#splatter capital

[queen-mabs-revenge]

i'm gonna quote it at length here, but let me tell you, after just having read mark steven's splatter capital earlier this year, dracula daily is truly hitting different. if this is your first dracula experience, spoilers ahead!

[...]

remembering that the communist manifesto (1848) was written and published between frankenstein (1818) and dracula (1897), truly sets the context for the historical conditions of capitalism in which a life-draining land-speculating proprietor is the face of inhuman horror

[thechurchofsplatterdaysaints]

[ghostwise]

I can't wait to get to the fucked up parts of qdt.

[captain-hawks]

double shift

— kento nanami x f!reader

summary: Kento Nanami hates overtime, but who is he to say no when his boss asks him to go check on his wife while he's out of town?

word count: 4.2k

content: NSFW, 18+, smut, infidelity, heavy lactation kink, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, multiple orgasms, degradation, dirty talk, squirting, breeding kink, restraints, counter sex, wet & messy

Kento’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as he stares at his phone nestled in the cupholder, limbs taut with aggravation as the bored voice of his boss continues on, “She hasn’t been answering my calls all day, and I’m not flying back for another week yet. I know you’re probably about to leave the office, but I’m going to need you to stop at my house and check on her first, Nanami.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, the words ‘OVERTIME’ flashing red behind his eyes and drawing forth a fresh surge of anger that has him contemplating the consequences of smashing his phone on the pavement outside and finding a new job entirely.

Today has been shit.

Capital S, Shit.

His asshole boss has been out of town for nearly a week already, every client is somehow ten times more unbearable than usual, the incompetence across the office has become a goddamn disease, and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that that piece of shit is doing anything  but keeping his dick in his pants while his wife and their new baby are left home alone.

His very attractive, very lovely wife who probably has no idea what a waste of oxygen her husband is. 

You’re too fucking good for him.

And you’re also too good for Kento, who’s spent more nights than he’d care to admit furiously fisting his cock to the memory of whatever tantalizing outfit you’d turned up at the office wearing that day.

And seeing you pregnant?

While the knowledge that you were now entirely stuck with that undeserving asshole sent his blood boiling, Kento could hardly complain about the sight of you during those months, his shaft straining painfully in his slacks every time he laid eyes upon your gloriously swollen, heavy breasts. 

And the cum he splattered all over the mirror and sink after inevitably rushing out of his office when you finally left? Well, that was between him and the four walls of the men’s bathroom. 

So after the awful day he’s already had, Kento’s not sure he can imagine a worse type of overtime than waltzing into your house and playing the part of a dutiful employee checking in on his boss’s wife, acting like he doesn’t want to fuck you so bad it’s driving him up a goddamn wall.

But he’ll fucking do it.

Of course he will. 

“Sure,” he replies tersely, before hanging up and peeling out of the parking lot.

᠃ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

She’s finally asleep.

Sighing weakly in relief, you close the door to your daughter’s bedroom and shuffle down the hallway. You make it all the way to the kitchen before you’re forced to lean heavily against the countertop, gritting your teeth as another wave of discomfort radiates from your sore, swollen breasts. 

“Hello?” a familiar, male voice tentatively calls out in a hushed tone.

You whip around, still clutching the counter for support, eyes widening at the side of Kento Nanami standing in the doorway to your kitchen. 

“Hi?” you respond, your heart doing a somersault as you drink in the sight of his tall, muscled form. 

He twirls a key around his finger twice before catching it in the palm of his hand and stuffing it in his pocket. “I apologize for barging in, but your spare key hiding spot is shit, and I didn’t want to ring the doorbell and wake the baby.”

“It’s okay, Nanami,” you assure him, the erratic thrumming in your chest far from a feeling of fear.

For whatever reason, he appears to be attempting to avert his eyes after glancing over at you quickly, roughly running a hand through his hair. “Your husband asked me to check on you. He said he hasn’t heard from you all day,” he explains carefully. 

“Well, I figured it would be rude to interrupt the wild orgies he pays for with the company credit card,” you deadpan.

Nanami’s jaw ticks, “He—”

“I’m well aware of what he does.”

“Then why—”

“Because I realized too late, and I’m too tired to do anything about it right now,” you sigh, wincing at the continuous ache of your breasts.

And it’s then that you realize why Nanami’s been looking anywhere but at you directly.

You’re wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and knee-high socks, which in and of itself isn’t overtly reprehensible, given that you’re in your own house, you have a four-month-old child, and you can’t remember the last time you got a full night’s rest. The issue is that your breasts are so sore and tender right now, you haven’t been able to even look at a bra in days. 

Which, once again, wouldn’t be an issue alone in the privacy of your home…when one of your husband’s employees isn’t desperately trying not to acknowledge the fact that two large wet spots have soaked through your shirt. 

“I should…” you trail off awkwardly, glancing around the room in hopes that you left one of your flannel over shirts lying within reach. 

“It’s fine,” Nanami blurts out, scratching the back of his head and studiously feigning interest in the collection of party invites and shopping lists stuck to the side of your fridge. 

᠃ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

It’s not fine. 

It’s anything but fine. 

It’s a complete fucking disaster. 

Kento hasn’t seen you since you gave birth. And despite how exhausted he knows you are—he can see it in the bags under your eyes and the limpness of your posture— your soft pregnancy glow has transformed into a postpartum radiance that has his breath catching in his throat each time his eyes sweep over you. 

You’re fucking stunning. 

And somehow, he knows your husband hasn’t noticed this. Hasn’t told you how incredible you are, how fantastic motherhood looks on you. It sends a fresh wave of anger coursing through him, the mere thought that he could bear to let himself stray from you—especially now, at such a vulnerable time. 

But any hopes Kento had of trying not to commit this sight of you to memory were swiftly dashed the moment he noticed the wet spots on your shirt. 

Even now, when he’s looking at a box of cereal on the counter as if it’s the most interesting thing in the entire world, every layer of his inner psyche is rapidly overheating at the thought of your heavy, swollen breasts. The milk leaking from them, soaking through your clothes and inevitably trailing down your stomach. 

He needs to fucking leave. Now. 

“I should go—“

“—do you want some tea?”

You both speak at the same time, and when Kento turns to face you again, you’ve slipped a blue flannel shirt on, buttoning it up partway. As if his traitorous cock will somehow forget what he now knows is obscured underneath the added layer of material. But despite the growing discomfort swelling and throbbing against the zipper of his pants, he concedes, his need to quell the apparent loneliness in your eyes with a moment of company winning out over his lust-addled desire to disappear to the nearest private place to jerk off. 

He’s thankful to sit after you pour him a cup, hiding any and all evidence of what a terrible man he is beneath the table, one leg idly bouncing as he wills his hard on to go down. It’s a big ask, though, given that you’re probably not even aware of what you’re doing to him when you lean your body over the kitchen island with your mug clutched between your fingers as you idly chat with him, your oversized shirt just barely masking the flash of pink panties it reveals beneath each time your shoulders bounce as you laugh. 

He’s two seconds from excusing himself to put his fucking dick in the freezer. 

His chair scrapes against the tile floor as he pushes it back, having decided he’s at his limit, but he pauses when a pained sound escapes your lips. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, hurrying over to where you’re now pressing your forehead against the island countertop, whimpering softly. His hand hovers for a moment before he opts to gently touch your shoulder, just to let you know he’s there. 

Your fingers scrape over the marble as you breathe out in a quiet voice, “No.”

As if on instinct, Kento begins to rub small, comforting circles into your upper back, his tentative touches growing more confident when he feels your tense body behind to relax slightly. 

“What’s wrong? What can I do?”

You whine again, standing up straighter but keeping your back to him as you clutch at your chest. “They…they hurt so bad.”

Kento’s halfway certain his soul has left his body as he watches, stunned, while you slide your hands up under your shirt and squeeze at your breasts, exhaling a chorus of breathy little sounds like the fucked up cherry on top. 

“Do you need to…” he trails off, and though you can’t see from where he’s standing behind you, he vaguely gestures in the general direction where he can only surmise the baby’s room is. 

“It’s…they’re clogged,” you whisper, elbows lifting up and revealing the small of your back as you begin to knead your tits desperately. “They’ve been so sore and swollen for days.”

Kento bites his lower lip, mentally steadying himself for a moment before he asks, “Tell me how I can help.”

“Can you grab a clean washcloth out of the drawer next to the sink and soak it in hot water?”

He swiftly complies with your request, returning moments later after wringing out the small towel and waiting for it to cool down slightly. You’re still using the counter to steady yourself, so he approaches you from behind and goes to hand you the washcloth, only to find his hand immediately pinned between your own and one of your breasts. 

You let out a whimpering cry of relief, and it takes everything in him not to let out the noise rumbling in his own throat as you squeeze his hand over your tit. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. “It just feels so…”

“It’s okay,” Kento murmurs. “Relax.”

Internally, every single warning bell inside of his head is blaring indignantly over the fact that he’s got his hand under his boss’s wife’s shirt, and he’s massaging her lactating breasts with a hot towel while she whimpers and presses into his touch. 

But your fingers are laced with his, and you’re not telling him to stop. 

In fact, you’re begging him to keep going, keeping a hold of his left hand when he switches the towel to his right, urging him to massage both of your tits at the same time. And who is he to tell you no?

Kento’s fairly certain his balls are going to be aching for days when he feels the warm liquid that begins to coat his fingers.

Fucking fuck. 

What the fuck is he doing?

Then your back arches as you outright moan when he brazenly toys with both of your nipples at the same time, milk squirting out, your ass pressing directly into his throbbing erection. 

And fuck it, fuck dignity, because Kento’s on the verge of coming in his pants. 

But then you spin around to face him, your back pressed into the island as you gaze at him shyly and say, “I…I think I need more.”

Your eyes flick from his mouth back down to your breasts, and he cups the side of your face as he asks, “Are you sure?”

You nod, slipping your shirt off entirely and tossing it aside, and Kento’s mouth goes dry as he stares at the trails of milk leaking from your tits, wondering how he’d ever thought to call today ‘Shitty’. 

He motions toward the counter, his large hands grasping your waist to help you get seated up on top of it, fingertips hesitant to pull away from your lacy panties when he spies the wet spot over your cunt. 

Kento has never thought of himself as a greedy man. Far from it, actually. 

But the moment his mouth latches onto one of your hot, swollen breasts, pulling a shameless moan from your pretty lips as your thighs wrap around him, the sweet taste of your milk hitting his tongue, he feels fucking insatiable. 

His mind is a buzz of static as he drinks from your tits, all the blood in his body rushing to his cock, precum soaking through his boxers and slacks. Your fingers tangle in his hair, the heel of your foot pressing into his back and pulling him closer, and he groans, one hand grasping your upper thigh as he teases your nipples between his teeth and squeezes a spray of liquid onto his gluttonous tongue. 

“Feels so good, Nanami,” you whine, fingertips sliding down the front of his dress shirt, catching on each button.  

“Kento,” he exhales, licking up the milk dripping down your chest. 

“Kento,” you moan, tugging hard on the tousled blond strands that have fallen onto his forehead. 

And at the sound of your breathy, wrecked tone moaning out his name for the first time, every nerve ending in Kento’s body goes up in flames. 

᠃ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Nothing has ever felt this good. 

Nothing. 

Kento Nanami’s sinful mouth is latched onto your heavy, engorged tits, greedily drinking every spurt of breast milk that comes leaking out of you, the flow growing steadier with each lap and squeeze. 

He has no fucking clue that most of your impromptu visits to the office are actually to see him. To talk to him, if only for a few moments. Kento Nanami, who has always treated you with unfailing kindness under his sometimes brash exterior. Who extends more patience toward you than all of his coworkers combined. 

He has no idea how trapped you feel in your marriage, how often you’ve longed for the bland touch of your husband in bed to be his. 

He doesn’t know how many times you’ve brought yourself over the edge with your fingers with his face lingering in your mind, the rough, teasing sound of words you’ve imagined in his voice playing out in your head like the most sinful soundtrack you’ve ever heard. 

And now he’s grunting and moaning as he makes a mess of both of you, his lips and chin gleaming with the same wet, sticky milk that’s all over your chest and thighs and his hands and pooling on the countertop beneath you. 

It’s filthy.

It’s so fucking filthy. 

And maybe it’s wrong. 

But you’re so desperate for him. For this. You need more. You need it so badly, you can hardly breathe. Searing desire is coiled so tightly in your abdomen, you’re trembling with restraint, aching with the desire to beg him to fuck you. You know he wants it, too, though. It’s hard to miss the thick, mouth-watering outline of his cock straining against his pants, like a beacon waiting to fulfill your darkest desires. 

It’s a line you know he won’t cross unless you ask for it. 

“Kento,” you murmur again, pulling his face up to meet yours. 

“Mmm?” he asks, pupils blown wide with lust, and you can tell he’s slightly dazed, drunk off of the taste of the milk leaking from your tits. 

You lean closer, letting your lips hover over his, Kento’s breath mingling with your own as you whisper, “Please touch me.”

He gently pushes your thighs further apart, carefully running a finger over the front of your panties. His voice is a rough, gravelly sound as he asks, “Here?”

A thrill shoots up your spine at the feather-light touch. “Yes.”

“More?” he questions, his lips brushing against your mouth as he hooks a finger in your underwear and pulls them aside. 

“More,” you keen, bucking into him as his knuckles graze your clit. 

He slides a finger through your folds, visibility shuddering as he comments, “You’re so fucking wet.”

“For you,” you pant, trying to resist the urge to shamelessly start riding his hand. 

Kento’s mouth engulfs yours in a rough, hungry kiss at the same moment he slides a thick digit into your cunt, and he swallows down the whimpering cry of pleasure that spills out of you. His lips are relentless as they slot against yours, and you arch into him, every part of your body drawn to his blazing touch on your skin. 

You can taste the remnants of your breastmilk on Kento’s lips, but you don’t care as you let him slip his tongue into your mouth. He kisses you so deeply it makes your toes curl, one hand cradling the back of your head while he stuffs a second finger into your hole. 

And just when you thought you couldn’t get any more sensitive under his touch, he dips his head back down to continue ravishing your forgotten breasts, pumping his soaked fingers in and out of your pussy all the while. 

“Kento,” you whimper, chest heaving as you press your heels into the cabinets below, every muscle in your body going taut under the onslaught of arousal coursing through you. 

“Can you come for me?” he asks, his gravelly, barely restrained tone searing itself into your mind. 

It’s the combination of his thumb massaging circles into your sensitive bundle of nerves and the sight of milk dripping down his chin as he messily drinks from you that sends you tumbling over the edge, the rubber band inside of you snapping like a whip as your orgasm washes over you. There’s an unfamiliar feeling that accompanies it, clear liquid squirting from your cunt and soaking the front of Kento’s dress shirt. 

Kento’s eyes darken a fraction as he grasps your chin, thumb pressing into your bottom lip. “Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing you. “Good fucking girl.”

Hand reaching between your bodies, you grasp his cock through his slacks, marveling at how maddeningly thick he feels. 

“I want you to fuck me now, Kento,” you tell him in no uncertain terms, rubbing your palm up and down his erection for good measure. “Fuck me like I’m a bad girl.”

Kento growls, hand palming the side of your neck, thumb caressing your collarbones, “You have no fucking clue what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

You’ve hardly had a chance to unbutton his pants before he’s slipping your panties down, stuffing them into his pocket. His hands come up to undo his tie, but rather than tossing the silky material aside, he asks, “Do you trust me?”

You nod in response, and he steps around the island, pulling your hands behind your back and tying your wrists together snugly with the yellow and black material. Anticipation zings through your chest, a fresh wave of arousal dripping from your sensitive cunt. 

“Is that too tight?”

You shake your head. “It’s perfect.”

He wastes no time in shedding the rest of his clothes, and you find yourself pressing hard against the restraints once you see his cock in all its glory, thick and flushed and so fucking big that you whimper.  

You spread your legs wide for him again as he steps between them, rubbing the leaking head of his cock against your damp slit. He notches it at your entrance, tilting your chin to his mouth and dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before he murmurs, “You’re perfect.”

Kento’s hands grasp your hips as he notches his cock at your dripping entrance, slowly easing into you. He massages your breasts, his hot mouth nipping and lapping a trail from your shoulder to the sensitive spot behind your earlobe while he pushes deeper into your cunt. When he eventually bottoms out, you’re both breathing hard, and his tie is fighting for its life to keep your wrists bound behind you. 

“Are you okay?” 

You let out a huff of air, your entire body poised to implode with the weight of the lust and pleasure raging inside of you. “Fuck me like you mean it, Kento.”

Whatever thinly veiled restraint was left in him crumbles to dust at your request, and Kento tugs you closer to the edge of the counter as he begins to pound into your cunt at a ruthless pace, splitting you open right in the middle of your kitchen. The cool marble is slick and sticky beneath you, covered in a myriad of filthy fluids that continue to leak out of you. 

“So beautiful,” he grunts, punctuating each word with a rough snap of his hips. 

“I feel like a whore,” you admit, biting your lower lip, tits bouncing heavily with his punishing thrusts. 

A short, dark laugh escapes Kento’s lips, his brows raising. He leans in, stuffing his cock deep into your cunt as he presses his mouth to yours and murmurs, “Well you’re my pretty, filthy whore.”

If your husband talked to you like this, you’d slap him. But from Kento…the liquid heat that churns in your belly is anything but anger. 

“Am I?” you ask, trying to sound as innocent as you can when he’s balls deep inside of you. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, not missing a beat as he catches on to what you want to hear. He squeezes your tits, milk squirting everywhere. “My dirty slut. You’re such a good girl, making a such a fucking mess. Squirting all over me while your tits leak everywhere.”

You gasp as he leans down, burying his face in your tits, latching on to one of your nipples and drinking deeply from you again. The combined feeling of him sucking on your breasts and the push and drag of his shaft inside of you leaves you cock drunk, begging and babbling senselessly as tears of pleasure prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Wanna put another baby in you, keep these nice and round and full for me,” he grunts, letting milk spray from your tits and leak down your bodies, dripping down his cock and coating his balls. 

The thought leaves you dizzy and breathless, keening as you imagine Kento filling you over and over with his seed. Waking up each morning to his cock already stuffed inside of you, fucking the previous night’s cum right back into your needy cunt. Tying you up to your bed posts with that goddamn tie. The satisfaction on his face when your breasts grow heavy and your belly grows round again for him, awakening something so feral inside of him he’s incapable of keeping his mouth off of your tits and his cock from the heat between your thighs whenever you’re alone. 

Rational thinking is a thing of the past as you choke out, nearly sobbing with pleasure, cunt squelching wetly as he pounds into you, “Fill me, Kento. Please.”

Kento curses, leaning in to caress the side of your face as he mutters, “My filthy girl.”

“Yours,” you pant. “I’m yours.”

He captures your mouth in a deep, heated kiss, fingers grasping your hips for purchase as he plunges into your cunt, drawing shuddering, unabashed moans out of you. “Come all over my cock then,” he instructs, his rough tone dragging down your spine, fingers toying with your clit while your pussy clenches down on every inch of him. 

And when he leans down, holding eye contact with you as he licks up a forgotten trail of milk rolling down one of your tits, there’s nothing that can stop the searing explosion of pleasure that ignites inside of you, your entire body trembling with the relentless, burning hot flood of the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 

He follows moments after you, driving his length in to the hilt as he groans, fingers gripping you tightly, his thick cock pulsing heavily inside of you as he fills your cunt deeply with ropes of cum. As fucked out as you feel, you can’t help but whine at the ceaseless arousal that stirs within your gut as your pussy quivers around the stretch of his cock, milking every drop of Kento’s seed from him. 

Kento feels you subtly rocking your hips back into him, and his answering chuckle is like warm honey as he reaches between you. He plays with your overstimulated clit, pressing gentle kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck as his seed begins to leak out of you. You moan softly, head falling against his shoulder, pleasure mounting inside of you once more. Leveraging what remains of his softening cock, he slowly fucks his cum back inside of you, his rough whispers of praise a warm caress against the shell of your ear as your entire body dissolves into one last blissful climax that leaves you completely boneless. 

You have all of two minutes to bask in the afterglow, Kento’s hands and lips tenderly mapping out your body, when the sound of your phone ringing on the countertop beside you startles you both. Your gaze meets his as you both see the unwelcome name that flashes on the screen, and he promptly flips your phone over and scoops you into his arms as he makes his way toward the living room.

“If I’m working overtime, I’m making this a double shift.”

— likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

[magic-shop-stories]

Hiii!!! Could I request Namjoon x f!reader boyfriend head-canons like how you did the Yoongi ones?? Also, preferably with a reader who’s American? But you can totally do whatever!!! Ty!!!

💌 Reply:

I really wanted to write this for all the members, so thank you for requesting it... I hope it's what you wanted, tho I struggled a lot this time, I didnt want it to be too much like Yoongis but I think they wouldn't be THAT different in some points so idk... hope you'll enjoy reading xo - c -

BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS

↳ NAMJOON (RM) × FEM!READER

~ CONTENT WARNING FOR SECOND PART OF THE POST ~ MATURE THEMES | (extra warning in the post)

Possessive behavior

Suggestive themes

Mild NSFW references (kissing, intimacy)

Jealousy Proceed mindfully!

DAILY RHYTHM

Mornings

Early Riser

Slow Starter

awake by 6:30 AM

not by choice

his brain won’t shut off

you find him sprawled on the couch

hair mussed

he's scribbling poetry in a moleskine

glasses slide down his nose

he mutters

“Do you think Thoreau would’ve liked Spotify playlists?”

Coffee Catastrophe

brews matcha lattes

spills half the whisked foam trying to carry it to you

“It’s… abstract art,” 

wiping green splatters off the counter

leaves a sticky note: 

“Compensation latte en route. Don’t judge me.”

Breakfast Buffet

creates a fusion spread:

avocado toast with gochujang drizzle strawberry Pop-Tarts, sliced persimmons

“It’s a metaphor,”  “Sweet, spicy, existential.”

Post-Wakeup Rituals

Study Sessions

his “studio” is a sunlit corner cluttered with art books, bonsai clippings, and a half-built LEGO Guggenheim

you perch on the arm of his chair

he pulls you into his lap without looking up from his sketchpad

“Your elbow’s on my Hegel annotations,”

grumbles, but lets you stay

Tug-of-War

if you try to leave, he hooks a finger in your belt loop

“Wait; listen to this haiku about cicadas.” 

recites it solemnly

“…It’s about us. Maybe.”

Clumsy Affection

reaches for a high-five

misses, and accidentally knocks over his succulent

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” 

you sigh

he repots it with dirt-smudged hands

“Imperfection is art. Like us.”

Midday Moments

Park Philosopher

drags you to Han River

rambling about “the duality of ducks” 

tossing breadcrumbs grain kernels

you nap under a tree

he sketches you with a pocket watercolor set

“You’re my Starry Night...” 

later showing you a blotchy but earnest portrait

Language Exchange

you teach him your slang

“Yeet is a verb, noun, and lifestyle”

he corrects your Korean tones

"Saranghae isn’t a whisper, it’s a promise...” 

voice low enough to make you drop your iced coffee

Nighttime Nuances

Pre-Bed Brain Dump

reads Walden aloud until 1 AM

pausing to rant about capitalism

“Thoreau was a hypocrite but right... wait, did you just snore?”

Sleeping Style

starfishes across 75% of the bed

one arm slung over your waist

“You’re my… multiverse…” 

snores lightly

you kick his shin = he rolls over

taking the sheets hostage

KEY DIALOGUE

when you nag him to hydrate:

“You’re worse than my ARMY Bomb manual.” 

sighs

handing you a reusable water bottle

catch him nodding off mid-lecture about climate change:

“I’m not… tired. I’m processing.”

mumbles, glasses askew

then faceplanting into his copy of Braiding Sweetgrass

his version of “I miss you”:

“Your absence disrupts my entropy.” 

translates to: “Come cuddle before I combust.”

COMMUNICATION

TEXTING STYLE

7 AM: screenshot of the sunrise

“Thoreau was right. Also, buy almond milk.”

3 PM: voice note of him beatboxing over a Langston Hughes poem

caption: “New mixtape: Existential Crisis & Chill.”

Midnight: 

“The moon’s waxing gibbous. Come stargaze. P.S. I made hot chocolate...”

Notes

scribbles Whitman quotes on museum tickets

leaves one in your coat: 

“We were together. I forget the rest... Or I won’t.”

finds your grocery list

adds “Admiration (1 lifetime supply)” at the bottom

PET NAMES

Public:

“Professor” 

when you out-debate him

“Okay, Professor, explain TikTok to me again.”

“Sunflower” at the farmer’s market

“Because you’re tall, bright, and… rooted.” 

blushes at his own metaphor

Private:

“내 작은 폭풍” (My little storm) 

when you’re angry

“Your rage is… awe-inspiring. Also, please stop throwing socks.” “Moonchild” 

whispered during late-night drives

“You glow even when the world’s dark.”

CURSING

Worried Curses

you come home late?

he’s pacing

wearing mismatched socks

“씨발… I Googled ‘American urban crime rates’ and now you’re here?!” 

crushes you in a hug

“Never do that again. Unless… it’s for tacos.”

sees you struggling with IKEA instructions

“젠장, capitalism wins again.” 

builds the shelf upside-down but insists it’s “postmodern.”

Flustered Curses

wear that dress

he knocks over his bonsai

“…God.” 

avoids eye contact

“It’s not fair. You’re a distraction.”

MUTTERINGS (UNFILTERED & UNBOTTLED)

Annoyed Affection

“Why are you so… effortlessly disruptive?” 

when you reorganize his bookshelves by color

“This is chaos. Beautiful chaos.”

steal his fries

he gasps

“This is why empires fall.” 

slides the plate closer to you

Sleep-Soft Confessions

half-asleep, nuzzling your neck

“Your thoughts taste like honey.” 

next morning: 

“Did I say that out loud? Pretend I didn’t.”

after nightmares: 

“Stay. Please. You’re my… sine qua non.”

doesn’t explain it

doesn’t need to

HIDDEN POETRY (FOR YOUR EARS ONLY)

Lyric Leaks

overhear him humming a melody while washing dishes

later, find a note: 

“Your voice in the morning... key of G, tempo adagio.”

Satoori Slips

stress unlocks rural roots

after a long day, he sighs:

“나 죽겠다… (I’m dying…) But your smile is CPR.”

Artistic Vulnerability

leaves a watercolor of your hands in his studio

caption: “These built my universe.”

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER

Overprotective Tendencies

mention a creepy DM?

next day, he gifts you a leather-bound journal titled “Digital Detox: A Poet’s Guide to Privacy.” 

inside, he’s handwritten firewall tips in calligraphy

“Knowledge is armor. Also, I enabled two-factor authentication.”

Passive-Aggressive Love

complain about slow Wi-Fi?

builds a DIY bookshelf router

cites its design in a TED Talk

“It’s a metaphor… for connection.”

Services

you’re sick?

attempts chicken noodle soup but confuses cumin with cinnamon

“It’s… experimental fusion cuisine.” 

orders pho instead and blames the app

“The algorithm chose this. Don’t hate me.”

Jetlag Rescue

after your flight from the U.S., he stocks the fridge with Dr Pepper and kale smoothies

“Balanced electrolytes… or something.”

VULNERABLE MOMENTS (PHILOSOPHER’S EDITION)

When You’re Hurt

sees you crying over homesickness

recites Mary Oliver until you’re laughing through tears

“You don’t have to be good… but you do have to let me hug you.”

Post-Fight Peace Offering

leaves a dog-eared copy of “The Alchemist” on your pillow

highlighted line: 

“Wherever your heart is, that is where you’ll find your treasure.”  sticky note: “You’re my treasure. Even when you’re mad.”

Drunk Truths

tipsy on soju

traces the outline of your face

“Your smile… it’s like a haiku. Simple. Perfect. Destroys me.”

ask him to explain

"Just… let me live here.”

UNEXPECTED SOFTNESS

Period Protocol

tracks your cycle via moon phases

“Lunar energy affects us all.” 

leaves dark chocolate and a hot water bottle shaped like Totoro

“Science and Studio Ghibli. Optimal healing.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over burnt cookies

bakes a “deconstructed s’more” (graham crackers, Hershey’s, lighter)

“It’s abstract. Like Rothko.”

Cultural Comforts

wears your college hoodie for a week (way too small)

“It smells like you. And… ranch dressing?” 

secretly buys a duplicate to avoid giving it back

FIERCE LOVE

Defending Your Honor

Karen mocks your Korean accent?

steps in, voice calm but firm

“Language is a living art. Hers is a masterpiece.” 

later, he rage-paints a canvas

titled “Ignorance in Primary Colors.”

Sacrifices

attends a crowded frat party to meet your friends

smiles through “Beer Pong 101” 

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… but this is hell.”

UNEXPECTED VULNERABILITY

Period Protocol

leaves a care package:

organic tea, a heated blanket, and a handwritten “Period Playlist” (featuring Mitski and BTS’s “Zero O’Clock”)

“Pain is temporary. My love? Thermodynamically infinite.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over a failed work project?

recites “Still I Rise” while kneading your shoulders

“You’re Maya Angelou in Prada. Now let’s rise… to order takeout.”

COLD FRONT

Silent Treatment

hurt?

he buries himself in Nietzsche

texts: “When you stare into the abyss… it’s just me waiting for you to apologize.”

Playful Insults Gone Wrong

jokes about his “dad sneakers.” 

buys neon Yeezys and wears them to a museum

“Aesthetic rebellion. Now suffer with me.”

NEGLECTED NIGHTS

Overwork Blinders

disappears for days writing his mixtape

returns with a bonsai tree 

“It’s a metaphor. Needs patience… like us.”

Breaking Point:

unplug his laptop mid-session

he fumes: “Art isn’t a hobby...it’s my lungs!” 

returns at dawn with a handwritten poem: 

“Apologies in iambic pentameter. Forgive me?”

GIFTS

Philosophical Pampering

gifts you a first-edition copy of "Leaves of Grass" with annotations in the margins

“Page 32; Whitman’s wrong. You’re the answer to the universe.”

Eco-Warrior Love

buys noise-canceling headphones made from recycled ocean plastic

“Now you can ignore the world and save it.”

PRETENDS TO HATE SHOPPING (BUT LOVES BOOKSTORES)

Reluctant Mule

drag him to a flea market

complains about “consumerist dystopias” 

but buys a vintage globe to “track our future travels”

carries your tote bag like a badge of honor

“This is not a metaphor. My arms hurt.”

Secret Splurges

catches you eyeing a $500 art print of Georgia O’Keeffe’s “Black Iris”

returns with a bootleg version he painted himself

“Mine’s better. It has… soul.”

Fashion Critic (Liar)

try on a prairie dress

“You look like a Laura Ingalls Wilder reboot.” 

later orders it

HATES WHEN YOU GET DRUNK

(BUT LOVES YOUR HONESTY)

Philosophical Guardian

finds you tipsy at a party

debating “the existential merit of TikTok” with Jungkook

sweeps you over his shoulder

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… starting with your liquor intake.”

Morning-After Mercies

wakes you with avocado toast and a "matcha IV drip"

“Electrolytes and antioxidants. Also, I Googled hangover cures in MLA format.”

Secret Worry

texts your college bestie and Jungkook: 

“Keep her at 2 margaritas. Third one turns her into a teen.”

MARRIAGE (POETIC AMBUSH)

Fight

he skips a wedding expo

call him a “commitment-phobe”

snaps: “Marriage is a capitalist construct!” 

you retaliate: “Then why’d you bookmark eco-friendly ring blogs?!”

Ring

minimalist band

engraved with coordinates to the Han River bench where he first said “I love you”

hides it in his Walden copy

find it mid-rant about “transcendentalist proposals”

Proposal

after a fight about his workaholism

projects a poem onto your apartment wall: 

“Forever is a fractal. Let’s get lost in the pattern.” 

“Marry me. Or let’s debate it over kombucha.”

FATHERHOOD

(THE GREAT PHILOSOPHICAL CRISIS)

Panic

mention kids?

he freezes, spilling matcha on his “I Heart NY” shirt

“…We killed a cactus. A cactus.” 

buys a fern named “Baby Freud”

it thrives

he's trying extra hard (bc he secretly really really really wants to)

Test Run

volunteers at an orphanage to read “The Little Prince”

returns with a kid’s crayon drawing

titled “Namjoon Hyung is Weird”

frames it

“Art is truth.”

Revelation

catches you watching a video of him teaching ARMYs to recycle

a toddler comments: “He’s pretty… for a teacher.” 

he mutes it, cheeks pink

“…She’s not wrong.”

ARGUMENTS & FEARS

Fight

you suggest naming your son “Thoreau”

chokes on his kimchi

“We’re not naming a human after a guy who hated people!” 

compromises with “Jun”

“It means truth. And I picked it.”

Fear

finds him researching “How to Raise a Feminist Son” at 3 AM

slams the laptop

“…But what if I’m worse? What if I lecture him about Hegel?”

THE ARRIVAL

Pregnancy

reads “The Giving Tree” to your belly every night

records the kicks as a lo-fi beat titled “Kicks of Hope”.

Birth Day

holds your hand while reciting Rumi

passes out when the doctor says “push”

wakes up sobbing

“You’re my supernova.”

First Night Home

swaddles your daughter in a BTS-themed blanket

texts the group chat:

“She has her eyes. And my inability to shut up.” 

sends a voice memo of her coos over a Miles Davis sample

~ CONTENT WARNING ~

MINORS DNI | NSFW | SPICY INTIMACY/PHYSICALITY AHEAD

contains: possessive themes, sensual language, suggestive scenarios, jealousy, explicit intimacy/kissing,suggestive content, kink mentions (marking, power dynamics), body worship

PHYSICALITY & ARTISTIC AFFECTION

Protective Poise

Public Gestures

his hands are gentle but intentional

but they linger

thumb brushing the nape of your neck 

palm resting on the small of your back at gallery openings

fingers brushing yours as he passes you a book

palm sliding possessively down your spine

whisper: “That Picasso? Overrated. You’re the masterpiece.”

he’s less restrained at home

pulls you into impromptu slow dances in the kitchen

humming off-key to “Trivia: Love” while swaying

pins you against his bookshelf, philosophy tomes digging into your back

“Tell me I’m wrong."

lips grazing your earlobe: "Tell me Rothko’s red isn’t the same shade as your mouth.”

Clumsy Cuddles

tries to lift you for a spin

trips over the rug, and lands you both on the couch/bed

“Gravity’s a social construct anyway.” 

cheeks pink

instead of apologizing, he hovers above you

glasses askew

“Fate intervened. Now...”

Intellectual Rivalry (Jealousy, Joon-Style)

overhears a philosophy major flirting with you at a café

interrupts with a “casual” debate on Kant’s ethics

later, buys you first-edition Thoreau

“Just thought you’d appreciate… deeper conversations.”

Subtle Flex

shows up to your work event in a tailored suit

glasses perched low

“Oh, this old thing? Just felt like… elevating the dress code.”

CONTEMPLATIVE GAZES

Staring (But Make It Deep)

watches you sketch in the park

eyes tracking the way your brow furrows

“Your creativity… it’s like watching a storm form.”  “That’s your third metaphor today.”  he grins “I’m just getting started.”

Staring (But Make It Dangerous)

watches you slip into his oversized Harvard hoodie

eyes darkening as the fabric drapes off one shoulder

rasps: “You’re… violating the dress code.” then closes his laptop: “And I’m failing to care.”

Late-Night Honesty

post-museum date, he traces the curve of your collarbone with a pen cap 

“Your body’s a gallery. Every scar, every freckle... curated perfection.” 

kisses your shoulder

loosens his tie

voice a velvet rumble

“That dress should be illegal. You should be illegal.” traces the strap of your lingerie: "Sylvia Plath wrote about this, didn’t she? I am, I am, I am… yours.”

SECRETLY LOVES YOUR CONFIDENCE (BUT WILL WRITE A SONNET ABOUT IT)

Artful Admiration

Backhanded Praise

wear a bold, avant-garde outfit?

“You’re… a walking Dadaist exhibit.” 

later sketches you in charcoal

captioning it “Chaos Theory: Personified.”

wear a leather trench coat to his speech?

“You’re deconstructing the male gaze. Literally.”

sketches you, nude

Possessive Glances

spots a stranger eyeing you at a poetry slam

slides his arm around your waist

loudly debating “the hegemony of Western canon” until they flee

Possessive Academia

grad student flirts with you at a library?

he accidentally knocks over a stack of Derrida books

pulls you into a secluded aisle

“Let me… re-shelve your priorities.”

BEDROOM PHILOSOPHY

Foreplay (But Make It Existential)

reads Foucault aloud

voice dipping lower with every page

“Power is knowledge… and I know what you’re thinking.” 

slides his glasses off, eyes locked on yours

“Prove me wrong.”

prefers lights dim

Miles Davis on vinyl

whisper-reads Rilke as you straddle his lap

“Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.” 

hands grip your hips

“Still… focus, okay?”

Aftercare

braids your hair while dissecting the symbolism in “The Great Gatsby.” 

“Daisy’s voice is full of money… but yours? Full of… everything.”

TOUCH

Electric Prelude

hands speak in sonnets

calloused fingertips skimming your jawline

like a quill drafting verses

thumb brushing your bottom lip as if memorizing its shape for a poem

maps your skin like a cartographer charting undiscovered terrain

lingering at pulse points (wrist, throat, inner thigh) to sync his heartbeat with yours

“Your body’s a library,” “Let me… read you.”

Possessive Anchors

palm splayed against your lower back

pressing you closer until his chest meets yours

fingers tangled in your hair

tugging just enough to tilt your head for a kiss that starts as a whisper and ends as a manifesto

“You’re my magnum opus...”

breathes heavy, lips grazing your earlobe

“And I’m… revising.”

Aftercare Rituals

post-passion, he traces constellations on your hip with a philosopher’s precision

touch lingers on scars, birthmarks, the curve of your waist

pulls you into his chest

reciting Whitman into your hair

“We were together… I forget the rest.”

KISSES

Slow Ignition

starts with closed-mouth presses to your temple, knuckles, the corner of your lips

testing, teasing

when you gasp, he smirks

nipping your lower lip

“Impatient. Inelegant. Perfect.”

he's deep but controlled

Hidden Softness

after fights, his kisses are apologetic

chaste pecks to your eyelids, nose, scars on your knee/elbows

“Sorry… sorry…” - breathed like a prayer

leaves a haiku on your pillow: 

“Pride is a shadow / Your warmth is the sun / Forgive me.”

PACE

Deliberate Crescendo

prefers slow, maddening build-up

undresses you like unwrapping a first-edition novel

mouth exploring every chapter

= collarbones, ribs, the dip of your hips

taking forever before letting you fall apart

“You’ll take what I give you.” 

warns you at every whimper

eyes dark

“And I’ll give you… everything.”

Feral Surges

when jealousy strikes, he’s relentless

pins you against his studio wall

biting your shoulder as his hands roam

“Mine. Say it.” 

you whimper? he gentens

forehead pressed to yours

“Say it… please.”

POSITIONS

Scholar’s Missionary

your legs hooked over his shoulders

hands gripping the headboard for leverage

“Don’t hide,” he orders

he's watching your face unravel

“Let me… study you.”

Cowgirl Command (aka you're his "pro rider")

lets you take control

hands squeezing your hips

“Show me what you need.” 

the moment you falter, he flips you

"Thought so"

PREFERENCES

Lighting

pitch dark or very dim lights

pages of his journal scattered like rose petals

claims he “hates getting interrupted”

Soundtrack

your whimpers = his name gasped like a curse

demands “Louder,” 

then covers your mouth or lightly choked you

“Too loud. Save it for the encore.”

Kinks

Marking

leaves metaphorical bruises

"ink stains" on your inner thigh

“So you remember… I’m your muse.”

Power Play

lets you “bind” him with his own tie

then breaks free

"You really think you can handle me?"

ROUNDS

Quality > Quantity tho if you beg him for more he won't ever stop until you beg fot the opposite

Dawn Encores wakes you with his mouth between your thighs

voice sleep-rough

"You moan in your sleep baby..."

FAVORITE SPOTS

Neck-to-Shoulder Junction bites here to hear you yelp

soothes it with his lips and gentle kisses

“You taste like… victory.”

Behind Your Ear whispers filth in Korean

grinning when you shiver and even wider when you don't understand

Inner Wrists kisses your veins like they’re holy

“Every heartbeat’s… because of me.”

TRIGGERS

Begging

“Please, Joon...” 

he cuts you off with a snarl

“Not yet. Earn it.”

Competence

take charge!

ride him ruthlessly

he lets you

until he can't hold himelf back anymore

“Fuck… okay.” 

flips you mid-stride

then tales you from behind

Vulnerability

tears during aftercare?

crushes you to his chest

voice breaking

“I’ve got you. Always. I'm sorry - tell me what you need honey.”

[b0tster]

Are typos part of transfem culture? Asking as a trans man

heck if i know i just turned auto correct off in like 2018 cuz it was auto capitalizing corporation names and it pissed my petty ass off and now yeag is splattered all over the internet

[eldritchravens]

Welcome Home - The Homewarming Update : A compilation of the secrets I could find

⚠️SPOILERS AHEAD!⚠️

This post is simply a compilation of all the things I could find during my exploration of the website. I'm not going to delve too much into theories. Enjoy the read!

1- Statics

Every background is now filled with statics. I tried zooming out but I couldn't find anything. Not really a secret, but still interesting to note.

2- It's a dog! Oh, and a pea!

Found in the "Official Welcome Home Cook Book" in the merchandise page. I am... A little worried about Barnaby. For those who are aware, the pea is foreshadowing for a much bigger secret.

3- Audio distortion

Surprisingly, I was only able to find one instance where the audio distorts. In the "Homewarming Storybook Record", when Wally speaks here (timestamp is 18:16), the audio gets distorted. Please let me know if you found more audio glitches on the main website!

4- The page is breathing

I was able to capture something that made my skin crawl. Look very closely at this illustration. It's... breathing. I'm unsure if any other image in the website does that too. Very troubling.

5- Lost track of time

Uh-oh! Looks like our beloved writer is losing their perception of time itself. An effect of the black substance maybe? You can find this on the News page.

6- Pixels? Smudges? Oh, and a new friend!

In The Neighboorhood page, Home now has little white pixels around him? I'm unsure if this was intentional or not. Interestingly, the secret link under Home dissapeared along with every other traces of Wally.

The logo on certain pages looks... dirty? Look closely, there are brownish stains on some letters. This doesn't appear everywhere.

And! New friend! Hello new friend!

7- Symbols!

Okay, now onto the main course. Something I think we've all noticed straight away! There's a ton of tiny little doodles splattered around the website. The doodles are all named after a letter. Here is every letter translated from their respective symbol you can find on the website :

Home : M I O A Merchandise : P Y E R Media : Y G About us : A R Stickers : E News : T Neighboorhood : S F N E Wally : W Exhibition : N Ghestbook : W W W Transcript : Y

"www" huh? Interesting, like a web link. At first, all of this doesn't really mean anything, until we stumble upon this!

Fascinating, it's a code! Eddie here is giving us the translation to every single doodle. Next, if we solve the question here "What does Home wear at parties?", it gives us the next clue we need. The answer is "ADDRESS". Address? Now, remember the "www" thing? That's right! We need to assemble the letters we found to make a link!

8- Away from Prying Eyes

After assembling a link, you will be able to visit a secret page. In it is by far the biggest secret in this update : https://www.awayfrompryingeyes.net/

When I tell you I lost my marbles when I discovered this. There is a lot to say here! Firstly, one thing to note is that unlike any other secrets we had found in previous updates, Wally didn't put this here. Instead, it was this mysterious "W". Go read the whole thing! It's PACKED with information!

"W" purposely put this here for US to find. W is in distress, confused and scared; this looks like a call for help.

Might or might not be important, but the word "Paranoid" here starts with a capital. It did catch my eye, so maybe it is noteworthy.

This entire phone call is absolutely fascinating and gives us answers about the lore. I highly recommend people to give it a listen : https://www.awayfrompryingeyes.net/phone

AND THIS??? OH MY GOODNESS!!! Clown is spoiling us with gifts for this Homewarming! Truly, thank you Clown and the whole WH team, you're doing such a marvelous job. Watch the whole thing here : https://www.awayfrompryingeyes.net/commercials

And what's this hidden among the commercials? Eddie! Remember how I said the pea was foreshadowing? Eddie can hear Home's heartbeat. Well, our dearest mailman doesn't look too well :( Thankfully Frank seems to be looking out for him!

_________________________

Important things to note: This update is almost completely void of any trace of Wally infesting the website. The symbols were placed by the website manager here. Wally is not there anymore. Also, Eddie is purposely left out of the main update, only to be the center of attention in the commercial compilation.

Well! That's all I managed to find for now! Please let me know in the replies if I've missed anything. Thank you for reading, and Happy Homewarming! <3

Edit : Added some new things I just noticed!

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Thirty Two - Hunting the Enemy

Part Thirty One

——-

New Kaon was a stronghold for the Decepticons during the Cybertronian Civil War, it was a necessity for resource gathering when they were pushed mostly off Cybertron. 

The capital city sits just outside of one of the oldest off world mining operations that cybertronians had held since before the last age. It was nearly abandoned by the start of the war and those that remained had been staunch Decepticon sympathizers and made the apprehension of the planet easier.

Although at first the mines had seemed empty, the need for technology to scan for energon had grown during the war and showed how rich the planet still was. It didn’t take long for refugees from Cybertron to start arriving, to start building.

Innocence exists in every war and there were millions who wanted to avoid the conflict, both those who could afford it who evacuated to colony worlds and those who couldn’t who caught freights to and from New Kaon.

It was a sanctuary to the lower caste, to the disposables, and they weren’t the most trusting of mecha. 

When their planet was under attack, they tried hard not to rely on anyone or anything for outside help, but some situations require more help. 

—

The world around him was exploding, not unfamiliar but not familiar either, not in this sense. Not when he felt this large. 

Explosions across the landscape reminded him of his days in the military, whether in actual battle or training, how the mortars would try to rupture your eardrums. When the focus was that of a trained killer rather than a civilian with a gun.

Normally when in the suit, Hound felt like he was operating a tank without a spotter, or flying a helicopter without any help, slightly off kilter. Though he was good at it, having grown used to it over the years, there were still times where it felt like he was missing one of his senses. 

Whatever else he had unlocked with his nightvisor had restored it and enhanced it more than memory held. It felt different from his old Hunter class programs, those were more second nature than this ragged instinct. 

This was more than that, the pace of a Striker and the focus of a Hunter, it made everything he had been physically feeling for weeks wash away for the moment.

Headache gone, nausea shoved to the side, bleeding and discharge forgotten. Hound felt larger than he’d ever felt, filling the suit and not just piloting it. It was dangerous, he knew that, but this was too important to think about the danger he might be putting himself in. 

Who knows, it could be a good thing, being this connected with the war raging around them all, it had never been this bad on Earth, so it could very easily have been a failsafe designed by the scientists. After all, Vortex was in fact still Vortex, somehow or someway, at least according to Felix. 

Hound’s gun came up and fired loudly, in rapid succession, the barrel was glowing red hot though shifting to a brighter green with the glow of night vision. There were Quintessons everywhere and the sun was starting to come back up already. Swearing, he moves with much more ease than he’d had in the last six, almost seven, months that he’d been here. 

His fist collided with the side of a Quintesson, quick and almost easy, feet landing back in the sand while he grabbed hold of the thing to toss it away. Tentacles trying to grasp at his plating while it shrieked. 

A shot blew it apart, like it was made of putty instead of flesh and blood. Glancing back, he loosely saluted towards wherever Mirage was hiding before turning back to the fight, “You feeling alright Hound? You look different.” He almost bowed his head, he would have if he wasn’t colliding with another Quintesson.

”I feel alive Mirage, better than I have in a while.” His fist collided with the Quint, going mid arm deep into the alien and splattering himself and the sand in green gore. 

Mirage was watching him through the scope, frowning at the weird and alien mecha he’d come to care so deeply for. There was always something slightly foreign about them, other than their design, how they moved and the glow of their visor. It didn’t often portray emotion like others did. 

Though the visor hadn’t changed, the way Hound was moving certainly did, subtly enough he was sure only he would notice for a while. 

It was smooth natural movement, as if this whole time he had to think about moving instead of just doing it, and damn him to the pit if he’d been holding back this whole time. Still out-shining half the united cybertronian army. 

Hound was moving fast, every time his fist wasn’t colliding with the enemy, a blast out of his gun was. Smack, smack, hum, boom, click, smack and repeat, endlessly it felt like.

Dawn was breaking, the sun was rising at the horizon, the need for night vision was dying and for a brief moment of panic. Hound hoped, deep down, that when he turned it off he wouldn’t go back to being the pilot in the chair. 

—

Sideswipe hated guard duty, or this glorified guard duty. He didn’t understand why they were there in the first place, let alone just pretending like the war wasn’t happening at all. 

North Iacon was colder than he thought it would be, the heat of his suit the only thing keeping him from shivering as the heater was further away. Once he was relieved from this short shift he’d go lay on top of it if he had to, though for the moment Moonracer and Punch were sitting there.

Sighing deeply, he shakes his head and goes back to pacing with Chromia, “Remind me again, why were we sent to the North Pole?” Sighing, Chromis shook her head, “It’s where Elita wants us, every major entrance to every major city has a team like ours there. She just wanted us here.” He hummed deeply, still scowling. 

Chromia chuckled lightly, “You’ll get used to it, Sideswipe.” He almost growled, “This is a punishment, I’m not a child who needs to be sent to the damn corner.” And Chromia tried not to wince, her hand coming to rest lightly on his back, “It’s got nothing to do with you, we always end up in North Iacon.” He frowned and shook his head.

”It feels like a punishment, cause I’m not a perfect soldier. Hell, I’m not a soldier and never was expected to be!” He throws an arm out angrily, wanting to rake a hand through his hair. 

She fell quiet for a moment, shaking her head some, “Things must be different between here and Earth Sideswipe, we all are going to expect other things from you. From you all.” But she sighs, “But, most of us didn’t want to be soldiers originally. Just have stuck with it now cause we can’t imagine anything else.” And her smile was soft. 

He caught the bait, stared at it for a long moment, before giving in, “And you?” She nodded a bit, “I’m not originally from Cybertron, one of the colonies.” She gave a gentle shrug, “Doesn’t matter at the moment, they're safe, but back then I didn’t have much of a trajectory in my life. Everything changed when the war started, before the space bridges closed for millennia.” He tried not to gawk at the term.

”I came here with some good friends, most of whom are long gone, but the fight was too important. So I stayed even when there were evacuations back home and I still stay because I care for this planet, its people, and the person I love is here. Or, well, usually.” Sideswipe came to a hard stop, “Woah, love?” She chuckled a bit, “Your brother’s commander is my marriage.” She pats his back.

He was still frowning at the translation error, sighing, “I didn’t know that was a thing here. I mean, you hear but I didn really,”“Pay attention?” She smiles a bit and nods, walking them over to the heater, “No, but can you blame me? Getting stuck on this planet under random military commanders wasn’t exactly my mission.” 

No, the mission was to die and send back data, not spend the rest of your life fighting an ugly enemy.

Chromia gave a light shrug and sat down once Moonracer left her seat, Sideswipe took Punch’s seat. Leaned in close to the heater with a sigh, “It wasn’t mine either, but I wouldn’t trade this life for any other.” He looked at her and bowed his head for a long moment before nodding.

”Yeah, yeah, I guess I wouldn’t either.” And even though his head was bowed, he could feel her smile through the suit. 

Shifting back a bit, he looked back to her, “So, what is it like working for or with the commander then?” Chromia smiled and shifted, “Well, if it helps how you view it, she already likes you.” And he grinned. 

—

The night vision clicked off and Hound was holding his breath, the sun blinding both in the green field of his vision and the recovery of his normal sight. Or as normal as it could be when he still didn’t feel like he was staring at screens. Sighing slowly, he couldn’t help but glance around. 

Trying to make sure no one saw his moment of panic.

There wasn’t anyone nearby to notice, not really, though the glint of a rifle scope caught his eye for a moment. Hound supposed that if anyone were to see his panic, he’d rather it be Mirage than anyone else. 

“You know I can see your scope, right?” He tried to keep his voice cool, calm even, and Mirage chuckled on the other end of the line, “It’s the one thing that gives me away to Cybertronian’s, so yeah.” Hound smiled a bit.

Sighing slowly, he turned and scanned the battlefield, most people were still dealing with their own crops of attack but there were Quints who had separated from their own main lines of attack now, and it struck Hound as his feet lightly dragged through the sand what he was doing.

It was the feeling of being able to hunt again, to stalk and collect data from the enemy, to understand them potentially, while still able to utterly destroy them, “Hound, what’s with the look?” And he had to bite his tongue to hold back shushing Mirage.

Taking a slow deep breath, he adjusts his cameras and checks the readings in the corner of his vision, “I am trying to decide where to go next, either towards the crash site or towards the line, what’s your opinion on it?” It wasn’t entirely true, but it was the closest he’d let himself explain.

Sighing over the line, he could tell Mirage was trying to figure out how to word something in a good way, “Hound, we’ve been out here since the attack started. I thought humans needed more sleep?” His tone shifted up at the end of the question and Hound smiled softly.

There was a feeling of being thankful that your friends were choosing to get to know you and how it all worked, “To focused to sleep, which way can you cover me better?” It was a bit of a compromise and Mirage groaned, “Towards the crash site, but,” He didn’t even finish speaking before Hound disappeared over the edge of a dune. 

His mech slid down it with a practiced ease, “You're out of my eyeline.” Mirage was trying not to panic, only breathing again when Hound reappeared, “It’s called traveling, it’s something that needs to be done sometimes.” Hound grinned at his joke, moving in slowly on a group of Quints who were waiting around at the edge of their crashed ship. 

A few seconds passed while he watched, waiting for the right moment to strike, gun humming at his side as it charged back up, “What are you doing?” Mirage kept his voice low though, and Hound took a slow breath, “Waiting.” His gun came up and he aimed for a second, letting out his breath before firing.

There were five of them and the one sprayed green blood across the sand and across it’s companions. Once Hound’s gun started to hum back up again, he came over the last bit of sand, almost colliding with rocks as he threw himself at them all. All at once.

If there was a moment that showed why the Cybertronian’s needed the humans, it was now, and it was pretty solid evidence.

Across New Kaon, the fighting was intense, but the moment Hound moved in on a group of Quint by himself, it was being watched by at least a dozen other mecha. The ones who could stop and take a moment to breathe, to watch in both horror and awe. Of the few that knew the humans, wondered how their planet was losing this war if they had people like this at their disposal.

Hound’s hands and arms were wrapped in tentacles, but he was pulling, feet planted firmly on the fragile stone. His gun was still in one hand and every time it stopped humming he’d fire till it couldn’t anymore. This wasn’t a fair fight, this was a slaughter, one he knew that he had to win.

They were shrieking and screaming incomprehensibly, trying to pull Hound apart like he was them but his grip was more significant than theirs. Yanking harshly and grunting with the effort of it.

”Earth was stupid to send them on a suicide mission.” Mirage murmured, watching through his scope before firing on the Quintesson’s himself. Only one falling away from the brawl Hound had managed to get himself tangled in. 

Grunting with the effort, Hound yanks and pulls another tentacle away from the nearest Quintesson before diving forward, free hand going into the wound as far as it would give, yanking and tearing, splattering the sand with green as the thing whimpered and died. 

He kept going, if he didn’t they would kill him, if he didn’t keep fighting then New Kaon would be overrun. 

Hound disemboweled the next one, a blast across the things side and a thrust hand splatter gore across the ground. Three down, two to go and they were slightly smaller then the first two, even the one Mirage had handled for him. 

Their tentacles whipped out and he grabbed them quickly, pulling his feet and pulling with all the force his mech had. They were shrieking, more than screaming, but it was still grating at his ears, turning down the audio he maintained his focus on the fight.

On how the fights around them were dying off with the rising sun, of how the line was starting to clear the field and a few shots hit towards his feet before colliding with the side of one of the Quintessons. It screamed and he let his own gun come up to finish it, then did the same to the other. 

When all five were no longer moving, he bent and gasped for breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

That moment didn't last forever however, “Hound, you’re going to need to fall back. Seekers are going to come in to clear up the rest of the field.” Groaning, he nodded and stood back up straight, waving in Mirage’s general direction, “I’m on my way.” Turning, he started back up one of the many sand dunes he’d thrown himself down.

There was no way that the fight would end today, not for New Kaon, but this one ship had run out of soldiers. 

He wanted to pull at his suit, to adjust it but now was not the time. Moving slowly across the sand, he makes a relative beline for Mirage, smiling a bit as he went. The blue mech was waiting for him, rifle in a relaxed grip. Hound waved slightly stupidly before moving up to Mirage, “Thanks for waiting for me, I could fall over.” 

Mirage chuckled lightly, “That’s why I waited, come on the other humans will be waiting I’m sure.” Hound hummed and pinged them as they went. Though Mirage fell strangely silent, so Hound glanced at him and tilted his head slightly. 

“Hound, what the hell are you?” Mirage falls into step next to him and he takes a slow and deep breath, looking at the sky turning light with day, “A trained killer, like all pilots.” He gives a one shouldered shrug, “What I did today was very old coding of mine, I’d appreciate it if it was kept between us.” Mirage slowly nodded, patting Hound on the back. 

He sighed slowly, “Mirage, thank you.” He looks at him and smiles, lightening his visor just enough, “For having my back.” Mirage smiled and nodded, “Of course,” He paused, frowning slightly ans shaking his head, clearly on comms.

Hound gave him a moment, staying quiet before Mirage looked back at him, “Optimus needs me back at camp.” Hound nodded, “I’ll see you later then.” Mirage smiled a bit before jogging off, and Hound sighed deeply, closing his eyes. 

The exhaustion was trying to grab hold of him and drag him towards sleep. Shaking himself a bit, he opens his eyes and joins the tail end of a group heading for camp, all people he vaguely recognized.

His step slowed though and he was taking in what had happened, replaying some of the fights in his mind, smiling with his head tilted just slightly, deep in thought. 

It wasn’t like Hound to get caught off guard, it was completely unlike him, but he was exhausted and most people were dragging their feet back towards camp, he was dragging his feet now.

All it took was a brief moment where he let his eyes close and had his audio turned down, it was just the brief moment before the floor was tugged out from under him. 

His cameras were filled with sand and he was quick to attempt to get a hold of the ground, sand slipping through his fingers. There was slightly distant shouting and he started swearing, trying to turn over to see what held him.

Heart racing and adrenaline skyrocketing again, waking him up enough to toss over the weight of his suit to be pulled along on his back at least. Swearing at the oversized Quint that held him, “Oh, not today.” He reached for where his gun had been, to find the space empty. He swore again.

Quickly, he started to dig his fingers into the tentacle around his waist first, grunting with an effort to puncture the skin. Once he had it though, he started tearing what he could apart.

The Quintesson shrieked and pulled him up into the air, upside down, and inside the suit his magnets were what saved him from hitting the ceiling. He barely stared for a moment before he kept pulling as it screamed and when it dropped him, he was right back on it. 

His fist collided with its face, then one of his feet with its side, open hand jabbing for its eye and digging in wherever he could. It continued to shriek and tried to get hold of him again, but Hound threw his weight at it, diving on it and any sharp edge on his suit was being thrown into the thing. Caking them both in green.

Fights like this dragged on, even after they were done, Hound wanted to make sure that it was dead. He kept going long after it stopped twitching, anger coursing through him along with the adrenaline and it was only when he felt like he couldn’t breath did he stop and step back.

Stumbled back and sat down in the sand.

There was no one around and Hound tore off the oxygen mask, gasping weakly before laying back, collapsing. 

———

A/N

There was supposed to be more in this chapter, I wanted to put the finishing touches on it today but I have been dealing with a light sensitive headache for the last six hours. So, I wrapped up what I could.

Next post might be Arcturus 3 part 2 though, since that’s almost finished and I don’t know how much time I’ll have between now and then to finish part 33.

Wow, I am loving writing this story, so sorry for the delay in my schedule. Thank you for the kind words everyone.

Tags

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @blue-wrens @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

(I’m going to be making a post about my masterlist, I need to fix it, expect that this week)

[tiramisuc0ffee]

Cold Nights.

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆ pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!reader

Summary: Suguru defected. Satoru comes to you for comfort.

warnings/tags: Takes place before "The Ghost of You" (which you can read here), and takes place after Warm Afternoons (which you can read here). Mentions events during the Hidden Inventory Arc, reader, and Satoru are close friends, but it's clear there is something more, ANGST, ANGST, ANGST, not a lot of comfort tbh- like a sprinkle of fluff? slight OOC!Gojo, imo teehee

word count: 3.2k (I KEEP GOING OVERBOARD WHEN IT COMES TO THIS MAN)

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆

It was an incredibly rare day off. Classes had been canceled and no missions had been assigned to you. The only flimsy explanation you were given by Yaga was that some form of internal investigation needed to be done within the school and it was in everyone's best interests to keep most of the students away from the main campus.

The news had been a shock and you certainly had several questions—the suddenness, the complete lack of clarity—it simply didn't sit right with you. A part of you wanted to attempt and pry for more details but, truthfully, the allure of finally having a day to just take it easy and potentially indulge in some hobbies you've fallen out of touch with was so tempting that you simply nodded with a smile before heading back to your dorm.

The sun shone brightly when you left Yaga's office, the day couldn't be more perfect. You capitalized on this, taking the time to finally visit that cafe you had been eyeing for a while, bringing along that fiction book that had been doing nothing but collecting dust on the shelf. You even did some shopping, treating yourself to a new outfit that you hoped to find an excuse to wear sometime soon.

But as evening approached, dark clouds rolled in and rain began to fall. Your eyes watched how the raindrops splattered across the window of your room, creating a repetitive pattern as you held a cup of tea close to your chest, sitting upright, your knees to your chest on your bean bag.

Finally a day off... God knew how badly you and everyone else needed it.

Especially Satoru and Suguru.

You couldn't help the frown that tugged at your lips as you thought of the two men. Of course, you only heard stories of what they went through. Stories of a young girl by the name of Anamai who they couldn't protect, how Suguru had to watch her life being taken right before his very eyes, watching as the blood poured from her head, Satoru who came face-to-face with death and essentially lost his touch with reality, resorting to killing a man, though an assassin, in such a brutal manner.

You hadn't been there to witness any of it, but you saw the evident repercussions and how deeply the events affected them both.

With each passing day, you could see Suguru was looking worse for wear. Deep and dark circles contrasted heavily against pale skin, his hair growing long and unruly, and his body slimming, losing the definition it once had. And even though Satoru and Shoko would seemingly take his lazy excuses at face value when they asked, you were certain that you all knew how the raven-haired boy had something eating away at him.

Then Haibara died, and a hefty state of mourning took over the campus.

You watched as Nanami would have these flashes of anger, seeing several moments of barely contained rage and sadness. You understood his emotions deeply. You felt gutted. There was a part of you that always felt like you built a family within Jujutsu Tech, that these were your people and you cared deeply for each and every single one of them.

You remember the tears you shed silently in your room the night you found out. Remembering the handful of outings you, Suguru, Shoko, Satoru, Nanami, and Haibara went on. Several afternoons and evenings were filled with goofing off... just living life, feeling like normal high schoolers.

He was so young...

You didn't have it in you to go to the morgue to see his body, you weren't sure you could stomach the sight of it all. You knew Suguru went with Nanami, the two of them didn't talk much that day.

You tried to be as supportive as you could. You couldn't stomach the thought of seeing another one of your beloved friends fall, so you tried to be there. There were times you tried talking to Suguru, during the one-off chances you got to be alone with him for a brief couple of moments, but he would brush you off gently, giving you reassurances that you knew were nothing more than poorly constructed lies.

You wanted to be there. But what could you do? As much as it pained you to see him struggle, it's hard to help someone who wasn't ready for it.

You sighed softly.

But Satoru on the other hand of it all, his response was exactly what you expected, and if you were an outsider you would honestly have thought that he was completely unaffected by it all.

His normal demeanor was the same as always, carrying himself around with a lax and carefree attitude.

But, you second-years knew better.

Suddenly Satoru was pushing himself more and more, so much more than he normally did. You saw his determination tenfold and how there was this prominent need to push himself further to master his technique. You watched on as he managed to figure out how to manipulate his Infinity to discern levels of danger, automatically at that. His struggle to use Red was no more, mastering it to a tee and now proudly showing off the fact he was able to utilize the Reverse Cursed Technique as well.

He rose above everyone else so quickly, at such an alarming rate, it left many of you in the dust when it came to strength-

He truly had become the strongest.

But you knew, this all developed from deep-rooted frustration.

You could see as plain as day that he took what happened to Amanai and himself as a hard-hitting failure and a sign of weakness. And he wanted to make sure that it would never happen again.

But as a direct result of his intensive training and remarkable improvements, you got to accompany him on missions less and less, meaning he was away a lot more often than he usually was.

He often went alone returning with an earful of stories the moment he reunited with you, talking about what weak first grade he had to obliterate that day. Talking with exaggerated hand gestures and dramatic delivery as you would laugh at his antics, munching on whatever sweet treat he picked up on his way back to share with you.

At least they had today to take it easy, you thought to yourself. You hoped that they would utilize this opportunity to do something fun to add some color to their life. Especially for Suguru, maybe Satoru or Shoko decided to drag him out somewhere, the thought made you smile for a moment as you took a sip of your tea.

Yeah, a day off for both of them was definitely needed. They deserved to feel like normal people again... even if it was just for a day.

BANG BANG BANG

A loud banging on your door had you jolting and letting out a soft squeak as you nearly spilled your half-cold tea all over your lap. You scramble to set the mug aside on your coffee table at you hurriedly rise to your feet, sliding on your slippers as the knocking begins to grow a bit more restless.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG "Coming!" you called out, hoping the knocking would finally cease. You swallowed your annoyance, trying to find it within you not to curse out whoever was at the door for giving you a scare as just a few gentle knocks would have sufficed.

You approach your front door and your fingers reach out and wrap around the doorknob, twisting and pulling.

"Satoru?" you blinked, your voice laced with surprise when you opened the door and were greeted with the sight of him.

It wasn't that strange for him to show up unannounced, he did it all the time and you were more than accustomed to the habit. No, what confused you was the fact that he was soaked as if he had been caught in the rain. His hair was matted down, his clothes clinging to his body as waterdrops dripped from his skin.

He didn't have his Infinity activated. Something was clearly wrong.

“Hey—are you okay—” you started, cutting yourself off with a gentle 'hmph!' when Satoru suddenly pulled you into him wordlessly. Your clothes dampened from his own soaked ones and normally you would curse the life out of him for something like this, but you made sure to hold your tongue, knowing very well now wasn't the time for that.

He held you tightly in his arms, and you could feel the shivering of his body against your own, likely from the cold wind nipping at his body from being out in the rain for who knows how long.

You frown, letting him hold you for a few seconds longer before gently patting his back, indicating for him to ease up his hold. You can feel him hesitate, giving you one last gentle squeeze before pulling away. You take the opportunity to close the door behind him, locking it and glancing up at him wordlessly before walking further into your apartment, inviting him further in.

"You're going to catch a cold..." you sigh out loud, moving hurriedly to your dresser, first fetching a towel and tossing it to him, which he catches with ease. He still doesn't speak and it bothers you deeply. The Satoru you were used to had no off switch, he could talk aimlessly for hours without a care. But this unnerving silence, the way it was so blatantly evident that something was bothering him and he wasn't even trying to cover it up— it was strange.

You open up one of your drawers, fetching out one of his shirts and joggers that the two of you agreed to keep in your room given how often he decided to stay over. Closing your drawer, you hold them delicately and make your way back over to Satoru, watching as he dried his hair, his gaze lowered to your floorboards.

"When you're done drying yourself, change into these... I'll get you something warm to drink and then we'll talk, okay?" You murmur softly, handing him the change of clothes, a gentle sympathetic smile on your face as you place a reassuring hand on his arm.

He nodded simply, leaving your side and heading into your bathroom, sliding the door shut behind him. You sigh softly, allowing your smile to drop to a frown as you immediately busy yourself by putting together a cup of hot chocolate. You grabbed a mug from your cupboard, poured in the hot chocolate powder as you heated up some milk, and reluctantly dropped two sugar cubes into the mug, knowing that Satoru would comment on it if you didn't.

As you are pouring in the milk, you hear the sound of your bathroom door sliding open once more, causing your eyes to flicker away. Satoru emerges, looking a little more put together than before, his hair was a ruffled mess but at least he was wearing dry clothes.

"You can hang them by the heater..." you say to him softly, eyes flickering down to the damp clothes that were in his hands while you stirred together the milk, sugar, and hot chocolate powder.

He does just that, gently laying out his clothes before sauntering over to your bed and sitting on top of the plush covers. You follow suit, fingers gently holding the handle of the mug, you walk over to him, leaning down to hand him the warm drink.

He musters up what looks like a weak smile, and you whisper a soft 'you're welcome' before pulling away and moving to go sit back in your beanbag—

But a gentle hand grabs your wrist.

And you meet his gaze.

His normally bright cerulean eyes are dulled down. He looks tired, and there's this specific look on his face— you don't like it—he looks so worn down.

He gently tugs on your arm and you immediately understand. Wordlessly, you sit down next to him on the bed. His free hand laces with yours and you give him a gentle squeeze, watching as he takes a sip of the hot chocolate, a soft sigh leaving his lips from the warmth.

He's running his thumb along your knuckles, lips tugging down into a frown as his eyebrows furrow.

A moment of silence passes.

"Suguru's defected" Satoru finally speaks, his voice devoid of any emotion, it's light, quiet in volume but the words have a sharp edge to them. They hang in the hair for a second, five, then ten—

"What?" you say incredulously, sounding more like a statement rather than a question. It's the only word your mind can conjure, your eyebrows furrowing, wondering if you heard him correctly, wondering if this was one of Satoru's sick pranks that simply went too far.

"He killed an entire village, he killed his parents— I went and saw him, there was this look of indifference on his face like it was nothing to him..." Words started to spill from his lips the more he spoke, not being able to stop since he started, "I wanted to stop him, I knew I had to, he would kill more, I could see it in his eyes but I—" "Satoru please slow down—" you tried to interject watching as he was getting more and more worked up with each word he spoke. His leg was bouncing rapidly and the hold he had on your hand was starting to become a little painful. His gaze was straight ahead, boring into the wall with this thousand-yard stare. He look petrified.

"But I couldn't, and he knew I wouldn't, he taunted me the bastard essentially telling me to go ahead and just pull the fucking trigger but I-" His voice broke and his eyes screwed shut, his head swinging down as his lips began to tremble. "I couldn't, (Y/N), I couldn't do it"

Then you see it.

Cascading down his cheek...

...along his pale skin...

...collecting at his jaw...

...dripping onto his freshly changed shirt...

A tear.

Your heart broke.

"I mean how could I...?" he laughs bitterly, "I'm not that heartless, am I?" he continues to laugh, a sorrowful sight as more tears begin to leave his eyes.

"I knew- we all knew something was wrong. And I tried... I swear I tried. But the fucker just wouldn't talk to me" his smile is wobbly, his bottom lip continuing to tremble and he bites down on it, a huff of air leaving his nose as he tries to still himself.

You truly didn't know what to say.

This simply was too much. You had never seen Satoru so vulnerable before. You had never seen him cry. And beyond that, you were still reeling from the news he brought to you. Your mind was running at a million miles per hour, searching for something, anything to say. Begging that somehow the right words that would heal everything would appear and leave your mouth.

But you drew a blank. So silently, you remove the mug from his hand, setting it on the coffee table next to your long-forgotten cup of tea, and slowly, you wrap your arms around him and hold him close. Hoping that maybe something as childish and as simple as a hug would provide some measly sense of comfort for him.

He breaks.

He's pulling you into his lap, arms tight around your waist and he shoves his face into your neck, stifling his emotions. His breathing is ragged and he's stuttering out nonsense as he tries to find his voice again but fails pathetically.

You felt your entire being shatter at the sight of your best friend being so broken, "This is not your fault, Satoru" you finally whisper, your own voice cracking, wondering if what you said was the right thing to say. "Like you said... you tried, we all tried- we wanted to help him, we really did-" A soft sob leaves your lips at the end of your sentence and the two of you just hold onto each other tighter.

"We can't save those who don't want to be helped.." you resolve, your hand gently running up and down the expanse of his clothed back.

You didn't know what more to say, what could you say at a time like this? Were there any right words? You were still reeling from your own emotions, you didn't know what to make of it all, and you simply felt devastated.

So the two of you sit there, silently crying in each other's arms, mourning over the fact that you lost another one of your friends. Wondering what you both could have done differently, wondering how you could have let Suguru fall so low?

"Stay with me tonight..?" he suddenly speaks again, his voice slightly hoarse as he continues to cling to you tightly.

"Of course..." You whisper back to him, not missing a beat as you attempt to wipe away your tears.

Eventually, the two of you move, making your way underneath the covers of your bed, lying on your side and facing each other. He brought you back to his chest, engulfing you in his arms wordlessly, allowing the two of you to fall into silence for just a few moments.

"Do you remember that mission we had together a couple months ago? The one where we thought we'd be going up against Grade Two Curses" he starts, voice nothing more than a hushed whisper that if you hadn't been so close to him, you may not have heard him. "Yeah, and it turned out to be Grade One's instead..." you whisper back, briefly recalling your annoyance over the misinformation that you and Satoru were given at the time.

He lets out a soft chuckle and you feel you've earned yourself a small victory. "That's the one..." he trailed off, letting out a shaky breath before continuing to speak, "we decided to wander about for a bit afterward... and we just- watched the sunset together and talked," he said, his hands trailing up your back to begin playing with the ends of your hair and a soft smile graces your lips at the action.

"Yeah, I remember that" you murmur, recalling the fond memory as you leaned into his chest a little more.

"So-" he begins, cutting himself with a shaky sigh, "...You don't plan on going anywhere, right?" his voice breaks again, and your ears perk up, realizing he was mimicking those exact words he spoke to you that day.

And you're unsure if this is a narrative you're creating in your head, but you realize at that moment that Satoru was just as terrified as you were.

As selfish as it felt, you realized that he also was afraid of losing more people. That there was a part of him that also didn't know if he could stand to watch as another person slipped through his fingers.

That maybe, he was afraid of potentially losing you just as you were scared shitless of losing him.

You felt something stir within you, an emotion that you couldn't quite place as you processed your own thoughts.

"I promise you... you're stuck with me" you say with teary eyes, mimicking your exact answer to him from that evening. You feel his body tremble and he just holds you tighter, the next few words he speaks coming out shaky and strained.

"...Thank you..."

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆

A/N: well if you read "Ghost of You" - if you know- you know :P But that is the 2nd and final prequel/addition to the Ghost of You story. I wanted to write these two parts as I thought it would help bring more meaning to the story and that it would also offer a bit more of a deep dive into the dynamic that Satoru and the Reader had, and it'll help sort of justify Satoru's reactions and emotions during the story. But thank you guys for the love and support on this fic! It did so much better than I ever thought it would! I have a few drafts of drabbles that I have been preparing to post but I hope you guys will stick around and see some of the new works I will be posting. Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!

Taglist: @hyori2 @kalulakunundrum @smolbeanzzz @numblytemporary @satxoru

[multiwreckedmess]

[1:06AM]

Here we go, an update to cheater!yunho series. I should name this something.

Pairing: yunho x reader WC: 3.5k Summary: Late poor decisions turn into mistakes. Mistakes that Yunho is all too happy to capitalize on.

As per usual this is 18+ PWP content. Please DNI if you are not 18+ for my PERSONAL boundaries!!! Nothing against you, i'm sure you're very mature for your age but to me you are babby.

Also this is FICTION. This is not meant to represent Yunho or Ateez or any people in real life. Please do NOT use this as a fucking moral guide or sex ed oh my god please.

Also so sorry no editing i cannot be arsed.

TW/CW: Dubious consent framed sort of like coercison (reader doesn't say no but she doesn't really say yes), cumming inside, cumming on(reader receiving), unprotected p in v, cheating.

His shoulder has a small hair sticking out from it. Was it always there? Were you just noticing it now? The urge to grasp it and pull it out almost overtakes you as you stare at it. Its the only thing you can stare at except from your own plain eggshell white ceiling. The juncture where his shoulder meets his neck, your bedside, or the ceiling.

"Gunna -hngh- cum," he manages to strangle out. Right. You're fucking him. Or he's fucking you.

You're lucky that kegels were all over your tiktok for you page. Squeezing yourself internally you groan. If he actually knew what you sounded like you'd be in trouble, the acting job was subpar. "Me-me too. Oh my god. Babe- make sure to -ugh- pull out okay?"

He nods into your shoulder as he grunts. His hips start to stutter and almost as if it was rehearsed both of you pull away from eachother, his hand grasping and pumping as you arch your back away from the mattress. Just like the girls in porn do it, although you hope you're more convincing. The choked groan sounds grotesque as white hot cum splatters your stomach. It's hard to hide your disdain even cloaked in the glow of the garage lights filtering through the curtains.

Your boyfriend doesn't admire his handy work for long. Maybe seconds, maybe less, before he toddles off to the bathroom to wash himself off. Not even so much as offering a glass of water to you, or a tissue to wipe off what he'd left. Yunho would never.

Right, because Yunho would've just cum inside of you. Not that you'd have bothered to tell him to pull out anyway.

Your upper lip curls, nose scrunching as you wipe away the cooled remnants with your boyfriends boxers that he'd left crumpled on the floor. It feels like congealed snot caught in a handkerchief. You grimace to stop yourself from gagging.

These weren't things you thought about when it was Yunho that you were fucking.

Curled up on opposite ends of the couch you hardly look like lovers. The tips of your toes barely graze the fabric of his sweats. Your boyfriend is enraptured by whatever is on the tv as you scroll mindlessly on your phone, trying to silence any thoughts at all. You can only play the role of loving girlfriend for so long. You know that.

Your contact turns from green to blue on Yunho's phone. He smiles to himself. He knew you'd be back.

"Was it that bad?" He types out quickly and hits send without a second thought. Smirking to himself. A bubble with three dots appears briefly. He's stuck staring at your contact, waiting for it to turn green again, for you to block him again. No response, but you remain blue.

"I know you're thinking about me," he hits send as fast as the first time. "Should the big bad boss come steal the princess from the plumber?" He adds a winky face for good measure. Something to rile you up.

The dots stay up for longer this time. Nothing comes of it. You remain silent, a mystery to him. All he's left with is the fact that you've unblocked his number, for now at least. He leaves it there to slide over to Instagram, you hadn't bothered to block him there, in part he assumed to show off just how well you were doing without him. He taps your profile and hits "message", swiping up to disappearing mode without thinking.

You're really trying to focus on whatever your boyfriend has fallen asleep to watching. The mental itch to touch your phone is almost painful. If you pick up your phone you might do something you'll regret. Something you'd regret more than all the things you've already done. The buzz of the phone against the couch cushion momentarily rouses your boyfriend. Not enough for him to open his eyes but enough for him to shift deeper into the cushions. He at least was satisfied.

Meanwhile your body is throbbing into insanity. Eyes flicking from him to the tv to the phone. It vibrates again and he doesn't wake. Would Yunho bother to message a third time? What could he even say in a text? He isn't stupid. It could be someone else, another friend, a facebook notification, even a news alert. The buzz didn't have to be him.

With a shaky exhale you unlock your phone. It's an Instagram notification, from him. You practically vault up from the couch, stomach clenched fully, running to the bathroom.

"Yunho has turned on disappearing messages" sits at the top of the chat. An ominous bubble sits waiting for you to click it. A video. You lower your phones volume and curl in close. There's no reason to open it, there's no reason that he should be sending you any sort of message at this time of night, after all that has happened. It could be blackmail, it could be a video of you and him. So you click it.

The happy background noise of a dog cafe throws you off. A happy face of a cute puppy trots into view, waiting for pets. A hand, Yunho's hand, reaches out from behind the camera. Long fingers carding through the soft fur of the puppy, tongue lolling out in bliss. "Good girl," Yunho coos. "Such a pretty girl. You like that don't you?" He continues to pet the dog. Veins cross the back of his hand. Slender wrist flexing as he scratches behind the puppy's ears. Fuck him. His fingers curl and straighten. You forget there is a dog there, transfixed by the motion, by his gentle laugh. "That's my good girl."

The video ends as Yunho chuckles, the dog rolling to its back.

"Whoops, wrong chat. Have a good night." It's shameful how much one stupid video affects you. "You were always a shit liar." You shoot back without thinking. "Give me 20." "No." "Fine, 10. I'll be down the block."

Sweats, no bra, ratty shirt, keys, and your jacket. The heal of your slides barely pops over your foot as you cross the threshold of your apartment. No excuse necessary to the boyfriend, he's still asleep on the couch, instead you leave a note and a glass of water near him. A simple "out for a bit, back soon" without elaboration. Liars always over-elaborate. You're not lying. You're just not telling the whole truth.

"Hello Princess," Yunho's shit eating smirk is barely hidden by the glow of the streetlamps. You stand with the door open, legs refusing to get in. "Go ahead. Say you were right. I'm waiting." "I don't need to, you know that."

Half of you wants to slam the door and walk away. That's the good option or at least neutral option. The other half, the lower half, needs him. Your grip on the door tightens as you groan. The anguish of your halves tearing you apart weighs on your shaking knees. "What do you want, Yunho?" "You." "You had me. You're such a fucking liar," your voice trembles as it raises. You can feel the air in the neighborhood shift uneasily. "Get in the car," his voice in comparison is eerily calm. "Talk to me." Your heart wills your brain to act. You sit, shutting the door behind you.

"Now what about you? What do you want? Getting into your ex's car late at night after a subpar fuck from your current beau really..." Yunho sucks in his breath. "It's a choice." Staring straight ahead you have no answer for him. There's no answer even for yourself. Every other time you could claim you were a victim of gravitational pull, of circumstance, of happenstance. Places you couldn't necessarily run away from him. There was some culpable deniability. However here, now, in the middle of the night you'd run towards the red taillights of his car, knowing exactly what was coming for you. There was no one but yourself to blame.

"I want you to fuck me." Yunho nods. "Can you drive like...somewhere else?" He takes the car out of park, the wheels slowly rolling forward as his foot comes off the break. "Don't wanna fuck where your neighbors could see?" Your stomach twists again with guilt. The silence fills your ears as Yunho drives. The only break in the whir of the engine is the gentle thud of the tires over the cracks in the pavement.

"I don't love you. I don't even think I like you. I just want you to fuck me." Yunho grins. Wanting him was enough, the seed of the idea left to grow. It wouldn't be long, even if you were continuing to deny it. "Right Princess, you were pretty clear about wanting to fuck." "I love my boyfriend." He chuckles to himself. The words sounded so hollow as they floated in the air between you. He didn't need to point out the obvious. No matter how much he wanted to, he had you now and could lose you again just as fast. "Where did you tell him you were going?" "I didn't."

Yunho pulls into the darkest section of the overflow parking lot just outside the mall. Broken streetlight paired with lax security, he knew the spot well. Parking quickly he pushes his seat back as far as it will go and unbuckles both of your seatbelts. You stare at him, dumbfounded as he pulls out a dashboard reflector and pops it into the front window, the sides already benefiting from being heavily tinted. "Really?" You ask incredulously. "Yeah, you want a blanket or-" "Really." Yunho can hear the disapproval without seeing your face. "You said you wanted to fuck. If you wanted something else you should've asked." He pats his lap. "Climb on in, plenty of space for you, princess." The lights in the car finally dim and flicker out. "Wow, even less romantic than he-" There's not a lot that angers Yunho but you sure knew how to find what would. He reaches over between your legs and pulls the bar that unlocks the seat to push yours back to match his, practically knocking the wind out of you as it jolts to the end of the track. "Don't make me come over there instead. It's not my preferrence but I'll make it work."

Your pulse quickens. Coaxing one leg over, his hands hold your waist steady, The seat creaks as you lean your elbows into the backrest, just over Yunho's shoulders. He lets his hands travel up your torso as you try to find a comfortable position. Somehow they always seem to dwarf you in their grasp. "No bra?" He cups your breast in is palm, the answer obvious to both of you. Your nipple peaks through the space between his fingers. Yunho doesn't miss the opportunity to lightly squeeze you, earning a small gasp from you. It hadn't even been that long since he last heard them and still he missed it. "You can be loud here, no ones coming for at least the next hour, even with the car parked." You don't ask how he knows that. Instead you allow your eyes to close as he pushes your shirt up just enough to put his lips around your other nipple, carefully tracing his tongue around it. He suppresses a chuckle as you squirm in his lap. It's cute that you still don't know where to put your hands, attempting to run your fingernails along his scalp before your finger involuntarily grip with a fresh wave of arousal. As much as you know how to push his buttons, he can press yours right back.

"Why- why pants-" Yunho is breathless as he fumbles with the elastic waistband of your sweats. Finally shoving his hand down the front, his fingers run along the sticky patch clinging to your cunt. "You know I've gotta stretch you out." It takes everything within Yunho to not add a snide remark towards the other man. Not now, while your practically melting in his arms. "Yuyu," you gasp as he slides a finger inside of you. The almost pathetic whine that accompanies his pet name has his head spinning as the blood in his brain empties south to his cock.

Your walls clamp around his finger as you pant. The angle Yunho's arm is at is awful for his wrist but he bears it, sliding in a second alongside the first and curling both forwards in you. He finds the spot easily, your forehead pressing into his shoulder harder as he grazes over it again and again. "That's my good girl," he mutters. The vibration of a muffled groan shakes through his shoulder. Your hips eagerly grind down, wanting just a bit more, a bit faster. He wants to give all of that to you and more but.... "-Fuck this angle-" he grimaces, pulling his fingers from you and licking them clean. "Why," you whine. Less of a question more of a vocalization of your disappointment. "Can you just fuck me already?" "If you'd given me 20 minutes and not 10..." Yunho grunts. "Don't want you to go through the effort and leave disappointed."

There's some careful limb tetris that happens to get you out of your sweats, but it happens. Yunho simultaneously reaching back and grabbing the large wool blanket from the seats to drape over you. Soon it would be summer and this wouldn't be an issue. Sundresses, his cock twitches thinking about it. Sundresses and sleep shorts with nothing underneath. Instead of repositioning you in his lap, he leads you to sit on one thigh. Hands coaxing you down harder against his flexed quad. It's enough to get the idea of what he wants you to do. His thighs are slim but powerful, like his hands. "Gonna make sure you're nice and ready for me this time. No complaining, hm?" Yunho whispers close to your body. Dragging your hips over him, you find yourself clinging with your arms wrapped around his neck. Panting as arousal pools in your gut, your essence fully leaking through your panties onto him. It helps that he sounds so good, smells so good. His vocalizations rarely leave the low airy grumble in his chest as he brings you to your first gentle orgasm, your own thighs locking and seizing around his.

Yanking you up towards his middle, Yunho presses the waistband of his pants down just enough to free his length. Velvety, veiny, and large, just as you remembered. Not that it had been particularly long since you'd last experienced it but admittedly it had been some time since you'd dared to look. "Open your mouth any wider and I'll think it's an invitation," Yunho cups your chin in his palm, thumb brushing over your lower lip. You hadn't even noticed you were gaping at him. "Don't worry, I'm good at making it fit." He scoots down a bit to help, seat as reclined as possible, looking up at you with a dopy grin and half lidded puppy eyes. Watching your face change as he fills you almost excruciatingly slowly is his favorite part. Your tight walls flutter as they stretch to accommodate him. Warm and wet and all his. Thighs trembling as you lower yourself was just the icing on the cake.

Taking advantage of your shirt hanging loosely, Yunho runs his hands up your front to pinch and play with your hardened nipples again. You squirm almost three quarters of the way full of him, bouncing almost in microscopically out of instinct. You'd always liked the extra attention. "You're doing so well," he coos with a harder tug. "Just a little more to go." "Yuyu," you whine. "What?" "You know!" He giggles as he kisses your chest and feels you writhe. Neither one of you bothers to stifle your moans as your wriggling finally sheethes him fully inside of you. Slowly your hips roll, grinding your front against him.

"No marks," you manage to whisper as you feel his teeth graze you. "Yuyu-please-" "He'll just think it's his." Yunho barely muffles his own editorializing in your flesh. His hands hold you fast to him, leverage for your winding. Kisses continuing to litter faint bruises in shaded places, he ignores your request. You don't press him on it. It feels too good to have his lips coveting you. Both of you move slowly, the lack of space is difficult but not impossible. Pressed together, chest to chest, exchanging heartbeats and heat. Yunho's arms snake around you, clinging to you. In the dark ocean of the night all he needs is you. Your tiny gasps and whines. Your warmth. Your love.

"God, I feel so-" your lips can't finish the sentences you start. Bodily fluids cling and slip between the two of you, the fabric of his pants slowly darkening with dampness. Your bounces slow, letting your hips take control. "-I know, Princess. You're all stuffed full aren't you?" He teasing tone makes your walls clench. Rocking up into you, pushing into your flesh as deep as he can go. "Yuyu I can't," you start to pout, "I'm so close but I can't." Your legs shake and twitch. Riding him like this is exhausting. "Want me to make you cum?" "Yeah." His hands drop to your hips as he slides down the chair. Jamming his shoulders back for leverage he plants his feet and presses his hips upwards, the position is uncomfortable but your expression immediately changes. Eyes rolled back, you groan. The sweet spot found. Yunho's smile becomes infuriatingly smug, holding your hips and hammering up into that tender area. The entire car shakes with you. His arms help you bounce with him, hoisting you up against gravity just to use it to slam himself deeper.

You grip the shoulder of the seat behind him, knuckles turning white as your core winds itself tightly. Yunho watches your brows knit as your walls clamp down around him, mouth open in a silent scream as air is trapped in your lungs. When you cum, you're silent except for your haggard breaths. He fucks you through it, close to his own climax. "You shouldn't-inside-we shouldn't-" you mutter like a woman possessed. "Shouldn't or don't?" Yunho grunts. "Tell me not to cum inside you and I won't." "Yunho," you whine. All of your faculties are stunted by your base needs. "Otherwise I'm going to cum so deep in you that it'll still be dripping out tomorrow. You'd like that wouldn't you? Bet it'd make your cunt clench." "Fuck- yuyu!" "Tell me now. Shouldn't or don't?"

Your climax is a blinding white behind your eyelids, lips crashing into his with a force that surprises even you. Pulling him up, closer, as if you could steal his aura through willpower alone. Take back the part of you that won't let him go with a single kiss. That only happens in fairy tales. Instead he leans up with you, hands slipping up to cradle your back as he empties himself in you. Groaning into eachother's mouths as refractory shocks travel between. Your kisses become competition, leaving both of your lips swollen and raw until you finally give in and lean your head on his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck.

Slowly softening inside of you, the mixture of fluids have started to drip down his length. Yunho knows he's on borrowed time at this point. Someone has to have noticed at this point. A security guard somewhere or maybe even the man haunting your apartment. He jostles the shoulder your head is rested on lightly, "we have to clean up." "Why'd you have to cum inside?" You sound half asleep and petulant. "You didn't say not to." He's right but- Yunho holds you tightly as he leans to the side, fishing a box of tissues from the back. Always prepared, like a good boy scout. Always willing to help. Trying to leave things better than he found them.

The ride back is silent, one hand on your thigh and one on the wheel. Streetlights burn warmly yet still seem lonely as they stand alone to guide you home. Your finger itch as you fight the urge to hold his hand, interlace your fingers with his. "Stop here." You croak, strangely robotically. Pulling over to the very end of your block. Makes sense to Yunho. Best not to pull up to the doorstep with your ex in the early morning. "Let me know how the drips go," he winks expectantly. Your steely expression sinks his stomach. "Don't call me, don't text me, don't check in on me, don't show up to any of my friend's events. Pretend this never happened, pretend we never happened. Pretend I died if you have to. I never want to see you or hear from you again. Understand?" All the wind is knocked from him. For the first time he feels at a loss for words. He winces. It looks like a small nod. "Goodbye Yunho. Good luck with...well. Goodbye."

Obviously this is not goodbye but we're about to see a bit from yunho's perspective. spoilers he's not really a good guy.

cheater!yunhoverse in order:  [9:42PM] / kinktober / [12:39AM] / [10:45PM] / [you are here]

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

The Elite Four | stray kids x reader

Pairing: ot8!straykids x fem!reader, ??? x fem!reader

Genre: fantasy au, romance, magic

Warnings: you get attacked.

Word count: 1986 words

a/n: well well well, it is I! And I bring you a new story! Hope you enjoy and reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated as it'll keep me motivated! <3

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Chapter 1

It rained when everything fell apart.

But before that, you loved the rain. You were from the lone district, a place that only experienced either clear skies and intense sunlight or overcast skies with steady or torrential downpours. Usually Summer was much more prominent so when it rained, you welcomed it with open arms. The weather held sentimental value to you and you were certain there was nothing that could make you dislike rainy weather.

It rained when you met Chan. You were only 12 years old, and he had just moved right next to your home. As the droplets began to splatter and become more intense, Chan tried to make a run inside with his childhood dog in his arms. Unfortunately for him, the cheerful and friendly pooch had other plans. The small and cute creature broke free from his embrace and barreled its way right into your legs as you appeared into its view. You fell into the mud with Chan screaming “Berry, noooo!” and rushing to your side to help.

It drizzled when you met Minho and Jisung. It had actually rained earlier in the day so the forest was a muddy and slippery ground at the time. While you and Chan mindlessly tossed pebbles into the vast lake that was nestled in the forest, out of nowhere, two boys came skating and screaming down the hill. Jisung was at the forefront and he tightly grasped Minho’s hand like his life depended on it while the latter wailed and yelled at him to let him go. They both fell right into the cold water.

It was foggy when you met Changbin due to the sudden torrential downpour that lingered for days. You were at the border that separated the lone district from the capital city, Pruvine. The border was adorned with lush berry bushes that bore the sweetest berries you ever tasted. However, it was a risk to be on the border alone. Pruvine Surviellants, just like the citizens, were not fond of people from the district, unless you were able to be of use for something. Surviellants would antagonize your people before finding some excuse to arrest them and bring them in for questioning. You were forbidden from going to the border by yourself but unfortunately for your parents, you had selective hearing and nothing could stop you from your berry addiction. So when you were ambushed and chased by a guard dog, Changbin grabbed your wrist to prevent you from falling down a slope and pulled you with him to safety.

And it had a torrential downpour when you met Seungmin, Felix and Jeongin. They were three close friends who spent most of their days lounging on top of the highest trees in the forest, staring out the Academy that stood beautifully in the capital. When a downpour began, they remained in their spots protected by the trees while the five of you were down below seeking shelter. Jisung who was panicked as he began to recall the last time he was in the forest and the muddy ground, scampered up one of the trees which Felix was on and refused to come down. The rest of you joined him on the other trees in close proximity and befriended the trio as you waited for the storm to pass. By the end of the day, your group was now a total of eight.

Truly you believed there was nothing to make you dislike rain.

You enjoyed living in the lone district despite the political unrest between Pruvine and the undercity. Pruvine is the city that flourished and prospered with wealth and the latest technology. The metropolis was a sprawling canva of urbanity as it was always buzzing with ceaseless activity from merchants, politicians and important people who came from all over the world. Its market was always bustling with activity and it was a buzzing hub for commerce. The city was adorned with towering buildings and pillars that were a testament to its grandeur and the ancient walls that were deeper into the centre were steeped in history, whispering tales from long ago.

On the other hand, the undercity was a dystopian community that was tucked away in an underground somewhere right off the cliff at the end of the forest. It was a community that felt the heavy injustice of the Pruvine Council after the failed rebellion centuries ago. It was said to be a gloomy landscape with a sprawling labyrinth of alleys. However, you also heard that the nightlife of the undercity was a spectrum of neon signs and lively bars. The city came alive at night and the after-hours was a playground for night owls with rumored rooftop bars, offering panoramic views of the starlit cityscape.

The lone district was right in between the two parallel cities. Your home was a petite town that was neatly crammed right next to the neighbouring vast forest. Descendants from the district were rumoured to have been from the undercity, who sought to establish their own home due to the continuous unrest and then failed uprising. It would definitely explain why Pruvine civilians did not take too kindly to your people.

But despite the neverending social turbulence, you liked your home - you had your friends and family and that’s all that mattered.

Until, Chan went off to the Academy. Despite the personal vendettas Pruvine citizens may have towards your people, there was no law barring you or anyone from your district to attend the Academy. You could if you chose to but it did require a very heavy and lengthy entrance examination. Perhaps it was the city’s way to show their equality and egalitarianism. 

Since that courtesy was not extended to the undercity’s civilians. 

Chan always considered potentially trying to enrol into the Academy. And after he met you and the boys, he was determined to secure a place and further his education. It would mean that he could create an avenue for a better life for everyone. He envisioned that you all would come to the city to live and have the most comfortable lifestyle the city had to offer. Despite your uneasiness and uncertainty with anything related to Pruvine, you trusted Chan and supported him in his efforts.

Till, he returned with a new friend. Kiara was the daughter of wealthy politicians and her mother sat on the Pruvine Council. She was nice, to the others at least. She avoided any one-on-one conversations with you and steered clear of your company if the others had left the two of you alone in the room. She kept close to Chan (much to your chagrin) and befriended Changbin, Seungmin, Felix and Jeongin easily. As far as Minho and Jisung were concerned, she seemed nice but neither really found it important to be close to her. However, Minho in particular began to notice her odd behaviour towards you. She would make back-handed compliments and subtly discredit any achievements you had. The others didn’t pick up on it since she was good at making it seem like a harmless and normal conversation. Minho wasn’t there the first few times she did it but then she made the mistake of saying it in front of him, and he was quick to reply to her with a snarky remark. She laughed it off initially but then sulked to Chan that Minho didn’t like her. Chan comforted her but their close proximity was a little too close to your liking.

But who were you to say anything? Chan wasn’t your boyfriend, so while your heart felt like it was being tugged mercilessly, you bit your tongue. You ignored it as best you could until you couldn’t.

 It was raining when Kiara decided to host a party at Chan’s to celebrate him completing his first year. She refused to leave his side and it was clear, she did not want to leave the two of you alone even for a second. She invited a few of their classmates and dragged him along to mingle with her. You could feel the stares and hear the whispers of gossip that were about you, because every time you tried to approach Chan, she would pull him away.

Ultimately, it all became too much, the living room you knew so well at Chan’s that was always homely, cozy and welcoming, began to feel too small and suffocating. So when nobody was looking, you ran off into and headed to the forest to breathe.

You felt like a failure. Although you knew Kiara was horrible and whatever issue she had with you was one-sided and clearly rooted in some kind of jealousy, you couldn’t shake off the feeling of inferiority. She was pretty and educated, she had seen the world while you never left the district, she was ambitious and talented at dance. And just yesterday, you heard Chan’s mom tell yours what a good match she would be for Chan.

And of course she would be. You were just a girl from the lone district, you did not want to attend the Academy, quite frankly, you would never step foot in Pruvine if you could. 

You were just you.

The rain had stopped for a while. As you got deeper into the forest though, you felt light droplets on your skin - it was beginning to drizzle. Just as you were about to make up your mind to turn back, you heard a marching of footsteps coming your way. Immediately, your heart began to hammer in your chest. It was already late and the sky above you was starting to become unnaturally dark with layers of gigantic and heavy clouds giving off an ominous and threatening feeling. There was a sudden flickering of white light bursting across the sky and in the distance, thunder began to rumble. It was beginning to get foggy and the wind seemed to escalate in strength, rattling the branches of the trees.

Before you could even take a step, you were shoved to the ground with a menacing figure towering over you ready to attack. With all your might you kicked him and bolted deeper into the forest. More foreign voices filled your ears and you distinctly heard a gruff voice yelling to ‘get her.’ A torrential shower hammered down soon after and you tumbled with every step you took as the ground became slippery and muddy. You were covered in mud and your hands were covered in cuts. You were freezing cold as the temperature dropped. You felt nothing but blind terror and dread twisted in your gut as you came to the clearing of the cliff. You were trapped. Suddenly, you were being attacked and hit from all sides. You felt the blood beginning to leak down your face, and as it mixed with the rain it stained your clothes. One of the perpetrators grabbed your arm and as you tried to pull back your sleeve was ripped. 

You were bruised and bloodied as you fell to the ground. Just as one of the goons was about to land the final blow, Jisung’s voice rang through the forest calling for you. The group scampered away and a blurry Jisung came into view. He cried and screamed your name, running to you and hugging you close, begging you to remain conscious. You faintly heard him mention the words help and Chan before running as fast he could back into the forest.

There were a few things you remembered that night. As you laid on the ground slowly teetering into unconsciousness, you saw three silhouettes come up from the bushes. Fear spiked in your body but there was nothing you could do. As your eyes began to flutter shut and you slowly accepted your fate, a gentle hand caressed your head.

That’s all you remembered as everything faded to black.

Oh, and you also never liked rain again.

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a/n: Never fear, Hyunjin will appear in the next chapter! if you would like to be on the taglist, please send me an ask or private message, that way I'll see it faster!

Taglist: @wealwayskeepfighting

[lovezbrownies]

The Stakes. (Yandere!Queen, Yandere!Bully.)

Nia's Masterlist - Lauren's Masterlist

Synopsis: An infamous, yet anonymous, game has been going on now for decades. A game of stakes and murder, and for the first time ever its being broadcasted on live tv, with censorships in place of course. And now, you're a part of the game too. How would your stalkers react to this information?

PAIRINGS: Yandere!Queen x GN!Reader, Yandere!Bully x GN!Reader.

WARNINGS: Since this is my first time posting a general scenario for two characters at once, these are going to be a bit on the short side. Nia is 1.3k words and Lauren is 1.6k! Of course beware of themes such as: Greed, capitalism, corruption, human animalism, and murder!

Queen Nia Bloodwen as the head sponsor.

The Crimson Trial was unfolding like a symphony of chaos. The large screens blared over the extravagantly adorned set, showing the frantic struggles of contestants. Faces twisted in a mixture of terror and determination, eyes wide with the crushing reality that their survival depended on how well they navigated this merciless game. Blood painted the stage, splattering over the pristine white floor as screams echoed throughout the arena. The air was thick with tension, but Nia, sitting comfortably in her luxurious chair, felt nothing but a deep, dark satisfaction.

The set itself was stunning—every inch of it designed to appear rich, gleaming, and elegant. Red banners adorned the walls, and gold-trimmed columns rose like towering statues, giving the entire place the illusion of royalty. But beneath the false luxury, it was a place of brutality, a brutal mockery of grandeur. The screams that filled the air told the real story. Death wasn’t just a possibility here—it was the ultimate prize for those who were lucky enough to survive the trials.

Nia, however, was unfazed by it all. She sat there, casually leaning back in her seat, her legs draped over the armrest. A glass of wine sat at her side, untouched as her eyes never wavered from the screens. She took in the chaos like a maestro observing a carefully conducted orchestra, the rising tension in the room feeding her dark hunger. Her smile stretched, faint but knowing, as she watched contestants stumble through the trials—trials designed to tear apart their very will to live.

To her, it wasn’t just entertainment; it was a reaffirmation of her control, her ability to shape the world around her. Everything was under her command—the games, the players, the lives lost. She reveled in the manipulation of it all, in the destruction she had masterminded. The contestants were merely pawns, and the game was just a tool to reaffirm her superiority.

But then something happened.

A flicker of static interrupted the broadcast. It was almost imperceptible, but the screen blinked—a glitch that disrupted the smoothness of the broadcast. Nia's gaze snapped toward the screen, her sharp eyes narrowing. The glitch was brief, disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared, but when the image stabilized, her breath caught in her throat.

There you were.

The world seemed to freeze, the noise around her fading to a dull hum as Nia's eyes locked onto your face. There you were, standing among the other contestants, your form slightly hunched as you moved cautiously between the obstacles. Your eyes were wide, scanning the surroundings, and for a moment, Nia could see the flicker of recognition—the panic that settled in when you realized you were caught in this hellish game.

Her pulse quickened, her chest tightening. No. This can’t be happening. Her darling, her precious one, was in the game?

The realization hit her like a wave, drowning out everything else. The calm exterior she so carefully cultivated, the relaxed demeanor she maintained when facing the suffering of others—it all slipped away in an instant. For the first time in ages, Nia felt the stirrings of something more than calm amusement. Fear. Panic. The emotions she had long since buried beneath her carefully constructed mask began to churn within her.

Her lips parted, her eyes never leaving the screen. She couldn't tear her gaze away from you, from the way you looked so lost in the chaos. You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren't supposed to be part of this game. You were supposed to be protected, hidden away from such violence.

A growl rumbled in the back of her throat, too low for anyone else to hear, but it was there—a raw, primal reaction to the injustice of it all. Her fingers curled around the armrests of her chair, white-knuckled with fury. She could feel the blood rushing in her ears, her heartbeat pounding in her chest.

For a moment, she allowed herself a flicker of something close to fear—fear of losing you. The very thought made her stomach churn, and she quickly pushed it down. She couldn’t afford to let anyone see weakness. Not now, not ever. Her lips pressed together in a thin, furious line as she refocused her mind. The game’s creators would regret this. They would all regret involving you.

Her voice, when it finally came, was soft but sharp. "Get me the head of the game," she ordered, her tone devoid of the emotion that threatened to escape her. "Now."

She reached for the communicator, her fingers moving with precision, the steel of her will making it impossible for anyone to detect the fury boiling within her. There was no hesitation in her words. “I don’t care about the cost. Make sure they keep my darling alive. Whatever it takes.”

There was no room for compromise, no understanding of failure in her voice. She had made her demands, and they would be met, no matter the price. The money would flow. The power would shift. Everything would bend to her will to ensure your safety. The game might play with lives, but she would play with the system.

Days later, after much negotiation and countless promises of unimaginable wealth, the plan was set in motion.

The game’s creators—blinded by their greed and desperate for the money that Nia offered—agreed to her demands. You were to be taken from the game, but to the world, you would be dead. A guard would find you in the aftermath, and a convenient story would be spun to cover up your survival.

The broadcast continued, but Nia’s mind was elsewhere. She sat alone in the dark of her private chamber, watching the monitors, her eyes never leaving the screen. Her heart pounded as the game played on, each contestant one step closer to their demise. But in the back of her mind, Nia knew. Soon, everything would change. Soon, you would be hers again.

When the final moments came—the final scenes of chaos and death—Nia was ready. The faked footage would roll out, and the world would believe you had cheated and died in a fit of desperation. But Nia knew better. She would pull you from the game, wrap you up in her arms, and ensure that no one would ever be able to touch you again. You would live, hidden from the eyes of the world, and she would be your queen.

As the days passed, the world thought you were gone. Your death had been staged to perfection, the media consumed with stories of your shocking betrayal. But Nia knew the truth. She had already secured your safety, already prepared for the moment when you would be back in her arms.

And now, here you were, sitting on her lap. The television continued to broadcast, the deaths of other contestants playing out for Nia’s amusement, but for the first time, you felt no fear. You were no longer a part of the game. The world believed you were dead, but in this private moment, Nia held you close, her fingers running through your hair in a possessive, soothing manner. Her touch was gentle, but there was an underlying sense of ownership that wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

The deaths on screen didn’t bother you anymore. They were no longer real. What mattered now was the feeling of Nia’s arms around you, the weight of her affection settling into your bones. You had been freed from the game. Freed from the spectacle. Freed by the one person who cared enough to make sure you survived it.

And in the silence that enveloped you both, you realized that you had never been more certain of your place in Nia’s world. You were hers now, and in this twisted reality, that was all that mattered.

Bully Lauren McCanister as the savior.

It was a night like any other for the people who had been dragged into the dark, twisted world of The Broken Game. The air was thick with tension as each contestant was forced to face the next round of horrifying challenges—games designed not just to test their skill, but to break their spirits. On the surface, it was all innocent enough, a game for millions to watch, a game for entertainment. But beneath that, the reality was far darker. People were dying, one by one, crushed under the weight of the sadistic system built to keep them locked in an endless loop of fear and survival.

And at the center of it all? Lauren McCanister, the vengeful force that had finally made her way to the twisted game, though not by the same route others had.

Lauren had never been the kind of person to sit back and watch. The idea of sponsoring a game like this—of indulging in such grotesque entertainment—was revolting to her. She could never stomach the idea of paying for someone else to die just for her amusement. But that didn’t mean she would let such a thing pass unpunished.

No. Lauren had far different plans. She was a hunter. And this game? It was her prey.

The first time she saw the broadcast, she had already made up her mind. Her dark eyes flashed with a murderous gleam. This wasn’t some twisted game she could simply ignore. Her darling was somewhere in that hell. She would not let them die in this chaos.

She went straight to work.

Lauren, in her trademark black leather, moved with the silent grace of a predator. She was no longer the woman people saw as just a bully—now, she was something far more dangerous. The cameras, the media, the millions of spectators—they were irrelevant to her. She had one purpose, and one purpose alone: to track down and eliminate every single person who had a hand in creating this hellscape.

One by one, she began her hunt.

The first sponsor was a short, greedy man—lustful, self-serving, and completely detached from the suffering he’d orchestrated. He was hiding behind layers of luxurious wealth and a massive fortress of security, thinking himself untouchable. But Lauren was relentless. She’d tracked him down through every dark corner, every whispered secret of the game’s network, and now she stood before his opulent mansion, the black shadows of night cloaking her in their embrace.

The moon hung overhead like a silent witness to the carnage she was about to inflict. Lauren’s eyes glinted coldly as she stepped forward, the crackle of her boots against the gravel the only sound in the still night. Her pulse was steady, her heart like a distant drum, thumping in the back of her mind. This wasn’t about justice anymore; this was about vengeance. The man inside had indulged in the suffering of hundreds, maybe thousands, and he would pay the price for every life lost, for every tear shed in those deadly halls.

She didn’t hesitate. With a fluid, almost graceful motion, she sliced through his guards like they were nothing more than paper. They fell without a sound, their lives snuffed out before they even knew what had happened. Lauren wasn’t here to take prisoners. She wasn’t here to negotiate. She was here to end this nightmare, and nothing—nothing—would stop her.

Inside the mansion, the sponsor had just finished his luxurious, wine-filled dinner. The laugh that echoed through the halls was guttural, rich with smug satisfaction as he reclined in his velvet chair, his fingers idly stroking the edges of a glass. He was completely unaware of the storm that was about to hit. But as his eyes widened in surprise, his glass falling to the ground in slow motion, the last thing he saw was Lauren stepping into the room, a silent specter in the moonlight, her eyes burning with pure hatred. The world blurred as she moved—efficient, precise—and then he was gone. His body crumpled to the floor without a word, his final breath stolen before it could even escape his lips.

With the first head honcho lying dead at her feet, Lauren didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. There was no time for reflection, no moment for remorse. She didn’t even need to check the pulse. She knew this was only the beginning. There were more. And they would all fall before her, each one more brutal than the last, until the game, the people behind it, and the hell they had created were nothing but ash.

She hunted them one by one. Each sponsor she found was a puzzle to be unraveled, a victim to be claimed. The wealthy and the powerful, those who sat high in their towers watching lives be crushed beneath their games—Lauren ripped them from their ivory palaces, tearing apart their false worlds piece by piece. She went to their houses, their private estates, their places of power, and each time she arrived, the scent of their doom was already thick in the air. They thought they could escape her, hide behind walls of gold and bodyguards. But Lauren was a ghost, a shadow in the night, and no matter how they tried to flee, they couldn’t outrun the inevitable.

Each kill was as calculated as the last, but the deeper Lauren descended into this hellish world, the more consumed she became by the rage that burned within her. She wasn’t just slaying the architects of The Broken Game—she was tearing down the very system that had allowed such a monstrous thing to exist. And as she sent each of them to their graves, her mind was fixed on one thing: you. Her darling. Her heartache. You were still in there, somewhere, a pawn caught in a game that you never deserved to play.

But soon, the hunt would be over.

The final target was the head of the game, the twisted mastermind who had orchestrated the trials from the very beginning. He was unlike the others—shrewd, dangerous, and calculating. He was untouchable in the eyes of the world, his grip over the game unshakable. But to Lauren, he was just another obstacle standing between her and you. She wouldn’t stop until every last thread of this nightmare was ripped away.

The day came when she finally stood before him—tall, imposing, with the weight of a thousand souls pressing down on her shoulders. His office was an eerie reflection of the game itself—sterile, cold, and pristine, the glass walls offering an unforgiving view of the sprawling city beyond. His eyes locked with hers, sharp and unwavering, as though he were waiting for something. Perhaps he believed she had come to negotiate. Maybe he thought he could talk his way out of this. But Lauren knew better.

With a cruel, predatory grin, he spoke first. "You think you can stop this? You think you can undo the game? I own everything. I control everything."

Lauren didn’t answer with words. Instead, she drew her blade, the silver gleam of it catching the light as she advanced. The fight that followed was swift, brutal, and one-sided. The head of the game fought with every ounce of desperation, but he was no match for the sheer rage and precision that drove Lauren forward. Her movements were like lightning—fast, unstoppable, and lethal. Within moments, he was crumpled to the floor, his reign shattered.

With his death, the game came to a screeching halt. The control room, once filled with bustling workers and spectators, fell silent. The power brokers, the so-called masterminds behind The Broken Game, were all dead. Lauren stood over their bodies, her chest rising and falling with the weight of her actions, her heart still pounding in the aftermath of the bloodshed. But she wasn’t done.

She turned her attention to the screens, where the lives of the remaining contestants played out, their suffering a constant reminder of the horrors they had been subjected to. With one swift command, the power to the entire operation was severed. The gates opened. The contestants, those lucky enough to still be alive, stumbled out into the fresh air, free at last.

And then, with everything in chaos around her, Lauren’s focus narrowed. She moved through the now-deserted arena with a singular purpose: to find you.

It wasn’t until she finally reached the makeshift holding area—where the survivors were gathered, shaken and broken—that Lauren saw you.

You were standing there, a shell of the person you once were, eyes wide, your body trembling in the aftermath of everything that had happened. But the moment you saw her—your gaze meeting hers across the room—something in you broke free. You ran toward her without hesitation, as though the chains that had once held you were finally snapping.

Lauren caught you easily, her strong arms wrapping around you like a cage, but this time, it wasn’t to control you. It was to protect you. To never let go. You buried your face in her chest, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you were free. Safe.

"I’ve got you," Lauren whispered, her voice low, filled with relief and something deeper—a possessive tenderness that bordered on the raw edge of obsession. Her hand caressed your hair, her lips pressing gently against your forehead. "No one will ever hurt you again."

And for the first time, you didn’t resist. You didn’t pull away. For the first time, you allowed yourself to feel the truth of what had always been there—the undeniable pull toward her. You were finally home.

[oweninadaydream]

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 || 𝐂𝐇.𝟐

summary : Jake cannot stop thinking about him. Jake cannot stop thinking about the first time he saw him. Jake cannot stop hating himself for what he is doing.

pairing : Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x male!character

word count : 2.5k

contains : allusions to sex, emotional distress, religious trauma, self-deprecating thoughts and yeah, basically the same warnings from part 1 haha.

a/n : Gif by @tay-swifts. Okay so rn for me it's 2:45 am so please ignore any incoherence or mistakes or if it's not as good as part 1. I hope yall don't hate me for not posting in so long, this is my attempt to go back into writing :)

“Seventy-nine. Down. Eighty. Down. Eighty-one. Down-” Maverick’s voice resonated inside the squad’s ear canal as he counted the number of push-ups they had done so far. This time they only had to do 100, but the heat and tiredness from all those previous hours spent in the air made the seemingly easy exercise a hellish torture. The concrete floor splattered with sweat drops falling from their foreheads was burning hot and their hands were begging to cease contact with the ground. All those physical stimuli did not possess enough power to distract Hangman from the million thoughts that flooded his mind ; the characteristic dullness of the exercise had sent him into a tortuous crisis full of some memories he didn’t want to relive and some others he wanted to relive so desperately that the realization that it was in fact impossible hurt him more than any wound acquired in the battlefield. 

After pushing his body back up from push-up number 92, he closed his eyes for a second and that was enough for a film-like reminiscence to start playing inside his head.

Speed. 100. 110. 120. 150. The tight grip to the steering wheel. Quick shallow breaths. Accelerated palpitations. Those were just some of the symptoms that showed his unnerved emotional state. Taking a right exit, he found himself entering the mysterious city of L.A ; coming from a Texan town, Los Angeles seemed like the capital of the unruly. Don't get him wrong, he has always been a menace himself, but big cities had always made him feel strangely small. 

He had no clue where he was going, but that's the thing about spontaneously bolting from base at 11 pm on a Friday. Hangman had no explicit motives to feel trapped within his routine; in fact, he thrived under strict organization (one of the many reasons why he decided to join the army), so what the hell was he doing? That was a question that was going to be left unanswered for now, so the next best thing was to find a distraction from the everlasting anger flooding his system.

He quickly realized that he had driven to a neighborhood full of pubs and bars decorated in colorful lights and full of people queuing to get in and have a drink or two, perhaps dance or make out too. His eyes also took in the many flags that hung from all of the buildings of the street; he recognized the gay flag but the rest, he could not tell what they represented. While staring at a pink, purple and blue one, he got blinded by a very powerful blue light, which made him stop abruptly. After it had dimmed down, he turned his head to identify where the light was coming from.

“Mon Ange” he mumbled to himself. His tired gaze revitalized at the hypnotic sight. If he had to be completely honest, he knew the reason why he fled the scene earlier that night. The truth was that he felt stuck, unable to move forward in life; something was missing but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was and the enigma was driving the pilot crazy. He was 35 and having an identity crisis, how lame was that? Looking at the people waiting to enter ‘Mon Ange’, he noticed that everyone was dressing so eccentrically, smiling so brightly and chatting so loudly; he was obviously not part of their community but, could a night in this place so out of character for him relax his mind enough to see things in a different light? He would get in, order a drink and head out, that’s it. Spending time in a place that was filled with strangers who did not have any type of expectations or preconceived ideas of him sounded nice enough to make the move.

The odor of alcohol and sweat flooded Jake’s nostrils as soon as he stepped in the club. The wide circle-shaped  room was packed to the brim but there was an upper floor with less people. The songs playing were not his style so he could not recognize the artists ; after scanning the place, he found the bartender. He got served pretty quickly and he could tell that his face card had made that happen. He did not find it in himself to order a fancy drink, so he settled for a beer. 

Looking for the bathroom, he stumbled with a semi-open door. Assuming it to be the toilet's entrance, he stepped into the dark room. He instinctively patted the wall in search of the switch, but there was not one to be found. Moans and other sounds Jake was no stranger to found their way to his ears, making him jump back and leave the room. Back in the hall, he was breathing unevenly, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

“How ya doin’, handsome? Too crowded for a pretty thing like you?” A decently buff (but not bigger than him), hairy man was leaning “seductively” towards him as he spoke. Jake felt pure disgust and indignation pooling in the lower part of his stomach ; he could see how his presence in a place with such characteristics could lead up to certain conclusions but, approaching him like that was so out of line. The stranger’s gaze made him feel like a piece of meat and he was momentarily struck with the thought of whether he had ever made a girl feel similarly.

“Fuck off, asshole. Fuck around and find out.” Jake pushed him away so he could escape the situation he found himself in. His harsh frown warned the other man to stay away unless he wanted to leave the place with a black eye. After making it out of those suffocating halls, he decided to leave ; this whole idea had been pure foolery motivated by how lost he was feeling in life.  

Searching frantically for the exit door, his eyes landed on a couple shamelessly flirting and exchanging caresses of all kinds. The sparks in their eyes seemed genuine and that made the pilot sigh in a longing manner. Jake shook his head in order to try to slow down the speeding and confusing thoughts running though his mind. Suddenly, an entrancing voice started directing its words at him. He had been so focused on the couple by the bar that he didn’t process what the handsome- handsome?- stranger was trying to tell him. It couldn’t be anything good, based on his concerned facial expressions that Jake could barely make up because of the lighting of the room.

“Sorry, what?” he mumbled while finally setting his confused and dissociated gaze on the other man.

“I’m (Y/N), I saw you walking down the hallway back there and you seemed…” he hesitated, trying to find the best adjective to describe it. “distressed. Just wanted to make sure that you were ok. You’re not from around here, are you? And if I’m correct, you’re by yourself. This place can be overwhelming when you come for the first time”

Jake could feel the way his eyes widened at the words of the man standing in front of him. (Y/N)’s smile invited him to open up, to share the deepest and darkest parts of himself; but the pilot was no fool and quickly activated his protective shields again. He began to excuse himself after clearing his throat, lowering his voice an octave unconsciously “Thank man but I just entered because I had a problem with my car and it was the only place open at this time and I need to go back to my…”

“Calm down hahaha, I am not the police, don’t have to justify yourself. As to the car thing, the manager that runs this place knows a thing or two about cars. Is the dark green one yours?” Jake nodded, dumbstruck by the casual nature of this encounter “Fabio will help you for sure. If you want I can go look for him and you’ll be on your way in no time” Another grin took possession of the younger man’s lips.

Jake’s cheeks began to change colors into a pretty obvious red. He had created a lie that he could not follow with; how was he supposed to get out of that very uncomfortable moment? Fuck, fuck, fuck “I, eh…” It was not very often that Seresin ran out of things to say; his squad wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if they were witnesses to this pathetic scene.

“Look I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here but it’s okay, alright? We don’t know each other so I cannot snitch to anyone about you being here; not that I would if we did know each other. Here” he looked in his black bag and took out a water bottle “I sneak these all the time, they’re expensive as fuck in here” a smirk accompanied the confession, giving Jake the sensation of being his partner in crime.

He took the drink and chugged it down in an instant “Thanks for everything you’ve done for me tonight, really appreciate it. I don’t think I’ll come round here any time soon but I owe you big-time”

“How about you tell me your name?” a playful but still innocent gaze stole Jake’s breath away. Fuck, how rude had he been? He hadn’t introduced himself back in the club and this person had gotten out of their way to help him. His southern heart shrinked at such an impolite act; this was definitely not meemaw approved but at the end of the day, none of this whole night was.

“Excuse me, Jake Seresin”

“Nice to meet you, Jake Seresin” he chuckled. “Well, I guess this is where we part ways, isn’t it? And don’t worry, you don’t actually owe me anything.”

“There must be something I can do. Where I’m from, you show your gratitude to the people who’ve helped you yknow”

“Here” as if it were the most natural thing, M/N took the blonde’s hand and wrote down his number. “If you’re ever in trouble again or you just want to chat, here’s my number. And don’t worry, no second intentions or anything included, just think you’re cool and could use a friend round here” he clarified after taking a look at Jake’s conflicted face. Despite the alarm in his head stating very loudly that he had to get out of there as soon as possible, he let the other man take his hand in his for a second too long. Jake was no shy person but the questionable tension in that moment crossed a very clear line that had been established many years ago and was irremovable now. Breaking their little bubble, Jake nervously searched for his car keys as he thanked M/N and wished him a great night.

While driving away, the rear-view mirror captured M/N’s image, framing his still figure in the small reflecting surface for Jake to stare at, making him ignore the clearly red light and almost crash with a grey truck whose driver shouted every single insult under the sun at him. But the lieutenant could not care any less, his worries laid elsewhere. What the fuck had happened tonight? He found himself desperately trying to make some sense of his decision-making process-

“HANGMAN” 

Startled at the mention of his name in such a shrill manner, Jake regained control of his body and mind which had traveled to the past for quite a while, for he could not recall when they had stopped training and had gotten inside, taking turns to shower in the base’s facilities. “The day you stop annoying me, Rooster, hell will freeze over” he grumpily murmured, but with no real meanness behind his words.

“You’ve been acting very strangely, Hangman, and not in your usual weird way” Bradley narrowed his eyes as if it would allow him to access Jake's deepest thoughts that were apparently holding him hostage. After Jake had rolled his eyes and dropped some sarcastic comments about his “stupid ass moustache”, he decided he would let it slide, for now. “Anyway, you’re comin’ tonight, aren’t you?”

“Nah, gotta do some paperwork and prepare for tomorrow’s session” he discarded the offer quickly.

“C’mon don’t be such a pussy, man” another of his coworkers commented from nearby.

The way he slammed the locker’s door provoked a loud bang that made everyone turn their heads to see what was going on in that part of the locker room “Who the fuck has said that shit? I ain’t gonna let you live, motherfucker” and just like a bull ready to kill, only seeing red, he started to search for the idiot who had decided to speak and make a comment he definitely did not need to hear at the moment “don't hide now, who.was.it?”

“Hey Jake, calm down man, it was just a joke, what the hell? “Rooster questioned, absolutely puzzled at his mate’s reaction; it was just common locker room jargon, they often teased each other or said something dumb about their dicks or something like that, and Jake would often reply with a laugh or an equally offensive response so, something was definitely wrong with the normally nonchalant Hangman.

Shrugging off the hand Roosted had placed on his shoulder to ground him, Jake picked his bag and stormed off huffing and cursing under his breath. After having reached his car, his forehead was pressed against the steering wheel and his eyes were shut closed; breath for 3 seconds, hold it in for 4 seconds and exhale for 7 seconds. This was a technique he learnt when he was young to repress any anxiety or panic attack that tried to break the controlled facade he showed his family, the church, his superiors and his friends. A frustrated groan escaped Jake’s sealed lips, a clear sign of all that pent up frustration.

His phone buzzing caught his attention and decided to take a look. The three messages appearing in the lock screen where all from the only person who could make him feel okay again but also, this person was the one who had triggered this chaos  he had so carefully repressed in order to create the perfect persona; a masculine, chill guy who walked through life as if he had everything under control, when in reality he was a 36 year old full of pain and doubts that the church, his family and the army had made sure to reinforce. 

Texts from M/N:

M/N : hey, you forgot your sweatshirt at my place

M/N : are you going to Mon Ange next saturday? I can hand it to you then. Yknow, that day’s theme is cowboys and I’d kill to see you even with just a fake cowboy hat 

M/N: you can teach me how the Two Step thing works ;) no pressure tho, as always <3

Jake S. : wouldn’t miss it for the world, get your boots ready.

This was like being stuck in a car with no brakes and Jake had decided to try and enjoy the ride for as long as it lasted.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Ask, and You Shall Receive

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of female masturbation, slight coercion and degradation, smut. Word count: ~2k

Summary: Daemon's maidservant has been quietly lusting after him for three months, waiting for him to make the first move. Based on this request.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications for updates of when I post fics. Community labels are for cops.

When she’d first been assigned the duty of serving as Prince Daemon Targaryen’s maidservant, a rush of excitement had run hotly through her veins.

There were many names that the King’s younger brother went by, but the one that intrigued her most was Lord Flea Bottom, a moniker earned for how often he was seen in that particular part of the capital. It was no secret that the Rogue Prince enjoyed the company of whores; he frequented all of the pleasure houses within the Street of Silk, despite his marriage to Lady Rhea Royce, and no matter how much nobles and smallfolk alike enjoyed gossiping about his exploits, he was undeterred from this salacious behaviour. Daemon was not a man who concerned himself with the opinions or approval of others.

She had lusted after the Prince from afar for as long as she’d worked at the Keep, and ordinarily she’d never dream that someone of such high standing would give her the slightest bit of attention - she was a lowborn servant, a nobody - yet learning he frequented brothels gave her a glimmer of hope that he might deign to give her the attention she so desperately craved from him. A maidservant was certainly a step up from a common whore, and at the very least he would not have to part with coin in exchange for her company.

Much to her disappointment, it has been three months since she began attending to Daemon and he has not so much as spared a glance her way. He returns each evening from his duties as Commander of the City Watch, and she draws him a bath before helping him from his gold cloak and armour.

She allows herself the briefest gaze of admiration before averting her eyes, feeling her skin grow heated whenever he stands bare before her, tall, broad and godlike. He is the very image of power itself, surely hand-carved by the Seven.

When he reclines in the tub full of steamy water, her eyes roam appreciatively over the breadth of his chest and shoulders as she drags the dampened wash cloth across them, down the length of his arms and the span of his large hands.

The silken strands of his silver hair are impossibly soft against her fingers as she runs them through it, washing away the dirt of the city. The rumble of contentment that vibrates in his throat as her fingertips work against his scalp has desire pooling between her legs. She wonders what else she could do to elicit those sounds from him. Alas, no matter how deftly she washes his body and attends to his needs, he has never touched her. Though he is utterly relaxed in her presence, it seems to be in spite of it rather than because of it. 

This frustrates her. She goes to bed each night pent up, her hand slipping between her legs and bringing herself to release, imagining what it would feel like to have his dampened body move against her own.

There is fire in his eyes when he returns to his quarters that evening, his brow furrowed in long spent anger, his jaw set in a way that indicates he is in no mood to talk. The darkened maroon splatters on his breastplate are doubtless dried blood, and not his own.

She longs to ask what has happened, but knows better. It is not her place to question a Prince. She has heard talk of Daemon putting tougher measures in place to deal with the rapists of King’s Landing, a recent development. She suspects that this is likely the cause of his bloodied ire tonight. Her heart swells at the thought of his chivalrous bravery. Longing to reward him for his service to the people of the city, and perhaps a last ditch attempt at gaining his attention, she decides to put extra care into his evening bath.

She ensures the water is slightly hotter than usual, scented with rose and lavender, and sets oils beside the tub, almond to use on his hair, and lemon for his body. Her final action is to strip down to just her shift, stepping out of the dress she wears that identifies her as serving staff of the Red Keep and shedding her smallclothes. She wants him to see her. If he takes offence or queries it, she reasons that she will simply apologise and say that the warmth of his bath was making her too hot. However, somehow she doubts he will be offended.

As she steps towards him to begin helping with the removal of his armour, she notices his eyes drift over her body. Covered only by a thin layer of cotton, her silhouette is illuminated through the material by the soft light of the candles that burn throughout the chamber. He says nothing, standing in silence and allowing her to disrobe him. She places each heavy piece carefully to one side, as always, though this time her hands shake with the effort.

Sweat prickles the back of her neck as he is revealed to her, her mouth running dry at the sight of him, thick thighs slightly parted as he stands with his feet planted. She catches his eye as she glances upwards and her breath sticks in her throat. He is watching her ogle him. The faintest twitch of his brow is his only reaction. She cannot tell if it is amusement or annoyance.

He lets out a low hum of appreciation as he steps into the tub, clearly noticing the difference in both scent and temperature. A small smile of pride tugs at her lips as she steps behind him, preparing to begin their nightly routine.

Carefully she wets his hair, cupping water into her hands and spreading it from root to tip, before coating her palms and fingertips in almond oil and working it through his pale tresses. She takes her time, rubbing tight, slightly pressured circles against his scalp, noticing the way his eyelids drift closed, leaning into her touch. She forgoes the use of the washcloth this evening, pouring lemon essence directly into her hands and massaging it into his chest and shoulders. The tightness in his muscles melts like butter beneath her touch as she works her way down the length of his arms, watching the way the tension he has been clinging onto dissipates with every sweep of her hands across his body.

As she moves lower, about to dip her hand beneath the surface of the bathwater, she lets out a small gasp, caught off guard by the suddenness with which Daemon grasps her wrist - not applying enough pressure to hurt her, but enough for her to know she can no longer move her arm of her own volition. Her wide eyes stare at him imploringly, though his expression is impassive as he regards her carefully.

“Do you wish to fuck me, little maid?” he asks, voice low, the slightest of smirks upon his face.

She feels as though all the air has been sucked from the room. Her heart hammers wildly in her chest as her lips part in shock. She knows that Daemon speaks plainly, but she had never expected him to be so lewd, so direct. It has warmth blooming in her lower belly. A dull, throbbing ache settles between her legs.

She lets out a squeal when, clearly dissatisfied with her silence, he hauls her into the tub with him. She sits astride him, shift soaking wet and clinging to the contours of her body as she attempts to control her breathing. His hands grip her waist, holding her in place to ensure she doesn’t try to climb back out. The hardness of his body against hers, the warmth of the water lapping against her skin, the heady aroma of rose and lavender, it is all too much. Her head swims with the effort to keep her composure. 

This is all she has ever wanted. Yet, she knows one wrong move could spoil it all.

Daemon reaches up, tweaking the hardened peak of her nipple that pebbles through the wet fabric, making her whine and clench around nothing. “You didn’t answer me - but I think I already know the answer. I see the way you look at me, the way you prance about my chamber like a bitch in heat.”

She squirms, mewling desperately when he hands push her soaked cotton of her shift above her hips, his thumb dipping between her legs to lightly circle her pearl. She clings tightly to his shoulders for support, wanting to say something, anything, but the words will not come. Mercifully, he is eager to speak for both of them.

“The thing is, little maid, wanton sluts don’t get what they want unless they ask nicely. Did you really think the power of your feminine charm alone would be enough to entice me? I am a Prince. People beg for my attention, not the other way around.”

Her chest rises and falls rapidly with effort it takes her to remember to breathe. Her thighs shake either side of Daemon’s hips as he continues to rub against her sensitive bud. Her brows are knitted together, an expression of both unbridled pleasure and humiliation.

He chuckles quietly. “So, are you ready to ask for what it is you want?”

Resolve crumbling, she nods fervently, hoping he will take mercy on her, but it is not enough.

“Say it,” he commands forcefully, removing his hand from between her legs.

When she eventually finds her voice, it sounds foreign to her, broken and pitiful, not her own. “P-please…Your Grace…I-I want you to fuck me.”

“Good girl,” he whispers.

She barely has time to register the weightiness of his thick cock as it rests against his palm before he is pressing it inside of her, its girth pushing apart her fleshy inner walls with its brutal intrusion. Though she is adequately aroused, it is a stretch to accommodate him. She muffles a squeak into the crook of his neck as he sheathes himself fully within her.

His fingers curl themselves into the hair at the back of her head, gently tugging her back, an air of smugness etched across his handsome features as he looks up at her. “You will not hide from me,” he says huskily. “You wanted me to fuck you, so you will let me watch you as I do it.”

The slight threat that simmers beneath his words sends a shiver of excitement through her. The bath water begins to sway with the undulation of his hips as they thrust languidly up into hers. His pace is lazy, unhurried, yet every stroke is achingly deep as the head of him brushes against the rough patch inside of her that causes her toes to curl involuntarily. He is like a cat playing with a mouse, his eyes never leaving her face, studying every slackening of her jaw and slight scrunch of her nose as he fucks himself into her.

As he coaxes her towards her peak, she feels a familiar pressure building inside of her. It crashes over her in white hot waves, causing her to slump against Daemon’s chest with a cry of ecstasy. She feels boneless, weightless, but he is far from done with her.

Seizing her incapacitation as an opportunity, he grasps her hips, quickening his pace and pulling her downwards to meet each snap of his pelvis, the force of his movements causing the water to cascade over the sides of the wooden tub and onto the flagstone floor as he chases his own end. He grunts in satisfaction as he spends inside of her, and in the back of her pleasure-addled mind comes the hazy thought that she will need to drink moon tea in the morning.

They lay as they are for a few moments longer, as Daemon catches his breath, what remains of the bathwater rapidly cooling around them. When she finally has the strength to lift herself from his chest, she sees fire in his eyes once more, though it is not derived from fury. There is warmth behind his gaze, a fondness that she has not seen before.

He strokes her back absentmindedly, his fingers plucking at the wet shift that sticks to it. “Take this off,” he whispers, “and go to my bedchambers. We shall see if you are as good at warming my bed as you are at making my bath go cold.”

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More Daemon fics

[the-wayward-arc]

"And great warriors saved them all."

"Mama, are they real?"

She smiled weakly, "do you think they are?"

"Yeah, yeah I do. I hope they come for us one day..." Her mother held her hand as the caged walls separating didn't allow close contact between parent and child. All her siblings held their mama's hand as they slept.....

"I-its okay...m-mama's here..." She choked as her children cried, holding her hand from the cage as she struggled to breath, barely able to see them as her bruised swollen face from their master's beating. She looked away as said Master, an four armed reptilian xenos, was being beaten by an white armored Giant. The master begging for mercy as the giant kept beating him, each fist covered in purple blood.

"Avez-vous montré sa pitié ?!" ("Did you show her mercy?!")

Bring down both fists onto the master's face, caving it in as blood splattered onto the warriors armor as the master went limp, arms falling to the side as he stopped moving. The giant looked at her, she held her children's hands as she feared the worst. But he didn't raise a hand against her, kneeling down to her as he took off his helmet, she gasped as she saw a face like her people. With the color of blue sky she saw only once in her youth in his eyes, his eyes were warm as she placed his large armored hand out for her to reach. More warriors came in,

"Est-ce qu'elle ira bien ?" (Will she be alright?) He asked one as a small light washed over her from a machine on his arm.

She watched as the warrior nodded to him as the warrior slowly and carefully began to lift her up, she held onto her children's hand tightly as they did. Her children screaming for her, but the warrior smiled at her, a reassuring smile as she let go. She watched as he gripped the cage doors and effortlessly ripped it off, kneeling down to her frighten children as he too extended his hand to them, they were hesitant till her brave child walked forward.

"Are you the warriors our mama told us about?" He didn't speak their language, but he smiled at her and slowly each child accepted his hand. Carefully and slowly picking all five of them up as she carried them in his arms. Some climbing to his shoulders or head as they left.

She looked, the best she could see as more and more bodies of the slain masters laid strewn about. More giant warriors walked by, followed by smaller warriors as she heard small explosions and screams of her masters fill the halls. She saw her fellow slaves, women and their children as they were led out of this place...

Eventually they neared the exit, something she hadn't seen since she was a child, all were nearly blinded by the light as they hadn't seen the sun in so long, but as their eyes adjusted, ready to see the warships of her masters that filled the skies before she was thrown down here. The huge flag that waved way off distance in the capital above the Palace, but she didn't. No. She saw something else, huge warships she's never seen before! Hundreds of them in the sky as she watched one of the masters ship slowly fall from the sky, exploding as it crash landed in the distance.

The warrior looked at her before they were all gestured to look at something he was pointing at. Soon a giant face of a man appeared in yhe sky above, he had long hair that was the same color as the sun with the same colored eyes as the warrior that held her.

"Les gens de ce monde ! Vous ne me comprenez peut-être pas, mais laissez mes actions vous montrer, vous montrer que nous ne sommes pas là pour des conquérants ! Mais en tant que libérateurs !" (People of this world! You may not understand me, but let my actions show you, show you that we are not here to conquerors! But as your liberators!) He spoke as the flag that once reminded them all who their master's were fell,

"Tu es libre!" (You are free!) He exclaimed, holding the Symbol the Emperor of the master's, it was nothing but pieces as it fell from his hand.

"M-mama! The warriors! There the warriors you told us about!" Her daughter exclaimed happily as the people around them began to weep, falling to their knees. She too crying as the warriors around them began to cheer as well.

the surviving xenos of the World known as Rylk were being rounded up, brought to their knees as their Emperor was dead. Slain by the Primarch Jaune arc. The 11th Legion had freed another world from the darkness, their sacred duty as the defenders of the weak will never cease.

Been listening to this was inspired

[milf-harrington]

[image description: digital art of steve and eddie from stranger things, set out almost like a movie poster.

in the top left, eddie is shown playing air guitar with his tongue poking out. he's dressed in blue shorts and a black shirt with a short sleeve flannel + denim vest combination thrown over top. he's also wearing black converse. "the music guy" is written next to him in red ink with two arrows pointing towards him. his hair is down.

in the bottom right, steve is standing like he's leaning against a wall, one knee bent with his foot crossed in front of the other. he's dressed in short denim shorts and a green and white baseball shirt with the sleeves cut off. he's got white shoes and blue socks. he's saluting lazily. "the jock" is written next to him in blue ink with two arrows pointing towards him.

in the top right corner "steve + eddie" is written in orange capital letters, surrounded by dots and scribbles of various colours: blue, pink, orange and green. in the middle, placed behind the boys, is a pink rectangle splattered with blood. in the bottom left corner "slasher" is written in large yellow capital letters, with the same word written over it again in smaller red letters, designed to look like they're dripping blood. beneath it 'summer camp au' is written in the same red, this time without the drips. there are blood puddles pooled beneath, though. /end id.]

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here's a little steddie piece inspired by this tiktok my best friend sent me, they literally said "possibly steddie outfit ideas" which i love bc i don't actually even think they ship steddie i just go on about them that often