lips were only a few inches from y/n’s ear, and they both knew seonghwa was rather vocal whenever he was worked up. the soft yet violent bucking of his hips against y/n’s soft skin caused her to move in her sleep a little, but seonghwa was too far gone that he couldn’t get his body to stop. tears began to drip from his eyes as his eyebrows furrowed, not being able to handle the feeling of his clothes against his overstimulated cock anymore.

his whimpers were no longer even given an effort to be held back anymore as he pushed his pants and boxers down his legs, using precum as lube before sliding carefully into y/n’s pussy in hopes that it wouldn’t wake her from her slumber. seonghwa couldn’t hold his moans in any longer as he bottomed out— his mind was overwhelmed in such an amorous haze, feeling as if nothing he was doing could help him reach his release. he couldn’t even thrust properly, which led to his hips randomly bucking harshly against y/n’s cervix. he was subconsciously holding a strong grip on y/n’s hips to the point where he was almost sure there would be bruises in the form of handprints in the morning. he placed is face against the crook of y/n’s neck in attempt to muffle the noises that proceeded to slip from his lips, causing vibrations to spread through y/n’s body. seonghwa felt y/n push back against him slightly— the unexpected movement caused him to snap as he immediately felt his body reach it’s climax. he thrusted deeply a few more times before pulling out, immediately painting his cum across y/n’s ass. his frame twitched violenty from overstimulation as he laid on his back, attempting to catch his breath and come down from his climax.

after a few seconds of silence, y/n turned onto her other side to face seonghwa. propping her head up with her arm, she confronted seonghwa. “you could’ve woken me up, you know i wouldn’t have minded.”

seonghwa jumped at the words— he had been way too fucked out to realize that y/n was awake. “what? wait, how long have you-”

“how long have i been awake?” y/n giggled slightly, placing a soft kiss onto seonghwa’s lips before she continued speaking, “since you came through the door, hwa.”

[dstryvampres]

Come On Baby(Light My Fire) - Neil Lewis x Reader

MINORS DNI !!!!!

inspired by this song.(Light my fire by the doors)

Pairing: Neil Lewis x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: weed use, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, sex while high, reader likes the doors sorry I forced that on you

Summary: Neil always comes after his shift to visit you on your late night shift, today he decides to bite the bullet and finally buy a CD from the store, and also ask you out I guess.

A/N: I've been on a huge doors kick recently and I really just wanted to force it onto you guys, and also neil because I love him. love my two male wives neil lewis and Jim Morrison xoxo

Exactly on time, 9:06pm, is when Neil Lewis prances into your store. The ding of the bell on top of the store’s door, every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, close to the exact same time of 9:00pm to 9:10pm, was always Neil Lewis. He got off earlier on those days, having one of his friends and co-workers able to cover the last three hours until midnight that Gumshoe was open. You, unfortunately, were stuck until past midnight at your family owned music store, which Neil seemed to take advantage of as much as possible.

“Hello,” Neil greeted you coyly, walking up to the cash register where you stationed yourself for the night.

“Can I help you with anything?” You ask Neil, knowing you absolutely cannot.

“Nope.” Same answer as always.

Neil seemed to have no interest in music at all. Possibly only ever coming in here for a brief chat with you, then a quick stop by the soundtrack area of the store, then the discount area, all while still trying to hold a conversation with you. He would leave around 10 to 10:30pm, only to be back again the next day he could. Sometimes, you enjoyed his company, the jokes he cracked were funny, and he understood your struggles of working at a very niche sector of business. Other times, you wanted to beg him to get out of the store as soon as he came in. Possibly the latter is the case tonight, his big ass head is blocking your view of The Doors: Live at the Bowl ‘68 currently playing on the TV.

“How’s work been going for you?” Neil asks.

“Slow.” Tonight you’ll entertain his presence.

“Really? It was quite busy for a Monday at Gumshoe,” Neil gloats, smiling to himself, far too pleased that his store was doing better than yours.

“Oh yeah? All five of the movie nerds in the city came over today?” You tease, rolling your eyes at Neil’s gloating.

“Actually, it was mostly new people today,” Neil says, turning around to look at the TV now.

“Oh great, just what this world needs, more Gumshoe regulars.”

“You say that like anyone who frequents this store is any better. All that TV plays is music for pretentious losers, like yourself.” Neil glares at you from the corner of his eye, annoyed, but the smile on his face makes his expression more teasing.

“Atleast people know The Doors. Everytime I walk into your store the TV’s always playing something no one’s heard about,” you retort, going back to focusing on the performance instead of Neil.

“I’ll have you know every movie I play at Gumshoe holds importance, and is something everyone should know, even if they don’t,” Neil sighs, “I’m looking to educate the public.”

“How noble.”

Neil scoffs at your comment before walking off to the discount section of the store, leaving you to watch the TV alone. Even on your busier days the store seemed to slow down at this time. Usually it is just you and Neil when he comes in, maybe an additional straggler present who came into the store knowing what they wanted already. Now that Neil’s at the discount section, you know he’ll be busy for a little bit and decide to step out from the cash register to do some cleaning for the night. Mindless work to help you go home quicker when the store finally closes its doors to the public at 12am. Your boots thump on the concrete floor as you walk around the store to put everything back to normal. Letting Neil do his rounds around the store.

Ding.

Turning around to the noise, you find Neil smiling in front of the cash register. Tonight, he’s finally buying something. You never thought the day would come. Neil, a paying customer, and not just a window shopper. You rush over to the cash register to ring him up, excited to see what he finally thought was good enough to buy here.

“Woah! Slow down, you’re acting like I’m robbing you instead of buying from you,” Neil laughs, putting the CD down onto the counter.

It’s The Doors self titled album. You look at him with a quirked eyebrow.

“The performance on the TV persuaded me,” he smiles, looking away from your gaze.

“You always striked me as a vinyl guy,” you take the CD in your hands and open it, making sure the CD isn’t scratched before scanning it.

“I am, I just wanted to listen to it in my car. I was actually hoping that – uh – you’d come listen to it with me after your shift ends,” Neil gulps, wringing his hands out.

“Sure. Why not?” You hand him the CD, “That’ll be 20 dollars and 65 cents by the way.”

“Really? I mean– great. What time do you get off?” Neil slides you the money, you can feel how sweaty his palms are just from the money.

“12:30am, sorry for the wait,” you respond, now leaving the change on the counter to avoid another sweaty palmed encounter with Neil.

“No problem at all! I’ll see you at 12:30 then!” Neil exclaimed, waving a quick goodbye to you, CD and change in hand, before exiting with a huge smile on his face.

୨ৎ

The last three hours of your shift went quite smoothly, a lack of customers allowing you to do most of your closing tasks before the store actually closed and at your own pace. You couldn’t tell if you it was because closing was so easy today or because you were seeing Neil after your shift, but your body felt weirdly tingly with excitement. Neil’s car was parked right outside of the front door of the shop, it was hard to miss because of this, and also because Neil rolled down his window and as soon as you stepped out of the shop he yelled your name and then motioned over. Quickly you lock the door to the shop and open the door to Neil’s car, sliding into the front passenger seat.

“Thanks again for coming out tonight,” Neil said, giving you a soft smile. He then reaches over to the glove box to pull out the CD he just bought and hands it to you. “Will you do the honours?”

“Of course,” you open up the CD’s jewel case and carefully slide the CD into the cars slot.

Neil started driving as the CD whirled around without any noise, before finally the sound of the soft percussion started the album off. You let the song settle into the car staring out the window as Neil drives around, seeming to drive around aimlessly.

“You want to go anywhere in specific?” Neil asks. He had let it get to the second song of the album before saying anything.

“Not really no…” you muse, biting your lip in thought for a couple seconds, “you know for my first time experiencing this album fully, I was high. If you’re not into that it’s no big deal, but, if you are, I have some pot back at home.”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Neil sighs out, “Lead me there.”

You lead Neil through a stream of winding roads and suburb strips until you guys reach your apartment complex. Allowing Neil to park in a guest spot, he pops out the CD and puts it back into the jewel case. You lead him into the building, and up the elevator. Fiddling around with your keys at your door, before pushing it into the lock and letting the both of you in.

“It’s a little messy, didn’t know I’d have a visiter tonight,” you apologized, closing the front door behind you with your foot and putting the keys on the wall.

“Oh, it’s no worries. You should see my place,” Neil jokes, kickings off his shoes waiting for you to lead the way.

After working off your shoes you lead Neil to your kitchen. Squating down and rummaging through the back of a bottom cupboard until you find your stash in an air tight container. You pull it out of the cupboard, a couple prerolls and some edibles sit in the clear container. Good enough for tonight.

“Shall we?” you ask, standing up and grabbing your lighter.

“Take me away,” Neil says, you take his hand and lead him out to your small balcony.

Your CD player is still out here from last night, you were in a rush to get to the store after sleeping in and forgot to put it back inside. Luckily it didn’t rain and the player is in the same condition it was as before. Neil hands you the CD and you pop it into the player, in return you hand him a joint.

“Let me tell you, this album is amazing sober, but I dare say it’s even better high.” You light his blunt before lighting your own.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Neil says, settling into the lawn chair.

The album starts up once again, ringing out between the two nof you. This time, you feel ths silence is less awkward.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while,” Neil admits, out of the blue.

“Really? How long?” You look over at him, a blunt in his hand as he stares out into the city.

“Yeah, about half a year now. I don’t come into that store because I like music, y’know?” Neil looks at you now, only you.

The lighting from inside your apartment behind him lights up his beautiful bone structure, the light of the fire of the blunt lights up his eyes, and the brief light from the city allows you to catch all the high points of his face. You didn’t realise just how beautiful Neil was until now.

“I mean I could tell you didn’t care for the music, but I just thought you were bored,” you take another hit.

“I mean the first couple of times sure, but I don’t know, there was just something about you that intrigued me. You’re funny, and hot, and so unique,” Neil admits, his eyes not leaving yours.

“Thank you.”

“I mean it,” he blinks slowly and then looks bacl out at the city, continuing, “What don you like about this album?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, laughing, “I had a weird Doors phase at some point in highschool and, I guess, the album stuck through even afterwards. What, do you not like it?”

“No, it’s great. I just want to get to know you better,” Neil says, shaking his head.

“Well, what music do you like?” you ask.

“Soundtracks, but you know that one. I really liked grunge in high school, I guess that stuck with me too a little bit,” Neil purses his lips together, coughing a little.

“Never pegged you as a grunge fan,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m full of surprises,” Neil jokes, sending you both into a fit of laughter. Something like that usually wouldn’t set you off like that, but for some reason, it was the funniest thing tonight.

The winding chords to Light My Fire started to hit when you both calmed down from the laughter, and when you’ve both started to reach the end of the rolls.

Neil reaches out his hand to you, “Want to dance?”

You nod and take his hand, putting out your blunt as you stand. You both push the chairs off to the side, before setting off into a weird unnatural dance together. It was barely together, the only thing connecting you is the brief stints in which you guys hold hands, maybe Neil spins you around when your hands come together. At some point you guys get so close that when you look up to Neil your face to face with him. He looks at you for a couple seconds before slowly kissing you on the lips, it’s soft and welcoming, allowing for you to reciprocate. Both of you break away quite quickly, another beat, your lips are pressed together again with his. This time the kiss is hungrier, you bite at his lips softly, and he slips his tongue into your mouth. 

“Do you, uh– Want to take this further?” Neil asks, breaking away from the kiss. His pupils are huge, and his hair is messy.

“Yeah,” you respond, before going back into the kiss.

Both of you stumble through the apartment and into your bedroom while kissing. You feel the back of your knees hit your mattress before Neil gently pushes you backwards onto the bed. You look up at him, he’s breathing heavily, blue eyes scanning over your body hungerily. His lips are on yours again, tongue searching your mouth, he fondles your breasts through your shirt. You could feel wetness pool in your panties as Neil started to drag his kisses down to your neck. His fingers grazed your clothed stomach before coming to toy with the hem of your shirt teasing pushing it up slowly, fingers ghosting over your stomach making you whine out. You lightly grab at his hair, tugging it to edge him on to take off your shirt already. Neil takes the hint and pushes you shirt upwards exposing your breasts to him.

Neil smiles looking up at you before taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking the bud and rolling his tongue over it. You moan out at the sensation, staring up at the ceiling, focusing on the pleasure Neil is providing you at the moment. Your body is hot, you want him to hurry up and fuck you. Alas, Neil takes his time with your breasts, toying with both of them using his mouth and fingers. It’s both agonizing and feels so good. He watches you the whole time, taking pleasure in watching your face contort in pleasure and frustration. 

Finally, Neil captures you in a heated kiss again, before breaking off and taking his own shirt off. He places your hands on his chest, allowing you to feel his body’s heat as well as his heartbeat. His heartbeat is fast, mimicking the rise and fall of his chest. You run your hands over his chest and down his arms to his hands, placing them at the top of your jeans, basically begging him to take them off. He unbuttons your jeans, slowly, like he’s done almost everything tonight. Pulling them down with your help to expose your panties, soiled with you wetness. He stares at the wet patch on your panties for a second. Grinning the whole time.

“You flatter me,” Neil says, sliding his own pants down his legs, erection glaringly present. He lets them fall into the pool of pants at the edge of them bed.

Sliding a finger up and down your clothed heat, Neil climbs back into bed with you. Diving back in to kiss you. You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms are his neck. His erection presses up against your heat, and he grinds against you. He only lasts about a minute teasing you this way before he’s discarding your panties and positioning his fingers outside your cunt.

“Please,” you whimper out, and within the same breathe his fingers have entered you.

It’s slow at first, a rhythmic in and out pace, stretching you out as best and he can, but your moans fuel him to move his fingers faster. Soon enough your gripping the sheets just at his fingers as they push on your gummy walls deliciously and feverishly. His other hand rubs up and down your thigh, watching as you twitch and moan on his fingers, watching as your pussy takes his fingers in so easily. You clench around his fingers, back arching at his work, and all the sudde his fingers are gone. You look at him with a look of betrayal, which is quickly settled when you see him slide his underwear off, exposing his cock.

“Can I fuck you?” Neil asks, like his swollen tip isn’t already pressed against your entrance.

“Yes please.”

It’s all Neil needs before he’s sliding into you, stretching you out so nicely as he pushes in. When he bottoms out he’s pressed up against that sweet spot inside of you, almost like his cock is made just for you. Both of you sigh of as Neil stays still for a few seconds before pulling out of you slowly. 

“Oh baby, your pussy ‘s so good,” Neil slurs, pushing back into you.

His hands find your waist as he pushes in and out of your pussy. With each thrust Neil’s speed increases, his once calculated and rhythmic thrusts becoming wild and irregular as he continues to fuck you. You scratch his back as he fucks into, moaning as your eyes roll back.

Who knew movie nerds were such good fucks?

“Can I flip you around baby?” Neil pants out, his grip on your waist tightened.

You nod and he slips out of you, allowing you to get on all fours before pushing back into you. He’s hitting further back in this position, stretching out and reaching parts of you that you forgot felt so good.

“Fuck, baby, you look so good, you feel so good,” Neil babbles as he resumes his pace.

You don’t think you can last much longer in this position, with Neil fucking a specific spot in you consistently. He reaches over a hand and starts toying with your nipple again, and thats when you feel the slip happening.

“I’m gon’ cum, Neil, gonna cum,” you whine, arms giving out and face getting shoved into a pillow by Neil’s thrusts.

“Oh– fuck, me neither, cum all over my cock for me, fuck please baby, god please, cum all over my cock,” Neil speeds up his thrusts, reaching his hand down from your boob to your clit.

Neil rubs quick fast circles into your clit. Steadily, but roughly fucking you into your own mattress.

For a moment everything goes black as all you can feel is the knot in your stomach come undone and a shiver run up your body. 

When you return Neil is slumped over beside you, both of you laying down beside eachother. He strokes your hair softly before kissing your forehead.

“Thank you,” Neil whispers, bringing you into his chest.

You decide to stay like this for the night, too tired to move. Neil covers up the both of you letting you fall asleep in his arms.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Going Up

Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: The elevator is packed.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: So this is what happened in the elevator before the spice in What A View. Really, I should have written this first? Why didn't I? I have no answers.

Warnings: swearing, Steven kinda having an exhibition kink, and thinking about and being like oh no, also some negative thoughts about being into it because self-doubt, PUBLIC BONER, overuse of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 559

The queue to check your tickets and wait for the elevator wasn’t too bad, but the lift itself was surprisingly busy when you and Steven stepped inside. You were two of the first people in, so as more and more walked on the space seemed to grow smaller and smaller.

You shuffled back a little and Steven instinctively put his hands on your side as he took a step and rested against the elevator wall. 

You moved closer to him as more people got on, pressing your back up against his chest. Sheepishly you glance over your shoulder and smile, “this okay?”

He nods and beams back at you, “of course love.” He gives your hip a little squeeze. “It won’t be for long.” He kisses the top of your head as the doors close. 

The first few floors are uneventful, but then there’s a little jolt. Nothing major, just the mechanisms working together, but you stumble back a little, brushing your backside against Steven’s crotch. 

He swallows, heat flushing downwards, cursing internally. 

You move back to your previous position practically a second later, barely having contact with him. But that’s all it took.

Being in public made it so much worse. Made the blood rush so much quicker. 

Other people being around shouldn’t make his dick jump to attention practically instantaneously, should it? That wasn’t ‘normal’, was it? 

Marc and Jake weren’t into this. They didn’t get hard the second there was a chance of an audience. Though… well, he’d never really asked to check. What if they did too? What if he asked and they didn’t?

Steven bit the inside of his cheek, trying to focus intently on unsexy things. But you were standing so close, barely an inch away. Your scent wafting around him and pulling him close, soaking the fire that was already ablaze. 

He could nudge you back against him, grind into your ass until he came in his boxers. 

He bites back a moan at the thought, his cock now painfully hard. 

He’d have to be quiet, move slowly so he wouldn’t be noticed, muffle his mouth against your neck and…

He swallowed. He should not be thinking about that. 

Steven shifted his weight, foolishly thinking that it would do something to help the ache. Of course it didn’t. 

Was it the thought of getting caught that turned him on? Or was it that he wanted others to watch? He scowled as he thought hard, trying to tackle the problem like a puzzle. There must be some straight forward answer as to why this happened. And it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d got a bonker in public. 

But he just couldn’t think straight, as, well, most of his blood was a little preoccupied somewhere else. 

He couldn’t deal with this. He needed to come. There was no way he could walk around and hope for this to calm down. 

Maybe he could sneak to the bathroom and jerk off.

Maybe he could drag you there with him. 

The thought of your body pressed up against his made him lightheaded. 

The elevator dinged as it reached the viewing floor. Steven grabbed your hand and practically ran out. 

“Steven?” You say, a little surprised as he pulls you, having to jog a little to keep pace. 

He must really want to see the view. 

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @romanarose @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @pimosworld @melodygatesauthor @steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87@lunar-ghoulie @dumdaradumdaradum @plastichearts @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @spxctorsslxt

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[maeijie]

pretty please. PROLOGUE

— dad!gojo satoru x fem!reader

cw. implied one night stand (if you squint) but no explicit detail, reader is not present

note. giving another go with writing, and first time writing for the chosen man himself. not proofread

word count. 1.4k

series masterlist | next

His pure white locks of snow, blue hues like a diamond under the sun, anatomy sculpted like marble statues of mythologies. With just a snap of his fingers, he can manifest whatever he wanted on the very palm of his hand. He just had to utter it: A woman's name, unreleased line clothings of his favorite brand, rare pairs and pairs of jewelries, and any private island can be his to take.

Being on a very high position in society as an actor, with millions of loving fans from in and out of Japan, has immensely inflated his ego that it has reached heights heigher than any penthouse he could purchase.

He loves the attention. He loves that he could pull one or more arm from the many women that clings to him on to his bed and they'd say thank you. He loves that on every party he attends or host, he'll always be the life of the night.

When he enters the room, he loves that everyone howls and cheers.

He is the all and mighty Gojo Satoru.

-

Grogginess was what first filled all of Satoru's senses when he awoke on his expensive king sized bed.

Turning his head away from the glare of the sun sipping through his curtains, a groan rumbles from his throat, a low octave of tone that women go crazy for. He scratches his bare chest before finally blinking his eyelids open, welcoming the soft morning hues throughout his bedroom.

He contemplates to stay in bed before inevitably standing up. Satoru darts his eyes around his room whilst looking for his shirt that he discarded last night.

As he descended the stairs, he pulled the piece of clothing over his head when he saw his maid, a middle-aged woman, was ready to leave for the day. Heading towards the door with her bag in hand.

"Keiko. Going home?"

The said woman turns in small shock before smiling kindly at her boss. "Oh, Mr. Gojo. I didn't know you were already awake. But yes, I've done your laundry and some cleaning. Apologies if I disturbed you because of the vacuum."

Satoru hums, stepping off the last bit of stairs. "Nope, you didn't." he scratches his head, looking around.

"Anyways, have you seen..?"

Keiko seems to squint before coming to a realization. "You mean Ms. Hanna?"

"Yeah, her." He scratches his neck, not showing much interest as he heads to the kitchen. "I sent her home earlier when she woke up, as you normally instruct me to do." Keiko replies, watching as he tastes the breakfast she prepared, then seeing him nod in acknowledgment to her cooking and statement.

"Good. You can go now. Oh, and you don't need to come back here tonight." The woman simply bowed with a smile, uttering a quiet 'thank you' before heading out.

Finally he was really alone, stretching his limbs as he heard the cracks of his joints in pure satisfaction.

This was how his days normally went. Whenever his schedule was clear of agendas, he's able to party and mingle at night, then do what he liked the next day. Recently, he just finished filming an action movie that lasted almost two years of production and was set to release next year. And since promotion doesn't start until then, he had all the free time in the world as of this moment. He's particularly not active in social media, but he has his own team that does the advertising of his soon-to-be released film for him.

He looks around his lavish home. It was a penthouse at one of the top floors of the establishment. Stationed at Japan's richest district, overlooking the busy city and with the most perfect view of the famous red structure, Tokyo Tower.

This is Gojo Satoru's life. Content and satisfied. Tough choices and sacrifices were made to be where he's at, and yet he couldn't find it in himself to meditate the past and regret. He is where he is now, after all.

A ding resonates from his phone, indicating that someone has texted him. Opening his messages, he sees his trusted manager, that has been with him since the very beginning of his career, has sent him a text.

Mr. Yamada: How was the party last night? Anyways, any plans for your 8th anniversary? It's pretty soon.

8 years ago, was the moment fame was introduced to Satoru. Almost 8 years ago was when his life completely flipped and ascended into great glory. It was a golden day for Satoru, and he has made it that he would celebrate this every single year.

Satoru respects Mr. Yamada, and he rarely does to anyone. He has led Satoru towards his first stepping stone in his journey, and now he's here living the glamour dream with Mr. Yamada still following him with support. In a way, Satoru feels indebted to him. He has pushed Satoru into choosing the right decisions when he himself couldn't.

His career would be cripple and dust without this man.

Despite that, Satoru places down his device, deciding to send a response later as he felt that it was still to early and because he was hungry.

And just as he was about to take a bite of his meal, his doorbell went off. He raised a brow, his jaw slacked and chop sticks halfway toward his mouth. Satoru let it settle, waiting to see if the person out his door would activate the sound again.

When they didn't, he proceeded with his food, chewing away.

But he drops his utensil when his phone suddenly let out a sound, alerting him that someone was at his door. He clicks his tongue, irritated as he pressed the notification to check his intercom. 'People, I swear.'

He expected it to be a fan, or more like a stalker, that discovered his address. He was ready to turn on the mic of his phone that connected to the devices that was out his front door, call off the person to go away when he only saw a blob of hair below the screen.

"What the.." Satoru furrowed his brows at the scene, wondering if the person was kneeling or something. However his thought was dismissed when a tiny face of a little girl pops up, seemingly on her tippy toes as she clicks the button that turns on the mic.

And just as she did that, a young, high-pitched greeting resonates from the speaker of his device. "Helloooo!!"

Now this was odd. He scrunches his nose in confusion. A random child was just outside his property. Satoru was then further confused when the child says something about if her Father was here.

"Excuse me? Father? Me?" he utters in disbelief. Placing his phone down, he decided to ignore her, shaking his head in dismissal as he thought that the address was most likely mistaken. Satoru chuckles at the thought of him having a child, continuing with his meal. "Kids are crazy these days." he says with a playful grin, shaking his head.

But then the little girl added something. With her high pitched voice, she said:

"Uhm, Mr. Gojo!!! It's your daughter!!!"

Now that's just insane. Satoru chokes on his food, violently coughing as he ran to his fridge to grab himself a bottle of water. Downing the liquid to ease his throat, he exhales loudly before his eyes went full-blown wide.

"My daughter??" Not only did she say that, she also knew his name.

Something was up. It was too unbelievable for Satoru. No kid should just walts to some stranger's door and claim to be their child.

He speed walked towards his front door to confront the child to say that she was mistaken and that she needs to check his neighbors that was two floors downstairs. "You gotta be kidding me."

Turning the lock before he pushed the door open, he looks down to see the little girl, maybe 3 feet in height, in her arms was a little bunny plush, her eyes eerily too similar to his. But what caught his attention more are the tiny suitcase and bag that was accompanied with her.

Gojo Satoru, with just a snap of his fingers, can manifest whatever he wanted on the very palm of his hand. He just had to utter it. He can get anything, and has everything. Satoru is well aware of that, which is why his ego was higher than any penthouse he could buy. So imagine his surprise when he does in fact have everything,

Including a child.

"Hi, mister. I'm Saori."

[unformula1]

it’s going to be okay (LS2 x OP81)

oscar gets the message that logan isn’t going to be with williams next year and oscar comforts logan w/c: 1734 loscar post until we get a loscar podium!! (part 48) <3 (series masterlist) a/n: i don’t know how this will continue if logan doesn’t stay in f1 also I MUST continue this one. || masterlist

Carlos is signing with Williams for 2025, 2026… and beyond.

Williams’ post first pops up after Oscar reloads Instagram. He feels his entire body jerk upward as he does a double take, he quickly cross checks with the official F1 instagram.

It’s true.

Holy shit.

Oscar stares at the phone as his mind races through all his stray thoughts. His first instinct is to open Logan’s chat, but he freezes.

He doesn’t really talk with Logan anymore.

What is he even going to say?

His fingers hover over the keyboard. All the former thoughts disappeared in a second. Oscar turns off his phone and places it on his bed.

He takes a deep breath, trying to connect all his thoughts instead of them being a messy jumble of nonsense. Somewhere in his endless web of thoughts has to be something genius he’s going to tell Logan.

He opens the chat again and doesn’t take a second thought before sending the message. His fingers glide over the keyboard, quickly typing out the sentence and sending it.

Oscar shuts off his phone right after, hoping there won’t be a sinking feeling of regret.

—

Logan lies flat on his bed, his breathing steady as his chest rises and falls. He counts slowly in his head, which is the only thing keeping him from spiralling out of control.

He places both hands on his chest, ensuring there is a constant rise and fall.

He can’t cry. Not yet. Not now.

The counting doesn’t seem to cover up the replaying scene in his head: James sits him down, the room is tense and solemn, James looks Logan dead in the eye and drops the news.

“Logan, we have decided we will not be signing you for next year.”

Logan freezes. He feels the blood in his body freeze into ice, his entire body tenses up. As much as everything prepared him for this moment, none of it really did. It’s a different feeling from just thinking about it.

Right now, he was sat in a tense, silent room, face to face with a man he once called his hero.

Logan forces out a smile and nods.

“Thank you for everything.”

Logan feels a sting in his eyes as tears start to well up. He swiftly wipes them off using his sleeve.

He’s been lying here for the past 10 minutes. He checks the clock, it’s been about 3 minutes since the world found out.

Logan didn’t know what to do anymore, the ceiling fan spun above him, slowly fading into one messy blur.

He taps his fingers on his chest and hums a generic melody. He shuts his eyes tightly, restraining himself from doing something rash.

Logan was at a loss. He didn’t like the feeling.

Last time he was at a loss, Williams was there to help him. This time, they were the reason he was at a loss.

It was like a harsh, cruel, merciless cycle.

A team which once helped him through the toughest times in his career, ended up creating some of his toughest moments. He once viewed them as his family, a team which could do him no wrongs.

Then everything came crashing down, some false and fake facade. 

His phone dings and he sits up.

He checks it.

Oscar: This is so wrong.  Oscar: Do you wanna talk about it?

Oscar? Oscar, of all people?

Logan takes a deep breath and opens the message. He contemplates for a while on what he should say in response.

Logan: I take it this is about the contract signing.

Oscar immediately comes online, which is pretty comforting this time around.

Oscar: Yes

Oscar: They are so wrong for that

Logan feels a warmth bubble in him. It’s from Oscar.

It’s from Oscar. 

Oscar Piastri, race winner, McLaren F1 driver, prodigy, unimaginable rookie year, Lewis Hamilton reincarnate.

And what was Logan? What was Logan to Oscar now that his F1 seat wasn’t even in his own grasp?

Logan stares blankly at the screen. 

Logan: I don’t know what to do

He remembered how he used to turn to Oscar for everything, now he didn’t even know if Oscar was going to be there for him.

He remembered how both of them made a promise to win a race in F1 together, to make it together in F1.

Before Oscar replies, Logan sends another message.

Logan: I’m so proud of you. Logan: You achieved our dream.

A teardrop stains Logan’s screen, he instantly swipes it off.

Oscar just hearts the messages.

It takes him another few seconds to reply.

Oscar: I hate how this turned out.

Logan chuckles as his eyes start to tear up, his vision growing blurry.

Everything he did to get into F1, all the hard work, sleepless nights, endless practice, just for this.

The friends he made along the way, the people he trusted, the places he called home. Everything came flooding back to him, all the flashbacks, just like a roll of film, all of them were replaying in his head.

This was his dream. F1 was his dream.

Oscar: You deserve better.

A soft sniffle and sob escapes Logan’s mouth. He wipes away the tears and texts Oscar back.

Logan: Did I ever do anything wrongly?

Logan feels a rising, burning sensation of guilt, regret and despair.

Oscar: Are you still in your room? Logan: yea Oscar: Stay there.

—

A few minutes pass before there’s a knock on the door. Logan lifts his head from between his knees and stands up, he wipes away his tears and takes a deep breath before going to the door.

He mentally prepares a strong front, just in case.

He opens the door and smiles.

“Logan.” Oscar’s voice is soft.

Logan’s smile cracks slightly as he lets Oscar in.

“Hi.” Logan manages.

Oscar doesn’t say anything and just as Logan closes the door, he hugs him.

His arms are wrapped around Logan, a warm embrace fuzzling between both of them.

Logan’s strong front immediately dissolves into nothing as he starts sobbing violently. He leans his head onto Oscar’s shoulding, wetting his shirt with tears.

Oscar continues holding onto Logan, his tight grip around Logan’s chest. He holds back his own tears.

He knows Logan deserved so much better.

“I should’ve checked in earlier.” Oscar admits, his voice cracking, “I should’ve asked how you were doing…”

Oscar feels his throat starting to sting.

Logan doesn’t respond instantly, but in between sobs he manages to get out a few words.

“You didn’t have to.”

A wave of guilt engulfs Oscar as he grips tighter.

“You have to fight Logan, please Logan, fight.” 

“It’s over Oscar… It’s over.”

“We’re gonna figure this out Logan.” Oscar tears up, “Together, alright?”

“Give me another chance Logs.” Oscar looks at Logan in the eyes as they both take a step out of the hug.

Logan looks Oscar in the eyes and nods subtly.

“I don’t know what I did wrong.” Logan says.

“Nothing. You did nothing wrong.” Oscar insists, “Williams did everything wrong to you.”

Logan finds it hard to believe.

“Listen to me.” Oscar says before taking a deep breath, “You and me, we’re gonna figure this out.”

Logan can’t stop his tears anymore.

“Just like when we were kids, when we figured things out together, you know.” Oscar says.

“I messed up hard for the past year or so, but I promise that we’re going to make it through this together.”

Logan can feel despair and bitterness mixed together with warmth and happiness bubbling in his own heart.

“Please?” Oscar begs.

“Promise?” 

“Promise. I promise with all my heart.”

Logan takes another deep breath and then cleans the dried tears scattered on his cheeks.

Oscar can’t help but feel the sting in his own heart. His best friend, things panned out differently for both of them, immensely different.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this…” Oscar steps closer to Logan and holds onto his hands.

Logan flinches, moving his hand back, but then holds Oscar’s hand after a second.

“I trusted Williams…” Logan says, “They didn’t even give me a proper farewell…”

Oscar knows.

“One post. One line.” Logan says, his fists clenching, “That’s all they could do.”

Oscar sighs, “They don’t deserve any part of you.”

“You’re an amazing, wonderful, and perfect person.” Oscar says as Logan continues to grip tighter onto his hands, “Williams just couldn’t see that.”

“What will I do now?” Logan says, his grip loosening slightly.

Oscar wasn’t going to lie, “I don’t know.”

Logan’s face falls.

“I’m sorry.” Oscar says, and repeats it a few times.

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’ll make it right.” Oscar says.

He was going to. There was no way he was letting Logan go through this alone, not now, not ever. 

—

Both of them sat on Logan’s bed together. Logan’s head was resting on Oscar’s shoulder as they sat in silence.

It wasn’t tense silence.

It was a calm silence.

Oscar looks over at Logan and watches his breathing stabilise after that chaos of emotions talking about Logan’s own feelings.

He truly did not wish Logan had to go through this.

Oscar glides his fingers through Logan’s hair, the blonde streaks getting gently caressed by Oscar. 

This is what Logan deserves.

This is what Logan needed.

Logan adjusts himself slightly and looks up at Oscar, who smiles gently.

“We’ll figure it out.” Oscar says.

And for some reason, Logan knows it’s true. He knows the warm embrace he feels next and he recognises the calm breathing on his neck.

Logan gave everything to Williams, for them to tear him apart.

“Do you think things could’ve turned out differently?” Logan asks, fiddling with his shirt.

“I would choose another version in a heartbeat, if it meant doing things with you.” Oscar replies, without hesitation.

A smile creeps up Logan’s face.

Right…

“I would too.” Logan says, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

Oscar smiles, he’s glad that his presence was something good for Logan.

It was. Oscar was comforting, everything Logan needed right now.

Logan shifts closer to Oscar, pressing himself right up against Oscar. Oscar smiles, pulling Logan in.

This is warm.

“It’s going to be okay.” Oscar says.

And Logan believes it.

Oscar’s going to fix every wound, every stab, every scar that life has inflicted on him.

Oscar’s here.

And it’s going to be okay.

[hsr-texts]

find your cinderella

꒰‧₊˚✩彡‧꒱ ┊ ━━━━ chapter one

꒰⸝⸝₊ʚ♡ɞ ┊ streamer!reader x mystery hsr character ꒱

꒰⸝⸝₊ʚ♡ɞ ┊ otome event ꒱

꒰ ☰ WORD COUNT ┊780 ꒱

꒰ ☰ DESCRIPTION ┊ ━━ When you do an unboxing livestream for your subsribers, you find an invite to an exclusive event called the "Find Your Cinderella" masquerade gala where you are guaranteed to find your supposed true love, as a rather enthusiastic manager told you. ꒱

꒰ ☰ NOTES ┊omg sorry for the long wait!! i was taking care of my college admissions, exercising, and taking care of my aunt all at the same time!! ꒱

previously ┊masterlist

You read the livechat so far. It seemed that the majority wanted you to go.

It was understandable why. This all seemed to be so exciting for regular people who don’t get to go to these events. In your career as a streamer, most of your appeal to viewers came from how relatable you were. Of course, there was also your gaming content but most your subscribers seem to just be happy to watch you do fun stuff. And in their eyes, this event would be the most fun thing you’ll ever get to do.

Despite how strange this all seemed, it probably shouldn’t hurt to go, right? Sugo said that something good will come out of it no matter what happens. Plus, if you didn’t go, would you regret it? Would you later lie in bed late at night, thinking of what could’ve been? Would your curiosity ever stop bugging you about it?

Also 500,000 credits sounded real good for just going to a party and tolerating it.

You clasped your hands together. “Alright then! I’ll be attending the Find Your Cinderella Gala and see what it’s about!”

Your chat cheered for the decision.

You then noticed the time. 12 midnight.

“Aw man, sorry guys but it’s getting pretty late so I’ll be logging off now. I’ll see you guys next time!”

With one last farewell wave, you switched off the stream and checked the statistics. Wow, it seemed to be at an all time high. At least Sugo was right about one thing. It’d only be a matter of time until the news of this gala spread like wildfire.

You found a QR code on the back of the ticket so you scanned it with your phone. It led to a website for the FYC Gala.

You clicked the “attending” button, leaning back on your seat. Seeing the dress code, you checked the package once again and saw that the outfit came with shoes, accessories, and a mask already. Huh, they really prepared everything for you. At least you wouldn’t have to spend extra money. Getting that limited edition LumiPro package already put a slight dent in your finances, after all.

It finished loading and you read the words: “Added to the guest list”

A yawn escaped your lips.

You got off the chair and went over your nightly routine before passing out in your bed.

                                                                                                    

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep—

Click.

You pulled your hand away from your alarm and sat up, yawning. Taking a glance at your clock, you saw that it was 9am.

After a round of stretching, you got off your bed and made a beeline for the kitchen.

You decided to eat tocilog for breakfast so you started cooking rice, eggs, and tocino. A pleasant scent wafted through the kitchen as the meal was being cooked. You let out a delighted sigh, enjoying the smell of a good meal in the morning.

After the meal was finished cooking, you sat down at your dining table to eat it. You made a pleased noise as you ate, satisfied with how the meal came out.

Ding!

You checked your phone and saw that you got a message from your editor, Cori.

Huh? Your eyebrows furrowed so you sent a quick reply and did as asked, looking at online news.

“Streamer’s Unboxing Stream Gets Hijacked By LumiPro Event Organiser in Publicity Stunt”

You checked LumiTube and clips of your stream have been uploaded on there, rapidly gaining over a million views within 12 hours. Damn.

Taking a sip of your water, you leaned back with a contemplative expression on your face. What should you stream today?

With your current status as a streamer that recently became viral, you could take advantage of that and do a stream where you prepare for the FYC Gala by going to a salon and letting viewers watch you get your nails and hair done, then maybe also booking a makeup artist for before the gala, if needed.

But since there was still about two weeks until the gala, you figured there was no rush.

Besides that, you could do a gaming stream since you still need to complete Freya’s Gate 5.

As if a light bulb flickered above your head, your eyes lit up and you took your phone out, logging onto Trotter.

Tap. Tap. Taptaptap.

A series of typing noises came from your phone and you pressed post.

This way, you can let your followers choose what you'll be doing today without having to do the heavy work of making a decision, truly a predicament for someone as indecisive as yourself.

And now you just wait for the results.

[takobaki]

˚୨୧ Snowy innocence // PT 4 ˚୨୧

﹒⪩Yuu and the big bad crowd ⪨﹒

﹌﹌﹌Octavinelle dorm﹌﹌﹌

A/N: I think this is the longest chapter yet, so uhm hopefully it was worth the wait, this is also part 1 of Yuu and the big bad crowd 💀

Word count: 2040

WARNINGS: Implied abuse/neglect, kinda confusing maybe?, horrible writing, and characters are ooc

Other parts here

A little girl giggled as her mother pushed her back and forth on the swing set of the newly renovated park, the warm and sunny day being something new in their usually gloom and rainy town. It was a nice change, something needed, and almost picture perfect

"Higher mommy!"

The little girl giggled excitedly with a warm smile while looking behind her, to the woman who only nodded as she let out a chuckle. The two seemed to be having the time of their lives, enjoying some mother and daughter time together

"Hun, if I go any higher you'll fly off!" The mother chuckled as she covered her mouth with her hand, her warm comforting smile growing wider as her child giggled out loudly

"Come of hun, you know that isn't gonna happen!" The little girls father said with a grin as he walked over to his family, his hands resting on his hips "If the little lady says she wants to go higher, then let her go higher!" The dad joked, making the family laugh more, if that was even possible

Staring in jealousy and sadness, Alkni watched the Tvs on display show a happy family spending time at the park together.

Something she never got the consideration of being able to do

As tears welled up in her red eyes, she let out a quiet sob 'Why can't she be able to do that.... Why did her family seem so different from everyone elses- Was her family the problem'

Quickly wiping her tears with her small scarred fist, the little pale girl looked up, slightly surprised as the TV changed screens from the family, showcasing a new swing set

"Swingjoy is now more sturdy and can swing higher then any other swing set on the market! Perfect for your children-"

Alkni stared at the TV with her almost lifeless like eyes. No matter how much she cried or was sad, her eyes never seemed to hold the emotion to show that. 'I wonder if their really like that' The very small girl thought to herself as she clutched onto her dirty nightgown, not knowing the existence of 'Acting', as she thought that everything on TV was real, like most other kids her age did

"Do you think we can go to the park today" Alkni asked her mother as she peeked over the arm of the couch, trying to get a better view of her mother, flinching once her mother snapped her head towards her, rage filling the young womans eyes

"No! If it wasn't for you, I would be able to be relaxing right now instead of having to slave away at work! If I dont get to relax, neither do you!" The woman yelled as she raised her hand, about to hit the little girl until a ding caught her attention, making the woman roll her eyes as she angrily picked up her phone

"Your lucky this time brat" Her mother mumbled as Alkni stood frozen for a second from fear before quickly rushing off to the pathetic excuse of a 'room'

People always that theres two response during moments of danger or fear. Flight or Fight.

Yet there was a third one that Alkni knew all to well

And that was freeze

Sometimes in moments of danger or fear, people tend to freeze, go quiet and still in a attempt for the threat to pass and for them to remain unharmed, yet in some cases, it wouldn't work

Especially for Alkni

Shooting upwards from her much needed nap, Alkni was startled awake as a loud crashing sound was sent through the lounge, surprising even Azul as he had her sat on his lap, since the lounge was closed this late at night

Picking up Alkni gently, Azul sighed as he walked out of his VIP room, going to investigate the cause of the sound only to see Jade and Floyd already there, talking to the ramshackle perfect, grim, and a bunch of Scarabia students

"Surrender quietly!" One of the students yelled, making Alkni let out a quiet yelp as she quickly covered her ears

"Mrrow?! You chased us all the way here!? You guys are seriously stubborn, you know that!" Grim exclaimed as he held up his paw close to his mouth, his eyes wide in shock

Alknis red eyes widened in amazement as she looked at Grim. She had seen cats before, since she had lived on the streets for a good amount of time every week, yet this was the forst talking one shes seen

"Whats all the commotion at this late hour? You've woken up this poor child!" Azul said as he glared at the students who had randomly barged into his lounge at a late hour

"Your Azul Ashengrotto, the housewarden of Octavinelie!" One of the two students yelled making the girl tilt her head slightly. 'Who was Ash- Ashin groundo?' Yeah- thats how you say it...?

"Would you care to explain whats going on here" Azul asked as he raised a eyebrow in suspicion, while holding Alkni, who was started trembling slightly from the loud sounds, closer slightly. "Its none of Octavinelles business! Just hand over the two of them quietly" One of the students shouted as they bawled their hand into a fist

"W..Whats go...going on" Alkni asked quietly as she looked up towards Azul, tears welling up in her red eyes as she tugged on his sleeve slightly

"Now that I'm looking closer, would that be Yuu and Grim sprawled out and quivering on our floor?" Azul stated, almost as if asking a question of the Scarabia students "They look so dingy, I thought they were a pair of dustcloths" Azul said with a chuckle as a attempt to calm down the five year old in his arms ever so slightly

"Hey, are you yankin' my tail here? Who do you think your talking to! And your scaring Alkni!" Floyd said as his glare at the students hardened

"No fighting of any kind is permitted in the Mostro Lounge. This is a place for gentlemen" Azul hissed as he sneered downwards towards the disruptive students while still attempting to be professional, the pale girl nodding even though she didnt fully understanding the meaning of Azuls words

"What was that? Your interfering?" One of the Scarabia boys hissed as he crossed his arms over his chest, returning the glare Azul was giving him "Fine, We'll just have to do this the hard way!" The other boy said with a grin while placing his hand on his hip

Alkni froze. Those words were all to familiar to her. All she knew was that nothing good was going to come out of this situation, and she quickly stared to fear of the Octo-persons safety.

Memories- Memories she had oh so desperately wanted to forget had started to flood her brain like a ocean wave. A ocean wave during a horrible storm

"Why cant brats like you just learn to behave!? If it wasn't for you we would be living happily!" Her father yelled as he dragged her throughout the once clean and joyous house, now being dirty, almost as if it had been abandoned.

Crying, Alkni desperately clawed at her fathers rough fingers, fear filling her small body as she let out choked screams and cries "Fine! You wanna be a spoiled brat! I'll just have to do this the hard way!" The man yelled sharply as he turned to face Alkni, making her stop her attempts of freeing herself as she knew what was to come

Staring out the broken window into her broken and usually dirty home, Alkni stood on the tips of her toes as she peaked in, secretly begging, pleading, that her parents weren't home

"Hopefully she is home"

Alkni thought quietly to herself, tears whelming up in her red eyes, as she reluctantly opened the overly creaky door. If it was up to her, Alkni would just stay on the streets, the burning feeling of jealousy as she watched other kids her age having fun with their parents keeping her warm, instead of having to go back, yet it was the only way she could ever be warm

Warm....

Being warm was all she had ever wanted to feel, and yet she was never able to, as the two people who were meant to keep her warm was the reason as to why she was so cold... So freezing cold.... And yet with these new people- They made her feel so warm... such a desperately wanted feeling which had been long unfulfilled. She had never felt this warm in such a long time, and it was a new experience that should've been welcomed happily-

Yet she couldn't bring herself to welcome it...

She couldn't bring herself to trust these new people, as for all she knew they could end up just like them, leaving her feeling oh so cold. She didn't want that. She never wanted to even feel that in the first place, and yet the world seemed to have different plans for such a poor unfortunate soul like her

"You really love making us do things the hard way" Her mother mumbled as she flicked a invisible spec of dirt to her poor child, who was staring at her in fear, her small body unmoving as her eyes stayed trained on her "We really don't want to do this-" Her mother continued, placing her hands on her hips as she let out a sad sigh "And yet, you're making us do it. If it wasn't for you misbehaving then everything would be all fine" Alkni flinched hard at those words

'It is my fault isn't it..."

"I-I don't deserve to be afraid..."

Tears filled her mothers eyes as she looked to the side... Crocodile tears... A expression of 'sadness' apart on her tired face. Tired of working... And tired of being a mother

Some parents where never meant to have kids, and yet they make their kids suffer for something they cant control

Waking up with a quiet yawn, Alkni felt the warm and salty tears fall down her pale features, something she hadn't noticed till now-

It was all just a dream... or more of a memory, something her mind had subconsciously locked away as a way to cope, hoping to never see the light of day again. And yet, even those few words could bring back such horrible, painful, memories.

With a stretch, the young girl looked around the now quiet room, tilting her head as her eyes adjusted to the dim lights of the Mostro Lounge, which seemed to have been turned on ever so slightly for her in case she was afraid of the dark, just as many other kids were. 'Where are they...?: Alkni thought to herself as she pushed herself off of the barstool she appeared to be napping on, a uneasy feeling filling her chest as since right before everything went dark, it was as loud as a behive

With a hum, the pale girl began to walk around the seemingly empty Lounge, her footsteps echoing throughout the large and nicely decorated area.

Since when was this place so pretty? It looked almost out of a fairy tale, or one of those fancy movies shes seen on those large display TVs. Running her hand along the fishtank that resided nearby, her usually dull eyes grew in amazement, her mouth hanging slightly agape, as a fish suddenly swam closer to her

"H...hello g...een fish" Alkni spoke to the fish, as the fish gently pressed itself closer to the glass, making the 5 year old girl let out a sound she hadn't heard herself make in forever

A laugh

Falling back in surprise of the sudden sound that came from her own lips, Alkni caught herself with her elbow before she could hit the ground too hard, somehow causing the sound to continue, this time much more pronounced.

She had forgotten what this foreign sound that came from her mouth had felt like, as she hadn't had a reason to truly laugh or smile in years, and yet, although strange-

it felt nice, and made her feel warm inside

[chvnnie]

Vows

lee minho x reader

word count: 4.1k

genre: smut, and heavy angst — MINORS DNI

warnings: non modern au (1800s author!minho), established relationship, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH - NO DETAILS GIVEN BUT PLEASE USE DISCRETION, fingering, unprotected sex, only minho orgasms, dirty talk. there’s not a happy ending. i think that’s it, but if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW

summary: Minho doesn’t know why he can’t seem to beat this writer’s block

a/n: NOT PROOFREAD BECAUSE I AM TOO SAD TO TRY AND EDIT SO DO NOT DRAG ME IF YOU FIND ANY TYPOS. i’m never writing angst again, i cried the entire time i wrote this. and i’m at work. it’s a mess and it hurt but i loved it so. have fun!!!

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents lee minho as a person or stray kids as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @gibbysupremeacyisreal, @katieraven, @miamormi, @woahfruity, @isilentprincess, @hugs4chan, @stranger-thighs, @beautifulcolorgarden, @scottmcallisdaddy, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @humayraaaa, @americanokisses, @djeniryuu, @epiphanynaffit - comment/send ask to be added

His hands feel cold as he rubs his face, fingers creeping up to run through his dark locks. In the process, he licks his chapped lips. The winters are already dry enough; really, he should stop before they crack.

But he just can’t help himself. Minho thinks all broken things are beautiful.

With a sigh, he drops his hands. His elbow dings the small ink pot in the process, spilling the black liquid off his writing table. It swirls under the candlelight, landing in heavy puddles on discarded parchment. Typically, the author would hurry to pick up the pot. His money was limited and his practice was expensive; wasting even a little was fatal.

Tonight he sits. Counting the drops as the plop, plop, plop, ruining all of his terrible work. No one will ever know the worlds he’s created and destroyed, the ink making sure to remove them from existence.

Minho is almost jealous of the parchment. What he wouldn’t give to be washed away and made anew, for the burden that being an artist in this life has brought to be returned to the higher powers.

Before he thought it was a blessing. Weaving words to create fantastical lands, to write of unfathomable love. Now, as the candle wax is hitting his wooden table and the ink is running dry, he knows this is a curse.

A walk. A walk might do him well. It could help Minho move the boulder that’s blocking his mind, tapping him dry. Though the hour is well past midnight, it couldn’t hurt to try.

The ankle length coat is heavy on his shoulders, yet he’s grateful. The wind is nippy and is doing nothing to help the dryness of his lips. His tongue rolls over it once again, thankful for the protection it provides. Even if it’s fleeting.

Why can he not get this right? No matter what he scribbles, nothing is making sense. The story he’s made is falling flat, losing its traction as it continues on. It’s a brilliant idea, one that his editor even called a masterpiece. But that’s all it is — an idea. No matter how many times he’s tried to bring it to life, it’s damn near impossible.

What could have happened to it?

Minho walks without really paying attention. He knows the way by now; a left here, down the curved road before you take a right, past the bakery. Every time the golden window comes into view, he stops. Time stops as he looks into the dark store, blinking slowly as snow flutters down and clings to his lashes.

He blinks—

“Minho!” You cry excitedly, your giggle immediately warming his body.

When his eyes open again, the first thing he sees is your bright smile. Smirking, he takes the loaf out of your hand, tearing a bite off the end.

“I’m just saying.” He talks as he chews, turning on his heels in the direction of your shared home. “It would be silly of you to do that.”

“What?” You hike up your lilac colored dress, jogging to catch up to him. He rolls his eyes as you jump in front of him, walking backwards. Many strangers pass, eyes wide and looking at you in disgust, wondering what fool would do this on a busy sidewalk. But the smile on your face doesn’t waver, unaffected by the hurtful whispers of insignificant people. “You don’t think I could bake my own bread?”

“Darling, you can hardly cut an apple.”

“Bread and apples are not the same.” You exclaim, throwing your head back to sigh dramatically. “When you married me, you vowed to always be supportive of me—“

“And I always have been.”

“So, encourage me!” You suddenly stop, putting your hands out to catch Minho before he runs into you. Hands on his jacket, you bunch it up. Pull him close. “Oh, my darling, if that’s what you wish to do. You’ll be wonderful at it!”

Your fingers are so close to his heart, he wouldn’t be surprised if you could feel how quickly it was pounding. There’s something about the way your eyes sparkle when you look at him; wide, full of a life he’s always been envious of. Minho finds it impossible to remember a time before this look of yours.

It started when you were five. Caught up in a tree, crying because you had climbed too high and were too frightened to jump. He remembers the braids you wore, how your hair was falling from them. The tears on your little brown dress from where the branches grabbed the fabric.

Even at a young age, he knew he needed to help. His mother always taught him to help someone in danger. In retrospect, the tree wasn’t that tall. If you fell, the possibility of breaking a bone wouldn’t have been high. Yet it seemed scary, even to the young boy, following your path up it.

“Don’t be scared.” He said to you, reaching his hand out. Shakily, you grab onto it. You squeezed him so tight, his hand began to throb.

Minho knows what it’s like to be scared, and he never would want to leave you alone.

As he returns you to land, you turn to the boy you recognize as your neighbor. Arms flying around his shoulders, tugging him into the tightest hug your little body can give.

And then you pull back, and look at him. The sparkle of life in the depths of your eyes.

He swore you would never be scared and alone again.

It’s hard not to smile, lips pressed together and curling up as he cups your face. “I also vowed to never lie to you.”

With a huff, you pull away from the hug, turning in the appropriate direction this time. “You are the bane of my existence, Lee Minho.”

Now it’s his turn to jog. Catching up to you and gripping your hand to pull you into his side. Despite your wiggles, your faux pout and empty complaints of being exhausted by him, you make no effort to really move. Tucked into his side is the best place, both in reality and fiction, you once told him. The scent of his cologne, the smell of fresh bread and the mint tea he drank earlier. A comfort you always will seek, and one he’s more than joyful to give.

It’s a short walk home; a left and then you’re up the curvy path, walking until you take a right at the bookshop near your home. It’s a quaint little shop, but cozy nonetheless. The door was propped open, smells of cinnamon and leather spilled onto the cobbled road in front of it. Come in, take a seat. Enjoy the writings of authors old and new.

Right in the middle, on a golden stand, sits Minho’s recent work. The yellow cover was your idea — “It piques interest! Come on, do you really want it to be red or blue like all the rest?” The book didn’t need to be published for him to know you were right, but it’s satisfying to see the stacks behind it dwindling. The community enjoying another one of his gorgeous worlds.

“It’s running low.” You hum. “It might be time to mail production, get more copies out.”

“Hm, with what funds? If I recall, you spent it all on poppy muffins not even an hour ago.”

Rightfully, a fist gently collides with his abs. Minho laughs from the impact, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “I’m so proud of you, Min.” You don’t take your eyes off the book. Instead of your trademark beaming smile, you look almost stunned. In total awe. “It’s what you’ve always dreamed of.”

He loops his arm around yours, tugging you away from the window. “It’s not but a hobby. I have greater dreams than that.”

The familiar brick comes into view. A flowerbed in front is home to the brightest plants on the block; daisies, pink flowers that Minho can’t remember the name of, daffodils. There’s even mint for tea, freshly plucked by you (if you can remember). It’s a comfort, a reminder of your love. Of the home you’ve built together.

“Like what?” You fall back in step, letting your husband take the lead so he can get to the door before you. The door swings open, Minho bowing dramatically and you following suit as you pass.

Once the door shut, he began on the buttons of his coat. “Where’s the fun if I tell you?” He teases. When he looks up to see your exasperated expression, it’s only held for a beat before you start to laugh. “I dream of more of this life. Of easy morning walks—“

His eyes open, the cold winter air making his fingers start to numb. It’s time to move again. To continue down this path. This time, he’ll walk straight. Listen for the meows of street cats that always greet him at the block.

Rummaging his deep pocket, Minho finds the little treats he pocketed on his way out. Crouching down, he lets the cats eat from his hand.

“Careful.” He whispers to the biggest one. “Let your friends eat.”

Once he’s sure that they return to the warmth of the home he built for them, Minho starts again. Licks his lips. Takes a right.

And crashes into you, grabbing your hips to help ground himself.

“My love.” You gasp, a hand flying to your chest. Your fingers toy at your necklace, the collision spooking you more than you care to admit. “I didn’t even hear you coming.”

His chest hurts from where your head hit him, flinching slightly as he heartbeat starts to pick up. It’s the first time he’s seen you all day, nose too fair in his journals to pay attention to the outside world.

And wow, is he kicking himself for waiting so long. The yellow dress you’re wearing is perfect for the weather, clutching the roses you picked from the garden to your chest. Seems you kept yourself busy while he worked.

“I’m sorry, darling.” He draws, bending down to catch your lips with his own. “This hallway is just too small for us, isn’t it?”

You smile against him, standing on your toes to steal another kiss. “Maybe, but I’ll never complain about running into you.”

“It’s because you’re not the one with a sore chest.” Finally, he pulls back. “What have you done today?”

“I was busy in the garden.” You adjust the bouquet in your arms, making sure none of the flowers lost their petals. “I wanted to cut the roses before autumn comes.”

Like Minho loses himself in words, you lose yourself in the garden. It’s like you don’t even notice the sun setting some days; fingers too deep in the soil to care about anything surrounding you. The two of you take turns pulling each other out of your little worlds, bringing one another back into existence together.

This crash was a good grounding moment. You both were too far gone.

“They’re lovely.” He says with a smile, delicately stroking the bud of one.

“They were, until you so rudely ran into me and fussed with my bouquet.” You can’t even say it without a bright smile, always delighted to tease your husband. “Watch where you’re walking, Min!”

His eyes roll so far back, he thinks they’ll get lost in his mind. Hands move from your hips to tangle in your hair, pulling you in for a deep kiss. The flowers fall to the floor, and this time the petals come falling off. Scattering the hallway carpet you stand upon.

It’s been too long. Too long since your lips met his, since your body was merged with his own. And it’s only been since this morning.

Maybe too long is an exaggeration, but Minho’s always had a flair for the dramatic.

“Are you planning to go back out?” He mumbles, tongue sweeping against your lips until they part, letting him in.

You whimper as you shake your head, hands on his biceps as you cling for dear life. “Not anymore.”

Oh, how it overjoys the author to hear. Minho walks with you, guiding your bodies to the nearest door before he kicks it open. Though the hallway has seen, and heard, so many parts of you, you deserve more than a stuffy hallway quickie.

It’s a stumble into his office that doesn’t stop until your hips hit his work table. He lets go of you just briefly, sliding the papers, notebooks, quills — all clatter to the ground. The desk sits in front of a window, cracked open just enough to let the summer breeze dance in. It lands on your shoulders, on his face. Ruffles your hair and warms his skin. The fireflies have just started to come out, a few twinkling near the stained glass and lighting it up in beautiful pieces.

Minho cups the back of your head, lowering your body slowly onto the wooden surface. It feels like a dreamlike state as he breaks the kiss, moving himself away from your lips slowly. Your head lays at the edge of the desk, crossing over just a bit onto the windowsill. The breeze makes your hair flutter in strands, the pale light of the fireflies painting your face.

Blue and red. Yellow and green. Pink and orange. Stained glass eyes, bright and full of life, blink up at him. Always happy to see him.

“My darling.” Goosebumps decorate your skin, rising up your neck at the sound of his low tones. His fingers are delicate as he strokes your cheek. “Your beauty always leaves me in such awe.”

Rolling your head, your lips brush against the tips of his fingers, overflowing with gratitude. “You are too kind to me, my love.”

The corners of his lips twitch into a soft smile. “No. No, I believe I am not kind enough.” His other arm hooks around your right thigh, heaving it up in his arms. The dress slides down your body in rippling waves, pooling like golden ink at your hips. “But I will never stop trying to make it up to you.”

Before you can reply, the hand on your cheek slips the nape of your neck. He pulls you up as he comes down, making your body arch into his touch when his lips collide. This kiss is more than the one that let you here — be it the weather or the feral instincts clawing at his throat, Minho’s body is like the brightest flame. Hot enough to bring the entire planet to the brink of extinction.

And it’s all because of you. The smell of roses, the taste of strawberries you had for lunch. His life force, his drive. His muse, who is tugging on his worn out dress shirt and pulling until the buttons pop. Across the room they scatter, lost and never to be found again.

Your hands run across the smooth skin of his chest, carefully feeling every ridge of him. Sweet moans fill his mouth as you enjoy the touch, covering the same spots over and over as if you can’t get enough. It’s easy to get lost in the touch of a lover, feeling their bodies in ways that only you can enjoy. Maybe that’s why you don’t notice his hand moving up your thigh, stopping right at the lower hem of your panties.

But you do notice when two fingers slip inside and quickly brush against your folds, making your body jolt in shock and delight.

“Shh, shh, shh.” Minho says as he pulls back, smiling at the cute expression on your face. “Just relax, darling. Let me care for you.”

“You did.” Your words are breathy, teetering on broken moans. “All morning.”

The chuckle he gives makes you flutter around nothing, new slick starting to coat his digits. “Well, let me do it again. Didn’t I vow to always?”

In the space between his rapid heartbeats, his fingers find your entrance and push inside. With vigor, Minho starts to pump them in and out. The palm of his hand hits your cunt, heel pressing into your clit with each thrust.

It’s an intense feeling, especially with how much torture your husband put you through this morning. You’re more sensitive than usual, hips buck and legs kicking out at the intensity. Only a few thrusts and you’re near screaming, the ache overpowering.

He vowed to always help you, even when you aren’t aware that you need it. Free hand flying to your hip, he pins you down by your hip with enough strength to bruise you.

“Still.” His voice is dark and low, the warning tone causing your bright eyes to widen. Nothing more needs to be said, fear like cold rain washing over you. Following his commands without a fight.

“That’s my good girl.”

Minho has always been good at keeping control. It’s easy for him to calm his mind enough to make sure he doesn’t break. Yet it’s always impossible when he watches your eyes flutter shut, body like the perfect toy in the palm of his hand. His cock aches and twitches in his trousers, demanding for some sort of release.

Even when it seems unlikely, he contains it. Not letting himself get too caught up in the moment, focus narrowed on bringing you the most pleasure he can—

Your left hand cups your breast over the dress. In the light of the fireflies, the simple band of diamonds shine.

When he bought you that ring, his pockets were empty. It was the best that he could find with the little money he had, and even then he had to barter for it. He swore to himself that one day, when he didn’t have to struggle anymore, he would get you the wedding ring that you deserve.

That day came after he published his first book. When the first check came in the mail, he ran to the kitchen, dropping to his knees and proposing. Again.

“Get up, this floor hasn’t been swept yet—“

“Marry me, my darling.” Both of his hands cup yours, the check wrinkling in his fist. “Let me give you all you deserve, starting with this ring.”

His thumb rubs over the jewelry to emphasize his point. He was going to make it better, to make you happier.

“No.” You say simply. “You’re not taking my ring from me.”

“But, darling—“

“I don’t want just any ring, I want the first one you ever picked for me. This one. Now, please, love, get up before I use the broom to sweep you away too.”

It shines as brightly as your eyes under the fireflies. Maybe that’s why Minho can’t think straight. The love coursing through his body bringing him to the edge.

With a loud groan, he stops his movements. Fingers buried knuckles deep inside of you, your husband hangs his head. Your eyes shoot open, concern heavy in them. “Min, are you-“

You fall silent as you notice. The wet spot on his bottoms, growing in size right where the tip of his cock is. Neither of you move, neither of you speak. Watching as cums his pants.

Slowly, he looks up at you. Your hand hasn’t moved from your breast, lips parted in shock — or is that terror? After all, his eyes have never been so dark before.

“See what you do to me?” His voice is more of a growl, pulling his fingers from your cunt aggressively. “See how you make me feel?”

There isn’t time to think. To speak. He doesn’t even take the time to undress you properly; trousers fall to his mid thighs to let his still hard cock spring out. Your head hits the stained glass as he inserts himself into you. Slow, yet rough. Savoring the soft feeling of your walls.

Minho steadies himself by gripping onto your other hip, loudly groaning your name over, and over, and over like a prayer until he’s deep inside you. If you thought his fingers were intense, you’ve shattered from this stretch, clawing at your exposed skin in ecstasy.

All is right when your bodies create one. Limbs tangled, lips swollen. He leans down as he starts to thrust into you, not pulling out more than half an inch. Each one is deep, hitting places neither of you knew existed until this moment.

Nothing else exists. In this moment, you are both all that was. All that is. All that is to come. The universe pauses for you, time stopping as you love each other to an extent that no one thinks is possible. The earth cracks under you, breaking from the strength of this connection.

Better than any story written across time.

His head lays on your chest, the position thoroughly uncomfortable though Minho is convinced it’s perfect. He listens to the beating of your heart, kisses your warm skin, fucks you in unimaginable ways.

“I love you.” He mumbles against the swells of your breasts, nuzzling deeper into them. Craving a life only you can bring. “I love you so much, my darling. I-I don’t even know how to say it.”

This time, you shush him. Threading your fingers through his dark hair, you turn his head so he can look at you. Meeting your bright eyes, full of life.

The metal is cold against his palm. Hard to move regardless of how hard he pushes.

“I love you.” You smile at him. “In ways I’ll never be able to tell you.”

The snow and gravel crunch under his boot. Only a few more steps.

“You’re my everything, Lee Minho.”

Though he’s sniffling, he still smiles up at you. Fully consumed by your presence, wishing to freeze this moment so it never ends. “I thought I was the bane of your existence.”

The laugh you give is full. “Why can’t you be both?”

Though his pants are thick, the cold still seeps through. He sits with his legs crossed, letting the snow melt under him and numb his thighs. It’s a nice distraction — one he really, really needed.

“I don’t know what to write.” He says out in the dark of night, staring at the jewelry in his hands. A small, golden heart pendant and the simple ring cling to the chain, warm from his body heat. They were tucked away the entire walk, pressed close to his slow beating heart. “I’ve gone through sheets of parchment and at least five journals and…nothing.”

With a sigh, he starts to spin the ring. It’s too small for his fingers, though he had tried. Once it got stuck on his pinky. Minho left it there for days, not doing anything until his finger started to turn purple. It hurt too much to take it off.

“You would be appalled by the state of my office.” The laugh he gives is dry and shaky. “I let a pot of ink spill today, and I don’t know when I’ll clean it up. It was almost refreshing to watch it wash away my work.”

The tears have started. He’s not ready. Not now, he just got here—

“I don’t know why this is so hard for me.” He licks his lips, over and over and over until they finally crack. “You’re all I could ever think about, all I could ever talk about. So writing about you should be the easiest thing I’ve ever done. But I try, and I try, and I lose sleep wracking my brain to try and encapsulate what you were. How you held existence in your eyes and loved with such a fierce heart that it could have been the comet that killed the dinosaurs. How can I love you so fucking much, and not know how to talk about you?”

Minho was determined not to look up. If he doesn’t look, he won’t get hurt. Reality can be nothing but a hoax as he talks to you, lost in a world the two of you created.

The dream he wants to never escape from.

But there’s only so much he can take. Finally, his head lifts and fuck how he desperately hopes to see your bright eyes. Instead, the stone sparkles. Your name engraved above the dates, a small reminder that you were real.

Slowly, the author sits up on his knees and begins to crawl. At the headstone he stops, slowly lowering himself to the ground. Letting his body sink into the snow as he lays with you and clutches your jewelry to his shattered heart.

It isn’t long until his eyes start to shut despite his efforts to stay away. One blink, then a slower one, and another until there’s no more. On the last one, right as sleep pulls him in, he swears he hears your laugh.

[mitchellpete]

Kinktober Day 19 - Orgasm denial

pairing: vincent (collateral) x f!reader

cw: dubious consent, mentions of blood, description of injury, floor sex, penetration, biting, orgasm denial, dirty talk, unprotected sex

word count: 1697

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

-

Your heart is pounding in your chest. Breath heaving, sweat rolling down your temples, the fun of it all. Or thrill, should you say, because there’s absolutely nothing fun about getting chased by Vincent. 

Not her. 

You’d begged him—implored—to leave her alone. Just the one exception, you’d pleaded. 

Now you’re sure he’s gonna kill you both. 

You’d had a little bit of hope that maybe you could have gotten away with this. That you’d manage to slip out through the hoards of people, blend in with the bustling energy downtown and make it back to your apartment in time to have nothing to do with her escape. 

Except that it went the absolute opposite. The messages that you’d left on her answering machine had been listened to, personal belongings were gone, her office nothing but a dark room. You’d peered in through the glass, made sure she was really gone, and she was. Vincent was rounding the corner when he spotted you. Bloodied and battered, instantly angered at your interference. He’d warned you to stay away.

Your lungs burn, your throat dry from sucking in the crisp night air as you run with all your might. You’re scared to look back, the entrance to your building getting closer and closer. Getting inside is all that matters. 

When you jolt up the steps into your brightly lit safe haven, you almost take a sigh of relief. There’s no way he can get you in here, not with the guards at the doors—who’d, frankly, given you a weird look as you sprinted inside, disheveled and out of breath. You almost consider hiding behind the concierge, asking them to hide you somewhere in the back, but you’ve got no time to think things through. You run towards the elevators instead, now glancing back to make sure you’re absolutely not being followed. The lobby is quiet. Nobody on your trail.

Okay. Okay. 

The emptiness in the elevator is almost eerie. Just a minute prior, you’d been pushing past groups of people out on the sidewalk, muttering “excuse me” under the loud noises of the streets—cars speeding by, horns honking, the sound of people chattering. 

You flinch at the simple sound of the elevator ding. 

A long, deep exhale, and then you set down the hallway. Alright. Quick strides, just for safe measure. You made it. You even get to your door, calmly, collecting your breath. Shaky hands pull your keys out from your back pocket—thank God they hadn’t fallen out in the chaos—and slip them into the keyholes. The door unlocks, and you slip inside without a problem. 

It’s when you turn to close it, fingers already on the lock, that the door suddenly swings open with a sharp kick from the other side. You tumble backwards, falling on your ass. He immediately comes into view. 

Vincent, towering above you, looking absolutely revengeful. 

You scream, turning to crawl away for your fucking life, but it’s no use. He grabs at your ankle, the door slamming shut behind him. You twist again in his grip, the floor punishing against your spine. You kick at him with your free leg—another useless action—but he reaches for your arms to pull you up against his chest instead.

“Okay, okay—Vincent, please,” you beg breathlessly, his grip crushing your forearms.

He’s breathing erratically, blood dripping down a gash on his cheekbone. He’s got nothing but uncontrollable anger behind his eyes, and it’s all aimed at you. You wonder how it is he managed through the sea of people, how nobody seemed to notice this untamed, bloodied, mess of a man chasing after you under the streetlights. How he managed to slip into your fucking building undetected. 

“What did I fucking tell you?” he growls, shaking you in his grip.

“Please—”

“Messing with my fucking work,” he grumbles, hauling you into your darkened apartment. “Who do you think you are?”

You let him handle you into the living room, falling back against the floor when he suddenly drops you and then straddles you underneath his thighs. You subconsciously try to sit up but he pushes you back down, your shoulders hitting the floor hard. 

In the midst of your scrambling, he positions his knee in between your legs, shoving it hard against you. You cry out, surprised at the pleasured feeling that jolts through your body. 

“Do you think this is a fucking joke? Huh?”

You shake your head. “No, no, I—”

Rough hands reach for your bottoms, yanking them down your legs in one swift motion. 

Oh.

Okay, he’s not gonna fucking kill you. 

This you can handle. His tempestuous, disorderly behavior isn’t all that bad when it leads to this, which is often. It’s surprising though, you’ve got to admit. Crossing his boundaries had been uncharted territory. You weren’t sure what it would lead to. You’re sort of still expecting worse.

Vincent shoves his knee against your core again, bare and throbbing this time. You squirm underneath him, rubbing against him, exciting yourself further. You groan when he shoves you down against the floor once more, this time to free his hands. His fingers swiftly work the button on his pants, eyes still burning a hole right through you. You lean up and reach to help him but he swats your hands away, yanking the front of his pants down just enough to reach in and pull his already very hard cock out. 

“No,” he says between gritted teeth. “You don’t get to touch. You don’t get to do anything.”

You inadvertently roll your hips against his knee again, searching for any sort of friction. He puts an end to it immediately, a calloused hand coming down against your lower abdomen. His other drags your leg forward, bringing you up against his thigh so that he can lean in and rub the tip of his cock against your folds. 

With the adrenaline from earlier still coursing through your veins, you cry out at the contact. Your body trembles in a mix of anxiety and need. 

Vincent bows his head to harshly spit in between your bodies, the trickle landing right on the head of his cock. He doesn’t even give you a warning, or a flick of his eyes before he’s pushing himself hard against your slit. The harsh stretch has you crying out, body tensing from head to toe. He sinks inside of you as your body allows it, huffing in between his teeth still in an attempt to contain his temper. 

“Vincent—” you gasp out, overwhelmed at the sudden, unprepared intrusion.

“You don’t get to speak,” he interrupts. “Not a fucking word.”

You bite your lip to hold back your whines, but they continue to escape from the back of your throat. 

Vincent wastes no time in fucking into you. Your legs propped up, it’s more your neck taking the harsh surface of the floor, and you groan out at the mix of pleasure and pain.

“Oh, by the way,” he breathes, tone rough and raspy. “You don’t get to cum either.”

Christ.

“W–What?”

“You better not. I fucking mean it,” he threatens, breathing getting heavier with every slam of his hips.

You can’t even respond, can’t even ask why, before he’s hitting that very tight spot inside of you over and over. It’s almost painful, like the good kind of painful—that itch that you keep scratching no matter how reddened your skin gets underneath your fingernails. The head of his cock prods at that very sensitive spot, slamming into it perfectly with the angle he’s got you in. You wail out, holding onto the coil inside your stomach.

Vincent is still glaring at you, still holding you under his fiery gaze. His breathing is even more frenzied than it was when he kicked your door open, uneven and wild as he thrusts into you with all his energy. It’s crazy, how he’d managed to chase you 20 minutes down the street, sneak into the building and still fuck you into the floor like it was part of his job. The one thing nobody could prevent. 

You gasp out again and again as the coil starts to slip.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, feeling you clench around him. “Don’t you fucking dare. Or this all goes away.”

You inhale, trying to catch your breath. “Vince—”

Your eyesight is out of focus from the overwhelming sensations, staring up at the dark ceiling until his gray head of hair comes into view. He leans down all the way to cover your body with his, teeth clamping down on the skin between your neck and your shoulder.

The wet of his tongue there gets you even closer to the edge, but you bite your lip again to restrain yourself. You feel on the verge of explosion.

Vincent lets go of your skin, snarls against your neck as he nears his release. The blood dripping from his face falls, lands on your collarbone, and it’s surely that that does it for him. Hips sputtering, he moans under his breath, fingernails digging roughly into the skin underneath your shirt, right above your hips. 

“Don’t,” he huffs out against you, raising his head to look you in the eye. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, holding it firmly in his grasp in a threatening manner. “Don’t you dare.”

You hold it the best you can, mouth parted in a trapped, silent moan. 

Vincent pulls out as soon as he’s left you leaking, moving from underneath you to let your shaky legs level with the rest of your body. He’s swift in his motions, tucking himself back in and fixing his suit jacket as if none of this ever happened. Your body’s still buzzing, orgasm threatening to spill just at the sight of him. 

You continue fighting it off, leaning up on your elbows to watch as he shamelessly moves about your apartment. 

He picks up his gun—it must’ve fallen during his big entrance—and turns to look at you. The fury still in his voice, “Don’t you ever—get in my way again.”

Panting uncontrollably, you immediately nod your head in agreement. He’s out the door before your head stills.

[niki-phoria]

Jealous Chishiya x Male Reader?👉🏻👈🏻

pairing: chishiya x male!reader (no pronouns used but reader wears swim trunks) genre: fluff word count: 1.4k

warnings: slightly ooc chishiya, canon typical violence, blood, haven't written a game in so long, i wrote the first part of this and didn't want to delete it so just skip to past the time skip to see jealous chishiya lol

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i posted something similar to this not that long ago but i tried to keep them different. i really like this idea. i hope you enjoy it :))

requests open !! read my rules first

a light breeze chills your exposed skin. you tug your jacket further over body as you follow chishiya up the steps of the toei sendagaya apartment building. he reaches out to grab a phone, quickly signing in as if it’s second nature before moving to stand near the wall of the building. 

you follow suit, shoving your phone into the pocket of your swim trunks as you stand beside him. chishiya pulls out his altered music player, silently handing you an earphone. you silently take it before taking the opportunity to look at the other players. there aren’t many of them yet - a nervous woman, a drunk man, and a fidgeting college student. the game shouldn’t be too difficult. 

you shove your hands further into your pockets - a habit you picked up from chishiya after months of spending nearly all of your time around him. time seems to move faster than ever as even more people walk up the steps. 

two men are the final players to enter, making the total count 16 people. one of them has bleached blonde hair. he’s wearing a dirty pair of jeans and a thin hawaiian shirt over a gray t-shirt. the other has shaggy black hair and wears a light blue jacket. 

they both step aside from the stairwell. a nervous man in a blue cap approaches them just after their phones ding with a confirmation of them signing in. “excuse me,” he fidgets with his fingers. “could you help me? i’m not sure what’s going on.” 

“oh, you have to play the games to-”

“what are you doing?” the brunette’s friend elbows his ribs. “we don’t know him.” they both shrink away from the man right before the game begins. 

“registration closed. game: tag. difficulty: five of spades. rules: players run away from the ‘tagger’ and try to find a safe room located somewhere in the building. game clear: players press the button in the safe zone. game over: players are killed by the tagger or fail to find the safe zone in time. players have two minutes before the game begins.”

it feels like sparks ignite against your skin when chishiya reaches over to grab your hand. you silently let him lead you along behind him into the elevator and up to the ninth floor. you lean against the railing beside him overlooking the building and the courtyard. “we should be able to see all of the other players from up here.” 

“at least it’s a nice view,” you mumble. 

the game begins slowly enough. only a few stray gunshots ring out in the otherwise peaceful silence of what used to be a bustling apartment building. 

soon, they begin to pick up. you nearly flinch when a woman lets out a shrill scream that’s swiftly cut off by a single bullet. chishiya reaches over to grab your hand when you do, gently squeezing it in his. despite the circumstances it’s a welcome comfort. 

time has always passed quicker when chishiya is with you - even in games when it feels like everything drags. you desperately try to ignore the continuous string of gunshots and the desperate pleas of the other players as they echo in the empty building. chishiya’s thumb strokes against your knuckles as the minutes continue on. 

eventually, he squeezes your hand. “that should be enough time,” he whispers. “come on.” 

you nod, following after him as he leads you to the fourth floor. the safe room looks exactly like the rest except for the bustling you can hear, even from the outside. chishiya gently pushes you out of the way as he slams the door shut before bracing himself against the wall. a new string of gunshots blows through the door - just barely missing you on the other side. 

“there’s two buttons!” a man yells from inside the room. 

“of course,” chishiya scoffs. “are you okay?” 

“i’m alive,” you sigh. “let’s just push the damn buttons.” 

he nods, slowly cracking the door open. a woman has hoisted herself up onto the edge, looking into the room. “here!” he yells before sliding the taser across the floor to her. she’s quick to grab it, pressing it against the tagger’s side. 

their body convulses as it falls to the floor. you grimace at the sight before following chishiya into the room. “the buttons!” the man gasps. he’s quick to launch his body at the button as the woman does the same. you let out a small sigh of relief when you look over at the timer. 00:01.

the tagger sits up from the floor - herr horse mask laying forgotten on the floor beside her. she looks over at the timer in horror before gasping, bringing her hands up to her face. she frantically pulls at the chunky collar around her neck to no avail before you shut your eyes, looking away to avoid seeing her death. 

blood coats the walls and the floor when you open them again. the man rushes out of the room as the woman jumps back down through the building along the balconies. you step closer, kneeling down beside chishiya. he pats her body down before opening the breast pocket. inside is a little slip of paper with a drawing on it: a circle with a mess of lines going through it and overlapping with each other. 

“what do you think it is?” you whisper. 

“i’m not sure,” he replies. “but i’m sure we’ll figure it out.” chishiya reaches over to grab your hand, squeezing it in his. despite all of your worries - you believe him.

chishiya watches from a distance as you laugh with kuina on a beach chair. arisu and usagi sit across from you, also doubled over in laughter - presumably from a joke you told. you’ve always had an ability to make people laugh. 

an uncomfortable, but familiar, feeling crawls into chishiya’s chest. it settles against his ribs, pressing down on his heart. all rationality is forgotten as he continues staring. seconds pass. then minutes. then, his feet are moving on their own - carrying him over to where you are. 

“y/n,” he says. you look up. a small smile spreads across your face when you notice it’s him. “i need your help with something.” 

“okay,” you murmur, turning back to your friends for a moment. “i’ll be right back.” kuina simply waves you off as you stand to follow chishiya back into the beach’s hotel. it’s not uncommon for him to seek you out of a crowd specifically. 

you close the door behind yourself as soon as you enter the familiar room chishiya had turned into a makeshift workshop. he walks over to the side of the room, leaning back against the table. his hands remain deep in his pockets - though he’s not sure if it’s the remnants of a habit or a poor attempt to hide his anxiousness. he sighs, finally forcing the words out. “do you like her?” 

you cock your head at him, furrowing your eyebrows. “who?” 

“kuina.” 

“like… romantically?” you chuckle a little, stepping forwards. chishiya remains silent, gaze fully focused on you. “no, i don’t like kuina. why? are you jealous?” he can feel his face warming just slightly at your question. teasing as it is, it was still enough to fluster him. instead of answering, he watches as you step even closer to him. he can nearly feel your breath as you reach up to stroke a hand against his face. “i like you, chishiya.” 

his breath nearly hitches in his throat. you lean even closer, just barely brushes your nose against his. your eyes flutter closed as chishiya takes the final step to pull you into a sweet kiss. 

it starts soft. your lips barely brush against each other for a few seconds until you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him even closer. chishiya’s hands rest against your hips as he smiles into it. you reciprocate immediately before pulling away with big smiles. 

“i like you too, y/n.” he whispers. 

“good,” you whisper, leaning up to press a final peck against his lips. “i’m tired. come on, let’s go to bed.” 

chishiya stifles a chuckle, letting you tug him along back to your room. “whatever you want, love.”

[mafuluzx]

UNRELEASED WATTPAD STORY LET'S GOOO!!!

Uhmm, so, if you guys don't follow me on Wattpad, you might not know this, but I'm releasing my scrapped male reader book right here. This is basically what was supposed to be the prologue, but it's kinda crappy and stuff now that I think about it...

So this is also a bit more different than the rest of my stories, that's also why I scrapped it. I went out of my comfort zone and whoops. Umm, yeah, the main thing of this story is just Jay's and (y/n)'s relation to each other as siblings and such, so here you go.

I've seen people put lyrics in their prologues, so I thought that it might be cool to try in this one... that's what I thought when I started writing. BUT I DON'T LIKE IT ANYMORE AND I THINK IT'S KINDA CRINGE AND GOOFY AAAAHHHH!!!

Also, this book is an old scrapped idea from the time I was still working on the idea for Over the Clouds (One of my books in Wattpad). It was either this or that, and I ended up liking the idea of Over the Cloud's waaaaaaay more.

But this is it. I'll publish the rest in separate posts, will basically be the actual thing cut in two parts.

Beautiful Liar (Scrapped)

Prologue

𝓛𝓮𝓽'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓴𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓴𝓪𝓻𝓶𝓪 

"No, no! NO! Pa! Don't take him away!"

"Don't worry, you'll meet again."

"I can help take care of him! I-I really can!"

"(y/n), calm down, Jay will be alright."

"NO, I DON'T WANT HIM TO GO!"

𝓛𝓮𝓽'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓪 𝓯𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽

𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓪

"The ninja have saved us yet again! The people of Stiix were all saved by the newest addition to the ninja team, the water ninja Nya! People on the scene say..."

"How worthless... Look at how things have turned out. He's got a a big loving family and many things he enjoys doing. He has no need for me anymore. He's part of a ninja team as well, that must be fun. And how he can be so awfully honest on tv makes me smile. I could never."

꧁༒"𝓞𝓻 𝓪 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓻~" ༒꧂

"And, drum roll... YES! WE DID IT AGAIN!" A shout of celebration rang from the phone I was holding.

"Another million views overnight. The music video seems to be to the fans' liking." A second voice spoke.

"Yeah..." (y/n)  said as well. The others were celebrating, so he should as well. He put on a small smile as he looked at the letter he had finished writing. He was gonna send it soon.

"Oh, (y/n), You don't sound so excited." A third voice spoke

"How could he? Cliff Gordon just...We're sorry (y/n)." Yet another voice said as (y/n) shook his head.

"No, it's really alright." 

"...If you say so. The manager said you should take a break though, the paparazzi are sure to take advantage of this."

"Alright! Tell the manager to keep in touch." (y/n) said as

"Sure, take it easy, (y/n)."  "Bye, bye!" The sixth and fifth voices called before (y/n) put his phone down. He let out a sigh as he stopped leaning on the wall, and set his phone down. Taking a sip from his water bottle, he pressed play on one his band's own songs.

"five, six, seven, eight..." He counted quietly as he started moving in the middle of the room. He stared at himself from the mirrors covering the walls, his eyes sometimes skimming past the posters of a ninja dressed in blue. (y/n) scoffed at himself, his form was off. At some point he stopped counting his steps, and instead mouthed the words of the song.

Knock, knock, knock...

(y/n) stopped for a second,thinking he had heard something, but when no other sound came, he continued.

Ding dong...

This time (y/n) paused the music. The room went awfully quiet, but still no sound came. (y/n) extended his arms towards the play button again, but before he could touch it:

DING DONG, DING DONG, DING DONG...!

The sound of the doorbell continued as (y/n) rushed out of the room. Only once he stepped onto the carpet set in front of the front doors did the ringing stop. (y/n) twisted the lock before opening the door slightly, as his eyes opened wide.

(y/n) opened the door fully as a boy with fluffy brown hair stood in front of the door with a smile. (y/n) saw a couple of people the same age as the boy far behind him, seeming to have run after him. The boy smiled widely before jumping and hugging (y/n) tightly.

"I'm here, brother. I'm home!" (y/n) felt a sense of déjà vu, but he couldn't quite put a finger on why that was. As Jay hugged (y/n) tighter, (y/n)'s eyes started to water. He felt as if Jay had said those words before, but he couldn't possibly have. 

"...Welcome home." The other ninja finally caught up to Jay, and stopped to stare silently at the present situation. The ninja stared with confusion on their faces, except for the water ninja. Finally, (y/n) hugged back, and started sobbing.

[velidewrites]

Summary: When 19-year old Feyre Archeron voluntarily takes her sister's place in the Hunger Games, she expects nothing but her imminent demise. But Feyre is a survivor, and as she is thrown into a battle between life and death, she discovers there are things worth fighting for.

Pairing: Feysand

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of blood and gore, Feyre being sexy and unhinged, wait a second is that Rhysand? Is he also sexy and unhinged? AKA Feysand (literally) slaying the game

Read: Chapter I || Fic Masterlist || AO3

Chapter IV: To the Stars Who Listen

The blood in her arm was pulsating in agony.

Brannagh’s grip on her had been too tight, and Feyre was certain that long, purple-black bruises would paint her skin within hours. She tried not to hiss in pain as she raised her hand to press the penthouse button on the elevator wall. For a brief moment, she allowed her head to rest against the cool metal, closing her eyes and welcoming the dark’s sweet embrace.

There you are.

I’ve been looking for you.

Who was he? Why was he there tonight? Somehow, Feyre couldn’t shake the feeling the violet-eyed man had sought her out. Having almost been killed by her hand seemed not to bother him in the slightest—strange, given the Capitol’s dramatic tendencies Feyre had grown accustomed to.

You’re not from the Capitol.

That feline smile. Finally.

The elevator dinged quietly, and Feyre opened her eyes.

Most of the entrance hall was veiled in darkness, though she could make out the large, ornate mirror on the side, glinting gently in the distant light of the skyline seen from the lounge. It appeared everyone had gone to sleep—still, Feyre hardly wanted to test her luck after the last time she’d been caught. Alis would never let her out of her sight again. Silently, just like in the forest back home, Feyre took a few steps forward, the lounge hidden just around the corner.

That’s when she heard it.

She’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“I knew you were a brilliant young man, my dear,” Amarantha drawled, the words like syrup dripping from her tongue. “I’m surprised I haven’t thought of it myself.”

“You really think so?” her companion asked, and Feyre’s brows knotted.

What was Tamlin doing with her at this hour?

Amarantha clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Are you doubting yourself, Tamlin?

In the shelter of the corridor’s walls, Feyre held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“No,” Tamlin finally said. “But I do wish there was another solution.”

A theatric sigh. Feyre imagined Amarantha patting his hand as she spoke, “We all do, my dear. We all do.” With that, she stood, the sound of her heels on the polished stone announcing her departure.

Feyre made herself count to sixty—a full minute before she dared to step out, enough, she hoped, not to raise any suspicions.

Tamlin’s head whipped in her direction as she came into view. “Feyre?” he asked from the same windowsill she’d found him on last time. “I thought you were asleep.”

Feyre took a few steps forward. “I could say the same thing about you,” she said, then made a show of looking around the space. “Is anybody else awake?”

He held her gaze for a few seconds before shaking his head. “Just me.”

Feyre nodded, taking a seat beside him. Every nerve inside her body screamed as she propped herself up on her sore arm, though she forced her features into a cool stillness that rivalled the stone beneath her.

“Where were you?” Tamlin asked.

Feyre looked out to the city below. “Training hall.”

She could almost hear his eyes widen. “Feyre, if Alis knew…”

“Well, she doesn’t,” Feyre interrupted, meeting his stare again. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Tamlin opened his mouth, then closed it, seemingly deciding tonight was not the best time for an argument. Instead, he nodded, and this time, they both looked to the Capitol’s bright lights, content to do nothing but watch their midnight dance.

Feyre wondered if she’d ever see the city again—not that she wanted to, and yet…with death looming over her, closer and closer with each passing day, everything seemed to be slipping from her grasp a little too fast. Even the Capitol.

She would never see her District again, either. Her house, small and cramped as it was, the black market, the forest. Feyre wished she knew the hunt on the morning of the Reaping would be her last. She would have tried harder then.

Something stung in her chest at the thought, and Feyre tore her gaze away from the view, words escaping her mouth before she could stop them.

“I needed to train.” she told him. “Today’s session was not enough.”

Tamlin frowned, those emerald eyes piercing. “Why?”

Feyre shrugged absently. “I promised my sisters I would win. And even though…even though I know I have no chance, I want them to see that I at least tried.”

He looked to his feet at that, taking in her words with a sad smile.

Feyre angled her head. “You’re thinking about your sister,” she said, and Tamlin’s gaze shot up, surprise—surprise and pain—like a shadow over his handsome features. 

It felt like a punch in the gut.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

But Tamlin was already shaking his head. “No—no, I…” he hesitated. “I’m thankful you’re bringing her up. I don’t…I don’t talk about her as often as I should.”

Feyre said nothing, opting to let him open up on his own despite the questions buzzing inside of her head.

“It’s been years, actually,” Tamlin told her. “That one night you found me in here…that was the first time I brought her up in…forever.” He swallowed hard. “I was never planning to tell anyone about her…but there you were, so painfully honest about what you’d done for your own…” Tamlin sighed, meeting her eyes again at last. “She deserved to live outside of only my memory again. So thank you, Feyre.”

Silence fell, accompanied by nothing but the echo of his words.

“How did she die?” Feyre whispered.

With a shaky breath, Tamlin ran a hand through his hair. “Our uncle—my mother’s brother—used to work at the mines. Dalia—that was her name, she…” he stumbled over his words, another trembling breath leaving his throat.

“Take your time,” Feyre told him gently.

Tamlin closed his eyes, forcing himself steady before he continued, “The miners would be working all day, sometimes all the way through the night, and Dalia liked to leave them food by the entrance—something to keep them going, to give them strength throughout their shift. Her and my mother would make sandwiches—nothing special, just ham, sometimes even cheese…Dalia would leave them in a small basket with a rose, or some other flower, over the lid. She liked to think it would let the miners know they came from her.” He huffed a small laugh at the fond memory, and Feyre smiled. “One day, my sister was going back from the mines through the forest. It was nighttime—one of those longer shifts, I guess—and I…I don’t know exactly what happened, but she must have been picking flowers, and…” Tamlin’s voice strained at that, but he pushed through nonetheless. “And she picked up some nightlock berries.”

Feyre’s smile faded entirely.

“She didn’t know,” Tamlin whispered. “She didn’t know they would kill her. We…I didn’t even know they grew in our forests.”

She knew. Feyre knew. She could have stopped it—

“She was only nine,” Tamlin continued quietly. “She was only nine, and I couldn’t protect her.”

Tears burned in Feyre’s eyes. “I’m so sorry—”

Tamlin looked at her again, silver lining his own as he spoke. “You protect your sisters, Feyre,” he told her. “And I couldn’t protect mine, but…but I’ll do my best to protect you.”

Feyre’s heart stopped beating.

“I promise,” Tamlin said, and left her alone in the night.

***

As predicted, Feyre’s arm was killing her the next day.

On their last day of training, Alis put them through hell. She’d reserved a space underground beside the training hall, just as well equipped as the main area, though Alis had opted for only the exercises she had deemed they needed to revise the most.

Feyre did not dare to look at Tamlin when their mentor talked them through poisons.

He seemed not to acknowledge it though, taking in every word with an unnervingly stoic look on his face. By the time they were finished with hand-to-hand combat, everything seemed to get back to normal 

Now, they sat on the bench by the back wall, sweating under Alis’s surveying stare.

“I know you think training is over,” the older woman said, “but the worst is yet to come. Don’t look at me like that, girl,” she told Feyre, seemingly noticing her distress, “tomorrow, you will be interviewed in front of the entire Capitol, and believe me, their judgement is far worse than mine.”

Feyre felt her stomach turn.

“The interviews will be televised all over Panem,” Alis continued. “I’m sure you’ve seen hundreds of those in your life, but don’t let that put you at ease. Like each Tribute, every interview is different, and the sponsors do not enjoy a spectacle they’ve already seen before.”

Considering the fact that Feyre had only been watching the Games for the past two years, this was good news.

Propped up on her crane, Alis leaned in closer. “They’ll be watching your every move, listening to every word. So before you say or do anything, think. The goal is to show them you’re worth their money. Show them you have what it takes to win.”

Bile rose in her throat, the burning sensation so sudden Feyre’s eyes began to water. She’d gotten so used to this phase, the non-stop training over the past two weeks that she didn’t realise how quickly the time has passed. She would die in two days, three, four if she was lucky. And although she promised her sisters she would try her hardest to survive…she knew others would, too.

Show them you have what it takes to win. Feyre was fairly certain a bow and arrow would never be enough.

“How do we do that?” Tamlin’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

Alis’s eyes narrowed. “Make them like you,” she drawled. “Your skills will mean nothing if the sponsors hate your guts.”

“Excellent,” Feyre murmured. How could she possibly do that after trying to kill one of them?

Even if she hadn’t done that, Feyre seriously doubted she could win over the sponsors as easily as Alis was making it out to be. Back home, after all, she had no one—no one but Isaac—and not because she was intimidating like Nesta, opting for solitude and the peace it offered. Most people in Twelve seemed to simply…stay away. Perhaps it was the illegal hunts she’d go on almost every morning, or her frequent attendance at the black market. Perhaps they still remembered the one time she was caught on her escapades—could somehow see the five long scars on her back through the flimsy fabric of her shirts, a constant reminder that Feyre Archeron wasn’t a person anyone should associate themselves with.

She wished she was more like Elain. Even when they had nothing, her sister was never alone. There was something about her that people loved—that they could not look away from. As if her mere presence was enough to forget about their daily misery. As if…as if Elain was sunlight, and without her, everyone would wither away. Feyre definitely would.

“Feyre,” Alis demanded, interrupting her train of thought. Was this the first time Alis called her by name?

Feyre sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”

“Save the bullshit for the sponsors, girl.”

That was more like it.

Feyre leaned back in her seat, ignoring the sharp pull on her bicep. “I can’t do it,” she said. “The sponsors hate me.”

Alis opened her mouth, but was immediately cut off by a louder, sugary voice, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of high heels on the stone floor. “Nonsense,” Amarantha said, making her way inside the room. She stopped a few inches away from them, offering a sweet, encouraging smile. “My lovely Feyre. The Capitol absolutely adores you—just be yourself, and you’ll have their favour in no time.”

Feyre frowned. “The Capitol barely knows me.”

Amarantha shrugged. “That hardly matters. They know enough to offer you their support, in fact—well, I’m not exactly supposed to say this, but—oh, well, here it goes. I’ve just returned from  a lovely gathering with some of the other aides, and rumour has it you’re the most anticipated appearance for tomorrow night.” She angled her head in a motherly gesture, and reached to swipe two fingers across her cheek. Feyre flinched, though Amarantha did not seem to notice. “The only thing you must do is look spectacular, as you always do, and you’re going to win this thing.”

Feyre stilled, daring a side glance at Tamlin. His expression, practically carved in stone, betrayed nothing.

Amarantha dropped her hand with a dramatic sigh. “Anyway. I came to tell you that dinner will be served in a few minutes, so come on up when you’re ready to—”

Without a word, Tamlin strode right past them, leaving the room before she even got to finish.

Amarantha’s face twisted in worry. “I should—I’ll see you upstairs,” she said, and quickly followed Tamlin out.

Alis snickered and shook her head. “One thing about the Capitol, girl—it never really gets boring.”

Feyre’s brows furrowed. “What was that all about?”

Offering nothing but a one-shouldered shrug, Alis turned towards the exit. “It’s normal at this stage,” she told her, her wooden crane tapping lightly against the floor. “It appears that Tamlin no longer believes he can compete with the Star of the Capitol.” A chuckle. “Now, let’s go and enjoy dinner, girl. With that attitude of yours, it’s likely one of the last meals you’ll ever have.”

***

“You look beautiful,” Nuala said, and Feyre released a shaky breath. “I mean it.”

Feyre did believe her. She’d never felt more beautiful in her life.

The Capitol food agreed with her, filling in her curves and bringing a soft glow into her usually hollow features. Her designer did something to Feyre’s cheekbones, too—a strange, shimmery product that highlighted their sharpness in a bold yet graceful manner. She stained her lips with a soft burgundy lipstick—a new name for a colour she’d never even known existed. It suited her, though, bringing out the fullness of her mouth and complimenting the sparkly eyeshadow Nuala had chosen for this occasion. It suited the dress best, she argued.

She was, of course, right.

Feyre had never even touched a fabric like this before—so soft and elegant, flowing like a shadow with her every move. It reminded her of the dress Nuala had worn the first time they met, though this gown was much more grand and formal, its black silks hugging her body in ways Feyre had no idea were possible. The low, yet appropriate for the Capitol standards cut revealed her collarbone, adorned with the same shimmery product that covered her cheeks, which Nuala had said would reflect beautifully under the studio light. She’d opted for no jewellery, explaining that the dress would do a sufficient enough job to make her appearance memorable. Instead, Nuala curled Feyre’s hair into soft, cascading waves, combing in a small amount of silver glitter to complete the look.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Nuala,” Feyre told her as she examined the stranger in the mirror.

The woman winked. “Remember to save the best for last.”

Feyre nodded, then took another nervous breath.

“Relax,” Nuala said. “Act like no one’s watching. You can pretend it’s your sisters you’re talking to, not Helion Spellcleaver.”

“I don’t think that would help,” Feyre said. “Nesta would cry tears of laughter if she saw me like this.”

“Well,” Nuala said. “At the very least, remember you’ll have at least one friendly face in the audience tonight.”

“You’ll be watching?” Feyre asked.

Nuala took her hand and squeezed it lightly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Feyre smiled. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you out there,” her friend said. “They’re waiting for you backstage,” she added, and with a final check on Feyre’s hair, she exited the room.

Backstage, Tamlin, Alis and Amarantha were already sitting on the couch, anxiously awaiting District Twelve’s turn.

For this occasion, the Capitol had delegated one small room adjoining the stage for each District. A small screen had been set up on the wall for the live holo to display the main stage, which meant they would be able to watch all of the interviews before their turn came—as well as the audience’s reactions.

Feyre forced another breath into her tight chest and stepped into the room.

Right away, she was greeted by a high-pitched squeak of delight, Amarantha shooting up from her red-velvet seat to take her all in.

“Feyre, you look magnificent. Look at this fabric!” she exclaimed, grabbing a handful of the sheer, black tulle draped over her arms. “Truly, this is just lovely. I’ve seen the other Tributes, and frankly, you’re going to be the best-dressed one of them.”

Feyre’s brows knotted in confusion. “When did you see them?”

Amarantha winked secretively. “I’ve had a look at the early designs.”

Behind her, Alis scoffed.

Feyre’s frown deepened. “But how?”

She wasn’t offered an answer, though, as the screen suddenly lit up, casting a bright, pinkish hue over the room to the sounds of applause.

The camera focused on the stage, where a shadowed silhouette sat in a pristine white chair, his back turned to the crowd. The cheers grew louder when the chair began to move, rotating slowly until the figure came into full view, all the lights focusing on revealing the wide grin of Helion Spellcleaver.

Dressed in a dark green suit, his shoulders were adorned with what seemed like actual, long feathers of a peacock, their vibrant blue eyes adding splendour to the ensemble that made the audience roar in ecstasy. The host stood up to greet them, heavy golden rings on each finger of his hand as he waved, that smile not leaving his face for a second.

“Welcome!” Helion announced, opening his arms to the crowd. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the final night before the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games officially begin!”

The audience cheered again, and Feyre paled at the sound.

“So many of them,” Tamlin whispered beside her, his thoughts seemingly mimicking her own.

Helion asked, “Are we excited to meet this year’s brave and noble Tributes?” The Capitol answered with a shout of delight, and Helion laughed, the sound rich and deep. Feyre suddenly wondered how old he was—as far as she was told, he’d been hosting the Games for a little over ten years. “Good answer! So, while I would love to chat with you for the next few hours—” he teased playfully, causing a few giggles amongst the crowd, “—let’s not waste any more time and dive straight into the interviews. Please join me in welcoming the stunning Briallyn from District One!”

The girl entered the stage, the long, golden train of her gown slithering behind her like a snake. The applause grew louder, and the camera cut to the audience to show a standing ovation in some of the sectors. Clearly, this girl already had her fair share of admirers.

Helion extended a hand, and Briallyn took the seat beside him, a knowing smile playing on the corners of her lips.

“I must say, Briallyn, you look absolutely phenomenal,” the host said, then turned to the audience. “Doesn’t she look phenomenal, folks?”

The Capitol erupted with another roar, and Helion smiled at the Tribute. “Did you know gold is my absolute favourite colour?” he asked.

Briallyn shrugged innocently. “Perhaps I did,” she said, then leaned in closer towards Helion, her breasts veiled in golden glitter that sparkled as she moved. “Perhaps that’s exactly why I wore it today.”

Seriously?

But the audience laughed, and so did Helion, a look of elated surprise blooming on his face.

“She’s good,” Alis commented from her seat beside Tamlin.

Feyre scoffed. “You can’t be serious. She’s flirting with the host in front of the entire country!”

Alis pointed to the screen. “They’re laughing, aren’t they?”

“I will never understand the Capitol,” Tamlin muttered, and Feyre was inclined to agree. Could a few smiles in the right direction truly determine whether she would live or die?

Alis shook her head. “The girl has a strategy, and she’s executing it to near perfection. This is how you become memorable—she’s doing the unexpected, and the Capitol thrives on it.” With a sigh, she tore her eyes off the screen. “This is what you have to do. Get a feel for the audience, see how they react to you. To them, you are nothing more but entertainment. So entertain.” 

“I’m not going to flirt with Helion Spellcleaver,” Feyre protested.

Alis rolled her eyes. “No one’s making you flirt, girl. What you do have to do is surprise them—in whatever way you can. And I’m not talking about your dress, your hair, or whatever glitter it is they’d put all over you—everyone here has been groomed to perfection. Ultimately, they will only remember you by your words.”

Feyre swallowed hard.

Alis continued, “Whenever you see an opportunity, take it. Play to your strengths. And remember, the Capitol isn’t the only one watching. The same people that are going to try and kill you will soak up your every word—and tomorrow, they will use them to their advantage,” she warned, her gaze meeting Feyre’s directly. “So remember—be entertaining to the audience, but intimidating to the other Tributes. Show them you’re not an easy kill. Sit up straight, but be relaxed. Smile, but not too widely. You want to appear confident and at ease.”

Feyre leaned back in her seat, her head spinning at the sheer amount of information. The familiar, twisting sensation in her gut returned, threatened by the tight fit of the gown on her stomach, and she felt her vision blur out and her heart rate speed up. This was impossible—impossible.

Before she realised how much her panic consumed her, Brannagh and Devlon, the male Tribute from District One, had already finished their interviews. It was only the sound of a chilling, voice that Feyre knew all too well that pushed her out of her state, her vision returning to focus on Brannagh’s vicious smile on the holo.

“So determined,” Helion praised. “How commendable.”

Brannagh’s smile widened. “My brother and I cannot wait to make the Capitol proud.” She looked straight into the camera, and Feyre shifted in her seat. “And no one is going to stand in our way.”

Feyre’s blood chilled while the audience erupted with another round of applause.

Brannagh stood, waving to the camera again, and Feyre couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that her final words were a message—a message meant for none other than her.

The girl left the stage, and Feyre whispered, “She’s going to kill me."

Tamlin’s head whipped to her, forcing her eyes on his. “She won’t.”

Such resolve, such hard abandon in his voice—and Feyre began to feel lightheaded again. What, exactly, was Tamlin’s attitude towards her? For the entirety of their first week at the Capitol—besides that one night she’d found him after her nightmare—he’d barely uttered a word in her direction. In fact, Feyre was convinced he was determined to avoid her so that it would be easier for him to kill her when the time came. And yet, at times…at times Feyre couldn’t tell what went on in his head. Why did he promise to protect her?

Tell me what you’re thinking, her eyes tried to tell him. I can’t figure you out.

No answer came back.

Soon, Districts Two and Three were finished, and Helion announced the next Tribute.

The boy from Four had beautiful eyes, a blue-green shade Feyre hadn’t even known existed before she came to the Capitol. His hair was a striking white, braided back and glistening under the bright stage lights. It reminded Feyre of seafoam—the same kind she’d once seen on the holo news about the District’s fishing shipment struggles over the winter. The livestock shipments from Ten had already been restricted, and Feyre vividly remembered her mother’s face when the news came on. Her blue-grey eyes, the same ones Feyre and Nesta had, dimmed as she sat down. She hadn’t said a word until the following day.

His smile was kind and gentle, though his gaze betrayed wariness as he patiently waited for the audience to settle. Beside him, Helion Spellcleaver took his seat, his feathers glittering so bright Feyre had to squint despite watching through the backstage screen.

“I must say, Tarquin, you look absolutely spectacular tonight,” the host told him.

Tarquin’s head cocked to the side. “Not nearly as spectacular as you, Helion,” he drawled.

Helion’s grin widened. “Well, I’ve lived here longer.”

The audience erupted in laughter, and Feyre finally understood—understood just how important his role was in this whole game. Helion was entertaining, to be sure, and the Capitol seemed to be eating right out of the palm of his hand, but there was a purpose to his shining persona and arsenal of wit. He was there to help them—to give each Tribute a chance at gaining the interest  of those that could keep them alive.

Feyre sighed. All the wit in the world wouldn’t make the sponsors like her, no matter how much of it Helion had at his disposal. Once she opened her mouth, all they would see was the Star of the Capitol extinguished.

“So tell me, Tarquin,” Helion said, crossing an ankle over his knee. “What’s your strategy for the big game tomorrow?”

For the first time, Tarquin smirked, tapping the golden trident engraved on the front of his vibrant suit. “You’d be surprised how far fishing can get you in life,” he told the host.

The audience laughed, some of them even going as far as to shout Tarquin’s name. Helion angled his head, pointing to the crowd. “Sounds like a few of us agree,” he suggested, and the spectators cheered their agreement.

“Clever,” Alis noted, impressed. “He’ll be another one to look out for.”

Feyre’s mouth formed a tight line. She remembered Tarquin from training—he was one of the very few Tributes she actually liked. He’d shown her how to tie different variations of knots, even how to attach them to her own body, and asked for nothing in return. Tarquin was so different from the Careers—talented and kind, with no bloodthirsty quality about him that made Feyre want to stay far away from the others.

Looks, it seemed, could often be misleading. Perhaps this boy would try and kill her, too—tie a knot around her neck while she slept in the middle of the night.

Her bruised arm began pulsating again, and Feyre slouched in her seat, exhausted despite not having even begun.

“Sit up, my dear,” Amarantha told her. “You’re going to ruin your dress.”

Feyre wanted to scream.

She ultimately decided it was in her best interest to only pretend to be watching the rest of the interviews if she wanted to make it to the stage with her makeup still intact. Watching the young boy from Seven, twelve-year old Balthazar, had nearly brought her to tears. Young—he was so young, his innocence soon to be brutally taken away. Would the deadly twins kill him? Would Feyre?

And so, her eyes remained fixed absently on the screen until the camera zoomed in on a familiar face.

“Do you think you can win, Ressina?” Helion asked as her interview neared its end.

Her friend raised an eyebrow. “Absolutely. I’m determined to show the Capitol that the outer Districts have as much skill as One or Two.”

She stepped off the stage, and Alis clicked her tongue.

“What?” Feyre asked. “What is it?”

“The Capitol will make sure to prove this girl wrong,” Alis said.

Feyre’s eyes widened. “Why do you say that?”

Alis’s stare was hard and unwavering. “She just challenged their treatment of the outer Districts. They’re going to kill her the first chance they get.”

“Come now, Alis, I don’t think…” Amarantha began.

“I can say whatever I want to say,” Alis interjected. “They’ve put me through enough.”

Amarantha said nothing.

Alis continued, “The girl’s efforts are worthless. Do not stay close to her once the Games begin,” she advised.

Feyre’s heart dropped.

“I see the look on your face, girl,” Alis now addressed her directly. “I can’t stop you once you’re out in the arena, but remember this: there can only be one winner in the Hunger Games. The only thing you can really do, the only thing you should do, is whatever it takes to protect your sisters. Which, at the moment, means doing as you’re told.”

I promised my sisters I would try to survive, she told Tamlin. But at what cost?

How many people would she be forced to slaughter? Feyre’s been a killer ever since she’d gone into the forest—but animals were her only prey. She’d never felt any remorse—her family was starving, and hunting was a means to an end. But this…this was different.

She would be killing for nothing but the entertainment of Panem’s elite—to satisfy their insatiable thirst for the blood of the country’s youth. Here, in this city of never-ending supplies of fresh food, clean water, and anything their heart desired, Feyre and the other Tributes were prey, meant to hunt each other for the Capitol’s enjoyment.

What a waste.

“You know her as the Star of the Capitol,” Helion’s voice suddenly reached her through the screen. “But to us, she is the brave volunteer from District Twelve. Please welcome Feyre Archeron!”

Feyre went deathly still. She’d allowed her thoughts to take over for too long, and her turn had somehow already come. Her heart pounded in her chest, the chill creeping down her spine freezing her entire body in place. 

Someone must have taken her hand and led her to the stage, because she did not remember getting up from the couch, walking to the door and up the stairs until a bright light blocked her vision from anything but Helion Spellcleaver, waiting for her a few meters ahead.

Feyre stepped into the light, the sounds of applause slamming into her so loudly her ears began to ring. The high pitch almost swept the floor from her feet had it not been for the host’s encouraging hand she took absently.

She felt herself fall to a seat, soft and plush like anything in the Capitol, and Feyre looked at the blurry splashes of colour in front of her until they sharpened into people—an audience waiting.

Waiting…for what?

Feyre looked to Helion, inches away from her, and she realised this was the first time she’d seen him up-close. He was handsome—too handsome, perhaps, with the kind of face she knew would crush her heart if she’d let him.

His dark brows rose expectantly, and horror washed over her, hot and boiling her cheeks red as she realised he must have asked her a question.

“What?” she asked helplessly.

The audience howled in laughter, and Helion joined them, his own laugh earnest as he patted Feyre’s hand. “I think someone’s a little nervous,” he teased. “I said I am so happy that I finally get to ask you about your entrance at the Tributes’ Parade. Spectacular, wasn’t it folks?” he asked, turning to the rainbow of tulle and synthetic watching from their seats out front.

They cheered loudly, and even Helion offered a small applause of his own. His gaze fixed on Feyre again, and he nodded with a reassuring smile. “Come on—tell us all about it,” he said.

Forcing herself to focus on the host, Feyre looked away from the crowd and into his amber eyes, surprised to find a spark in there—and a message.

He was giving her an opportunity.

She thought of Nuala’s advice from before. What would you say if it was Elain in front of you?

Feyre smiled nervously. “Honestly, it was hard to see anything in the dark,” she told him, and those eyes sparked again in approval. The audience laughed, and Feyre continued. “I was just hoping the horses would take me to the right place.”

Laughter, loud and bright, rolled over the crowd, and Feyre took advantage of the moment to release a quiet breath. It continued until Helion raised a hand with a smile, turning to Feyre again.

“Well, then I feel compelled to inform you that you looked absolutely magnificent. I have to say, my heart stopped,” he said, placing a hand on his broad chest, “when your costume lit up with what looked like actual stars. Did any of you experience this?” Helion asked, looking to the crowd.

Feyre followed his gaze to where hundreds of people cheered their agreement. She looked to the front row again, where a pink-haired woman nodded sagely, her own hand mimicking Helion’s movement. Another spectator beside her wiped off a tear.

“My heart stopped,” Helion repeated, shaking his head, as if the memory still kept him mesmerised.

Feyre offered another smile. “So did mine,” she admitted, and Helion laughed brightly.

“Are you afraid of the dark, my darling Feyre?” he asked, and Feyre’s smile faded.

My darling Feyre, have you not considered that perhaps you are just that talented?

She shook the memory off, carefully crafting the smile to curve up her mouth again. “I’m merely saying there is always light in the darkness, Helion,” she said.

Helion hummed appreciatively. “A light in the darkness,” he pondered. “I think you were exactly that.” His own smile returned as he added, “Tell me, when are we going to see you shine again?”

The question was met with applause, with the Capitol seemingly desperate for an answer as well. Feyre’s eyes scanned the crowd, until they settled on the second row—and a familiar face.

Nuala gave her a small nod, and Feyre blew out a breath. This was the time.

With a teasing smile, she turned to Helion. “I could show you now—if you’d like to see?”

Helion’s brows rose as the audience shouted, begging for a demonstration.

Helion held up a hand. “Hold on,” he halted. “If it’s another explosion of darkness, you have to swear that it’s not going to ruin my favourite suit,” he warned, and Feyre laughed.

“No explosions this time,” she promised.

“Alright, what do you think then, folks?” the host asked, and the Capitol cheered, whistles of encouragement rising over the crowd.

Feyre stood, and took a few steps forward, away from the strong light shining over their seats. The black silks of her gown flowed with her, so dark she doubted anyone could make out their shape from where they were sat over the main stage.

Releasing a final, trembling breath, Feyre opened her arms and twirled.

Just as Nuala said it would, thousands of silver speckles appeared throughout the fabric, twinkling under each layer of the gown with a soft light. The entire Capitol gasped in unison at the sight, more stars appearing with each twirl, from the very top beneath her collarbone where the dress began down to the material pooling at her feet. In a manner of seconds, Feyre was the night sky personified, casting a light of her own over the audience.

Someone shouted her name, and soon, the entire hall was chanting it like a prayer, accompanied by a never-ending applause. Feyre spun and spun and spun until shapes blurred into one, and the floor became soft and unstable beneath her feet.

Helion’s light grip on her elbow steadied her, his handsome face betraying nothing but pure, unrestrained awe. The Capitol roared in delight as Feyre returned to her seat, some of them rising from their seats to show their appreciation for the show they’d just been given.

Feyre smiled, and Helion returned the gesture. “That was really something,” he said, his grin growing wider as he added, “The Star of the Capitol indeed.

“Feyre,” he continued, “I have one more question for you.” Helion took her hand again, his expression fading into seriousness. “It’s about your sister.”

Feyre stilled, shifting only slightly in her seat. “Okay,” she said hesitantly.

Helion looked to her hand, once again patting it gently—this time, a gesture of support. Feyre wondered if the man was simply easy to read, or if he’d made himself this transparent on purpose. “We were all very moved, I think,” he began, “when you volunteered for her at the Reaping.” He swallowed, as if the topic was somehow hard for him to discuss. “Tell me…did she come to say goodbye to you?”

Feyre. My beautiful Feyre.

Everything will be okay.

You shouldn’t have done that, Feyre.

Promise you will make it out.

“Yes,” Feyre finally said, her throat tight. “She did."

“And what did you say to her before you left?” Helion asked quietly.

“I told her…” Feyre hesitated, looking around the studio again. Just beneath the stage, only slightly below the first row of spectators, stood a camera.

Feyre looked straight into it.

“I told her I would try to win. That I would try to win for her.”

The audience fell completely silent, as if mourning that final goodbye with her, and Feyre turned back to Helion, who nodded knowingly.

“I know you will,” he said, placing a light kiss atop her hand, his lips warm and soft. Then, Helion stood, Feyre following closely behind him. “Ladies and gentlemen, Feyre Archeron from District Twelve!” he exclaimed, raising her hand up in triumph to the sounds of a rapturous Capitol.

Backstage, she was pulled straight into Amarantha’s arms.

“Brilliant!” she told her. “Absolutely brilliant! Feyre, you did an incredible job, truly, I think you made quite the impression, the sponsors especially—”

“Quiet,” Alis interrupted her rambling. “Tamlin is on.”

Feyre’s head whipped back to the screen.

Tamlin lounged in the chair, seemingly relaxed as Helion smiled encouragingly.

“I hear you work at a flower shop back home,” the host teased. “You must smell like roses all the time.”

Tamlin cocked his head contemplatively. “I’m not sure,” he hummed, then gestured for Helion to lean in. “Do I smell like roses to you?”

The host leaned forward, making a show of smelling Tamlin’s arm to the utter surprise and delight of the audience. “You do smell amazing,” Helion told him, his brows furrowing. “I think I might want to change professions now.”

Tamlin waved a playful hand. “Every job comes with its benefits,” he said, and the audience laughed.

“Speaking of benefits,” Helion continued, a sly smile playing in the corner of his mouth. “Does selling flowers come with the advantage of some extra female attention?” he asked with a wink. The camera cut to the audience again, a few women’s eyes wide as they awaited Tamlin’s answer.

Tamlin laughed. “No…not really.”

“Come now,” Helion’s amber eyes narrowed. “A handsome lad like you? There must be a girl waiting for you back home.”

At that, Tamlin’s smile slowly faded. “I, uh…well.”

“Ah, there it is!” Helion exclaimed happily. “I knew it. Go on, tell us more.”

Tamlin looked to the camera, his gaze betraying nervousness for only a split of a second, then back at the host. “There was a girl back home,” he finally said. “But I don’t think she really knew who I was until the day of the Reaping.”

A sad groan emerged from the audience, and Helion nodded. “I see. Well, how about this—you win the Hunger Games, go back home a victor, and then she’ll simply have to go out with you.”

Tamlin shook his head. “No, I…I don’t think winning is going to help me at all, Helion.”

Helion angled his head in confusion. “And why not?”

“Because…” Tamlin’s chest heaved with a shaky breath. “Because she came here with me.”

The audience gasped, and so did Feyre backstage.

What?

Feyre’s a hunter, Tamlin’s voice echoed in her head. I see her in the woods sometimes when I’m out getting flowers.

My sister was a lot like you. I was never planning to tell anyone about her…but there you were.

I’ll do my best to protect you. I promise.

“What?” Feyre asked again, this time out loud, as the holo showed a tearful man in the audience, covering his mouth as he shook his head in disbelief.

The camera cut to Helion again. “Ah. That…could make things difficult.”

Tamlin’s lips were a tight line as he nodded. “Yeah.”

The host’s expression was pained. “Well,” he sighed, extending a hand. “I wish you the best of luck, Tamlin.”

They shook hands, and soon Tamlin appeared in the room.

His eyes swept over Amarantha, then Alis, until they finally settled and locked on Feyre’s.

She couldn’t breathe. Feyre opened her mouth, and—

Tamlin’s gaze slid off her, and in a few quick strides, he hurried out of the room without a single word.

Alis cleared her throat, looking—for the first time since they’d met her, perhaps—entirely uncomfortable. “I better go check on him,” she said, then made her own way out.

Feyre’s eyes remained fixed on the door, her whole body completely and utterly still until she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched, turning on her feet to face Amarantha’s concerned face.

“Is there anything you need, my dear?” she asked sweetly, and when Feyre shook her head, she sighed. “Poor Tamlin. Young love can be so heartbreaking. Take your time, lovely.”

With that, Amarantha left the room.

What the hell just happened?

***

Feyre simmered in that question for what seemed like hours.

Alone in the small room backstage, she replayed the interview in her head over and over, until words ceased to make any sense whatsoever.

Tamlin couldn’t like her. He couldn’t, because…because in a manner of days, one of them would be dead.

Was that why he’d avoided her so often? During the first week of their training, he had barely spoken to her, opting to leave her side the second the morning briefing would end. If it hadn’t been for her accidentally stumbling upon him in the middle of the night—twice—she doubted the two of them would even have a proper conversation.

Winning isn’t going to help me at all, he’d said. Perhaps all this time, Tamlin hadn’t really hated her. Perhaps he simply protected himself, knowing he might eventually have to kill “the girl from back home”—or she might kill him.

Feyre was certain it was nearing midnight—she couldn’t allow Tamlin to occupy her thoughts now, not with the Games due to start in less than twenty-four hours. What Feyre truly needed was to sleep. In a bed, for the very last time.

With a deep sigh, she rose from the couch and made her way to the exit. She stepped out to the corridor, the door shutting with a small click behind her.

“Hello, Feyre darling,” a voice purred.

“Shit!” she jumped, startled, turning towards the sound.

Leaning against the wall to her right, tall and with a glass of champagne in his hand, was him.

The violet-eyed man smirked. “My apologies,” he offered, though his tone suggested he wasn’t sorry at all.

Taking a few steps in his direction, Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “Are you stalking me now?

He looked pointedly to the door, clearly marked ‘12.’ “You weren’t exactly hard to find.” Feyre scoffed, and his smile widened. “I only wanted to congratulate you on your interview. And your dress, of course,” he drawled. “You must have a spectacular designer.”

“I finished my interview over two hours ago,” she told him. “Were you waiting outside this whole time.”

He shrugged. “I figured you wanted some privacy. It was an…eventful night for you.”

Feyre frowned. “You’re a strange man.”

For some reason, he looked delighted to hear that. “You have no idea,” he said before taking a sip from his glass and bouncing off the wall to face her fully at last. That mesmerising, violet gaze took her in, scanning the dimming stars on the sleeve over her arm. “The Star of the Capitol,” he murmured, hypnotised by the sight before him. “Interesting.”

Heat rose through her body under the intensity of his stare. “What’s interesting?” she asked breathlessly.

But the man’s eyes fixed on something beneath the sheer tulle, something not even the stars could cover. Understanding shone in them as he realised those were bruises, and he stepped in closer to inspect them.

Feyre held her breath as he surveyed every inch of the battered skin, splatters of dark purple long and shaped like human fingers…the same ones he’d freed her from two nights ago.

Darkness filled his eyes, that vibrant shade of violet long forgotten, his irises bleeding anger and pure, unrestrained violence.

“I would kill them,” he began, practically grinding out the words, his fist tightening around the glass. “I would kill them, Feyre, if I wasn’t sure you’re going to get to them first.”

A cold sweat broke out over her as she felt the weight of that declaration, and Feyre took a step back.

Noticing this, the man tore his eyes off the bruise to meet hers. “I would never hurt you, Feyre,” he swore with such hard abandon that Feyre’s eyes widened.

“Funny,” she whispered. “That’s the second time someone’s made me such a promise in the past two days.”

He looked at her again, and there was a wait there—a hint of hesitation before he slowly said, “Be careful who you trust, Feyre.”

“And who is it that I should trust?” she asked. “You?”

The man stared at her, an insufferable silence filling the space between them as he considered. He tipped his head up slightly, looking to the ceiling quizzically before he finally asked, “Do you ever look up to the stars and wish?”

Puzzled, Feyre’s brows knotted. “The stars cannot save my life. They never have, not here, and they certainly can’t help me out in the arena.”

Something twinkled in those pools of violet as they settled on her again. “Maybe they can,” he said, raising the glass to her before he added, “To the stars who listen, Feyre.”

Feyre opened her mouth, but the man had already turned to leave. “Remember that.”

Before he managed to disappear in the shadows, a silhouette emerged from around the corner, accompanied by a light tap of a wooden crane, and the man stopped in his tracks. “Alis,” he greeted her smoothly.

An incredulous look appeared on her mentor’s wrinkled face. Her voice was stiff as she answered, “Rhysand.”

The man nodded and left.

Rhysand.

That was his name. 

Rhysand, Feyre’s mind repeated, as if the name had been an answer to a question she’d never thought to ask.

“Why are you still out here?” Alis asked, taking a few steps towards her.

Feyre ignored her completely. “How do you know his name?”

Alis raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Feyre pointed to the shadows behind her. “Rhysand. How do you know him?”

“How do you not?”

Feyre sighed in frustration. “I know he’s the sponsor I almost shot, but I always thought he was no one significant.”

Alis shook her head, her usual grimace now replaced by a look of outright bewilderment. “Rhysand isn’t a sponsor. He’s a victor—a victor from District Twelve.”

Feyre’s mouth hung open.

“He won the Sixty-Fourth Hunger Games, exactly ten years ago,” Alis continued, her eyes searching Feyre’s. “I trained him. How can you not remember?”

“I wasn’t allowed,” Feyre whispered.

“What?”

Feyre cleared her throat. “I…my father never allowed us. To watch the Games.”

Alis’s eyes narrowed. “Was he aware that it’s illegal?”

Feyre looked down to her feet. “Yes.”

“Well,” Alis sighed. “That explains a lot.”

Feyre said nothing.

“He was a lot like you,” her mentor said, and Feyre was grateful she didn’t question her any further on the matter. “A clever boy, witty. Talented, too. He slaughtered his way through the competition at only fifteen,” she hummed. “It’s no surprise the Capitol adored him. So much, in fact, that he never returned home. He used his charm to feed off the Capitol’s rich—and he’s doing it to this day.” She added wryly, “It’s why he’s never had to mentor anyone in the past decade, including the two of you. They’ll let him do whatever he wants as long as he remains…entertaining.”

Feyre soaked up every word and let it fuel the anger that had slowly began to boil in the pit of her stomach. This whole time, Rhysand was from Twelve—from her home, and he said nothing?

Alis leaned in closer. “A word of advice to you, girl,” she offered. “Stay away from those who hold the power in the Capitol. Tomorrow, the Hunger Games will begin, and you must trust yourself and yourself only. People in the Capitol can be…deceiving.”

Feyre frowned. “Even Amarantha?” She couldn’t imagine the aide hurting as much as a fly.

Alis warned, “Hybern’s granddaughter is capable of much more than you can imagine.”

Feyre’s eyes widened. The President’s granddaughter?

“Be smart with your choices, Feyre Archeron,” Alis told her. “There are enough people trying to kill you already.”

***

Feyre navigated the bright corridors of the hangar, her heart thumping in her chest.

They’d tied a blindfold around her eyes on the jet—no doubt to preventing any last-minute escape plans—and now, she could feel tears burning inside them as she tried to adjust to the white, artificial light.

She did not see Tamlin in the morning—only Amarantha, who offered her a small kiss on the cheek, once again expressing her confidence in Feyre’s chances. There’s a reason you’re the Capitol’s Star, lovely Feyre, she told her. Don’t prove them wrong.

Now that she knew who Amarantha truly was, Feyre could see past the good wishes and see them for what they were—a message.

Luckily, the Capitol would forget about their Star soon. She was likely to be dead within hours.

They’d placed a tracker in her arm—the healthy one, thankfully—its soft, blue hue almost invisible under her skin. Feyre wondered if it latched onto her vein, and if so, how difficult it would be to rip out. Likely impossible, a small voice in her head answered. You belong to them now.

The two Peacekeepers escorting her finally stopped in front of a heavy, metallic door. It opened with a loud creak, and Feyre almost cried in relief as she saw Nuala waiting inside.

She launched herself into her arms, and the door shut behind her.

The room was small, with only a long pipe that served as a coat hanger attached to the wall, and a large, glass tube waiting in the corner. Nuala picked up a bodysuit, a stretchy, grey fabric that covered her arms in their entirety. “Thermal protection,” she explained, helping Feyre slide it over her head. “This could mean anything.”

She passed her the trousers next, long and somewhat heavy, their shade a washed-out green. Feyre checked out all of their pockets—empty. She didn’t know what she expected.

Finally Nuala handed her the jacket, a simple, black piece of clothing made from a strange material that the designer explained was waterproof. Feyre put it on, her hands shaking slightly on the zipper, and Nuala reached to help her.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said softly. “I have faith in you.”

Suddenly, an artificial, female voice filled the room from the speaker hung somewhere by the ceiling. Thirty seconds, it announced.

Feyre’s heart picked up, raging wildly in her tightening chest.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she choked out.

Nuala grabbed her hands. “You can. You will.” Her fingers brushed over her cheek. “For your sisters.”

Twenty seconds.

“For my sisters,” Feyre repeated, and walked towards the tube on shaky legs.

“Feyre,” Nuala called when she stepped inside, and Feyre turned to face her friend one last time. “To the stars who listen,” she said.

Ten seconds.

The glass door slid and closed, trapping Feyre in.

Nuala smiled. “Remember that.”

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The platform rose and lifted Feyre into the light.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @fieldofdaisiies @vulpes-fennec @houseofhurricane @reverie-tales @kingofsummer93 @melting-houses-of-gold @labellefleur-sauvage @shadowriel @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @headcanonheadcase @cascadingmoon @rhysiedarling @msfeyredarling @itisiyourfemur

[t3kandson]

Choose me ……….

Please.

Word count; 1,333

Fandom; DKB feat A.C.E, and a little of The Boyz.

Pairing; Reader X Yang Heechan & Reader X Lee Donghun.

Characters; Yang Heechan, Lee Donghun & Kim Sunwoo.

Warnings; Polyamory relationships, Mirror sex, Overstimulation.

Notes; Continued from you Selecting Yang Heechan from Choose me. Earlier Chapters here.

Series wrote for @lidongsa

You had got out the shower when your hands reached to the phone that had interrupted your peace. Eyes widening when you viewed the picture in your grip. Your boyfriend’s naked torso on display, but his impressive length also visible as you gulped. “Take it you like?😘,” captioned underneath.

You @3.59pm; Really?

Heechan @4.02pm; So you don’t 😞.

You @4.05pm; You know I do.

Heechan @4.10pm; Then come find me 😉.

You scratched your head, Heechan and his games and he wanted to play right now when you was soaking wet from your shower.

You @4.15pm; Well how can we play hide and seek?

Heechan @4;18pm; What goes in hard but comes out soft 🤔😉.

You roll your eyes, your boyfriends filthy mind confusing you further.

You @4.23pm; Your cock when you tell me where I’m suppose to find you.

You chuckle as you make your way to get changed, you ignore the dings of your phone as you dry your hair. However, it seemed Heechan punished you for being left.

Heechan @4.26pm; That dirty mind of yours 🙈.

Heechan @4.33pm; It’s innocent i swear.

Heechan @4.39pm; You deliberately keeping me waiting?

Heechan @4.45pm; Fine I can play that game.

The video that followed afterwards had him pumping his cock, his groans attacking the camera. “Fuck Heechan,” you whined feeling your core respond to your boyfriends antics.

Your phone bleeped in your hand.

Heechan @4.51pm; I’m not into wearing your clothes but I’m beginning to feel a little cold

You @4.55pm; Sorry drying hair, how am I suppose to guess your riddles? You remember my memory isn’t great with these type of games.

As you slipped into your slacks and comfy jumper, your phone bleeping once more.

Heechan @4.59pm; I’m in your house, so come find me.

Ofcourse he was, you gave him your keys not long ago so you didn’t have to keep answering the door to him. Especially as he practically lived there. You relooked at his photos, your mind chasing you. It wasn’t like your apartment had many rooms, but the sound of the washing machine in the background gave you the clues.

Sunwoo’s name appearing on your phone had your heart temporarily stop. It had been weeks since you last heard from him. He was Travelling the world with Chanhee after you broke his heart not choosing him. The delight you had when he finally responded to your messages, explaining that for now he didn’t want to meet with you but would keep in contact via the odd text.

Heechan @5.03pm; Really? you really struggling or you trying to be funny.

Your thoughts returned to your partner as you dashed to the laundry room.

You chuckled at the image of Heechan naked on-top of the washing machine stroking his hardening cock.

“You took your time, I feel like I’ve been here hours,” he scoffed pouting as you shook your head chuckling. “Well don’t try to make me a mastermind then, quiz’s isn’t my thing,” you scoff pressing your hands along his thighs open to you. “Well I’m sad because you left me here like some wet rag,”, “towel,” you cut him off as he furrowed his eyebrows before chuckling. “Finally you got it,” he chuckled pressing his lips against yours. “Not my fault I always expect your words to be filthy driven,” you scoff breaking the kiss. “Hello they was your thoughts, mine was on just the washing,” he teased as you pressed your hungry kisses back to his lips.

“I’m very impatient sweetie,” he coo’s, “I think you should jump on my cock, right here, right now and quickly fill my needs,” he smirks. “On the washing machine?” You questioned with raised eyebrows.

“Yes Suchan quick before the spin cycle starts, oh wait maybe that’s what your waiting for,” he winks.

You don’t hesitate to strip your clothes from your body as you perch yourself on to his thighs, gripping at his body to avoid falling. “I got you sweetie,” he reassures you as his hand hoists you up to hover over his hardened member. You sink on to his shaft taking him slowly moaning into the air as your core stretches to him. When your fully on him he helps to lift you up and down his member as you find a rhythm. The spin cycle started as it edged you on, while the extra sensation clearly has Heechan weakened. It isn’t just him, the vibration of his cock as you Bob up and down him is attacking your senses as you feel your impatient orgasm threaten. “Your so perfect,” Heechan coos as he cups your face. “Please look at me when you lose yourself to my cock,” he pleads. You bite your lips when you feel your core attack that your high is tethering. As the cycle ups a notch, Heechan brings his pelvis to meet yours. You find yourself crashing, your walls clench around him as you fall into your orgasm. Heechan as usual doesn’t falter as he continues his thrusts while you convulse around his cock, his name falling like a mantra.

When you whimper lolling your head on to his chest he has a new idea. Finding the mirror further in the room, he shifts from the washing machine with you still attached to him. He lets you slip once you reached the other side of the room as he twists you to face the mirror. “I want you to watch me as I fuck you so hard and fast,” he smirks as he bends you so your looking at your own view. He slams his cock Deep in you, your body arching at the angle his cock has on your sensitive core. You can see his mischevious grin as he grapples at your breasts. Fingers roll around your nipple has your body on fire as you shiver under his touch. His cock attacking your core as you feel another orgasm brewing. “You look so fucking good looking fucked out,” he growls into the mirror as he slams unmercifully in you. His mouth finding your collar as he looks in to the view before clamping down on your skin. He suckles as you hiss, letting purple blemishes mark you up. “Sweetie everyone will know I’m your main man,” he pants as he continues his attack. His fingers barely touch your nub that has you thrown into another orgasm. Your body shaking as he still refuses to ease his speed against you. However, one glance after you’ve finished coming down has you know his chasing his own. His deeply concentrated face in your view as he bites his lower lip, the grip now on your waist is just delicious to view. He takes no time throwing himself over his high, filling you with his hot seed as he takes his time to slow his pace to nothing.

He pulls his arms around your waist to avoid you collapsing to the floor. The door goes having your mind switch back in. You suddenly remember your plans as you look at yourself sweaty from sex, not looking very appealing. “Sort yourself out baby, I’ll attend to that,” he smirks.

You know it’s your best friend and he doesn’t care what state your in, even Heechan cum stained. Entering once you redress yourself in your sweats, you smile at Donghun who shakes his head. “No question at to what you two been up to,” he chuckles between you both. “Just breaking her in for you,” he said playfully clasping Donghun’s shoulder. “You have fun sweetie, love you,” He says leaving a warm kiss against your cheek.

The warmth you have for this man willing to fix your problems, though he couldn’t fix Sunwoo he could with Donghun. Your thropple relationship still intact and still healthy a couple years on. “No kiss for your other boyfriend no?” Donghun teases as you press your lips against his. But it’s short lived when Heechan pulls you off him for one more hungry kiss before you leave his side.

Full Masterlist

[liprairian]

Libby's search here is somewhat misleading; despite hitting "Blake Pierce (author)" in the search, it actually still counts partial matches in your results total. There isn't a way to search by one particular piece of metadata that I can find in the app. Luckily, the Overdrive catalogue itself (this is the one referred to in the article, which is where librarians shop for Overdrive items) has a slightly better system. I assume there'd be riots if they didn't.

Once selected, Author Blake Pierce has 770 books and, interestingly, substantially more than that in audiobooks. That's definitely the oddest part, to my eyes.

I think the article is misleading too, if I'm being honest - the article writer doesn't seem to be super familiar with how or why this would affect library purchasing, and reports on it as a sort of scandal. None of the possibilities the article speculates on are really that big a problem, from the point of view of library purchasers.

The worst effect of floods of AI fake authors on library purchasing would be honestly no more or less than a particularly large bout of spammers would be to one's website contact form. It's annoying, somewhat time-consuming, and indicative of scummy behaviour on the part of the scammers, but it isn't an industry upset, at least where libraries are concerned. The criteria in your standard collection development policies are honestly really good at handling this sort of thing already. The mandate of a public library is so huge and potentially self-contradictory that collection development policies in particular have a really fantastic balance between guidance and flexibility. Selection criteria are reasons to consider an item, not a list of possible failure points as reasons to kick it out the door.

The problem and the solution is this: Even if you were browsing for failure points, there isn't a single thing on that list of selection criteria you can ding an AI-written item for that isn't also perpetrated by a human author and duly represented somewhere in a library collection because somewhere, other criteria outweighed that issue.

So the real question becomes, does an AI-written item stand out on any of the reasons to select it? The "AI-written" part is redundant; it's the same question no matter what. Generally, the only reason an AI-written item is at all likely to be considered when following a normal collection development policy is a high amount of patron demand. And at that point, the answer is almost certainly just to buy the damn thing; if it's actually in demand, it's serving some need in the community even if we can't imagine what that could possibly be.

Please read this. It is deeply, DEEPLY freakish.

[Robin, a librarian] received a message from a patron of her library system that there was something wrong with an audiobook they had borrowed. The patron reported that during a quiet part of the audio, there seemed to be a tiny portion of another recording inserted into the silence. It happened more than a few times and the patron also provided a timestamp, because this patron is very awesome. Robin says that this isn’t unusual, and the process is pretty routine:  “It’s usually just a corrupted file transfer or something. And we contact the publisher and let them know, or let OverDrive know, and it gets re-uploaded.” So then what happened?  Robin: “So I went to look up the specific book to see who the publisher was. Mostly because I wanted to know. We would contact OverDrive about the error, and they would fix, or talk to the publisher directly.” Digital files get corrupted often enough, so this isn’t alarming. But then, Robin and her coworkers noticed the name of the narrator: “Scarlett Synthesized Voice.”

And that's just the beginning of it. Who is "author" Blake Pierce, and how do they have more than seven hundred books??

[heaven-s-black-box]

Field Trips & Chaos- Crossover chpt.2

Return to File - SPN File - DNA File - BSD File

Recovery date: December 19th, 2020

Description: The Winchesters are contacted by a very tired Japanese government official, trying to deal with a very troublesome case. Meanwhile, a coincidental schedule lands some high schoolers in the wrong place at the wrong time. Will everyone survive?

Notes: This entry has been translated for viewing facility, all bold writing is Japanese.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Word count: 603

Back to directory

“Okay, so we’re looking for…”

The Winchesters were standing outside the station in Yokohama, trying to figure out where to go. Tsujimura hadn’t told them where to meet, and she hadn’t responded to Sam’s emails since she sent the tickets. So they were looking for the nearest government building, and hoping for the best.

“Mr. Winchesters?” Someone called from behind them.

A young woman with strange hair, it was cyan, was standing before them. She smiled and bowed slightly.

“Yes, that’s us. Are you Ms. Tsujimura?”

She nodded. “Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Please follow me.”

She led them out of the station to a car, and the three took a seat in the back. As soon as they were settled, the driver pulled away and she took out a file.

“A few weeks ago, we were made aware of what we believed to be an ability user. However-”

“I’m sorry, a what user?” Sam asked, looking through his folder.

Tsujimura stopped talking in surprise,and her brows furrowed.

“An ability user, someone with an unnatural power unique to them. Unless of course it’s passed on but that’s quite uncommon.”

“So like a witch?” Dean asked.

“I suppose.”

“I hate witches,” Dean grumbled.

“Have you never heard of ability users? I know there are some groups in the united states.”

“Really? We’ve never run into anyone,” Sam frowned, “Maybe they were posing as witches.”

Tsujimura said nothing, from what she’d heard, it wasn’t entirely impossible the Winchesters had simply never realized who they’d encountered. They didn’t seem to be the most observant people, the “Supernatural” books made that obvious.

“Now, about why you were called here. We believed Mr. Akira to be an ability user, however after further investigation that didn’t seem to be the case. After unsuccessful attempts to contact local hunters, we looked for the next best thing.”

“And that was us?”

“Yes.”

“Not that we aren't grateful for this opportunity, but aren’t the British Men of Letters practically next door?”

“Ah, yes. They…” she looked thoughtful for a second, “don’t like us much.”

“Join the club,” Dean laughed, and Tsujimura smiled.

“Sakaguchi-senpai will answer your questions when-”

“Tsujimura-san, we’re here.”

“Ah! Please.” She waved the boys to the door. “We’re here.”

She took the files from the boys, and thanked the driver as they stepped out. They were standing in front of a tall government building. Tsujimura joined them on the curb, and led them inside. 

It was exactly what you’d assume a government building to look like. Marble floors, lots of security, and dark walls. Tsujimura led them through security and into an elevator where she swiped a card and pushed the button for the second lowest floor.

The only sound was the whirling of the elevator as the boys watched the numbers descend.

Ding

“Senpai! The Winchesters are here.”

The room they’d entered was covered in monitors on the wall across from them, with multiple panels and desks covered throughout. The room was split in two by a platform which they were on, and in the center of the platform was a chair where a man sat hunched over a laptop.

“Thank you Tsujimura. Please go finish you report.”

“Yes!”

He stopped typing, and pushed up his glasses as he turned to the brothers. Meanwhile, Tsujimura descended to another desk and began to work.

“Sam and Dean Winchester, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He approached them, with a hand outstretched. “My name is Ango Sakaguchi, and I am an assistant counselor for Japan’s special division for unusual powers. I look forward to working with you.”

[roman-cates]

Bryce has a pleasant drive out to the city, and is picked up quickly by a car service. The restaurant is just as fancy and suffocating as ever, but the food is good. Mr. Rose and company greet Bryce warmly, and welcome him into the discussion. He's able to guide the discussion away from some spectacularly bad ideas, mostly on the business side but at least one that he feels he can take a moral win for. The lunch ends with everyone on good terms. Bryce discretely checks his video feeds in the car on the way to their next appointment.

The next meeting is at a law firm, and it's boring as hell. He's not really any help here, and mostly just stands around looking intimidating. At one point he is introduced to a young lawyer, who seems cool and confidant until Bryce's name is mentioned. It's almost amusing. Mallory certainly finds it funny.

In limo on the way back to his car, Mallory's phone dings, and she looks up after reading the message, thrilled.

"Rose want to do a full day follow-up at the Majestic." Mallory is known to favor hotels that are, in Bryce's view, overly fancy, so Rose's choice makes sense to Bryce.

"Oh? You going to want me there?"

"He specifically requested you, Bryce. I think you made a good impression."

"Yeah, it was my contributions to the conversation. You didn't see the way his eyes lit up when you introduced us, Mal."

"Oh, come off it. You know that meeting would have gone off the rails without you."

Well, possibly, although he doesn't think it was as bad as all that. Just some bad decisions made, is all. He doesn't comment either way.

He's dropped at his car, and he changes clothing. Well, changes into clothing. The suit hardly counts, in his view. He checks his video feeds and goes shopping.

He's more relaxed after the drive and picking up groceries, and in a good mood when he gets home. He brings in the bags in batches, excited about dinner.

Previous

Roman spends the day largely unoccupied and a bit bored. He looks through one of the cookbooks again and spends a lot of time just staring out the window. After a while, he makes himself lunch and again cleans up after himself. He doesn't care that it's difficult— it's something to do.

When he's done with that, he goes back to watching out the window.

When Bryce gets back, Roman opens the door for him. He seems to be in a pretty good mood as he brings in grocery bags.