#the chapters start getting way long after this though

[am-i-interrupting]

Across the River | Viktor x Jinx’s Older Sibling

Chapter 5: Defying the Laws

Summary: After the explosion and disappearance of Vi, you take your little sister across the river to Piltover. You struggle to keep the two of you afloat but manage to get Jinx to the academy. This is where she procures an internship that changes your lives.

Five months into her assistant career is what it took before Jinx saw the beginnings of Hextech. Jayce had been the one to offer to show her what Hextech looked like in practice after realizing that she’d only been practicing in theory.

Viktor shocked his head with a small smile when Jayce brought out the stabilizer they’d made those many years ago. Now tweaked to better preform than it once had.

Jinx was the one who laid the orb into the contraption. It slipped from her fingertips and caught in her long nails before she gently let it plop into place.

Jayce turned the dial and it sparked to life before the room engulfed in blue for a moment. It twinkled out as things began floating.

“Turn it off,” Viktor said almost as soon as the room went back to its natural coloring.

“What?”

Viktor gestured towards Jinx’s. Her eyes were wide but not in the excited way more so in the hallowed, haunted way.

Her breathing was labored. It huffed out harshly. Like she’d been running for miles without a break.

Jayce quickly shut off the device. While Viktor and Jayce landed in their original places with grace, Jinx fell to the ground.

Her knees took the brunt of the fall as her hands came up to her head. She stared off into space.

“Jinx,” Jayce said softly as he approached her, his hand extended.

“No,” she said, voice cracking, “no.” Her head tipped forward against the ground. “It was a mistake.”

Jayce’s hand pressed against her shoulder. She bolted up and jerked away like he’d just slapped her. Tears were prickling at her eyes, waiting to fall.

“It was a mistake,” she repeated right before they fell.

She kept repeating the words to herself like a mantra.

“Go get her sister,” Viktor told Jayce.

Jayce looked between the two of them. Viktor gave a soft nod, a silent “I’ve got her.” Jayce bolted out of the door.

“I didn’t mean to,” Jinx said.

Viktor slid down into the floor, using his crutch to make sure he didn’t topple. Slowly, he placed it on the ground.

“I was just trying to help,” she said, a sob beginning to tear through her. “I was going to save them.”

Viktor sat with her on the cold floor.

The door to the shop didn’t normally open unless someone was getting something fixed or picking it up. It certainly never chimed open followed by hurried footsteps of someone who’d been running.

You looked over the automobile you were working on and saw none other than Jayce Talis looking frantic. Immediately you were on your feet.

“Jinx,” he said, “she needs you.”

“Kash, I’m gone!” you yelled as you ran to the door.

“Wait—“

“Jinx,” was all you said.

“Go,” Kash said, granting his permission. Not that you needed it.

It felt like it took forever to get to the Academy. Only when you were anxiously waiting in the elevator did you ask what happened.

“I don’t know,” Jayce said. “We were showing her some stuff with Hextech and she just started freaking out.”

“Shut up,” Jinx said in a quiet voice despite Viktor not saying a thing. “I was trying to save you!” Her head whipped around to behind her shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” Such a stark contrast to the yell that had just ripped through her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It was a mistake.”

It was then that the door opened. Viktor didn’t turn to see who it was though from the sound of the footsteps, Jayce was certainly there so the other pair were bound to be you.

“Hey,” you said as you dropped to your knees next to Viktor and Jinx. “What’s wrong?”

“They won’t stop yelling,” Jinx said.

You extended your arms to her and she leaned into them. You cradled her close. You took out the pins in her hair and her braids fell down.

“You did nothing wrong,” you told her.

“I jinxed it,” she said through sobs wracking through her body. “I always do.”

“You don’t jinx anything.”

She kept muttering. You began to rock her. Softly shushing her before you began to sing.

“Dear friend, across the river

My hands are cold and bare

Dear friend, across the river

I’ll take what you can spare”

You continued on as Jinx’s sobs slowly began to fade.

“Mom,” she said.

She curled her arms tighter around you and stuck her face between your neck and shoulder. She didn’t care that she got axle grease on her skin. Your purple blue hair covered her face in a blanket of security.

She shaking it joined your soft singing.

“I ask if you a penny

My fortune it will be

I ask you without envy”

Viktor raised his head and looked up at Jayce. Jayce met his gaze.

There was clearly much neither new about their assistant. Much to learn. Careful waters to tread.

What had happened to this young woman? What had happened to the both of you? Why such an adverse reaction? So many questions and no answers.

It took a while before Jinx’s breathing went even and her eyes fell closed. Her hands that had a death grip on your clothes went lax.

“Show me what happened,” you said.

Viktor and Jayce shared a glance. Inhaling deeply, Jayce picked up Jinx from your grasp. He walked over to a small door that led to their break room of sorts. Inside was a couch that he laid her on.

Viktor stood and walked over to the stabilizer. He waited until Jayce clicked the door shut to begin fiddling with the dials.

The same series of events happened as the first time earlier in the day.

“Good job—“

One, two, three explosions.

“Claggor!”

A hand pushed you. Just as something few where you had been. The space now taken up by your friend. His goggles were knocked off his face. Blood splattered against them as you were thrown through the hole in the wall.

You fell down. At a rapid speed. Your head smashed into the pavement. Something was coming toward you from above. You tried to move out of the way.

Your world went dark.

Your eyes closed. Your jaw clenched. Your hand came up to block your face. You fell against a floor of tiles.

A hand was placed atop your own. Slowly you let it guide your hand away from your face.

A muffled voice surrounded you.

That hand was still on your own. You let it guide you to a firm surface. Up and down it went in a slow, steady rhythm. Your fingers twitched, something bunched beneath them.

You tried to focus on that rhythm. The feel of the soft. . . fabric(?) beneath your hand.

You found yourself wheezing out breathes in harsh huffs. You tried to steady it but the sharp burning behind your nose did nothing to help. Your leg curled up beneath you. You could feel the pain that should be long gone given the several year old scar but it never vanished.

“Breathe in,” a thickly accented voice instructed. “Breathe out. Good. Repeat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Very good.”

You followed the demands of the voice you distantly recognized.

When your eyes opened, you were faced with tiled floors. A pair of legs bent at the knees right beside yours. A white vest and tie against a red shirt. A long, dexterous artist’s hand pressed against yours.

“Are you back with us?” A different voice asked as the accented one continued on.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think so,” your voice felt thick on your tongue. “Whatever that was, don’t show it to Powder again.”

“Powder,” the accented voice, which you now processed as belonging to Viktor, repeated. His voice curled nicely around the name.

You shook yourself. “Fuck. Jinx. Don’t show it to Jinx again.” You took a few more steadying breaths. “Whatever else you’ve been doing with Hextech, sure, but not that.”

“Can you explain what just happened?” Jayce asked.

“That,” you pointed to the contraption, “killed our family.”

Jayce and Viktor looked at each other, both with furrowed eye brows.

“How did. . .” Viktor’s voice trailed off.

“Wait a second,” Jayce muttered to himself. “There were four suspects, two boys and two girls. One with. . . blue hair. Did Jinx steal my prototype?”

“We’ve all stolen from a lot of people,” you said as you stood up. Viktor’s hand steadied your calf and thigh when you wobbled a bit. “I don’t keep track of from who.”

You brushed past Jayce and went directly to the room that held your sister.

“Stolen from a lot of people?” Jayce repeated.

Viktor grabbed his crutch and stood up, accepting Jayce’s offered hand. “You don’t know what it’s like in the Undercity,” Viktor reminded him. “You go home. I’ll stay with them.”

“Are you—“

“Go, Jayce,” Viktor said, a rare authority ringing in his tone. “I’ll stay with them.”

Slowly Jayce gathered his things and headed home for the night. Viktor knocked on the door with soft raps before he opened the door.

You were sitting in the floor, holding Jinx’s hand that hang from the couch in yours. It draped across your shoulder. You looked up at Viktor and then looked away.

He took a seat in the plush chair across from the two of you. He sighed as his aching bones relaxed just the slightest.

“When I was eight, I tried to steal food from some riverside restaurant. I wasn’t fast. I got caught,” he said. “I was ten when I attempted to steal again. It was after my parents died in the mines.”

“Are you trying to make me let my guard? Admit to something I’m not even sure she did,” that was a lie. You did know but no need to tell him that.

He shook his head, his lip went inward a bit as the edges tilted down. “No, no, I’m simply telling you I understand.”

You exhaled through your nose and leaned your head against Jinx’s arm.

Silence came between the two of you. It wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t kind. It just was.

There hasn’t been much silence in your life ever. Not in Piltover. Certainly not in the Undercity. It was nice.

Viktor broke it, “She called you mom. You’re not. . .?”

“No,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, “no. She doesn’t really remember our parents much but mom always smelled like axel grease, she sang that song, and we have the same color hair. When she’s out of it, sometimes she gets confused.”

He hummed. “How often is she ‘out of it?’”

“Often enough that I’m used to her talking to people who aren’t there. It’s rare that it gets this bad though,” you told him.

“And do you?”

“No,” you answered. “What happened happened when she was pretty young. I was lucky enough to be old enough to understand when everything happened, all the time. I guess that’s a benefit to being the oldest.”

“How much older are you?” he asked.

“About eight years, give or take.”

“Your family?”

“All dead. Mom and dad died during the battle at the bridge. I was thirteen, Jinx was five? Vander and. . . our siblings died in an explosion when she was ten.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“You don’t have it,” he said. “I understand. I don’t have siblings but my parents died when I was young. For about a year I was by myself before I was taken in by a man but that didn’t last,” he told you. You met his eyes, golden like honey. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“I think it’s the other way around,” you said.

“It can be both.”

“Thank you for staying with her,” you said. “A lot of people don’t.”

“Of course.”

He said it like it was so easy. Like it was nothing. Like you hadn’t had people yell at you when you were on the streets and she started muttering to herself that you needed to take her to her parents and get her evaluated as she started hitting her head.

He said it like it was simple.

Maybe with him it could be.

[mischiefinbloom]

୧ ‧₊˚ caramel mornings

₊⊹ summary:  james potter, a barista in a quiet café, is used to the routine of early mornings and regulars. that is, until you start coming in every day. as he perfects your caramel latte, the connection between you both deepens—slowly, sweetly, and with a few unspoken thoughts lingering between the conversations. in the simplicity of coffee and shared moments, james begins to realize that what started as a casual encounter might turn into something much more.

₊⊹ pairing: james potter x reader (no use of y/n)

₊⊹ warnings: coffee shop au, nothing just pure fluff! that's my first fic ever, let me know what you think!

james potter hadn’t expected to spend this chapter of his life as a barista. it was supposed to be a temporary gig, something to keep him busy while he figured out his next steps. but after a while, the warm smell of coffee beans and the familiar hum of the shop became a strange kind of comfort, anchoring him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

there was a rhythm to the job: the hiss of the espresso machine, the soft murmur of costumers chatting over their drinks, and the occasional chaos of a long line of orders that kept him on his toes. james liked it more than he thought he would, though he’d never admit it to his friends.

and then you walked in, shattering the monotony of his carefully structured days.

the first time he saw you, it was raining. not the light, misty kind of rain that made everything look cinematic, but the kind that came down in sheets, soaking anyone unfortunate enough to be caught outside. you stumbled into the shop, water dripping from your coat and hair, and james’s first thought was that you looked completely out of place in the best possible way.

“hi,” you said, breathless and a little flustered, “can I—uh—just get a coffee, please? whatever you recommend.”

james had blinked at you, his usual confidence momentarily short-circuited. “sure,” he managed, fumbling for a cup. “you trust me with that decision?”

your smile was soft, almost teasing. “why wouldn't I? you look like you know your coffee.”

james grinned despite himself, and as he made your drink—something sweet, with just enough espresso to cut through the rain-induced gloom—he felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the steam rising from the cup.

when he handed it to you, your fingers brushed his for a brief moment. “thanks,” you said, meeting his ocean-colored eyes.

james wanted to say something clever, something to keep you at the counter a little longer, but you’d already turned away, heading for a corner table by the window.

it was only after you left, your empty cup abandoned on the table, that james realized he’d forgotten to ask for your name.

you became a regular after that.

every morning, without fail, you came in at the same time, your arrival as reliable as the sun breaking through the clouds. it didn’t take long for james to memorize your order—a caramel latte, extra foam, with the occasional cinnamon scone if you were feeling indulgent.

at first, you’d linger just long enough to grab your drink before disappearing into the bustle of the day. but over time, you started staying longer, settling into the corner seat that had quickly become your own. you brought books, a notebook, sometimes even a laptop, and james couldn’t help but wonder what you were working on so intently.

“still caramel today?” james asked one morning, flashing you his signature grin.

you glanced up from the menu you were pretending to read, the corners of your mouth quirking upward. “what can I say? I’m a creature of habit.”

james chuckled as he turned to make your drink, his movements fluid and practiced. “I’ll have to come up with something new to tempt you. change things up a bit.”

“oh?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “think you can outdo my usual?”

james slid the cup across the counter with a flourish, a foam heart swirling in the center. “try me.”

you laughed softly, your eyes crinkling at the edges as you took a sip. “hmm. not bad. I might have to start trusting you more.”

james felt a surge of pride, even as he tried to play it cool. “high praise. I’ll take it.”

the days blurred into weeks, and before james knew it, you were as much a part of the shop as the mismatched chairs and the ever-changing chalkboard menu.

he looked forward to seeing you, even on the busiest mornings when the line stretched out the door. he found himself saving the best pastries for you, making sure your latte was always just right, even if it meant starting over three times.

but for every moment of warmth, there was an undercurrent of doubt.

james didn’t know much about you, beyond the small snippets of conversation you shared. he didn’t know what brought you to the shop every day or why your smile sometimes seemed a little forced, like you were carrying more than you let on.

one day, he worked up the nerve to ask.

“rough day?” he asked softly as he handed you your drink.

you hesitated, your fingers tightening around the cup. “something like that...”

james wanted to press, to ask what was bothering you, but he didn’t. instead, he watched as you retreated to your corner table, your shoulders hunched slightly as you opened a book.

he hated seeing you like that, and the helplessness gnawed at him for the rest of the day.

james’ friends loved to tease him about you.

"she’s got you wrapped around her finger, mate,” one of them, sirius black, more specifically, said one evening as they closed up the shop.

james rolled his eyes, but his flushed cheeks gave him away. “it’s not like that.”

“right,” sirius drawled, smirking. “that’s why you’ve been drawing hearts in her lattes.”

james groaned, burying his face in his hands. “shut it, t’s not a big deal."

but it was.

he’d never felt like this before—this nervous, this unsure of himself. he wanted to get to know you, to make you laugh, to be the reason your eyes lit up when you walked through the door.

but what if he wasn’t enough?

the rain was relentless that evening, pounding against the windows in a steady rhythm. the shop was quiet, most of the usual crowd having opted to stay home.

you were the only customer left, your book open on the table as you sipped your latte. james had been stealing glances at you all day, his chest tightening with every passing minute. finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

he grabbed a fresh cup and started on another latte, pouring the foam with extra care. when it was done, he hesitated for a moment before carrying it over to your table.

“for you,” he said, setting it down gently.

you looked up, startled. “what’s this?”

“call it a… thank you,” james said, scratching the back of his neck. “for being the best part of my mornings.”

your eyes widened slightly, and james felt his pulse quicken. for a moment, neither of you said anything, the sound of rain filling the silence.

“james,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

he braced himself, his stomach twisting with nerves.

“would you like to sit?” you asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from you.

james blinked, caught off guard. “yeah. yeah, sure, I’d like that.”

he slid into the seat, his heart pounding as he met your gaze. and for the first time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t imagining things.

james sat across from you, fidgeting slightly, uncharacteristically nervous. the rain outside drummed against the windows, a comforting backdrop to the tension building between you.

“thanks... for the coffee,” you said, breaking the silence. you traced a finger along the edge of the cup, your expression thoughtful. “you didn’t have to do that.”

james smiled, a little lopsided, and shrugged. “I wanted to. you’ve been keeping this place interesting.”

you raised an eyebrow. “interesting? is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“good,” james said quickly, then laughed at himself. “definitely good. I just mean… it’s nice, seeing you here every day. feels like I’ve got something to look forward to.”

your cheeks flushed, and james couldn’t help but notice the way you looked away, shyly smiling. it was a vulnerability he hadn’t seen from you before, and it made his chest ache in a way he didn’t quite understand.

“I could say the same thing,” you admitted softly, your voice almost drowned out by the rain.

james blinked, his heart stuttering. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you said, meeting his eyes. “you’ve made my mornings a little brighter, James.”

he grinned, the boyish charm that always seemed so effortless now lighting up his face. “well, now I feel like I’ve got to up my game. can’t have you thinking I’m getting complacent.”

you laughed, the sound warm and genuine, and james realized he could get used to this—the easy rhythm of being around you, the way you seemed to make the world feel a little less heavy.

the shop closed earlier than usual that night, the storm outside growing too fierce to keep customers lingering. james finished wiping down the counters while you gathered your things, your umbrella still dripping onto the floor.

“let me walk you out,” he said, grabbing his coat.

you hesitated, looking out at the downpour. “you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” james said, holding the door open for you. “but I’d like to.”

you smiled, and james thought he’d do just about anything to see that look on your face again.

the two of you stepped into the rain, your umbrella doing little to shield you from the relentless drops. james stayed close, his shoulder brushing yours as you walked.

“thank you, james...” you said after a while, your voice quiet.

“for what?”

“for caring,” you said simply.

james stopped walking, turning to look at you. “of course I care,” he said, his voice softer now. “I—”

he paused, the words catching in his throat. he wanted to tell you everything—that you were the best part of his day, that he thought about you more than he should, that he’d been falling for you since the moment you walked into his shop. but he didn’t know how to say any of it.

instead, he reached out, his hand brushing yours. “I’m glad you came in that day,” he said finally.

you smiled, your fingers curling around his. “yeah... me too.”

[starrrcane]

spilled coffee

sevika x reader angst

summary: sevika struggles once silco dies and doesn’t quite really understand how hard it was for him to turn over his daughter for what he’d been fighting for. until she had to pick between you and her nation.

warnings: none in the chapter

notes: this is going to only be three chapters ! And I already have the all written so it’s going to take everything in me not to post them all at once

The sound of frantic knocking woke you up. It was sharp and desperate, reverberating through the quiet. You groaned, rubbing your eyes as you stumbled toward the door. The hour didn’t matter; something about that knock made your chest tighten.

When you opened the door, Ran was standing there, their face pale, breaths coming in short gasps like they’d sprinted the entire way.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep. “It’s Silco,” they said, their voice shaking. “He’s dead. And Sevika… Sevika locked herself in his office.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What?” Ran nodded grimly, glancing behind them as though expecting the shadows to swallow them whole. “She hasn’t come out since. I think she might—” They hesitated, swallowing hard.

You didn’t need convincing. Grabbing your coat, you followed Ran into the cold, damp streets of Zaun. As you ran, their voice cut through the silence. “Some of the others… They think Jinx might’ve done it.”

You stumbled for half a step, your heart lurching. “Jinx?”

Ran nodded, their expression tight. “She’s gone. No one’s seen her.”

Your mind reeled. Silco loved Jinx like a daughter. She was the center of his world—the reason for so many of his choices, good and bad. What could possibly drive her to kill him?

“She’s always been unstable,” Ran said. “But to do this? To him?”

You shook your head, your thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. Whatever had happened, you knew it wasn’t going to make sense—not tonight, and maybe not ever.

When you reached Silco’s office, you heard muffled noises through the thick door. You knocked, but Sevika’s voice cut through immediately.

“Go away!”

“It’s me,” you called.

There was a pause, and then the door unlocked. Sevika stood there, her shoulders slumped, her face hollow. She looked… broken.

Without a word, she collapsed into your arms. You held her tightly, shutting the door behind you with your foot. Guiding her to the worn leather sofa, you sat down, pulling her close as she leaned against you, her breaths ragged but steady.

After a long moment, she finally whispered, “He’s really gone.”

“I know, my love,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I know.”

Her body trembled against yours, though no tears came. “She killed him.”

You closed your eyes, a deep sigh escaping your lips. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“He didn’t even get to tell her,” Sevika said, her voice cracking. “He wasn’t going to give her to Piltover.”

You blinked, shocked. “What?”

“He became weak for her,” she said bitterly. “Just like Vander did. Just like every man who gets tangled up with kids that aren’t theirs. And now look where we are.”

“Sevika—” you started, but she cut you off.

“No,” she snapped. “Listen to me. Vander was weak. He let Piltover walk all over him, and when it came time to choose, he abandoned us. Silco was supposed to be different. He was different. But then he got soft. He let her in, and now he’s dead. And Zaun is left without a leader. Again.”

You reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

She snorted, the sound bitter and sharp. “Who else is there?”

Her words stung, but you didn’t let go. “I’m here. Always.”

Her gaze softened, just enough for you to see the exhaustion beneath the anger. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted quietly. “But someone has to.”

“And you will,” you said firmly. “But not tonight. Tonight, we grieve. Together.”

Sevika didn’t respond. Instead, she leaned back into you, her body heavy with the weight of her grief. You held her close, rocking gently as the silence swallowed the room.

For now, that was enough.

[aettuddae]

business matter — chapter 129.

a christmas special.

↳ synopsis: two of the most important kpop companies covet a partnership with a huge global brand, only to be surprised when the deal is extended to both labels. fearing potential sabotage and cynical strategies to secure exclusivity for just one of them, both CEOs resort to desperate measures. in a bid to maintain trust and prevent betrayal before the signing, they come up with a pact: forcing a fake relationship between the leaders of their star girlgroups. if one side attempted to fail the other, they threaten to expose it all to the conservative south korea.

masterlist | prev | next

[written chapter]

serim was not good at coping with the cold. she liked the winter, she had always done, since she was little she spent most of the year looking forward to the low temperatures and, with it, the snow, but still, she was not good at coping with that time of the year. she always got sick and she used to care little about it, but since she became a trainee and later a singer she had to start taking care of her health and vocal cords, so in the most recent years of her life she hardly ever left her house during those times, unless she went to the many activities an idol has to do during the holidays or one of her friends insisted so much that she could not say no.

on that day serim's house was extremely warm, because even though she was not working, she was used to doing everything possible to avoid illness, and she was not willing to surrender to the freezing weather in seoul. she felt sorry for her plants, many were not the kind that could stand being in such a warm environment, but it was a force greater than herself.

having an altered perception of climate, she did not even think about the wind and the coolness that would hit her when she opened the balcony door, causing her to jump back inside and quickly close the sliding glass. she was extremely excited, running around the house and talking to her hedgehog who was pacing the living room floor uncomprehending and probably sweating from how high the thermostat was set. she went with speed to her room and threw on whatever winter clothes she could find, then hurried back and tried again to get outside.

still shivering a little, she leaned her forearms against the railing of her balcony and leaned against it, watching the first snow fall in seoul.

she loved winter, and even though it was still a month away, she loved the feeling of christmas approaching. the first snowfall had always been one of those important events for her. one of those that when it's about to happen you can't shake the anxiety, or the sensation that something important is in the air. it tends to fall in late november and serim during those dates was always on the lookout for any sign of what day it would be. she loved it, and as soon as she saw it happening just outside her house, she couldn't contain her joy, standing there motionless watching the snowflakes fall for a long while.

she had nothing better to do, after all, the hiatus was killing her. her friends were fully occupied, her members were in the activities she would want to be in and her family was far away in daegu. she couldn't help that those would be lonely and boring holidays, but at least she had time to appreciate nice things like this one.

or so she would once she opened the door to whoever claimed to see her in the middle of a snowfall.

serim sighed, she hated it when she was interrupted in her few moments when she could enjoy things that excited her. she walked back into her apartment and made her way to open the door.

the doorbell had rung, not the telecommunicator, so she figured it might be one of her bandmates, her manager, or a friend. since she didn't have to work or keep a schedule, she wasn't fully aware of what day it was, so she wasn't aware of what her acquaintances might be doing at the moment or who was free.

what she didn't expect was to find jimin behind the door.

it had been a couple of months since she had seen her in person, although they texted sometimes, maybe since september they hadn't been in one another's presence. she was always busy, she had gone on tour and back, only to embark on a new comeback and promotions season. awards season had started as well and she, as the big star of the year, had to be at every event that happened. while serim had been a little more docile with her, open to the idea of doing some things together if the occasion arose, jimin just hadn't had the time, she wanted to take serim on dates, on trips, be together at her house, go for walks, help her with whatever she needed, but she was overworked and couldn't afford it.

except for that day, one of the few days off she'd had in a while.

jimin had been looking forward to it because she had already planned to go visit serim, even if she threw a tantrum when she saw her, she wanted to at least hug her after those two months without having her around, without feeling her scent nor holding her hands. she hadn't told her she was going because she didn't want to be rejected before she could be in front of the woman, which risked a fit of possible anger from the older girl, but jimin missed her so much that she didn't think anything through.

she just needed a plan, something to do together if serim didn't kick her out of her house, and the snow had come as if it heard her pleading. as soon as she looked out her window and noticed the first flakes, she got ready at the speed of light and frantically went out to find a cab. and now she was in the hallway of serim's apartment, covered in snow, her arms stretched in the air in excitement and wearing a silly grin because of the oldest.

she looked so adorable in that stupid giant blue scarf and her glasses that serim had to resist the urge to throw herself at her, limbs almost lifting on their own, stifling a smile using all the strength in her body.

serim had missed jimin too, of course she had, and she hated herself for it.

"what are you doing here?" the owner of the apartment asked not even greeting her.

"why do you have hello kitty pants on?" she ignored, not wanting to deal with her bitterness, and pointed to the pink garment with drawings of the character.

"because i'm at home." she said obviously.

"it's a choice." she cocked her head to the side without stopping to look at them.

"are you going to tell me what you're doing in my house while it's snowing?" she folded her arms and furrowed her eyebrows.

"that!" she jumped on the spot with glee. "i came looking for you so we could go see the first snow of the year together!" she announced in a jovial tone.

"and why would i want to see the first snow with you?" she was dying to go with her.

"because you love me." she replied simply. "and even my company is better than watching it from your balcony alone." she obtruded.

"how do you know i was watching it from the balcony?" she exclaimed in surprise.

"you're covered in coats when inside your house it's amazonian temperatures and you have snow melting on your arms." she pointed to the detail.

serim raised her arms suddenly placing them in front of her eyes to look at the clues of her actions in these startled, with her mouth slightly open, confirming that she had given herself away. she dropped them on both sides of her body dejectedly and gave the girl a sideways glance, contemplating her proposal, to end up turning around without a word and heading to her bedroom.

"where are you going?" confused, the younger girl raised her voice as she watched her walk away.

maybe serim was feeling very lonely during the hiatus, or maybe she needed jimin more than she liked to admit.

"i can't leave my house in hello kitty pants." she replied disinterestedly, causing the happy grimace on karina's face to widen.

in an extremely awkward silence they made their way to the small park in the gated community where serim resided. they had so many things they wanted to say to each other, but communication had never been their best quality as a duo. serim wanted to know how she had been during that time, if she was tired, and how her busy schedule was treating her, or ask why she couldn't get her out of her mind even when they hadn't seen each other for so long. jimin, on her side, wanted to generate any kind of conversation, it was enough for her to know that serim was enjoying her company. but neither of them dared to let that happen, whether it was out of spite or fear.

but jimin hadn't gone to see her in such particular weather after so many days of not having her around just to be silent, though if that's the way it should be, at least she was happy to have her at arm's length. she took a breath and with the hand that gravitated around serim's she reached for hers, intertwining their fingers once their palms came into contact. pathetically, she found herself closing her eyes for a second, bracing herself for the terrible reaction expected from the woman, but she received none, the girl left her hand there with hers, and jimin turned to check, disoriented, only to find her admiring the falling snow so fascinated that she hadn't remembered she had to hate karina full time.

she smiled to herself as she closed the distance between them, making their bodies rub against each other, securing her grip on her.

she was walking hand in hand with serim, when was the last time that had happened? her heart was beating at such a rapid rate as her senses were lost in the warmth and perfume of the woman that it felt like a drill.

when they arrived at the park it was almost empty. it was not a place where there were never many people as it was in a neighborhood of rich people who didn't have time or desire to walk around the area, and fewer people there were going to be with such weather. they walked calmly to the center in a void of words that was no longer as uncomfortable as a few blocks ago, stopping near the structure that crowned the place to appreciate how the snow fell on it and its surroundings.

"do you like snow?" inquired karina once they found a position where they could appreciate the spectacle and stood there.

"yes i like it, winter it's my favorite season." she gave her a look for the first time all the way there. "even though my immune system is a mess, i always get sick." she let out a sheepish chuckle.

"winter is my favorite season too." she settled in by tying her body to jang's arm. "and that's because you don't eat well!" she complained. "but don't worry, if you get sick i'll take care of you." she arranged a few strands of hair falling over the older girl's face.

"i do eat well only you don't see it." she smiled sideways.

"don't try lying to me." she shot her a look of suspicion, making her laugh.

jimin couldn't hide the satisfaction that this had brought her, feeling that serim didn't hate her for a second, she felt fulfilled. they held each other for a moment there watching the scenery, being as close as they rarely were outside of serim's room, swaying quietly as if they weren't two hurricanes trying to fit together. karina released her grip on her to put herself opposite to her and take the vocalist's face in her hands, leaning her body forward to leave a soft kiss on her cheek. serim wasn't expecting it and the surprise left her serious, speechless, she averted her gaze to the side, pressing her lips into a line, but a slight blush was exposed on her cheeks that she hoped jimin would believe was just from the cold.

"namu." she called to her in a low tone, so that only she would hear. "i have to tell you something."

"what is it?" she turned her eyes to her, face expressionless.

"i..." she took a long breath through her nose, trying to calm the uneasiness in her stomach from nerves. "i want you." she blurted out, pulling her shoulders back a little, puffing out her chest showing confidence. "and i want to spend this christmas with you."

"this christmas you're going to be working." she rebutted with discomfiture. "just like me, i hope." she spoke to the sky as if asking god.

"no, namu." she was already beginning to feel the anxiety of not being able to emit what she felt the right way and was giving her first uneasy hands through the air. "i mean i want to spend this christmas with you and many more." she clarified. "i want you to be my present." she rested her index finger on the girl's chest, pointing at her. "i want to kiss you and have you be the first person i greet." she held up the opening of the girl's coat. "i want to be with you."

serim was having difficulty maintaining eye contact, and even more difficulty finding something to reply to a statement that made her uneasy. "what do you mean by that?"

"i'm confessing." she admitted simply. "that's what you're supposed to do in the first snow."

"a confession is for someone who doesn't know how you feel." sadness returned to her demeanor as it always did when she was around jimin. "i think you've already told me everything you have going on with me."

"really?" her voice rose slightly, getting a little desperate. "do you really think you know everything i feel about you?" she questioned. "do you know that i can't stop thinking about you? that every action i take i think about what your reaction would be?" her breathing was slowly failing. "i have a hard time sleeping at night because i wish you were by my side." she rubbed her face with her palms trying to get rid of the frustration.

"jimin, the problem is that i don't believe you." she interrupted her weakly, her eyes on the floor.

"and what do you need me to do to prove to you that it's true?" her movements were wide and fast because of distress. "to make you understand that i despise myself almost as much as you do for hurting you." she believed her eyes were glazing over, but she didn't have the composure to concentrate on anything at the moment. "i was wrong, serim, i tried to pretend that nothing changed in my life the moment we got the deal, that you didn't shake my floor from the first moment." she was thankful that they are practically alone in the park because she was embarrassing herself. "i tried to do what i thought was best for me and i was wrong, i'm sorry, i'm so sorry." she swallowed hard trying to undo the lump in her throat. "i understand that i hurted you, that i was an idiot, but i want you." she assured. "i need you." she added. "and i don't know how to make you see that."

"do you love me?" she finally dared to face her.

"serim." she diverted her attention to something off to the side, blocking herself completely.

"serim, what?" she bit down hard. "that's what i need." she confirmed. "if you can tell me to my face that you love me, then i'm willing to take the time to work out everything bad that happened between us." she asked. "if you tell me that you love me, i'll leave it in the past."

"i adore you with all my heart." she closed her eyes as if that could make that moment less real.

"but it's not enough."

"no, it's not that." she held her arms so she wouldn't pull away. "it's complicated." tears began to stain her cheeks. "i care for you so much..."

"why is it so hard for you to say you love me?" there was disappointment in her eyes. "don't you feel it?"

"it's not that i don't feel it..."

"then what is it?" she became defensive.

"it's complicated." she reiterated. "it's difficult." she said in a defeated attitude. "this all happened under peculiar circumstances and-"

"then it's difficult for me to forgive you." she cut her off.

serim raised her hands to remove the hold the younger girl had on her and started walking with speed back to her house. jimin watched her walk away, but wouldn't let her go, she ran out after her, catching her, making them face each other. she lifted serim's hand, bringing it to her lips to give it a short kiss while their eyes were connected, thus then grabbing her waist and pulling her close enough that she could rest her forehead against hers just by folding her body a little forward.

"make a wish." she murmured.

"can you leave me alone?"

"if you say it out loud it doesn't come true." she shook her head.

serim dropped her eyelids, a little because she no longer had the strength to argue or resist the questionable things jimin did, and a little because she wanted to stop the approaching crying, karina copied the actions when she saw her do it. after a moment they both, still with their heads against each other, looked at each other again, ruefully and wearily.

"you won't tell me what it is this time?" the blackhaired inquired.

"you said it." she whispered. "if i tell you it won't come true."

—that you can accept that you love me. —thought serim.

"i asked for you to let me go make cookies at your house."

"i can't believe it." she broke off suddenly. "are you serious?" she shouted at her upset.

"i know we just fought, but we always fight." she tried to reason, seriousness of the moment all gone. "i haven't seen you in two months, i just want to spend time with you." she pleaded. "get mad at me later, but don't leave now." she added. "please, stop leaving."

serim hated herself for how aware she was that no matter how angry she got with jimin, for whatever reason, she always came back to her. "if you say it out loud it doesn't come true." she reiterated bitterly as she realized how pathetic she was.

"but you miss me too."

"let's go." she commanded, causing the younger girl to cheer. "but no joy." she pointed her finger at her apprehensively. "i'm too upset with you." she reminded. "these are going to be the saddest cookies you'll ever eat in your life."

[sheepispink]

Milkin’ and Cookin’ ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི part 3 of Sweet as Sugar (bakery!au, simon x reader)

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ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: Ghost— or well, Simon— notices how much you seem to dread your upcoming trip to the local farm. You seem to hate the idea of driving alone, especially with that rickety car of yours.He never thought he’d say it himself, but, one day off work wouldnt hurt, right?

A/N: (British)english glossary: Boot means the trunk of a car for all you americans. This chapter is actually so British it’s funny

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You always dreaded these trips; it took far too long to get to that farm, and even though you loved to see the sheep there, it was a painfully long drive with all the harsh bumps and the like. Your car wasn't made for that, though you wouldn't dare complain much, knowing that your parents wouldn’t be able to afford those expensive cars made for the bumpiest land of Wales. Even so, it was your turn to pick up the fresh produce that made your bakery so popular in the first place.

“It’s just.. really far, and it always seems to rain whenever I go.” You complain to Simon as he nurses a cup of tea in the empty shop, not quite off duty for another two weeks, but he somehow finds time, to come by anyway. It’s empty since it’s near closing time but you didn't need to kick him out when all he was doing was keeping you company as you wiped up a coffee stain from the table.

“How far is it?” He asks, his gruff voice a sheer contrast to your lighter one, almost like smog covering the air.

“It's a two hour drive, but it’s worth it; they have some of the best eggs and quality milk around.” You hum, not thinking twice before you grab a tissue and hand it to him, letting him wipe the small crumbs from his typical order. Despite how he refused to take it off in front of his fellow soldiers, who knew him for way longer than you have, he always pushed his mask up to his nose around you, even if it looked a little silly sometimes and he almost caught you giggling. His lips were scarred, not that you looked at it that often, in a way that looked dehydrated, but you had a feeling it was for a different reason. You could see another scar peeking near his cheek, but it never really showed properly, and you promised yourself you’d try not to stare when he did reveal his face every now and then.

His body was a different story, though; you were shivering and he’d still roll his sleeves up, a few tattoos sneaking past his elbow but not quite yet. He confessed he planned to get a whole sleeve, but a mission came up suddenly, and healing tattoos never went well with that. “When’re you heading down anyway?” He says, dabbing at the crumbs on his lips before finally pulling down his mask once more. “Thursday. We’ll have to close the shop on Friday so we can restock.” He nods thoughtfully before eventually standing, and you grab the cup before he can even place it on the counter, heart freezing for a moment when your fingers brush. “I’ll take that. Back to duty?” He nods in return, slipping his leather gloves back on again and picking up his jacket from the chair. “Training, debriefs, the usual.” He leaves a tip at the table, something you’ve insisted he doesn't have to do, but he says it’s for his ‘overtime’ at your cafe. Besides, the last time you ran after him to give him the money back, he had already disappeared down the street, unable to be found again.

It’s Thursday morning, and you’ve dragged yourself out of bed at five am to allow enough time to get ready and start packing your car with crates, making sure you’ve counted it many times for the right amount for all the usual produce. As you told Simon before, you weren't exactly anticipating this ride, but it was what had to be done, even if you’re half awake. Well, at least the roads are empty. Closing the boot door, your hands clasp over your mouth, essentially muffling your own scream when you realise the masked figure that was ominously standing there was actually the Lieutenant himself as he steps into the porch light. “..Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya” His voice is visibly awkward for once, eyes glancing elsewhere, and you laugh nervously, still recovering from a pounding heart. “It’s.. fine. Almost thought I'd get robbed, just um.. say hi next time?” You watch him nod quickly in return, his hands shoving into the pockets of his jeans. Oddly casual.

“So why’re you here anyway?” You question, grabbing a few of the groceries and spices the farmer had asked you to bring down for him. After all, he didn't come down to town very often. “You need a lift to your base or somethin’ ?” That makes him chuckle, a cooler bag of seafood in his arms, farmer’s favourite apparently.

“I came to help you.” That causes your eyes to widen in surprise, watching as he easily places it in the back seat before nicking the keys from your pocket. He leaves you standing in confusion whilst he climbs into the driver's seat,the rickety truck starting up with a heavy growl. “This rusty thing is a Land Rover? Hard to believe tha’ “ He mutters gruffly, ignoring the look of offense on your face as you climb up into the passenger seat. “I can drive you know, if you’re gonna keep complaining!” You exclaim, nose wrinkling up as you turn to frown at him. He stifles a chuckle, eyes rolling beneath the mask as he reaches over your body, clicking your seatbelt in for you.

“Don’t bite my arm off now; I'm going, I'm going.”

The drive goes by smoothly, even with only one of his hands on the steering wheel. Only now have you actually looked over him since he terrified you. He’s got a thick jumper on and a zip up hoodie on top of the jeans you noticed earlier. “Starin’ at my bad fashion sense?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you snicker, relaxing in the seat as you shift your focus more directly over to him. You’re practically curled up on the seat, legs folded on the seat. “No, no, I'm no better either.” He glances over your own worn trousers, covered in straw and muck from your last visit. It was safe to say you both had the right idea, as any nice clothes would’ve likely been ruined by the time you left, if not as soon as you got there. Even so, he can't help but find the sight oddly domestic, a small grin forming beneath the mask at your hair pulled back and the fingerless gloves on your hands. Cute.

It’s ten o’ clock when you arrive due to a large pothole causing you to take another, rockier route. Directing him, he pulls into the small driveway and parks the truck as the farmer exits, a haybale over his shoulder. He looks no older than about fifty three, a wide grin on his face as you step out of the car. “Lass!” He exclaims, the Scottish man patting you so hard on the back you almost cough, and you make a dramatic sigh in return even if you’re unable to hide the grin creeping up.. “Good to see you too, Mr.Wheatley. I’ll put the things in the usual places?” He nods, leaning on a wooden pillar, the paint peeling off already. You head to the backseats, grabbing the crates for him when you suddenly hear a low whistle and what sounds like a large thwack. You turn on your heel, instantly feeling the embarrassment that will soon come as the farmer gives you a smirk, looking between you and Simon, who can only stand there awkwardly as he places down another bag. “Now who is this lad?” He asks, and you carry over the cooler bag, trying to seem unaffected but flushing nonetheless.

Simon can't help but find it adorable how you stand in front of him, almost like trying to shield him from the farmer’s mischief—it’s the same protectiveness you’d expect when someone’s partner is insulted. Except Simon is far larger than you in both height and muscle, and so he doubts anyone would be bold enough to insult him anyway. “He’s a friend of mine who came to help me out.”

”Just a friend?” The farmer raises his brow, tilting his body to peer round you at the masked man still setting up all the things the pair of you brought.

”Take the damn seafood!” You grumble, plopping the heavy cooler bag in his arms as he chuckles, entering the house to leave you alone.

“Mr Wheatley basically runs this farm on his own, ever since his brother passed last year. His wife lives here too, but she doesn't attend to much other than feeding the chickens—she’s actually a writer.” You explain, carrying around one of the crates as you lead Simon to the chicken coop. The air is much fresher here, even if it smells mostly like hay and animal poo, but the point still stands. Ghost nods along to your words, watching as you check the eggs before picking them up before following your same action. “Is that why you collect what you need yourself?” You nod in return, crouching down to pick up a chicken and carefully move it so you could grab another egg.

“That, and for quality checking.” Lifting up the egg to him, you show him the crack running up along the side, about to explain other things you check for when you yelp, falling forward on the dirt and causing the yolk to splash on the icy ground. “Ow!” The culprit stands behind you, clucking as it watches your movements and follows. He has to forcefully stifle his chuckles when you squeal again, desperately shooing the chicken who seems intent on pecking at your butt. “It’s trying to eat me!”

“I don't know; I think he likes you.” You’re met face to face with said chicken when the Lieutenant grabs it, keeping it just a short distance from your face as he teases you. “Simon!” You yelp again, and quickly you scramble back up and out of the chicken coop, the chicken still clucking away in his large hands.

For the next three hours, he follows you around like a lost puppy, which you find rather amusing yourself. He’s never been in a situation this unfamiliar before, and whilst he’d usually take initiative, he’s a bit afraid of accidentally getting you the wrong items. Instead he chose to hold the crates for you, using his strength to support you even when he couldn’t fathom how you milked a cow so easily. “So you have like a 1% chance of killin’ me when I drink yer tea?” He raises an eyebrow as you explain the dangers of unpasteurised milk, knowledge you picked up when you started working more shifts at the bakery. At his question you have to practically stave off the facepalm, shaking your head at his words as you now measure out the amount of milk your bakery will need until the next visit. “We only use fresh milk for our baked goods; this way the oven burns off any excess pathogens.” He probably should’ve guessed that, but it was worth the face you hadn't even known you pulled. “But, if you’re looking for a new way to kill your enemies on the field, I guess unpasteurised milk holds a good chance.”

“I am not throwing milk bombs at anyone.”

That makes you snicker, his grumpy self returning as you poke fun at his job again–only an hour ago you had giggled at the horse poo and asked if that was his duty. Even you know he can't hold it for long, especially when you poke him in the side with that cheeky grin. “I think you’re just scared your cap’ will hire me on the spot.”

You’re walking back to the car, the final crate full and ready to pack when it starts drizzling down, water pattering on the floor around. “Huh.. but I checked the weather forecast this morning..?” Only now had you glanced up at the darkening clouds, a soft frown sporting your face. “You really shouldn't be surprised with British weather.” He says gruffly, placing the final crate into your boot whilst watching the drops fall from the sky onto the concrete below. “Not the worst, but a storm might be brewing up.”

“Get over ‘ere you two, or do ye wanna get soak’d?”

Instinctively, you grab his hand and pull him into the warmth of the farmer’s house. Although the rain is falling so heavily now that it’d be likely impossible to drive home—for the next hour or so at least.

“Sorry..” You sigh, sitting on one side of the table, your hands warmed by the mug of tea you both prepared. He clutched his own, though his gloves protected him from the majority of the cold. Still, you can't help but feel like you inconvenienced him somehow, even if he had insisted on coming himself. “Are you sure this is okay, y'know, for your job?” He just gruffly nods, brown eyes moving to watch how aggressively the water patters against the glass. “I’ll drive us back in the evening. Don't fall asleep on me.” You grin cheekily, crossing your legs as you stand, placing your now empty teacup in the sink. “No promises.”

The banter is cut off when your stomach growls, your hands instinctively clutching it, a sheepish grin forming on your lips. “Didn't eat much for breakfast. Fancy a jacket potato for lunch?” He nods and stands to join you as you reach into the cupboard, pulling out two large potatoes. He takes them from your hands, washing them in the sink whilst you start grating some of the cheese.

“So how’d you know the farmer? I mean, you act close enough to be his niece.” Ghost comments, cutting a cross into the potato, and he can’t help but feel oddly warm at the way you easily fell into a routine.

“When I was about seventeen, I did some work experience here, ‘cause of university applications and stuff. His daughter grew very sick, and with the nearest medical services three hours away, I volunteered to nurse her back to health instead.” His eyes soften as he watches you, the way your eyebrows tug together as you concentrate. “Did you end up going to uni?” You shake your head this time, sliding over the plate of cheese before crouching in front of a cupboard in search of baked beans.

“I knew my parents couldn't afford it, so I didn't bother. The only reason we got the bakery was because the lady who previously owned it had left it in such a pitiful state it was rather cheap.” He pulls. out the steaming potatoes from the microwave, pressing into the potato to open it before fluffing it up with a fork. “Before that it was either working here on the farm or part time at the coffee shop down the road.” He hadn't realised someone as sweet as you could have that hand dealt to them; of course, it could be worse, but still it was different from the stories he usually heard. You grab a knife and spread butter across both of the potatoes, catching him off guard before you load up the baked beans and cheese. “Is that much butter really needed?”

Practically seconds later, he has his mask pulled up to his nose, scarred lips wolfing down the fluffy potato as he grunts. “I could eat this every day, flippin hell.” You laugh, taking a bite out of your own, the warm gooeyness of the cheese and baked beans warming your insides. Probably not the best dish, but definitely not a bad one. Though for him, who's used to eating dehydrated MREs with only the taste of cardboard—it’s practically luxury. “How bad is the military food?” You raise a brow, scooping another spoonful of the beans on his plate when he finishes his share. “Not bad,” The words are muffled by his full mouth, a sharp swallow quickly clearing his throat as he wipes his chin with a napkin. “On base, it’s fine; definitely not a lot of flavour, but it does the job. That’s why your bakery is such a trea’ love. Haven’t had food that tasted that good since Soap hosted a Christmas party.”

“Soap?”

”Member o’ my team.” He nods gruffly, stealing a baked bean off your plate and popping it in his mouth. His arms lean on the table, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the great muscle practically spilling over.He doesn't usually mention things about his work or his friends, so you decide not to pry for now.

Once you finish your plate, he takes the dishes to the sink and begins to wash them, whilst you grab a fresh towel to start drying them off. You tilt your head as you rub the plates with the towel, your mind wandering elsewhere. He’d been so nice to you recently, and all you’d done is give him a free tea a couple of times; you couldn't help but feel as if you should give him something in return. Couldn't you pack a lunch for him? It’d be in a nice container, a healthy sandwich loaded with meat and salad, a smaller version of his typical sausage roll on the side too. For dessert you could give him a muffin, or a little tart and then you couldn't possibly forget a flash of hot tea too. How would his coworkers react? You can almost imagine their faces when he opens it, randomly appearing with a pretty little box. A hand lands on your head, snapping you out of your stifled snickers, as it protects you from a cupboard opening just above you. “What’re you thinkin’ about now?” His voice is laced with suspicion, watching how you look far too amused despite the lack of jokes he’s made. That can only mean you’re up to something. “Nothin’, just thinking about what you’d like for lunch.” He raises a brow at that, but you quickly grab your keys from the table and pull your boots on. “C’mon, i want to get head back before it gets too cold.”

The ride back is quiet, almost silent if not for the soft hum of the radio. You decided to connect your phone to it, not really wanting club hits playing and rather something slower. It’s not awkward, though; more of a comfortable blanket over the pair of you as he drives through the narrow roads. Determined to talk for a bit, you showed him a few of your favourite songs and then some childhood favourites too. He nodded along, even gave you a few he often heard around. Tiredly, your head starts to droop closer and closer against the window, and you almost jump when Ghost lets his hand rest on your knee. “Sleep if you want. You’ve been up since early.”

“You’re always up early, though—how are you never tired?”

He can only shrug, knowing he probably shouldn’t delve into the aftereffects of his missions, even more so down the PTSD route. “Got used to it, I guess. Don't worry about me, okay?” Thankfully, you’re too sleepy to question down that route, asking him whatever tired question meets your mind until you’re quietly snoozing in the chair. It was probably his fault for cranking up the heating in the first place, making you all cosy like that, enough for you to completely fall asleep. He turns the music a little bit higher and finally relaxes his shoulders. He should really hang around you more; he hasn't felt this good in years.

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A/N: please comment ideas for the name of the penguin plush from ch2, he will make a return!!! I was thinking pingu but i wanna involve u guys too.

Taglist:

@bieberismysoulmate @hidden-treasures21

[mihachansstuff]

So I finished reading a danmei novel for the very first time (it's SVSSS)

Spoiler Alert

(And incoming rant...)

So I just finished reeading the volume 4 of SVSSS, and even before i finished it i knew i have to talk about it and let my thoughts out somehow and here we are. My danmei journey started not too long ago with MDZS donghua before i found myself buying physical copies of SVSSS. Although my first novel was 2ha but I read till volume 6 to keep it on hold and finished this one instead.

Now that i am done, before i make it too long i will just leave some snippets of audacious thoughts here which may or may not be agreed upon -

I really wanted to like LBH, but in the end I just couldn't, some parts and traits of his character just don't sit well with me. I mainly hate his manipulative part, and I just don't understand why someone like Shen Yuan/SQQ falls for it again and again.

Zhuzhi lang is indeed a lovable character, but I just can't forgive him for killing Gongyi Xiao. The only time I shed tears while reading this novel was when we hear about his death and how SQQ was then remembering how GYX told him he would visit his peak after everything is over. (I was still holding on to that hope that he will be miraculously alive *sob*)

I found Tianlang-Jun to be a decent character, even more decent than his own son. I mean, yeah LBH went through traumatic periods but TLJ also went through miserable times while sealed. But in the end he just let all of it go while his son kept getting jealous and vicious towards every human being close to SQQ.

SQH and MBJ is a good ship. I would love to know more about them I need more Moshang content (this everyone will agree i know)

In that one interview chapter at volume 4 SQH's comment about Bingqiu being the kindergartner and his teacher, I can't agree more. Also his comment about how dating LBH must be exhausting and annoying was so true that I just don't understand why SQQ accepts all this 😭😭

I wish I could learn more about Liu Mingyan's thought process while writing Regrets of Chunshan.

I saw a Youtube comment that said - "In SVSSS, almost every character can be shipped with SQQ" and I couldn't agree more! SQQxYQY, SQQxLQG and etc. all are good ship material.

I felt like there were more background plots that could be explored (like what happened to Huan Hua Palace after, or how TLJ was doing, or some more info and background about certain characters etc). In this way I feel like Shen Yuan, heh

The novel art is pretty, but the way LBH was described about his looks and beauty, I somehow didn't feel it through the art. My fav character ranking according to art would be Tianlang Jun→Mobei Jun→SQQ, even though I really like curly hair.

At this point people might think I am a LBH hater, but really I am not, or at least I don't want to be. But I just really think SQQ deserved a better peaceful life at CQ Mountain, around his disciples and sect brothers that really adore him like a family. I really hated the ending in Vol 3 where SQQ left the mountain with LBH in this respect. Well at least in vol 4 it said that the two come to the mountain from time to time so I guess I can calm down a bit.

I really, really like Shen Qingqiu. He's a diva. But I just don't understand...some of his choices. But I guess I will just leave it at that.

This is my first time finishing a danmei novel as I mentioned already, so please go easy on me, even though I may have said things that might spark an argument. Overall I think it was a good experience and I'm looking forward to reading more novels. Feel free to give me some recommendations!

[maleyanderecafe]

White Swamp (Webcomic)

Created by: Potato (포타토)

Genre: BL/Psychological

This one is really short with only 7 chapters, but I still think it's a fun ride overall. There's a bit of an age gap, and the pacing is a bit fast, but it does have some twists that are pretty fun to see. I the reveal at the end was done pretty well and it's not too bad for a short dark BL.

The story starts out with Jungseon waking up to Hyunwoo cleaning up the snow on his driveway. He's surprised because it's been a long time since he's seen him and near Christmas, no less. However, this is a sad time for Jungseon given it was when his son died and his wife left him. We see the backstory of how the two met, with Jungseon going to teach the elderly in a remote village after his tragic incident. This is where he met Hyunwoo who at the time was still in school and after his grandmother died, Jungseon took him in as his son of sorts. Eventually Hyunwoo left, revealing to Jungseon that he had been studying theater and ends up as one of the actors in a play called as a lead actor in one of the plays. The two talk about their pasts together, how Hyunwoo was initially pretty abrasive towards Jungseon's adoption of him. Due to a snowstorm, Jungseon lets Hyunwoo stay for the night with Hyunwoo catching him due to Jungseon's bad leg. He ends up massaging him, leading to Jungseon remembering that Hyunwoo confessed to him and this leads to Hyunwoo kisisng him afterwards. This leads to Hyunwoo raping Jungseon only for him to wake up the next day, believing it was a dream. Sanghwo, Jungseon's editor comes to visit the two and Hyunwoo leaves unhappy. Sanghwo talks about how he always finds Hyunwoo creepy though Jungseon shuts him down. The two talk and drink for a while before Sanghwo decides to take a quick drive to get cigerettes despite Jungseon's concerns for the weather. Jungseon gets flashbacks to a car accident, leading him to be extremely traumatized and shaking, and while Jungseon is driving he ends up crashing as his brakes were cut. Jungseon, concerned and afraid for his editor tries to go after him, but is stopped by Hyunwoo who has returned. Sanghwo calls Jungseon to inform him that he's been in an accident, though tells him not to come and get him as he can get to the hospital himself. This still leaves Jungseon reeling from the experience with Hyunwoo kissing him to try to get him to calm down. After hugging it out, Hyunwoo offers to make Jungseon dinner and Junseon asks why Hyunwoo left him in the first place. Hyunwoo mentions that on the day he left, a classmate fell down the stairs and snapped his neck before revealing upfront that he was the one who killed him. He seems to have planned it as the classmate not only insulted him but also wanted to get out of town and this seems to trigger some lost memories he had when his parents died. After soul searching in Seol, Hyunwoo finds a newspaper article talking about a car accident, stating simply that it was extremely similar to a book that Jungseon had wrote himself. It's revealed that Jungseon seemed to be the one who killed Hyunwoo's parents.

Hyunwoo wants to take revenge for his parents, even stating that he was the one who cut the brakes on Sanghwo's car, though Hyunwoo gets jealous for Jungseon even mentioning anything about him. Jungseon is able to break free and run to his car, and despite his trauma starts to drive it. However, Hyunwoo gets in the way and Jungseon is unable to run him over, causing him to swerve and crash instead. After Hyunwoo catches him Jungseon apologizes for killing his parents, and even accepts death for his actions, though Hyunwoo has different plans. He gets raped inside of the car and even has to talk to Sanghwo while this is happening over the phone. After this happens, Hyunwoo tries to end his life with a shard of glass, though Jungseon is able to stop him and reciprocates his feelings out of desperation and obligation. We get a flashback to what actually caused Hyunwoo's parents to die. We see that his parents were constantly fighting, with his dad's work stress causing him to mistreat Hyunwoo in return. After his favorite toy car gets destroyed, we see that on the day of the car accident, Hyunwoo was actually the one who cut the breaks causing his parents to die though he never ends up telling this to Jungseon.

Kind of fitting that I'm writing this on Christmas Eve, but here we are. This story is pretty decent as a horror story, especially set in a more holiday like setting, though my biggest gripe with it is that it's paced really fast. Within only a couple of chapters, Hyunwoo reveals that he not only killed someone but also that he knows Jungseon killed his parents, though I do like the twist at the end that he was the one who ultimately caused his parent's death. Normally I'm not too fond of these kinds of age gaps, but I think in this context it expands on the horror aspect more, seeing that the parental love that Jungseon had for taking care of Hyunwoo turn into a twisted love that he didn't want to give away to anyone. Both of these characters have pretty bad and traumatic events in their lives, with the car accident and the death of his son being a driving force for Jungseon taking care of Hyunwoo and Hyunwoo eventually learning about how Jungseon was the one who was the one who crashed into his parent's car being good driving factors into this entire situation. It is poetic that Hyunwoo tries the cutting the breaks even twice despite not remembering his past, as if foreshadowing just what his past was really like. Hyunwoo has complicated feelings for Jungseon, because while on the one hand he clearly loves and cares about him given that he is the only proper parental figure (outside his grandmother) who really cared for him and on the other hand he feels very resentful for Jungseon not only crashing into his parent's car but also writing a story about it. The haunting part was definitely near the end where he remembers that he was the one who caused his parents death, not Jungseon, yet never tells him, leading him to forever believe that he was the reason for Hyunwoo's trauma really brings a new darkness to it. Like I said, the only big issue I have is the pacing because it could have had a couple of chapters to flesh things out more, and some parts in the middle feel very fast paced or rushed. I think it could have made a great short thriller if it was similar to how A Room Without Windows was paced.

Overall, its not a bad short thriller, especially towards the winter time. I think that it has good twists and turns and is pretty short so if you want a short yandere story to read, this one is a good one to get through.

[luvzxr]

Little Pougie

Hi! I'm back from a long break. I've been working on this book that originally is posted on wattpad and it's ongoing currently. I wanted to branch out from my previous posts from video games to shows as well.

This story also is originally using my OC's name and I'm not very good with coming up with alternatives to make the story for people who want to use their OC's or their own names. I will do my best though because I also don't like using the (Y/N) stuff but we shall see. anyways, onto chapter one.

01. Kegger

I wish I had stayed at home, curled up on the couch with my hair up in a messy bun and some stupid microwaveable meal on the coffee table in front of me. I wish I never let my older brother, John B, rip me away from the comfort of our own home to come to a kegger, or in other words- a party that I most certainly did not want to attend.

"John B," I tugged the hem of his loosely worn shirt. I've been so uneasy the entire night I've completely forgotten what it means to be content, "when are we leaving?"

"Just a little longer, Poguie. I promise," He gave a soft but playful nudge with his elbow.

'Just a little longer' means we'll be here till daybreak or until I pester him enough to drive me home himself. Time meant nothing to him when a Pouge party was happening.

I was more than eager to go back home and I grew more and more impatient the longer I stood there in hopes John B would change his mind and offer me a ride home of his own free will but that would only happen if hell froze over.

Pouges had no reason to throw parties, they just would and at this point being the sister of one and considered one myself by our peers and friends you would think I'd have no problem with participating but the word parties always left a bitter taste on the tip of my tongue. In what way does a night filled with hammered teenagers and raging migraines the next morning sound appealing?

The time we spent there grew longer and once it hit ten o'clock I couldn't take it anymore and made the utter decision to leave my older brother's side and push past the sweaty bodies and blotched faces.

I was sure that John B would grow increasingly tense once he'd start to realize my absence and after having practically the whole town on a wild goose chase- only to find me safely at home and also find time to lecture me about how I need to stay with him at all times. Yet I couldn't find even just an ounce in me to care about the repercussions of leaving on my own.

Luckily, none of John B's friends were around to stop me from reaching the main road, as everyone I left behind were either trying to find any way possible of getting a free hook up or a free buzz.

All I could keep my mind set on was crashing on the couch and tuning out to either The Vampire Diaries or jamming out to a random playlist of mine on the stereo. To some that might be one of the most boring activities you could be doing on a Friday night but to me it sounded like absolute bliss.

I wanted to die, After what felt like hours of heaving and gasping for air, I had finally reached the house where I could kick off my Chuck Taylor's and crash on the couch with my original plan. But first, I needed a snack because my stomach was probably on the verge of kicking my own butt if I didn't prioritize the next five seconds of finding something to satisfy the hunger.

I make my way to our kitchen, flicking on the light, and began scanning through the different varieties of food held within the cabinets and fridge. I quickly settled with a chocolate pudding cup stashed in the very back of our cabinet that seemed my brother tried to hide so desperately.

"Little Pouge?"

"Jesus!" I shrieked, practically throwing my enclosed pudding cup as a poor excuse for self-defense. If there was an actual intruder he'd probably have already made off with what we had left that was considered valuable.

I relax my nerves upon seeing a much more familiar blonde boy standing in the doorway and not an intruder ready to high-tail out of here with whatever he could.

"Sorry." a sheepish grin creeping on his face, "didn't mean to startle you, Little one."

JJ Maybank is my big brother's best friend since the third grade and he's also one of the very few people I didn't mind stopping by whenever he felt like it and lounge around the house as if he lived here himself. He's been in my life for as long as I could even remember because John B was never without him and ever since our father went missing it was always me, John B, and JJ so that surely helped our bond develop over time.

'Little Pouge' however was a nickname given to me by my brother and his friends. It was something the Pouges wanted to have special for me considering to them that 'y/n/n' was too bland to call me. I don't know a single one of them who doesn't call me Little Pouge or Pougie. That nickname has been with me for so long that even Kooks seem to be catching onto the idea of being referred to as those rather than my birth name.

Many Kooks have tried calling me the nickname's just to get under John B's skin or even JJ's but a lot of the time that ended in the boys beating a Kook to a pulp and the rest of their night spent in a six by eight foot holding cell and the horrible back pains that came with it in the morning when I'd bail them out.

I feel my face grow hot from embarrassment, "What are you doing here JJ?"

"John B couldn't find you so he sent me out looking for ya," he says, giving a curt nod towards the direction behind him, indicating my brother sent him out to hunt me down.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. John B acts as if I can't spend even just a little bit of time by myself anywhere and that I constantly need someone to watch over me like a little kid- I'm not a little kid, I'm a year younger than him, and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.

I let out a groan, "I'm not a little kid, JJ. When is he going to understand that."

He made his way over to me, leaning forward so that he could rest his elbow on the countertop and his chin in the palm of his hand.

"He's just worried about you (y/n). You're the only family he's got left other than our little group as far as he knows." JJ states. "Plus, with all the Kooks at the party too he was worried that maybe one of 'em kidnapped ya."

"Hm."

"Ah Princess, don't be like that. He's looking out for you." He ruffles my hair.

He gave a soft grin before making his way over to the couch, swinging himself over the top and landing perfectly in a comfortable seated position.

Why does he never just walk around the side like a normal person?

Not long after JJ made himself comfortable on the couch is when I decided to do the same thing.

I take a good look at him, at his side profile, the way he clenches his jaw ever so slightly out of pure justification. His father had beat on him so many times he'd probably never have the same jaw alignment as he once had and a part of me wished that I was closer to him than just his best bud's little sister because he didn't open up to anyone, he doesn't allow anyone to get too close to him and in a way I understand.

Being as close to JJ as I was now I could smell the severe alcohol on his breath. It was no secret that Pouges drank, it was more common than you'd actually think but I could only imagine how his liver must have felt and practically beg him to take a break. On top of that, I also knew JJ was into a lot of different kinds of substances. He used those as an escape route, a way to completely make the pain go away for a temporary amount of time before he had to rejoin the rest of us in reality.

He tended to do his best to stay away from pain, choosing to ignore anything and everything that even remotely had the chance to trigger the emotion. He tried to bottle all of it up and throw it out the window as if it had never existed in the first place but like every human being, there comes a time when that glass bottle fills to the brim and then it explodes.

"JJ."

"Hm?" He raised an eyebrow, turning his head towards me to give his full attention.

I paused. He wasn't going to like the question I had in store for him so was I really ready to potentially ruin the small, yet sweet relationship I had with him? Over being a little too nosey for my own good.

I decided against it and just shook my head, "How was the party?"

He tilted his head to the side, his tongue slid between both sets of his teeth and his mouth making the ever so slightest oval like he usually does- He was confused, and rightfully so. This man has been around since before my childbirth and every step after that, it was hard to keep anything from him. That is if he's sober.

Fortunately enough for me, he was not and wasn't the sharpest when it came to being intoxicated. JayJ and his love for alcohol for once actually saved us a conversation that I don't think either of us were fully ready to have. Nonetheless, the question still raked through my mind and I was only hoping that the curiosity wouldn't power through.

Why does he resort to things that destroy him? Does he seriously think that low of himself?

[ashblooddragons]

This Mysterious Love (Chapter 5/?)

Series Masterlist

Ottos pov

I watch as Daemon storms out of the King's chambers. I had heard what he said and it is curious why he is defending my daughter instead of belittling her. 

I follow after him as I think about what Viserys had said to me before his brother burst in.

“Rhaenyra found me speaking with your daughter…alone.” He says plainly but I don't miss the blush on his cheeks nor the scowl on his lips. 

What were you going to do to my girl, old friend? I think fighting the images of him forcing himself upon her. 

“That is…” I start but find no words are right without ruining my daughter or offending the Princess.

“Awful? Yes I know.” Viserys says before hissing as the Maesters poke at a particularly sensitive spot on his back. “Rhaenyra is having a fit, no amount of threats or promises are calming her. It truly is a mess.” He continues.

I can’t help the rage that fills my belly. For this man who calls himself King lets his daughter who is a Princess like a toddler when she is well into her marriageable age. 

“Yes, quite a problem.” I say through gritted teeth. Viserys says he has no clue why Rhaenyra is the way she is, but I know why. She is spoiled, told just because she has a pretty dragon and face she can do as she pleases. But the hard truth is, that additude will be her downfall. 

“Which is why I have made a decision on the whole wife situation.” Viserys says looking up at me like a child who knows they are about to be scolded. 

“And what is that?” I respond when he falls silent avoiding eye contact.

He takes a deep breath before turning to look up at me again with eyes of worry. “That I will not take another.” 

I can’t help but gasp, for I knew Viserys wasn’t the brightest but he never was a fool. I take a moment to figure out how to respond but he beats me to it.. 

“I know, I know, I need heirs as I have none. But I thought of two options, one I name Rhaenyra my heir.” He says but we both grimace as we both know that won’t end well for the realm. 

“I hate to say it, Your Grace, but the hard truth is the realm will never stand behind a female heir. Princess Rhaenys and yourself proved that, and though you may not marry, your brother is and he can have heirs, male heirs.” 

Viserys only sighs before nodding his head. “My thoughts exactly. Daemon would finally bed his ‘Bronze Bitch’ as he likes to call her, if only to spite me. Which is why we have another option.” 

I stop trying to figure out what other option we have other than Rhaenyra or Daemon being the named heir. Especially since the KIng seems set on not having another wife. 

Viserys seems to notice my confusion as he continues without letting me speak, which is rare as he usually makes me speak for him. 

“I could make Daemon’s son heir.” He says and I scoff shaking my head.

“I apoligize for my crudeness, Your Grace, but we would have a better chance of convincing your brother to kill his Blod Wyrm before we convince him to bed his ‘Bronze Bitch’.” 

“Your right, which is why we need to find him a new wife, one he will actually lay with. And just so we’re clear this is my final decision. If Daemon won’t lay with his new wife, Rhaenyra will be named heir.”

I go to speak but then the chamber doors burst open and the very man we were speaking of storms in.

I’m brought back to the present when Daemon turns into a hall that leads to the gates that goes almost directly to the streets of silk. I can’t miss this chance, I may have lost Viserys as a way to have my blood on the throne, but I won’t miss this chance. Especially not after hearing how he defended my daughter.

“Prince Daemon.” I call out fighting the urge to flinch when he turns and glares my way. No matter how long I work with these Targaryens I will never get used to the fire that fills their eyes. They truly are the blood of the dragon.

“How can I help you, Hand?” He asks with a level of mistrust in his voice.

I take this as a invitation to step forward so we can speak more privately. “The King just told me he won’t remarry.” I say in a hushed tone.

Daemon seems shocked but that is quickly overshadowed by suspicion. 

“And why would he choose that?” He asks eyeing me with accusation.

I sigh trying to find the best wording, Daemon cares for his niece though he will be the first to say she is a spoiled thing and needs to learn what the word duty means. “Rhaenyra–” I start only for him to sigh and nods his head. 

“You don’t need to finish, let me guess. Rhaenyra had one of her tantrums and now he’s trying to make her happy by putting his rein in jeopardy?” He asks but his tone has a bored edge to it, as if he isn’t shocked. And I don’t blame him, for neither am I.

“Yes, precisely, and on top of that he has some ideas on who the heir could be.” I say fighting the smirk that wishes to rise to my lips when I see him scowl.

“I am his heir.” He hisses out.

“Oh come now, my Prince, you truly thought that would stick. You were always going to be sumplanted, either by a son, or Rhaenyra.” 

He glares my way before scoffing with a whisper from his lips “Of course he would.” 

“Though he doesn’t seem fond of the idea Rhaenyra being heir, he has another idea.” I say purposely leaving out the second option hoping he’d take the bait.

“And if Rhaenyra isn’t his heir…then who is?” He asks obviously impatient by now.

“His other idea is that your first son being his heir.” 

He laughs throwing his head back. “Oh thats amazing! I would father cut my own cock off than fuck that Bronze Bitch.” He responds with chuckle. 

I only smirk nodding my head. “Yes which is why he wishes to annul your marriage.” I say which stops his laughter and his face morphes to pure shock. 

“Will I be able to choose the wife I take?” He asks eyeing me suspiciously. 

“As far as I have been told, yes.” I respond not giving him time to respond. “Which is why I wished to speak to you. Rhaenyra caught Viserys and my daughter Alicent talking in his chambers…alone. I hate to even think it but we both know Rhaenyra speaks first and thinks last, she may be spreading what she found as we speak. So you know how dire it is to me, how much I truly believe she would do this to my girl, for me to come to you for help.” 

“And what ‘help’ do you need?” He asks with a smirk and I know he already knows what I am going to ask.

“Marry my Alicent, make it where the rumors will not follow her. We both gain something from this, your son on the throne, and my daughter’s reputation can be saved.” I say with a scowl I had to turn to him for help. 

He only smirks and pats me on the shoulder condescendingly. “I’ll keep her in mind when I search for a wife.” He responds before turning on his heels and leaving me in the hall alone. 

I watch him leave with a scowl. I don’t need Alicent to be a option, I need her to be the option and now I need to find out how to do that without ruining Alicent more than I already have.

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the Header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @themoonlitquill @thelastemzy @athzhowakar @sachaa-ff @yn-jackson @edensfanfictionsuggestions @fictionlurker @nommingonfood @marvel-is-my-obsession @seaevans @ninihrtss @zara-zara11 @dreamlandcreations @lady-ye

[deconstructthesoup]

Truly, I’m disappointed in myself that it took me this long to do this (or maybe I’ve already done it and forgotten!) but here are the Fear Entities that I think each of the Princesses would be avatars of, knowingly or unknowingly:

Chapter 2 Girls

Beast: The Hunt. Obviously. No explanation needed.

Witch: Initially, I had her down as a Corruption avatar---she's all about nature, she's the product of a relationship that started out fine but went rotten, if you make her a more traditional witch (like me) you know she's all about mushrooms---but after thinking about it, she'd also be an amazing avatar of The Web. She's a scheming, manipulative little trickster, after all, and you know she's the type to think that spiders are adorable.

Prisoner: The Lonely is a contender, but there's really no better option for my best girl than The Buried. Chains are not dirt, that much is true, but there is something so distinctly Buried about becoming increasingly trapped in a prison so specifically designed for you... and, well, being a Buried avatar would definitely be one way of reclaiming her agency.

Damsel: The Stranger. I... don't exactly think I need to explain this one. We've all seen the Deconstructed sequence. (I do think it would be interesting if she didn't realize she was a Stranger avatar and freaks out when she discovers the truth, because feeding off of people's fear is the opposite of making them happy, though.)

Adversary: After careful consideration, I decided on The Desolation for her---but specifically, the part that deals with pain, not strictly fire. Is this because she gives me Jude vibes? Maybe, but it still works.

Tower: She was the hardest chapter 2 princess to figure out, but after much debate, I finally settled on the Entity who feels the most like her---namely, The Eye. Being able to sense the Narrator is very Eye-coded, and in terms of personality... hate to say it, but she could give Elias a run for his money.

Nightmare: Now, I could be boring and say "creepy doll=Stranger," but if I'm being honest, I don't want to repeat Entities until we get to our chapter 3s, and she feels way more Dark-coded in her whole "fear of the unknown" thing. Very monster-in-your-closet. (It could also be argued that she could literally be an avatar of anything due to her just... inspiring fear as her thing, but we gotta be specific here.)

Spectre: There is no vessel more Lonely-coded than our sweet ghost girl. And because of that, I want to give her a hug.

Razor: Slaughter. You could argue "Spiral" because Distortion=knife hands, but you cannot make a woman who is literally made of weapons anything but an avatar of The Slaughter.

Stranger: Ironically enough... The Spiral! Name aside, there's really nothing more Spiral than being everything and yet nothing at once and not knowing who or what you are, and I think this is only Entity that could feasibly suit them.

Chapter 3 Girls

Den: Also Hunt. Again, big kitty.

Thorn: Now, she was pretty difficult to figure out, but I think she also works as a Lonely avatar---or, hell, even an avatar of The Corruption because of all of her nature and decay stuff, but Lonely really fits her whole melancholy vibes and just wanting someone to be close to. Maybe she doesn't have the aesthetics, but she has the mood.

Cage: She could also be a Buried avatar, but in my opinion, The Web makes way more sense---everything from the fact that she believes she has no autonomy to the fact that her body can literally control chains that practically puppeteer TLQ feels incredibly Web-coded to me.

Happily Ever After: She is The Corruption at its most abstract---a relationship that at first seems nothing but loving and devoted, and yet when you look closer, you see that there is something deeply rotten at its core. The "toxic relationship" interpretation of The Corruption is something that's only alluded to in TMA canon, but I think HEA really does encapsulate it.

Eye of the Needle: This one is The Slaughter. It's not even about the pain anymore, it's just about wanting to fight.

Apotheosis: She is, without a doubt, an avatar of The Vast in every sense of the word. She's something that's truly too large to fully be encapsulated, too large to truly be fought or beaten. Also, big woman.

Moment of Clarity: I know, I know, ironic that there's all of these ghost princesses and I pick this weird puppet one as an avatar of The End, but her inevitability means that... well, she's really the only one who could be an End avatar. Except, of course, the Shifting Mound herself, though I'd argue that she's a more benevolent version of The Extinction. Also, gods are not avatars.

Princess & The Dragon: Spiral. Just... Spiral. I cannot stress enough how much this vessel is an avatar of The Spiral. Her chapter is too mindfucky for her to be anything but.

The Wild (Networked & Wounded): Oh god, is this one hard to categorize... I'd say Corruption for both versions, since as much as I love The Wild, there's no denying that she is a corrupted version of what Once Was.

The Grey (Burned & Drowned): Desolation for Burned, obviously, and for Drowned... well, ironically enough, I believe that drowning is actually part of The Buried. So, uh, yeah, Buried for her.

The Fury: Flesh, she's Flesh, moving on.

The Wraith: Yeah, she's The Web. You could argue that she's also The End, but... Web.

[stardustrebels]

More of You- Chapter 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

WC: 1k

Rating: 18+ for eventual smut, MDNI

Series Masterlist | Blog Masterlist Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: After a devastating betrayal and loss, you left everything behind on the East Coast and promised yourself a fresh start in Austin, Texas. Independence as your new mantra, you vow never to let anyone too close again. Then you meet Joel Miller- a man whose warmth and Southern charm makes it hard to stick to your resolve. As your feelings deepen, you’re forced to confront your past- and question if letting someone in again is worth the risk. 

Tags: No outbreak!AU. Coffee shop meet-cute with a slow-ish burn. Sickly sweet fluff with eventual smut. I wanted to write something that gave me the warm fuzzies, and I am kicking my feet and giggling while I write this. Joel Miller just deserves a good life, you know? Joel and reader have a teeny tiny age gap- Joel is 42, reader is mid 30s. Sarah is 19. No use of Y/N, minimal descriptions of reader. She has hair long enough to tie back and she wears skirts and dresses. A/N: If you're reading this, hello! I'm so glad you're here :) As before, not really proofread, but we move. If I overthink it, it'll never get posted. Enjoy!

He was already there when you arrived the next day- you spotted him as soon as you entered the coffee shop, settled into the same corner seat by the window; his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he leaned over his worn paperback, just as he had the day before. You blinked to make sure he wasn’t a figment of your imagination- the early morning sunlight streaming through the window illuminated the streaks of silver in his hair, making them glint like beautiful threads of polished steel. He was wearing a denim shirt today and a pair of reading glasses were perched low on his nose, the frames slightly crooked, as though they had been carelessly shoved in to a pocket one too many times. 

You tried not to look too obvious as you stole glances at him. He didn’t seem to notice you- or maybe he was just too polite to let on that he had. You ordered and made your way to your usual table, glancing down as you passed. On the table in front of him sat a black coffee, the steam curling lazily in to the air. A single biscotti lay untouched on the saucer beside the cup, as if it had been ordered out of politeness rather than any real intention to eat it. He shifted slightly in his seat as you brushed past him tilting the book to the side as though the movement had broken his concentration. 

As you sat down and set up your laptop as normal, you couldn’t help but muse over him. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who frequented coffee shops for the atmosphere. The black coffee, no cream or sugar, suggested a practicality rather than indulgence, but maybe that was an unfair stereotype based on how he looked. You found yourself wondering if he always drank his coffee black. It suited him- at least you thought so. Did he come here as often as you did and you’d just never noticed him before, or was this just a coincidence? The barista arriving to your table with your coffee pulled you from your thoughts. You thanked her with a smile. As your gaze drifted back down to the table from where she had stood, you braved a glance at him again. Your eyes darted to his hands watching transfixed as he lifted the cup to his lips, the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. You swallowed too, eyes lingering on the base of his throat, just above the first button of his shirt. Your eyes flicked back up to his face; his expression was calm, though every so often his brows would furrow and his lips would press together in concentration. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. Every movement was mesmerising. 

A thought crossed your mind, as it had the day prior. I could just say hello. Introduce myself. Ask him what he’s reading. 

It wasn’t such a wild idea. People struck up conversations in coffee shops all the time. He seemed approachable, he had smiled at you yesterday. Maybe he wouldn’t mind the interruption. Maybe he’d even welcome it. 

You bit your lip, heart beating a little faster at the thought. At the idea of effortless, casual conversation with him. You might even get to see what a full smile on his face looked like as you chatted. Your fingers twitched with indecision. Then he looked up at you. 

You froze, your breath catching in your throat, your fingers stilled awkwardly above your keyboard. His brown eyes, framed by laughter lines under his black-rimmed glasses, crinkled as he smiled at you. It wasn’t much, just a faint lift of the corner of his mouth, but it was enough to make your heart thump hard in your chest. You felt the heat rising in your cheeks as you realised that you’d been caught looking at him. Again. You tried to look casual, tapping your fingers awkwardly against your keyboard, typing nonsense on to your screen. 

The moment lingered, and so did his smile. Maybe he’s waiting for you to say something, a bold part of your brain suggested. Or maybe he’s being polite at the weirdo who won’t stop staring at him, another, less helpful, part of your brain offered. You swallowed hard, the argument bouncing around inside your head. It’s now or never. Just ask about his book, or say hi. Or- anything!

Taking a steadying breath, you started to push back your chair, steeling yourself to cross to his table before you could talk yourself out of it. But before you could stand, his phone buzzed  and lit up on the table. 

He glanced down at the screen, expression shifting immediately. The faint softness of his smile vanished, replaced by a small frown as he picked up the phone. He answered with a clipped, “Miller.”

His voice was deep, rich, and carried an authoritative air that sent shivers down your spine. You quickly dropped your gaze back to your laptop, feigning sudden interest in the jumble of words you smashed on to the document earlier in your attempt to play it cool. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him listening intently, his free hand running over the back of his neck as he nodded at whatever was being said on the other end of the line. 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there soon,” he said, his tone curt but calm. He ended the call and set his phone down, rubbing his temple for a moment before finishing the last of his coffee in a single gulp. You snuck another glance as he stood, his denim shirt lifting as he slung a bag over his shoulder, revealing the tiniest sliver of tanned skin. You gulped and watched as he carried the cup, saucer and uneaten biscotti back to the counter, just as he had the day before,  murmuring a quick thanks to the barista. Then, without a backward glance he strode out of the coffee shop, his boots thudding softly against the floor. 

You stared after him and felt a pang of disappointment. So much for now or never. 

[queenaeducan-writes]

2024 writing round up

i saw it on my dash and wanted to do it! tagging: @blackjackkent, @theshirallen, @dreadfutures, @theluckywizard, @ anyone else who would care to do this!

words posted: Not counting Tumblr RP or I'd be here forever, 76,581. 35,245 of those were Var Shiral'vhen.

additional words written: 21,585 on VS, plus some other WIPs means I have typed about 33,109 words. There are more in my notebook (but probably not a significant amount).

grand total of words: About 109,690 words! <3

fandoms: Dragon Age, HotD, BG3

highest kudos: 187 on The Queen's Pleasure, making it the first fic I ever posted to break 100 kudos.

highest hit oneshot: 2667 on The Queen's Pleasure.

new things I tried:

New fandoms! BG3 got me back into writing for fun before DA reassumed its throne, and I published HotD for the first time, too!

Smut! I published five smut fics on AO3, one on Tumblr, and another that will probably not make it out of the docs I'm gonna be real.

Long fic! Technically I've tried before, but writing Var Shiral'vhen with @theshirallen has been a pretty new experience as someone who mostly writes oneshots. It's been fun, though!

fic I spent the most time on: Var Shiral'vhen on the basis of it being a long fic. For one shots, probably The means by which art is made due it being my first attempt at Solian smut and that ship being very dear to me (and it was originally started back in like 2022).

fic I spent the least time on: I wrote Stronger Where it Breaks (Veilguard spoilers) after I beat DA4 in a short space of time. They will learn was also written similarly quickly.

favorite thing I wrote: I'm going to list multiple answers bc I deserve it.

I think it might be the unpublished Var Shiral'vhen chapter "Rift test take 2" just because I adore the Solas/Ian conversation in that chapter. It really encapsulates what I find fascinating about their dynamic, put them in a room together and they will start vibing even when I wasn't planning on it.

(Veilguard spoilers in the link) They will learn, a fic I mostly wrote for Joly but ended up getting more attention than I expected on Tumblr! I really enjoyed working with Elvhenan worldbuilding and I'm looking forward to doing more with the OCs I started crafting for the purposes of the fic.

(Veilguard spoilers in the link) The shape of you, a really abstract fic that's sex but also isn't sex. It was more a picture than words in my head so writing it down was difficult, but I enjoyed how it turned out esp since I didn't spend too long on it (it was like two sessions of writing).

favorite thing(s) I read:

(Veilguard spoilers in the link) keep my body from the fire (Solas x Felassan) by Almalexiasgf. I loved the depiction of Solas's [redacted] and Felassan's handling of it. It captured everything I love about the new lore surrounding the elves in DA4.

deus proditus (dame aylin & ketheric thorm) by @darethshirl. Such a neat exploration of these characters and their hostile relationship to each other, their love of Isobel, divinity/mortality. Highly recommended!

The History in our Skin (nb!lavellan & keeper deshanna) by @theshirallen. You were a fool if you thought I wouldn't include Joly in this. I love the pain and the peace in this, the impossible choice Deshanna saddles Ian (still a child but in choosing becomes grown) with. "There is no right answer" but only because the world is hostile to everything they are.

it ends, or it doesn't (felassan & an ensemble cast) by @dreadfutures I'm still making my way through this one (VG put a huge dent in my reading habit I carefully built over 2024 lmao) but I love Blue's Felassan POV and the worldbuilding they do for the Dalish/ancient elves. It's so inspiring, and the mystery is so good.

Mien'Harel (solas/felassan, solas & ensemble) by @bodysnatch3r Again, making my way through it, but Matty has such a great use of language and the worldbuilding is so good. I'm going to have my heart broken (more) when I continue I'm sure, but I'd highly recommend checking this one out.

these violent delights (Zevran x f!Tabris, Lucanis & Zev/Warden - Rated T) by @inquisimer. I love love love the Zev/Tabris pairing in this, and the playing off Lucanis is also excellent. I'd highly recommend it for its intrigue and character dynamics!!!

writing goals for 2025:

Continue Var Shiral'vhen

Not burn myself out on exchanges

Try to satisfy the need for engagement w/ more realistic means

Stop comparing myself/my headcanons/my divergences to others

new works: It was only after listing them that I realised I was supposed to just say how many, but I wrote it so it's here now. Anyway. 13!

Var Shiral'vhen (Solas x Nonbinary!Lavellan - Rated M) An adaptation of Solas and Ian's love story as well as Thora's journey as Inquisitor. About finding love in impossible places, undoing the damage the world has done to you, building trust from the ashes of other people's fires.

They will learn (Solas & Original Elvhen Character- Rated G) Veilguard spoilers. The world is new, and so are the people. Solas meets a new invention and sees the beauty and horror of creation.

The shape of you (Solas x Nonbinary!Lavellan- Rated E) Veilguard spoilers. Solas asks Ian a difficult question that Ian has no trouble answering.

Five, Seven, Five (Solas & F!Cadash - Rated G) Veilguard spoilers. Set in Inquisition. After a visit to Cadash thaig, Thora is inspired to write poetry after a lifetime of reading it. She shares it with Solas, as she shares everything with Solas.

Stronger Where it Breaks ( Solas x Nonbinary!Lavellan- Rated G) Veilguard spoilers. On Ian's suggestions, Solas takes up journaling to deal with some of his issues.

Pawn Takes King ( Solas x Nonbinary!Lavellan - Rated E) Technically Veilguard spoilers for the game's hub/home location. After a game of chess results in a rare victory, Ian claims his spoils.

The means by which art is made ( Solas x Nonbinary Lavellan! - Rated E) After Solas discloses his preference for bottoming, Ian tops him for the first time. It is not a night without its setbacks.

In Defense of Spirits (N/A - Rated G) A meta about the spirits of DA:O and how they can be read more sympathetically with the future game's lore taken into account.

The Art of Reading Aloud (Gale x F!Tav - Rated E) Ophelia (Tav) gives Gale a blowjob while he explains the history of the Moonshae Isles to her.

A Study of Hands (Gale x F!Tav - Rated T) An exploration of Gale's mental state throughout act I of BG3 as well as his developing feelings for Ophelia (Tav).

Chip Butty (Gale x F!Tav - Rated E) The morning after the party with her Tiefling kin, Ophelia wakes up with two headaches. One, from wine. Two, everyone expects she bedded Gale the night before.

The Queen's Pleasaure (Alicent x Rhaenyra - Rated E) When the King calls, Alicent does not linger longer than she is wanted. Her return is interrupted by a wayward princess, fresh from a foray into Flea Bottom, and hungry for companionship. Or: What if Rhaenyra had found Alicent before she found Ser Criston?

A Little Light (Jowan & Connor - Rated G) After years of young apprentices giving him a wide berth, lest they catch his talent for mediocrity, Jowan finds himself in the position of tutor to the young Connor.

[theladycarpathia]

Empty Places chapter 3 - Apparition

Back to Chapter 2

Alright, so Billy isn’t totally immune to whatever bullshit is going on.

This house gives him the creeps. Like the actual heebie-jeebies, like his Grandma Lizzie used to say. There’s a strange shiver down his spine, like someone is just watching. Watching him, watching Robin, watching Steve.

But he goes down to the basement anyway. He knows Steve fucking hates it, so he volunteers. He does it every time.

One of these days, they really need to stop splitting up for these walkthroughs. He doesn’t believe in it like Steve does but he still thinks that one of these days, they’re gonna get killed that way. Either he’ll fall through a floor or some drifter will slit their throats, because they’re still stupid kids wandering into places that they don’t belong.

The basement door swings open smoothly on its hinges and somehow that’s worse. But Billy flicks on his flashlight, turns on his camera and heads down into the darkness anyway.

The stairs creak underfoot and Billy checks each one before he puts down his weight. But despite their age, they all hold and Billy steps down onto the concrete floor in one piece.

He’s not going to find anything down here. He’ll find junk that the Packards left behind when they abandoned the place, maybe some other stuff from previous owners. If he’s really lucky, he’ll find yet another creepy portrait of the Creels, but that’s probably going to be the scariest thing he finds today.   

The basement is cold concrete, a hollow shell that was never fully filled out. Not one of the house's residents ever felt the need to renovate to make a spare room, a play room, or even bothered to slap a pool table and an old sofa down here and call it a man cave. There’s a bulb on a cable overhead but Billy doesn’t bother finding a switch. 

According to their research, the basement is in a strange configuration, corridors set out in a neat square until you eventually double back on yourself. Billy looks back behind him, at the dark corridor past the staircase and shrugs. He may as well make a loop.

The first room he comes to is nothing but boxes packed against every available wall space. Judging by the dust on some of them, the faded writing and the quality of the cardboard, the Packards weren’t the only ones to leave stuff behind. The basement must have accumulated everyone’s unwanted crap - every time someone moved in they just added their own boxes to the ones in the basement and no one ever cleared them out. And the next room is more of the same - boxes and boxes, a kid’s old trike, a bassinet shoved into a corner. Billy frowns and moves on. Jesus. This is going to be the most boring walkthrough he’s ever done.

But as he moves through the rooms, something begins to pick away at him. This basement is far too large for the size of the house. And while it’s a pretty big house, the basement offers nearly as much space as the whole first floor. And when Billy shines his torch down the hallway, he gets the idea that it’s not a dead end there either.

What was the point? Did Andrew Newton hope to host some sort of speakeasy down here before he’d kicked it? Because why would you need a space of this size underneath an already pretty sizable house? No one ever even made use of it - they chucked their crap down here and left it alone.

And Billy doesn’t blame them. Even without the stark concrete walls, cold floors and dark, windowless rooms this basement has a strange feeling about it. If the house felt empty and sad, then this place is even worse, leaving Billy with an uneasy feeling in his gut.

This one is weird. Maybe the Packards booked it for a fucking reason. 

He hits the end of the hallway and is met by even more doors. Briefly, Billy wonders if there’s even any point in looking in them. The most he can expect to find is more boxes, some huge cobwebs and a whole lot of musty stale air. He’s not exactly expecting that they’ll watch the footage back and see spirits flickering across the screen.

But the next corridor throws up something new. A passageway split right down the center, probably leading him back to where he started at the staircase…or so it should. Billy shines his light down it and frowns. He didn’t see any other entrance when he came down here. So where the hell does this go? 

He wanders down it, shining his light over the walls. Unlike the other corridors that offer two or three rooms, there’s only one door here. It looks older than all the rest, made of some strange, splintered, reddish wood. All the other doors are more modern and new, so why the hell does this one look like it was made in the dark ages? Billy’s fingers just about graze the weathered old wood when he hears something that takes several years off of his life.

“Billy?” 

Billy automatically jerks a hand down to the walkie on his belt before he realizes. The voice didn’t come from the walkie. It came from behind him.

He jerks his head around, shining the torch across every inch of the hallway, heart thudding furiously in his chest. But there’s nothing there. He’s alone.

“What the fuck?” Billy whispers, cold trickling down his spine. But he shakes it off. He’s letting the others get to him. Steve especially knows just about every trope and horror cliche going. In all honesty, if they were actually in a horror movie, Steve is probably the only one getting out alive. 

“Billy?” the voice continues, high-pitched and clear. Billy’s fingers grow clammy around the flashlight. It’s not fucking possible. The house is empty.

And yet, someone is calling him.

“Billy!” There’s urgency in this last plea, some desperation from the unseen caller. Billy steps towards it, moving his torch from side to side across the hallway, only to find it completely empty. 

Someone’s fucking with him, they have to be. Maybe Steve or Robin decided to mess around with him for this one, and are actually playing a recording from behind him in the dark.

Billy returns back the way he came, unable to stop his heart racing as he searches for the voice. There’s still space here that he hasn’t covered, the remains of this corridor and the one leading back to the stairs. 

But there’s the logical side of his brain pointing out that they probably couldn’t have gotten down the stairs to the basement without him noticing and that the cellar door is still firmly locked. And what’s really creeping him out is the fact that it doesn’t sound like a voice playing over a recorder. It almost sounds like she could be whispering in his ear. 

Billy eyeballs the remaining two doors. Only one way to be sure.

The door slams into the wall as it swings open, propelled by Billy’s foot. But aside from the crash of the metal handle meeting concrete, there’s nothing else. The voice is gone, and as Billy swings his torch from side to side, the room is completely empty. 

Shit. He’s freaking himself out.

But he heard a voice. He knows he did - this wasn’t something carrying on the wind, and it wasn’t Robin’s husky tones echoing from upstairs. This was someone small, a female child, and she was calling Billy.

Billy’s gut twists. In the year and a few months that they’ve been doing this, Billy has never once believed any of the ghouls and goblins shit about any of the places he’s visited. And what makes this house worse is that there’s not even any of that. The Miller barn was supposedly haunted by Old Man Miller, who’d hang you up by your throat. That cottage on Bartlett Lane was supposed to contain a woman in white, who’d kill every man who wandered through her door. Creepy twins, poltergeists, men with axes, blood leaking out of the walls, rattling chains…Billy’s heard it all. Every rumor, legend and folktale going about every supposedly haunted building for miles.

But this one doesn’t have any. Not a dime. Just…people who’ve died. People die. Billy didn’t see any mystery in that. 

Maybe he was wrong. 

A cool breeze drifts across the back of his neck and he nearly jumps out of his skin. So far the basement has been full of still, stale air, the kind that hasn’t known a fresh breeze in nearly a decade. Billy rubs a hand across the back of his neck, unable to stop the prickle of goosebumps. Okay, that’s his limit. Even by the very high standards of bullshit that he operates by, he’s done with this fucking basement. 

And that’s when he hears the chimes.

It’s not quite like the old church bell that used to ring the hour in Hawkins, but the similar heavy toll gives Billy deja vu. It resounds through the hallways, and Billy whirls around, feeling like the walls are closing in. 

And then as quickly as they started, the bells are gone, leaving only an echo and cold sweat down Billy’s back.

His fingers are growing clammy around his torch. Something wants him out of this basement.

But there’s only one door left and Billy thinks that he might be the stupidest person that’s ever lived as he closes his hand around the doorknob. 

There’s a man with his back to the wall; medium height, medium build, with brown hair cut close to the back and sides of his head. He’s wearing jeans and a dark canvas jacket, sturdy black boots peeking out from his hems.

No. This is fucked up. This isn’t real. 

“Dad?” Billy asks in disbelief, because last time he checked, his dad was living in a house two towns over with his new wife and stepdaughter. There’s no reason for him to be here, inspecting the dirt on the walls. 

But then the man turns and Billy feels about seven years old again as Neil Hargrove turns to look at Billy with the same cold eyes he used to have when he beat Billy’s mother.

“Fucking things up again?” Neil inquires, looking around at the dripping pipes, the dust on the windowsill. “You’re meant to be doing things with your life, Billy. Not fucking around with those idiot friends and this waste of time.”

Billy steels himself, no matter how much his throat burns. He sees his dad maybe twice a year for a weekend, and he knows exactly how to behave. He smiles at Max, he compliments Susan. He keeps everything tidy and does every chore before Neil can think to ask it of him. He dresses in more moderate clothes and talks about fake dates with imaginary girls. He doesn’t talk about Steve and Robin, he isn’t sarcastic or rude or loud, and he keeps out of Neil’s way. It’s an ordeal that has to be endured for two days twice a year. He survives. 

This isn’t Neil. But that doesn’t make Billy any less afraid.

“It’s for fun,” Billy says, immediately hating the tremble in his voice. “It’s just a hobby.”

“There are better hobbies,” Neil says immediately, every word like a gunshot. “Worthwhile hobbies. You play a sport, you learn a skill. What exactly does hanging around with the queer freaks and chasing ghosts get you? Hmm? Nothing.” Billy flinches, like he can feel the spit as Neil hisses the last word.

“They’re my friends,” Billy says defensively, because he’s not going to let this cruel parody of his father insult his friends. “And I don’t have to do everything because it’s worthwhile, because colleges will like it. Because it’s deemed worthwhile by you.”

The Neil creature stalks across the room so fast that Billy’s back hits the wall before he has a chance to think about it, his camera clattering to the ground. And oh God, he thought that this thing was a ghost but Neil has a forearm pressed against Billy’s neck before he has the time to react. He can see everything - the glint in Neil’s cold blue eyes, the lines around his mouth, every neatly trimmed hair in his mustache. Billy stifles a sob. He’s not a kid anymore. He’s bigger than Neil, stronger than Neil. He plays basketball and hockey, he bench presses and gets up to run every morning. He’s spent years trying to make sure that he can fight back.

He forgot about his heart. That’s the thing that still gives out on him. 

“I am your father, boy,” Neil says, voice raspy and low. “What have I told you about backtalk?”

Billy closes his eyes. This isn’t real. He doesn’t know how it’s happening but this isn’t real. 

“I'm real enough,” the monster says, mouth twisting in a smirk. And it’s just such a Neil smirk, the same one he used to do when he’d caught Billy in a lie, when he found makeup under Billy’s bed, the torn out pictures of basketball players. “And I still know that there's a whole lot of wrong in you, boy.” Billy sucks in a mouthful of air, because he half forgot to, because this is an old wound that refuses to heal over.

“Oh, yes, I know it,” Neil whispers, pressing down on Billy’s throat. It hurts but Billy’s had worse. “You think I wanted you for a son? Some make-up wearing fag? I’ve seen whores that dress less like sluts! You can push it down and play pretend but you can’t fool me.” 

“I see you four days out of the year, old man,” Billy says, through gritted teeth. Because that was the agreement, even though his mom cries every time one of those weekends comes around. Even though that was the price they paid to be free of Neil. Four days for Billy to play at the picture perfect family. A completely normal son, who likes women and watches sports and has different friends. Billy got used to the fact that Neil didn’t want him as he is a long time ago. “I’m amazed that you notice fucking anything about me.”

Billy’s head connects with the wall as Neil grabs hold of his shirt and yanks him forward, just to whip him back. Billy bites down on the cry that forms in his throat.

“I know a hell of a lot,” Neil purrs. There’s something inhuman about the way he tilts his head, how his eyes are more pupil than iris. “I know what you feel when you let boys touch you. And how you still can’t quite badmouth me to all your friends. And I know about all those dark little thoughts that run through your pretty little head late at night. Do you think that they know?” His eyes flick up coyly to the ceiling, to where several stories above, Steve and Robin are wandering around. Alone. Unprepared.

“Leave them out of this!” Billy says furiously. Neil hums thoughtfully, his fingers tightening in Billy’s shirt.

“Nah, they’ve got their own problems. Maybe not so much the girl. Not a lot that she pushes down. Your friend, Steve, though…” Neil whistles sharply, shaking his head, like Steve is a lost cause. “That boy has it as bad as you. Repression out of the wazoo.”

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Billy bites out, suddenly even more afraid than he’d been before. He stares into the thing’s eyes, because this is just something pushing his buttons and that’s almost a better monster than Neil. And it’s also threatening Steve. 

“You’re in my house,” the thing says, dipping its head low to Billy’s ear. The breath that drifts across Billy’s cheek is cold and rank and Billy squirms. “You hear that a lot, don’t you? My house, my rules.”

“Get fucked,” Billy spits, and the thing grins, mouth splitting open just a little too wide. There’s something behind Neil’s eyes now, some flicker of a sickly bright yellow, with the gleam of a hunter’s eyes catching the light.

“I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have,” it promises, running a tongue over its bottom lip. Billy watches, sickened, as the tongue extends far longer than any normal human’s should, a little too red and a little too pointed. “And I’m not alone in here. Get out, if you think you can.”

It releases Billy and it’s so unexpected that his legs give way beneath him. He slides to the floor, coughing slightly now that the pressure on his throat has eased. When he looks up, the room is empty, whatever was wearing his dad’s face has vanished. Billy doesn’t stick around to find out if it’s coming back.

He books it to the staircase before he tugs his walkie from his belt. He can’t go racing all over this mansion to find Steve and Robin. He needs to get his friends and get out of here. If they happen to throw gasoline and a lit match on the house as they go, Hawkins is probably better off for it.

“Steve!” he barks, worry rising like a rush of bile in his throat. If he’s seen his worst nightmare, what the hell appeared to them?

The darkness of the basement looms behind him, feeling more like a shroud than before. Billy nervously takes a few more steps up, like a man watching the floodwater roll in.

“Steve, Ro, I’m not fucking around,” he says sharply, real terror beginning to set in. His friends are capable but the element of surprise can be a real fuck up. Even Steve might not manage against a fight he’s not expecting. 

“Someone answer the fucking walkie!” Billy shrieks, slapping a hand against the wall.

Steve’s voice when it comes through is the sweetest sound that he could have imagined.

“Thank fuck, Steve,” he snaps, relief settling over his body and, as usual, coming out with rough edges. Aside from his mom, his friends are the only thing like family that he’s got. He’d sooner die than lose them.  “I’ve been out of my mind. Shit’s weird down here. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, after a beat. He sounds rough, a strange tone to his voice. “I’m okay.”

“Jesus,” Billy mutters, because Steve sounds like shit. He begins to climb the stairs, two or three at a time. One down, one to go. “I’m coming up. Is Ro with you?”

“What?” Steve’s voice sounds confused, and then worry starts to seep in. “No, she’s not with me.” Billy reaches the top and pushes through the basement door, hurriedly kicking it shut behind him. Fuck his stuff, he’s not fucking going in there again. He’s getting the others and getting the hell out of here.

“Then where the hell is she?” he asks in frustration, and sets off down the hall to find Steve.

Onto chapter 4

[meownotgood]

THAT'S 60,000 WORDS LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOO!!

[nihiltism]

I know I've infodumped this before but not as its own post so let's go. what I'd do if I was in charge of making a live a live anime. I am ignoring the fact that I desperately want it to be a musical because that's not going to happen so ask me about my Separate thoughts about what I'd do if I was in charge of making a The Day The Night Slept The Album-ening of live a live.

ok so my Basic Idea is I'd let the show have a 13 episode (maybe 14? does that happen?) first season. I assume each of the first 7 chapters would need about 2 episodes, but I can see some that end in one like wild west or Definitely present day. I could also see some taking longer though, like distant future and near future. it'd even itself out I think to average to 2 episodes each.

it'd be an anthology series basically. a bunch of non-connected stories, but tied together by one key point. a narrator. see I have a Framing Device idea here and it's that we know odio from the very beginning, but never see his face or know who he is. this is very inspired by princess tutu here but here the stories are actively being Read by somebody outside of it, and occasionally he takes the reins to bend the retelling a bit, likely in the chapter boss' favor. note that while the anime is actually Playing and showing the characters, if the narrator does decide to kick in the characters will likely not be doing what he says they are, and they Definitely cannot hear him. it's an unreliable narrator story, but to the point where it's pretty easy to tell that he's biased. in practice how this probably would go would be like in princess tutu, occasionally when a character reaches a point that justifies his own philosophy in some way he'll cut in and monologue about The Nature Of Man Bringing Only Tragedy or whatever the fuck. also maybe cutting in to give the chapter villains some sympathy for the devil, maybe at the end to close each story out as he turns the last page? I dunno I don't want to be Too obvious but like. odio does sound pretty damn evil by default so maybe it'd be obvious anyway.

anyway! that's season one. anthology of short stories. on the final episode I'd leave it hanging on him picking up one last book or something, but I'd let that be told in either a short season (again, do these happen?) or a movie ??? anyway that would start out with the middle ages chapter, which I don't think will have any narration? I'm iffy on this? it'd be cool to see his retrospective thoughts on his own story but also, that's a bit heavy-handed, I'm not sure. anyway the thing is that around the end, when oersted breaks into his soliloquy at the archons roost. there I think we'd get a sort of cut-in, as halfway through our narrator starts reading it out himself. shut book camera pan Blonde Man Jumpscare I think that's the best way to go about the "oh shit the villain is the protag of that story" reveal. also it'd be fun. anyway that'd be either the beginning chunk or the first two? episodes?

from here I'm not Exactly sure how to frame it because all of the endings are Very important, but also kind of. happen at the same time? I do not know how to do this. the easy way would just be to have it remain anthology-ish, and have say the boss rush version of the dominion of hate be one story while the rest is another, but I don't think that fits into the framing device well. mm?? I have no idea. I think we're good without the bad ending of the dominion of hate happening as long as the "if you kill this dude you'll end up just as fucked as him" message gets conveyed in some way or another but I don't think we can skip the whole other version of the DoH.

maybe we can play it less as Actually Happening and more a what if scenario?? more odio just. Fucking Talking Alone Again about what Could be if not for Man's Folly^tm. I think that'd get the point across, be a good intro for the rest of the dominion of hate and stay in universe but it would Not have the added bonus of "ok you kicked around a bunch of jrpg protagonists now what. did that make you feel any better" unless we tried to hammer that home in a different way. and oh boy do I not have a single idea what to do with the armageddon ending. maybe instead just have him mention how if he and the other odios were Still denied he'd have the page burnt entirely or something. maybe at the end. shrugs. there's not a ton I can do here.

eh. anyway the actual dominion of hate would likely be more based in the protagonists than anything, likely picking a main character (Probably Akira) and not having a Narrator as much as just being in the mc's head from time to time. though I Do like the idea of odio still being there Attempting to nudge the protags and them being actually able to hear him this time, it'd have to be used infrequently. or not at all. there is a certain merit to them not knowing anything about him until getting to the archons roost but Us knowing a lot. I dunno. anyway I think this adaptation would have a lot more interactions between the protagonists (desperately needed) and I think that'd take up most of the runtime there, we can incorporate the trials if we want to (trial of heart is necessary to be sure but the rest really aren't, so it can be a good dungeon for the whole team to go through and have some more plot-motivated character moments) but I think Getting The Band Together might already take a good amount of time if we don't rush past good chances for character building or interaction. I want it to feel like the mcs Do actually start to be a team that is the thing I have the Most problems with about the game, though in doing so that will mean we're gonna have to do away with the 4 character party thing unless we want to have them split up sometimes. that's details. the point is that it's going to be All the mcs together most of the time and hopefully it doesn't feel crowded.

anyway from there it kind of goes as expected, except with the aforementioned (we don't need to have the bad ending be its own thing but we do need to mention the consequences). maybe somebody of the team Does try to grant oersteds wish before being held back or something. for similarities reasons I say oboro but this can be wiggled. anyway I also think around the actual Ending ending you'd get more than just one monologue from the mcs, you'd probably get more of like. an actual Conversation I guess? the mcs building off of each other's points to oersted? I dunno I'm spitballing here I do think it would Start Off with akira's ending though and then somebody scruffs him and continues off from there. I dunno the important thing is that everybody should get a word in or perhaps a hug in in the case of pogo. I think that's it though? I probably won't return to the plot device to show like another book being closed or whatever that is purely A Plot Device so it'd be weird to have it come back after oersted was Thoroughly Dead. I will say though if the live a live anime has an ED it's gotta have sin of odio in the A that's the law.

[tteokdoroki]

✎ᝰ. OCT 1ST ★ BONDAGE - satoru gojo .ᐟ

[CHAPTER ONE RAPUNZEL] satoru gojo as flynn rider + bondage. once upon a time, a girl trapped in a tower with nothing but her extremely lavish, long hair as company decides…fuck it and sleeps with a handsome stranger to get what she wants ( 9.1K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, rapunzel!au, strangers to lovers, role reversal & switching, orgasm control, sensory deprivation, edging, thigh riding, spit kink, outer-course, begging, handjobs (m!recieving), reader's hair has blonde streaks but colour remains ambigous, rapunzel + fem!reader, flynn rider!satoru gojo.

✧ fairy godmother's note - yippieee!! kickstarting spooky season with this hefty boy. we have our glorious blue eyed king welcoming you all to our fourth annual tteokdoroki kinktober - i hope you all like what's planned this year and enjoy this piece to start with !! kissies hehe <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

“you’re going to take me to see the floating lights. or else.” 

“or else, what, honey?” 

ever since satoru gojo climbed the wooden lattice sewn to your tower by blooming, overgrown weeds and winding vines effectively invading the safest space in the world ( according to mother ), he’s been a pain in your fucking ass. when he’d first arrived, a towering and unfamiliar figure creeping about the main floor — your heart had dropped to the base of your stomach, pulsing rapidly with fear while he scoped the scene. you’d never come across a man before, mother had made sure of that, warning you of their cruelty and ugliness both inside and out. except satoru looked nothing like the descriptions your mother had left you with, you’d say that the man was stunning. not that you had much to compare him to.

his hair was a crisp white, appearing soft to the touch much like the snowfall that came in the winter months (something about playing in it. contrastingly, his eyes were a beautiful shade of baby blue — eerily similar to that of a summer sky free of cloudiness. he was too good looking to be human, for it to be natural, almost as if satoru had strolled straight out of one of the many fairytale books mother purchased for you from the markets. although, over the years you’ve probably read each book cover to cover a million times and not one fictional prince could even match this stranger’s sheer beauty.

though for now, this handsome stranger’s looks would get him nowhere with you. strangers always came with dangers, and since all you’d known throughout your years of living were these four walls, you weren’t going to take any chances with satoru and whatever problems he’d have brought with him.  initially and out of an unfamiliar fear, you’d  taken the nearest weapon to you (a frying pan) and cracked it right over his skull — watching the hunk of a human collapse to his knees and eventually black right out. if mother were around, she would have been proud. you’d tried not to feel any guilt trying to stuff his limp, lengthy limbs in your closet or under your bed because… well, what business does this stranger have with you? what the fuck is a man doing here? how did he get here? why is he here? 

your whole life you’ve been convinced that the outside word was treacherous and that you had to stay inside, where it was safe, because people were horrible and selfish — intent on hunting you down for the powers that lay intertwined in the coils of your hair. those specific streaks that glow a valuable gold between the usual  colour of your locks whenever you sang. mother would style them the way you liked every night — so long as you sung for her. you weren’t about to let mother down, nor risk the little life you built here together.

but, as it turns out, satoru wasn’t looking for the magic sprouting from your crown and entangled in your hair. it almost seemed like he had no idea about them either. rather, the moonlit haired man was looking for a place to lay low and hide after being chased through the forest for his satchel that seemingly carries something valuable. a crown… jewels that have a weight familiar to your head and sparkle like something you’ve seen before in a distant memory. 

“come to think of it, honey, where is my satchel?” cocking his head to the side, sky blue eyes peer up at you with a charm that sends a foreign swarm of butterflies ripping through your stomach.

you frown, accusingly pointing your weapon of choice at gojo’s head and puffing out your chest to appear as intimidating as possible while giving him your name. “i’ve hidden it in a secure location—“ 

“it’s in that pot…isn’t it?” 

as best as he can in the handcuffs he can call locks of your hair, the tower’s newfound infiltrator gestures towards a colourful pot in the corner of tne room. what? all you could think of in the moment is restraining him against the chair and why waste perfectly good rope when you’ve got such length to your own hair? the pot was the closest spot too.you knock him out swiftly after his guess, not giving gojo the satisfaction of finding his precious purse.

now, with the satchel hidden once more, satoru gojo semi-concussed and conscious once again — you realise that for the first time in your life, you have some kind of leverage to bargain with. you need someone to take you to see the floating lights that illuminate the sky on your birthday, every year. satoru needs his… crown? that so obviously doesn’t belong to him. of course, he would have stolen it, mother always said men were no good and always take what isn’t theirs (oh the irony). nonetheless, it  was the perfect match of desires.

this way, you could prove to mother that you weren’t weak like she said you were. that you could cope by yourself and go explore the outside world. it wouldn’t be how it usually is with mother — where you ask for something and instantly get denied because she believes you to be too naive to function in a world outside of her. not this time. this time you have a bargaining chip. a satchel containing a valuable so rare that satoru was willing to risk his life for.

your captive wriggles against the restraints of your hair, woven around the chair like tough knots of a rope to keep him at bay. while the silver haired fox may not have canines like your mother suggested, you have no idea how powerful he could be. contrastingly, gojo finds your hair to be soft against his skin, ticklish along the veins of his arms despite how secure it has him strapped down. he’s forced to listen and to follow your every move across the floor plan, guided by the strength of your hair tugging him about.

“i have a proposition for you. come, look.” drawing back a curtain to reveal a painting from earlier — you recite your plan to your intruder. tomorrow evening, he will take you to see the floating lights … ahem…lanterns that drift across the sky on your birthday every year and then, return you safely to the tower before mother returns. it’s an easy deal.  “i won’t give your satchel back until then,” you stutter out fiercely, adjusting your height and the grip you have on the cool metal frying pan. “you won’t get it back until you’ve taken me to see the lights.” 

“oh whatever, i can just take it back, honey,” satoru goads, cockily ripping his head back in patronising laughter. even though the melodious sound makes irritation bubble hot underneath your skin, you can’t help the way your eyes are immediately drawn to the man’s Adam’s apple as it bobs delectably along with his chuckles. “as soon as i get out of this…hair? hair.” pale blue eyes flicker up to your face when gojo fixes himself in the seat he’s fixed to. they bore deeply into your soul, reading you with as much ease as you have flicking through the same three books that you own. you feel the weight of your hair shift around satoru’s shoulders as he gestures down to it nearly wrapped around his bulging forearms (not that you’d been paying attention). “this is kinda freaky, hon. don’cha think?” a slow sexy smirk tugs at the corners of gojo’s plush, glossy lips, or rather, he smoulders attempting to woo you into giving him what he wants. “you don’t seem like the freaky type, sweetheart.”

once more, a frustrated flame flares up in the middle of your chest — you’d feel offended for sure if you know what gojo meant. “freaky?” 

“as in like… dubious?” he grins in response, running the pink tip of his tongue over his straight, perfectly white teeth. “this is basically bondage, yanno?”

you blink once. confused.

“improper?” 

nothing, not one of these synonyms or explanations from the smiling idiot makes any more sense to you — bringing you to tilt your head to the side, innocently like a puppy that makes satoru laugh once more. this time it actually does something to you. sends weird butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

with a shake of snow white locks and an inhale that sounds amused as it goes, your hostage clicks his tongue — letting those cooling blue eyes slink up and down your virtuous frame . the swell of his lower lip trapped between pretty perfect teeth. “as in sexy, sweet thing.” satoru’s sickly sweet and powdered sugar coo slips through one ear and out of the other like hot, viscous molasses, you immediately shudder — flustered down to the meat on your bones, curling in on yourself as your faux intimidation tactics melt from your body and slip between the floorboards beneath your bare feet. “gosh! you’re so innocent,” his gaze rips away from you, and you fight back an unexpected whimper, missing the intruder’s gaze on you. “guess that’s what being trapped in a place like this does to a darlin’ thing like you. you wouldn’t last a day out there.” 

he’s patronising you. speaking to you as though you’re no more than a child. however, being talked over and down on is all you’ve ever known, especially from your mother… but the way he acts reminds you of all of the advice she’s bestowed upon you over the years. mother tells you all the time, how naive and silly you are. how people will try and take advantage of your looks and your kindness. and so you decide to use your mother’s advice — if all humans, act like dogs, you’ll throw one a bone and wait for them to come back for more. 

steeling yourself, you use a loop of your hair to drag gojo’s chair toward you — positioning him like a puppet beneath your cold, hard stare. he man spreads on the chair as best as he can in his restraints, leaning back while his seat tilts backwards on a forty-five degree angle — drawing your eyes from his face to his thick thighs momentarily. “you are going to take me to see the lights. it’s a promise, not a threat,” you whisper into the air that buzzes with tension between you both, leaning down and pinning gojo in place. you’re so close, so little proximity between your faces, that you can practically feel his warm breath lingering on the damp skin of your lips. “and i promise, i’ll make this worth your while.” 

your voice lowers an octave, smooth and buttery and just right. like a snare for a wild white rabbit or bait on a hook — it peaks satoru’s interest, illicit thoughts and desires flashing behind his pupils like lightbulb ideas. “oh, honey. i can make you see stars alright,” he looks up at you then, with an expression of heat and thirst, dragging you into a pool of shining blue eyes that you barely manage to free yourself from. drowning in his attention once more. you stand over him proudly, between his legs smugly and all he wants to do is wipe the winning smile from your face and show you a real good time. 

if he could, gojo would reach up and grab at your hips possessively, if he could he’d cup your neck and let his fingers toy with your baby hairs to pull you into a sloppy kiss. he can’t help the way white hot desire spreads through his system like throwing gasoline on an open fire and pile of wood. he grins mischievously, and in response, a brand new sensation stirs within your lower tummy — blistering hot as it zips between your chest and your core.

you sense the change in the atmosphere and gojo does too. both of you dying to scratch the itch on the part of your brain that is the control centre for lust. but you remind yourself what this is truly about, tell yourself not to get lost in the haze of it all, and will yourself to throw a loop of your hair over daring blue eyes like a blindfold — acting fast to secure a seat in an unsuspecting satoru gojo’s vacant lap.

he grunts in surprise, flinches when he realises one out of five of his senses are down. “what the fuck—?” gojo spits, cocky smirk melting away. 

“shhh,” you taunt the man under your breath, leaning forward so that your voice coasts over the shell of his ear like a summery breeze. it invokes a sense of pride within your chest when your hostage tilts his head to follow your voice — his own breathing erratic and increasingly shallow with how he begins to struggle against your restraint on him. “you won’t get a chance to make me see those lights. not if i get you to see them first.” 

in truth, you've got nothing planned. you’ve never been in the same room as a man, let alone pleasure them the way that you’ve read in books you’d borrowed from your mother. 

the reality of the scene before you is daunting, giving up part of your virtue just to prove a point and get to see the floating lights like you’ve always wanted…but at the same time — it’s your one chance at freedom that’s at stake here. “you don’t sound so sure about that, sweetheart,” satoru taunts you with the peaks in his voice coltishly high. he continues to wrestle against the restraints of your hair — he’s strong and with a little more force he could escape but it’s like he senses your hesitancy. 

like he knows for certain you won’t make good on your promise. just like mother. 

that much is evident in the way his smooth, glossy lips tick upwards into an arrogant smirk. 

your determination to prove him wrong grows more and more by the second, so before you succumb to your nerves again, you let your free hand claw with way over gojo’s right shoulder — steadying him, forcing him to sit still as you make a comfortable seat out of his widespread lap. he tenses at first, unable to see you move, but his grin remains, you have no idea if it’s because he’s proud of you or doubting you — but the expression only serves to piss you off even more.

“what’s next, sweetheart?” 

a strangled growl is your only reply, the most menacing sound you can muster as you lift head upwards and his pool of loose silver-moon locks fall out of place. with a shuddering breath and a hold of gojo’s restraints, you press your lips to his in a shaky kiss — still unsure of where your lips go and what to do with your teeth and how to move your tongue. the captive beneath you knows it and takes advantage of your weakness, nipping at the swell of your lower lip gently — hardly enough to draw blood. satoru is testing you, telling you to be brave and take from him. prove to him that you’re willing to do whatever you want for him to make your silly childhood dream come true.

he allows you to fight back, despite this being your idea, lets you forcefully grab his angular jaw and capture him in a proper spit-swapping kiss. if he really wanted to, he’d find a way to escape from the tight bounds of your lengthy hair. but he doesn’t. gojo lets you swallow him down; push your tongue exploratively into his mouth and lap at his foreign flavour. he wants your tongue to take dominance from his, pink appendages sloppily rolling over one another, slipping and sliding as you take and take from satoru.

the kiss, already uncoordinated from your lack of experience, becomes hurried and hungry and wet the more you steal from satoru. you take and take and take until his glass his half full and his brain slowly becomes devoid of all logical thought. he comes the prey to your predatory mouth, missing the way your hand frees his pale cheek and fingers fluidly traverse down his broad shoulders, over his marble sculpted body to find purchase in the belt loops of his bothersome pants. now curious, you feel your way down the front of the fabric and grin into the hot and heavy kiss when satoru’s lets out a breathy, staggered moan into your open mouth. 

his swelling erection twitches in response to your inquisitive hand, slender hips involuntarily jumping upwards.

“fuuuck,” satoru chuckles airily, words featherlight as they breeze along your lips. his head keens upwards too, chasing the weight of your hot sticky tongue in his mouth — desperate to be closer, craving the feeling of your nose knocking against his and your breath on his cheek from just how pressed up against each other you are. “fuck baby that’s it. kiss me more, touch me harder…” he’s addicted before he even knows what you have to offer, what he’s getting himself into. if you could see his eyes from under his binding, you’d bare witness to pleading blue pools swirling with a painful desire as he twitches beneath you, wriggling his wrists to get free. “c’mon, touch me.” he adds between sloppy pecks.

backing your face out of satoru’s reach, you break the drooly lip lock — letting your lungs fill with oxygen it had once missed, while your heaving chest syncs up with the intruder you have strapped  to a chair. you pull away, connected to the man by not just your hair, but a string of saliva glazed across your lips — cautiously, your tongue dart out to break the the between your eager mouths, two sets of uneven panting filling the quiet air. 

the two of you remain unmoving and unwilling to back down while you catch your breath; but your hand remains in the centre of gojo’s lap — rocking it back and forth, back and forth over his growing bulge. you stare at him, observing the reactions that he tries so hard to control. little twitches to his pink swollen lips and the flare of his nostrils whenever your palm makes contact with a sensitive spot. all this waiting is agony, the white haired captive might die if he doesn’t get more from you soon. 

satoru whines impatiently as a result, knowing full well what you want and you won’t ask him again — not when you’re tauntingly squeezing his cock for a second, third, fourth, fifth time. he doesn’t fucking know — overwhelmed by waves of lust-infested blood rushes to its blistering hot tip. “fuck! okay, okay fine. i’ll take you! just—“ the chair rattles from the force of gojo’s struggle against your restraints, which hardly covers the low moan that escapes from between his plush glossy lips while his length pulses against the inside of his pants. “just fuck me. touch me. anything.”

something about his tone being all desperate and high activates a part of you that you never even knew existed. a part of you that knows what to do next… even if you haven’t acted it out, you’ve enough books to remember what the erotic ones say.

only then, after he pleads, do you use your shaky hands to tug down the garment — pulling them towards his knees as best as you can against your hair until the button pops free. the zipper follows easily and the waistband falls away from starlight skin and slender hips. everything gets hotter; any fresh air between your bodies becoming tinged with the need for sex as the scorching ghost of your fingertips leaves burn marks against satoru’s pelvis, and sends heatwaves of ardour from the base of his spine to the top of his skull.

satoru’s squirming pauses while he waits with uneven breathing for your next move — tongue pressing up against the barricade of his white teeth to prevent himself from taunting you further or perhaps to stop himself from belting out another pathetic set of whimpers. he wishes he could see you, those sweet innocent eyes looking down at him as you peel back the last layer of fabric stopping you from accessing his painfully hard erection. his underwear. 

when you gasp in shock, pride weaves itself between the bones that protect his heart and lungs like an uninvited weed, he knows that he’s decent. longer than he is thick, bright red at his mushroomed tip and leaky from just how turned on he is. there’s a trail of silver moon hair that leads you down a path from his belly button to the thickest part of his dick too. but oh, how satoru gojo wishes he could see.. the way you lick your lips as drool drowns your tongue, mouth watering at the sight of his length slapping against his clothed stomach while he manspreads for you. the way your pupils dilate, the colour in your eyes swallowed by a dark veil of carnality. 

this is a hunger you’ve never experienced before, a type of starvation that makes your hand lurch forward before your brain can control it, gripping satoru at the base of his milky, slender shaft. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a cock; let alone held one between your tiny fingers — it’s much warmer than you anticipated, tacky to the touch from dribbles of precum running down from his untouched tip, but you like it. the weight, the wet sound it makes when you slightly flick your wrist around satoru. not to mention the stuttered groan he lets out, his head falling against the support of the chair and yanking slightly on the blindfold made of hair that covers his eyes.

if you weren’t sitting in his lap, you’d want him in your drooling mouth. you’d sink down to your knees like the girls in your naughty books and take him down your virgin throat, just so you could look up at satoru and watch the sweat bead down his jawline and run a track over his bobbing adam’s apple. but you’re not and you’ve got a point to prove, so you loop your hair around your other wrist to tighten his restraints and extend a thumb upward from his base to his seedy tip, jamming the pad of it through the slit where he pre forms in thick, creamy pearls. as white as those that come from an oyster.

“that’s it gorgeous, just like that…” satoru leers up at you huskily, voice tinged with neediness that he fails to mask. he seems to like the way you touch him and you’re sure to use a delicate hand when you smooth the supple pad of your thumb over the pad of his sensitive tip, rubbing his opaque precum into it sweetly. “touch me s’more? you can do it… i know you’re shy, can hear your breathing ‘n how heavy it is. shit, you’re new at this.” saliva slows down satoru’s salacious words as he rambles to you with swollen lips and rosy cheeks, angling his head in whatever direction your breath seems to be coming from. 

he’s in tatters, destroyed by a few simple touches with his hard on smearing white across the front of his clothes. you roll your palm over his mushroomed cockhead next to test the waters and take pleasure in admiring the way he trembles, grasping at the arms of the chair you have him strapped to in order to ground himself. it’s torture for satoru to be this patient, killing him slowly from the inside out like a virus spreading across his brain and other vital organs — but it doesn’t mean you’re in any better state. practically dripping in his lap with your panties dampening more and more every time satoru so much as whimpers. past the point of being turned on by the sight of a strong, powerful man weak and blindfolded underneath you.

satoru bucks upward at your command, sucking in a breath as his sensitive, seedy slit bumps your palm once more. “s-shit… please.”

the improper ness of the entire situation sends a zap of electricity to your swelling clit. you’ve only ever imagined being with someone like this as you have seeing the floating lights — touching yourself beneath your skirts and under your painted ceilings whenever you were brave enough. now you’re here, spread over the thick thighs of a possible thief who begs you to jerk him off. “s-shut up,” you hiss as embarrassment and  inexperience begins to shine through the deal you’ve struck with gojo, the fact that he can tell as much and still wants this has you soaked all the way through and aching for friction as well. 

you’ve never been in possession of so much power in your life. mother never let you have it. but right now, you can taste it sparking between you and gojo, smell it in the air teeming mixed with a cocktail of your arousals. in the moment you realise that the silver haired man would cling onto every one of your sugar-coated words (no matter how nervous) if it meant he got the fuck he wanted in the end. and you would get to see your lights too.

“just… tell me what to do,” you say without realising how husky your own voice has gotten. “i promised you your crown, to make you feel good if you took me to see the lights. and i never go back on a promise. s-so tell me.” talking yourself into it and building up some more confidence, you circle over satoru’s bulbous cockhead again — gaze laser focused on the burning bright red colour as it oozes. you know that he likes it and it makes his head spin so much that he starts to fight against the restraint of your hair again. “i won’t let you go, not until this is over. so tell me what i can do to make you cum.” 

despite not being able to see his entire face, gojo’s smug smile says it all — his perfect teeth cheerily on display, contrasting with the flustered pink tint to his cheeks. “cup it, make a fist around my cock so you can jerk me off’a little bit,” a haughty moan scratches at the walls of your captive’s throat when you follow his guidance and finally grip him fully, soft and supple hands easily dwarfed by the size of him. satoru’s shaft may be a little thinner, but he’s thick enough to fill your own throat and cause a stretch to your quivering hole with his balls being round, plump and full of white hot seed saved up just for you. “christ, squeeze my base a lil’ before you get movin’,” at first contact, satoru’s thighs tremble deliciously against your mound, blood rushing to your clit and through the forked veins that spiral down his length. 

your senses are overwhelmed, he smells so good — of peppermint and a musky twang of sex act like dangerous smelling salts or fumes. you could get addicted if you weren’t careful. you’re super aware of each ridge and firm vein that decorates him and as you start to palm satoru steadily, you notice just how sticky your hand is — movements guided by the wet cream of his cock. slipping and sliding as your closed fist moves up and down, up and down, occasionally squeezing the base of him just like he asked. your knuckles brushing the soft bush of pubic hair at his pelvis. you can only imagine how everything feels for him, not being able to see at all.

the thought just barely crosses your mind — too focused on speeding up your soiled hand around gojo just to hear more of his angelic gripes and groans that rise and fall from his heaving chest. how good all of this must feel for the man without being able to see. every touch must make him tick and drip and throb achingly. he must feel weak too, completely vulnerable to anything you might do to him while blindfolded and unable to touch you because of bonds formed by your hair. 

once you set a steady rhythm to your closed fist to jerk him off with, gojo takes a breather to announce his next command — head shaking side to side with moonlight locks sticking to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the inferno of desire spreading through of his limbs. “now spit on it,” he states bluntly, an obvious dip to the octave in his voice. you can’t possibly imagine why he’d need spit; your hand is already glossed with a shiny layer of precum, tainting your knuckles from the viscosity. 

you swallow thickly, but don’t dare stop pleasuring your captive stranger. “w-what?” 

“are you kidding me just—“ leaning forward as best as he can while held back by the strong locks of your hair, like rope around his wrists. dopamine crackles over your brain like fireworks in an enclosed space at the scene that unfolds next, satoru pursing his lips to spit onto his own milky dick — letting the frothy mix from mouth join the mess that lubes the both of you up where connected. “just spit on it, honey. thought you wanted me to feel it.”  

licking your lips, you rub down satoru’s girth far enough to drag the glob of spit down to his tender weighty balls, that pulse at your gentle touch. the feeling makes satoru’s entire body jolt like an electric shock — a gargled groan clambering out from the depths of his panting chest as his jaw goes slack and mouth falls open. “please. please spit on it, honey. god please.. need you to wet my cock. i need it so bad, promise i’ll be fucking good.” blind but with his remaining senses in tact, gojo remains largely vulnerable to your touch, his entire world tilting on one axis when you grip his dick a little harder at his request. causing a ring of white to gather where the circle of your wrist envelopes him.

at his begging. which you swear makes you gush like a small, erotic stream — your juices sloshing about in the gusset of your panties while your sex goes unattended.

so you nod obediently, tilting your head forward and parting your swollen lips to let a thick, syrupy string of your own spit ooze onto his plump and sore balls, stroking him rapidly to spread it over his creamy tip as well. your spit is contrastingly cool in comparison to the natural lubricant smeared all over your captive’s palpitating dick — causing it to grow impossibly harder. it slickens up your hand, evidence of the silver haired man’s arousal seeping through the fabric of his crumpled shirt and coils of your restrictive hair. neither of you can bring yourselves to care in the moment — all you can think to do is relish in gojo’s size.

he’s so big, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wondered how satoru fit entirely inside your tight hole, stretching you out in the new future — earning yourself a fresh wave of liquid lava hot essence to your ruined panties. you dare to dream onwards, picturing the azure eyed stranger fucking you against the walls of the tower in every way the man knew possible… you have no idea what he’s capable of when untied. but the sight of him lazily thrusting into your filthied fist like it’s instinct, following it like a moth to a candle flame, is enough dream fuel to last you a lifetime. even after the deal is complete and the lights are just a distant memory. 

eventually, you decide to pull off of satoru to give your wrist a break — walking your fingers up the broad expanse of his built chest to tweak his nipples between your tingling bodies. his entire frame is wracked with a case of shivers, mouth parting in a high-pitched, whiny whimper with strings of saliva connecting its roof to his tongue. you’re so pathetically turned on, drool pooling on your tongue like a hot flash flood. 

it’s why you tighten your grip on your hair and thus his restraints, resulting in satoru staggering forward. closer, panting like a damn dog in rut. drawing your free hand up towards your lips and away from his pecs, the proximity between you becomes so little that satoru can practically smell the musky evidence of sex that you lick from your hand. “oh… you taste so good,” you lament in a dulcet tone, failing to miss the way gojo’s dangerous azure eyes dart about beneath his makeshift blindfold, probably dying to see you get a taste of him.

“d-don’t say that, you’ll make me fuckin’ cum, honey.” he gulps, involuntarily pumping his hips into the air, chasing your hand which he needs so desperately to feel good. “please don’t stop.” while begging you — satoru is the perfect picture of a ruined man, though you’re sure he would say the same about you if you hadn’t strapped your hair over his line of vision. his milky skin glistens as though it’s the very source of light for the silvery moon — illuminated by droplets of sweat from the exertion off fucking your fist like a squelching, welcoming pussy. his cheeks glow warmly with a dusty shade of pink and there’s a red ring forming around his lips from where he’s bitten them to control his wails of ecstasy.

succumbing to the obscenity of it all,  you reach forward and lick a stripe into his hellfire hot mouth. effectively sharing the saltine flavour of gojo’s own precum with him while he languidly sucks all the tang from your pink appendage. his angel white lashes flutter shut at the heaviness of your tongue against his own. the kiss is messy and mismatched, saliva seeps from the corners of your mouth and drags a sticky train down your chin. parting briefly, you spit it into the middle of your palm — happily taking satoru’s cock back into your talented hold and providing a solace to soothe its passionate ache. 

“ngh… i can feel you. f-fuck. feel you tryin’ not to grind against me, sweetheart.” somehow, gojo finds pockets of air to taunt you in — his voice an arousing mix of a raspy whine and cocky tone. “so wet, i can smell you too. so sweet. dripping all over your panties while you jerk me off. do you need that needy pussy taken care of?”

everything he’s said is true, while the man with the sweaty silver locks fought to escape the prison of your hair — desperate to see how you pleased him, you fought the growing pit in your stomach. the urge to use satoru for release. you’d never hit your peak with another person before, only your smaller-than-his fingers whenever mother left for more than a day or two. 

you admit to nothing, continuing to stroke satoru to his own high — his panted moans accompanied by the sound of skin slapping skin from your hand fisting him to the high heavens.  “please baby, i wanna help get you off. feel that wet little cunt. let me go, i’ll be so good to you if you let me touch your sweet c—“ 

“n-no! we had a deal. my rules.” you stutter, denying yourself. denying him.

“c’mon sweetheart,” a strained and petulant whine echoes throughout the tower — satoru thrusting shallowly through your closed hand in order to match his rhythm to the flick of your wrist. “please, god, baby. if you won’t let me touch you, or at least see you, then can you put that pretty pussy on my thigh? ride it real good? wanna know how you sound when you’re being pleasured…when you give into it all. please honey, give me somethin’ to work with. anythin’…”

gojo presses, like a disciple begging their god for mercy. begging you for mercy. there’s never been this much power in your reach, the ability to control a man who could easily over power you with your sex makes your mind feel egotistically weighty. your resolve crumbles just a tad, satoru’s neediness  chipping away at its foundation until your hips instinctively position themselves perfectly over the swell of his right thigh. how bad could it be? giving him an inch when you’ve taken a mile from him. mother says you’ve never been good at lying and right now, you can no longer pretend like your hips aren’t dying to slide back and forth over your capture like a desperate whore. 

like you don’t want to use him for more than just the floating lights, but to soothe the fire lit in your lower stomach — trailblazing down to your throbbing clit.

something clicks in your mind, all of your inhibitions are dashed from the tower as you briefly release satoru’s pathetically wet cock and restraints to pull up the skirts of your silk purple dress, exposing a slither of supple fat at your thighs. hurried movements deliver the same treatment to satoru’s pants. “this… this doesn’t change anything. doesn’t mean i’m letting you go just yet. it won’t affect our deal.” you warn the intruder but all sense of venom and authority is lost, evaporating into the temperate air and ending up as a piteous, meek mewl when your exposed mound makes first contact with man’s naked thigh.

if the sound of ruffling fabric hadn’t caught your hostage’s attention; the heat of your sopping sex against his moonlit skin definitely did. “fuck…that’s it. there we go, honey. put it on me,” a tinge of amusement lays evident in his gravelly voice, sets of slender digits peeking out of their hairy restraints to map out your doughy thighs and crawl their way up to the source of your essence. “i just knew you were wet for me, can feel how turned on you are.” as best as he can, gojo shifts until his knee is able to bump your clit — cooing in satisfaction when you ooze against him in response. you almost despise the way he laughs up at you condescendingly, as if he’s the one in control irregardless or the fact that you’re on top. 

maybe it’s the dopamine rush that makes your dynamic unclear — neither of you wanting to give up or take the lead. the lust fizzing in the cracks and crevices of your brain make you cute and pliant for gojo but hair woven over his body keeps him subdued and thirsty for you. 

like a gravitational pull, you buck downwards on the silver haired stranger’s toned thigh and smear the beginnings of your arousal all over him. you’ve barely been touched, oozing in viscous waves as you lose control over your body, rutting harder and faster. “watch your mouth.” you cry out, volume barely above a whisper, bottom lip trembling because it feels so good to use someone this way. 

resuming your hold on his dripping cock again as you rock your hips — you rearrange the loop of hair keeping gojo in place, covering his eyes just as your hair begins  to glow gold in time with your symphony of moans. “right, right, sorry. this doesn’t change things,” he flexes his thigh underneath your syrupy sex, strawberry tongue slipping out to wet his lips while your words fade away into a pretty little sigh. “but you wanna smack that messy clit all over my thigh, don’cha wanna make it creamy… even messier?” satoru all but jeers, the wisps of a smirk rising on the horizon of his lips now that your hips have formed their own rhythm over his leg.

they speed up their passionate dance on him, beads of glistening essence pearling between your two fat pussy lips. the slick smack of your naked cunt against his muscular thigh caused his dick to twitch in your hand — gojo thrusting up when you thrust down. he tilts his head down, catching a whiff of your heavenly scent in the air between you both. you hate that he’s right just as much as he hates not being able to see you and touch you properly — only catching glimpses of the golden light sparkling within your hair like a halo from underneath his makeshift blindfold.

you feel like you might be going insane, trapped underneath a non existent touch. like being pulled under waves of euphoria with aching lungs that don’t get enough air. near angelic screams of delight rip through the base of your throat contrast with the way you sinfully hump satoru and jerk him off to the point of his dick forming a creaminess in your hand. he bounces his thigh faster the higher you moan, rewarding you for all the hard work you put in to make this deal worth it.

“you’re no better… you’re filthy,” 

“that’s right honey, so dirty. all cause of you. messy with you, why won’t you let me see?”  the captive rambles, torn between fighting to break out of the bondage and listening to the lewd sticky noises your mound makes when gliding smoothly over his paled skin. satoru growls at how roughly your body moves above his own, face contorting lecherously, cheeks red and lips puffy — a mess from how long he’s been holding out for you. he’s a mess. it’s true. he won’t even deny it. “now fuckin’ stroke it baby, stroke me to the rhythm of your pussy bouncing up and down for me…please…” 

simpering slightly, gojo’s fingers twitch against the arm of the chair — itching to grab at your ass and slam you down against his shaky thigh. if you palm him more, grip him tighter… he can better imagine the warmth of your cunt if he got the chance to slip inside. for now, you oblige his request, pulling tighter on the bindings of your hair while you them use as leverage — throwing yourself down on satoru as the lewd pap of your drooling pussy fills the musky tower air. “that’s it honey, up ‘n down. uppp ‘n  down. keep goin’ just like that.” 

you don’t have the energy to chide him, jostling about in satoru’s lap with wet whimpers bubbling up on the seams of your lips. pleasure begins to twist nice and tightly in your tummy, scalding you from the inside out and burning any logical thought from your brain. head beginning to roll to the side, you think about fully submitting to your capture. letting go entirely — you’d be satisfied. you’d get to cum. your deal might fall through but at least you’d get to see a different kind of light. 

easily, you could just give up. it wouldn’t be hard to, not  when gojo firmly plants his feet into the tiled floor and the power from his hips has hip rutting upwards to chase your fleshlight-like fist. a beefy cry battles its way out of his broad chest, vibrating through you as his quivering thigh juts your pretty, syrupy cunt every time you lift off of him. 

it’s the perfect cycle; the ideal push and pull. you squeal in ecstasy, the hood of your clit dragged back so that your sensitive bundle of nerves is exposed to the blistering heat of satoru’s cool toned skin — taking you closer and closer to your high. streaks of your hair glow brighter than before, more intensely the louder you moan and just like they would if you were singing to help mother or while she brushed your hair. despite the strength in the light of your hair, everything else about you weakens, your grip on your hair, the pace of your hand as you palm satoru to the high heavens. you can’t think to care about any of it when you’re this close. 

if mother could see you now, you don’t think you’d mind if she was disappointed in you. 

but then you’re ripped away from the edge of cloud nine. satoru stops just short of the dam threatening to break. his thigh completely still with your juices splattering against him once your own hips come to a hault. a petulant howl echoes through the flower, frustrated tears stinging in your waterline as you feel your orgasm slip away from you cruelly. “what the fuck satoru?” 

“sorry honey….” he laughs heartily, a slight rasp coating each syllable from each word that leaves his mouth. “don’t think i like this deal very much. just ‘cause you feel good doesn’t mean you can forget about me,” gesturing to the way you gush on and stain his thigh, the captive with the silver moon hair shrugs. “you don’t get to cum or see the lights unless i get to see you.”

gojo’s been good so far, hardly challenging you this whole time and instead, goading you into a world of pleasure you would have never experienced under mother’s watchful eye. instead, he was content to have his cock touched and his name wailed a hundred different ways — he’d shown no indication of breaking your deal aside from this. so in turn, you halfheartedly let go of the loop of hair that kept his sapphire stained eyes away from the world and held his wrists down to the arms of his chair.  the restraints loosen just enough to please him and do what he needs to do. not enough to give him complete freedom. 

“fuck the deal.” you cast it all to the side, relentlessly resuming grinding all over gojo — pushing your hips back as far as his knee to smother your swollen pleasure against it.

this time, satoru is able witness the way your bambi doe eyes roll back into your emptying skull. 

with newfound motivation, the intruder begins quickly blinking away any darkness that caused a fuzz at the edge of his vision, gojo’s gaze immediately trickles down to your clenching hole, a treasure kept safe between your nectar glossed thighs; watching you ride him. “god, if i had my hands on you i’d rub that clit until you were squirting… i bet you’d like that, if i ruined that pussy. made her mine — you'd like that.” gojo’s stare returns to your eyes, flashing you his pearly whites through a condescending smile. his rushed and rambled teasing words make your creamy cunt wetter; body betraying you to violently shake above him. 

though you find strength to keep up your end of the bargain. you’d sworn to make satoru see stars, encapsulating his rigid, sloppy dick between your nimble fingers once more. you even spit on it, earning a haughty bleat from between the man’s pretty (yet chatty) mouth. his sturdy body seizes underneath your touch as you take a firmer grip on him, palming him faster and faster — seedy, hot precum webbing over your knuckles once more. that’s when you finally get to see it. how murky and dark your captive’s vibrant eyes grow, like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

the rapture that had once melted away from you like butter in a pan begins to blossom within you once again — willing you to beg for a chance at a real orgasm. “yes satoru! oh, yes please!” you squeak, short of breath and not entirely sure or what you’re even begging for. the golden light emitting from strands of your hair flare up again and your pussy throbs with an aching need to hit release. “please…”

a self congratulatory thread of cobalt lust weaves its way between the darkening midnight flecks in this eyes. “now look who’s begging,” clicking his tongue, gojo cocks his head to the side, relishing in his ability to finally look at you. drink in the way your chest bounces beneath the bodice of your lace orchid gown. it’s completely fucked, darkened by a crude mix of your arousals but it’s the most beautiful thing satoru has ever seen — only serving to rial him up even more… his own orgasm coming up over the hill. it burns at his internal organs, the lining of his stomach and the only way to alleviate this almost painful yet delectable twinge to his system is through you. “bet you’re only being nice ‘cause you’re close. well guess what? me too, be a good girl, honey, and cum for me.” he says, voice rising in both pitch and breathiness through his gritted teeth. 

he’s going to cum. 

and you’re too far gone to form a response with words just yet. you stop your own ministrations, payback for edging you earlier. his own cock dribbles pitifully as you rip his high away from him like pulling a rug from beneath his feet. gojo thrashes in his hair in response, azure eyes wild and almost wet with a sheen of tears — just as desperate to cum ad you are. “wh-what the fuck was that for?” he winges as though he’s a child on punishment, slender hips rising up to chase your soiled hand and perfect grip — shaft standing needily at attention. “honey…”

“you don’t get to cum until i get to cum. so either you work with me, satoru, or we’ll go all day.” you snap, slowly working your drenched cunt over the meat of his thigh once again, your puffy folds spread either side of it — squelching with the way you salaciously wind your hips all over him. 

satoru basks in the sight, tongue poking out tauntingly between his teeth as he decides to test the waters. “fine, but at least let me help,” he suggests, watching eagerly as you throw your head back in the purest form of pleasure and grind on him harder. it’s clear as day that you need just as much of a push to cum as he does and he plans on giving it to you in just one condition. “untie me.”

“deal.” chewing on your lower lip, you let more of your hair unwind your glowing hair from all points that keep gojo strapped to the chair. enough for more of his hands to escape. then, he’s on you within a flash, hot tongue swirling its way over your clothed bosom and biting at your peaked nipples while his hands shoot to the globes of your ass so that he can drag you in harsh circles across his lap. he’s ravenous, out of control, as if he’s been waiting for this moment the entire time. 

somewhere along the way, in one final burst of passion, your mouths find each other again — swapping streams of saliva as you lose yourselves to sex crazed minds teaming with lust hormones. with your lips smacking and bodies moving against each other in a delicious bump and grind — satoru forces a large hand between you both, fumbling against your cotton panties. the sound he lets out when he finally, finally gets his hands on your puffy clit is glutoral and animalistic, the simple touch sending a shock wave of electricity across every one of your synapses. dazing you for good. 

you bear witness to the silver haired stranger losing his mind, falling from grace like an angel with blackened wings. and for you, he does the same, commiting the sight of your glowing halo-like strands of hair to memory — the coils that shine brighter the more you sing and sin for him.

he can’t stop gabbling, gargling on the spit you pour into one another — followed by howls and screams of pleasure. “oh you like that, hm? i bet that feels so good… so sweet ‘n wet under my touch.” hot fingers belonging to satoru pick up the pace between your sticky folds, flicking your clit feverishly and writing his claim against your cunt at the same time that you jam a thumb into the tricking slit of his dirty red cockhead. the pair of you jolt in one another’s arms, taking one too many steps towards the edge of cloud nine before you’re even ready for you.  

“oh sweetheart, listen to you, sound so good. wish i could have you on my fat cock instead of my thigh. next time yeah? you’re gonna cum like this, aren’t you? gonna get my thigh nice and wet?” gojo growls, voice hoarse and layering perfectly over your whistle tone whines. his digits slow and start their greedy assault on your sex, edging you further and further as you wriggle and writhe at his words. 

the world escapes you, the knot of lust that had been warping within you finally coming undone. “gods… s-satoru! please!” you shriek as though your voice is a  gust of stormy wind — reverberating off of painted cobblestone walls. your free hand (no longer trapped by loops of your own hair) darts out to grab the intruder’s wrist, thighs locking around the hand that works you through an earth shattering high. the dam finally bursts, forcing open floodgates as your pussy releases streams of clear arousal in small spurts that soaks his entire lap and clothes.

gojo has no idea where to look, the smallest glimpse of your orgasm sending him hurtling over the edge as well — he doesn’t relent, viciously circling your precious pleasure mug and drawing out your release to match his own. his thick length spasms in your tiny hand, plump balls no longer able to contain the viscous, hot seed he has saved up all for you. just for you. he cums with a shout, abdomen contracting under your never-ending supple touch, ropes of white hot endlessly shoot from his overstimulated tip almost as though he’s a faucet that’s never been turned off.

he swears he almost blacks out, a white and sweaty mop of hair collapsing onto your shoulder as you slump in gojo’s lap — exhausted. as the air in the room cools, your hair no longer glowing and your chests syncing up to heave in an even rise and fall — you bring a lazy hand to the back of satoru’s head, toying with coils of his baby hair to help you both calm down.

a moment of quiet passes before you find the energy to whisper. “will you take me to see those floating lights now?” 

your innocent question causes satoru to snort sleepily, pressing a wet chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek as the sound breaks free from his cherry-bitten lips. “a deal’s a deal, honey. as soon as you untie me… we’ll hit the road.” 

neither of you move a muscle, however, still recovering from the sinful act you had just shared. 

you use the time to reflect, a sense of excitement dawning on you. you were going to leave the tower. you were going to see the floating lights on your birthday. and most importantly, you were directly disobeying your mother to prove your capableness. and all you had to do to get your fairytale happy ending was give a handjob to a very handsome, very willing stranger. 

the end.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.