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elikajinnie · 1 month ago

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Survive Till Daylight, My Dear - L.H

P: Dead By Daylight Killer!Heeseung X Survivor!Reader (recommended age: 17+)

Warnings: Stalking, Murder, Death, Chasing, Obsession, Blood/Injury, Psychological Thriller, Graphic Descriptions, Suggestive Content, Teasing, Hypnosis?, Yo he kinda sadistic.

Synopsis: Your life was ripped away when you were abducted into a twisted realm ruled by something called the Entity. But while most killers are fixated on winning, one seems dangerously fixated on you.

a/n: during a round of dead by daylight, this idea came when i kept stalking a survivor as ghostface on the withered isle map :3

disclaimer! all the killers and survivors in this is in dbd the game. I do not own any of them. the idea of heeseung was a creative endeavour. (Virtuoso: a person highly skilled in music or another artistic pursuit.)

now playing: the shadows by chris grey | fairytale (violin) by dramatic violin | runaway (violin) by dramatic violin | blood on white satin by naomi scott

jay vers sunghoon vers jake vers

You hated the times when you had to place your trust in other survivors during a trial because, more often than not, they'd leave you to fend for yourself. It wasn’t that they were cruel or uncaring—it was survival instinct. The generators scattered across the map weren’t going to fix themselves, and everyone knew the doors wouldn’t open without power. You’d done the same, sprinting past a screaming teammate once or twice. It wasn’t personal. It was just the way the Entity’s sick little game worked.

This time, though, you were the one left hanging—literally. The Deathslinger had caught you in his harpoon's grip, dragging you back like a trophy he was all too proud to display. Now, you dangled from the hook, the barbed steel biting into your shoulder. Blood trickled down your arm, warm and sticky, as the pain pulsed through you in sharp waves. You’d been hooked before—more times than you’d like to admit—but the agony never dulled. The most you could do was endure it, keeping your body still to avoid making it worse. Attempting to pull yourself free was always a gamble, and one you weren’t eager to take.

The Deathslinger lingered nearby, his rifle clutched tightly in his hands. His breaths came in ragged, heavy puffs, the sound grating like sandpaper against your ears. He wasn’t going anywhere, that much was clear. You groaned, tilting your head to try and catch a glimpse of your teammates. Surely someone would come for you—right?

The faint hum of a generator in the distance made your stomach twist. They were close to getting it done. That was good for them, bad for you. If they got it running, they’d bolt for the exit, and you’d be left to rot in the Entity’s clutches. A bitter laugh bubbled in your throat, but it died when you caught the glint of the Deathslinger’s weapon shifting toward the horizon. He was watching, waiting.

A flicker of movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention. Someone was coming—finally. Your heart leaped, hope flaring like a matchstick, but it fizzled just as quickly when you realized how loud their footsteps were. No stealth, no crouching, just a dead sprint toward you.

“What the hell are they doing?” you muttered under your breath, wincing as the hook shifted with your movement.

The Deathslinger didn’t need more than a second to notice. He turned on a dime, lifting his rifle to aim at the approaching figure. You clenched your teeth, bracing yourself for the sound of the chain snapping free, dragging yet another survivor into his grasp.

"Idiots," you hissed, though a small part of you couldn’t help but admire their courage—or stupidity. Maybe both.

You watched as Adam stumbled right into the Deathslinger’s trap. His scream cut through the air as the harpoon slammed into his chest, the chain rattling as the killer yanked him closer, and within seconds, Adam was up on another hook, his scream loud as the barbed metal tore through him.

Movement caught your eye again, and you turned your head just enough to see Mikaela and Leon slipping out of the shadows. Mikaela was quick on her feet, darting into the Deathslinger’s line of sight with purpose. She waved her arms, yelling something you couldn’t quite make out, and the killer turned to her immediately, his focus shifting.

“About time,” you muttered, feeling your heart race as Leon crouched low and made his way to you.

His hands were on you before you could say anything, quick and practiced as he worked the hook free from your shoulder. You bit down on your lip hard enough to taste blood, the searing pain making your vision blur for a moment. You fell to the ground, and Leon grabbed your arm, hauling you up to your feet.

“Come on!” he hissed, his voice urgent but calm.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Stumbling at first, you forced your legs to move, ignoring the fiery ache in your shoulder as you followed Leon into a nearby building.

Leon pulled you to the far corner of the room, crouching down beside you. His hands were already moving, tearing strips of cloth from somewhere, probably from some medkit he’d grabbed earlier. You barely had time to think about it before he pressed the fabric against your wound.

You hissed at the contact, the pain sharp and immediate, but you bit it back, watching as blood dripped from your shoulder onto the cold cement floor. When Leon’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “You’re gonna be fine. Just stay still.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you tried to focus on something other than the pain. “Adam?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

“He’ll be okay,” Leon said quickly, though you weren’t sure if he believed it. “Mikaela’s keeping the Deathslinger busy. We’ll figure something out.”

You wanted to argue, to say there was no “figuring something out” when someone was already on the hook, but you kept quiet. Leon’s hands worked steadily, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the urgency of the situation.

The faint hum of a generator powered up somewhere nearby, followed by the unmistakable sound of the gate alarms. Your heart sank. The others were getting ready to escape, and you were still bleeding out on the floor.

Leon’s hands froze for a moment as the sound echoed through the building, but he quickly resumed. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt. “We’ll get out of here.”

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him. But as another scream tore through the air—Mikaela’s this time—you felt hopeless.

With your shoulder patched up, you didn’t waste a second. Leon pulled you to your feet, and together you sprinted through the dim, foggy maze of the trial grounds. The air felt heavy, the dark sky above rumbling like it could cave in at any moment. You rolled your eyes at the theatrics—because apparently, the Entity couldn’t help but crank up the dramatics just to remind you that you were always one bad move away from death.

Jumping over a pallet, you stumbled but recovered quickly, your feet pounding against the dirt as you wove around an old, rusted bench. The faint glow of the exit lights appeared ahead, like a beacon calling you home. Relief surged through you when you saw Steve standing there, frantically working the crank to open the massive steel doors.

His head whipped around when he heard your footsteps, his face tense with panic until his eyes landed on you and Leon. He let out a shaky sigh of relief, motioning for you to hurry. "Come on! Almost there!"

The door groaned loudly as it crept open, revealing the inky blackness beyond. Freedom was so close you could taste it. But just as your heart lifted, the sharp, metallic sound of a chain unspooling sent a jolt of terror down your spine.

You stopped running on pure instinct, your body frozen for a split second before the harpoon shot past you, embedding itself in a tree just inches away. The tensioned chain rattled, swaying as it recoiled. Your head snapped toward the Deathslinger, standing only a few meters away.

“Go!” Leon shouted, his voice breaking the trance as he pushed you forward.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Heart pounding, you ducked under the chain, your body nearly brushing against it as you bolted toward the exit. The pounding of your feet grew louder in your ears, mingling with the heavy, ragged breaths you couldn’t control. You threw yourself forward, crossing the threshold into the open landscape beyond just as the Deathslinger took another step closer.

Whipping around, you skidded to a stop and turned to look back. The Deathslinger stood just at the edge of the exit, his rifle lowered as he glared at you, seething. The dark, writhing tentacles of the Entity began to weave their way through the space between you, blocking his path and keeping him trapped inside the trial grounds.

Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you further away from the exit as the doors groaned shut behind you. "Come on, we don’t have time to celebrate!"

You nodded, glancing at Leon, who gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before jogging to catch up with Steve.

You didn’t look back again.

Suddenly, everything around you went dark. The ground beneath your feet gave way, and that all-too-familiar sensation of falling took hold. You didn’t scream—you never did anymore. Instead, you braced yourself for the impact that wouldn’t come.

Moments later, you landed on solid ground, your body jolting slightly as the world around you shifted. When you opened your eyes, the oppressive fog of the trial was gone, replaced by the dim, flickering firelight of the survivors’ camp.

You let out a long sigh, rolling your shoulder experimentally. As expected, the pain was gone, replaced by the dull, phantom ache that always lingered after a trial. You reached up to touch the spot where the hook had torn through your body, finding smooth, unbroken skin beneath your fingers. It was like it had never happened.

That was how it always was with the Entity. No matter how brutal the trial, no matter how close to death you came—or how many times you actually died—you always woke up here, whole again. The physical wounds vanished, leaving nothing but the memory of pain.

You glanced around the camp, taking in the familiar sights. The fire crackled in the center, its warmth doing little to ease the chill that seemed to seep into your bones. A few other survivors were scattered around, some tending to the fire, others sitting quietly with haunted looks in their eyes. They were all like you—trapped in this endless cycle of torment and survival, powerless to escape the Entity’s grasp.

Leon was already here, his jacket was draped over his shoulders, and he was absently cleaning the blood from his hands with a rag. When he saw you, he gave you a small, tired smile.

“Made it back,” he said, his voice low but steady.

You nodded, walking over to join him. “Barely.”

Steve, who had landed nearby, ran a hand through his hair. “That was too close,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I thought he was gonna get all of us at the end.”

You sat down beside Leon, the phantom pain in your shoulder throbbing faintly as you rested your elbows on your knees. “He almost did,” you said, glancing at the fire.

“That’s how it goes,” Feng said softly, appearing from the shadows. She had a medkit slung over her shoulder, though she didn’t need it—not here. “We survive, we heal, and then we go back in.”

Her words were a reminder of the reality you all faced. There was no end to it, no escape. The Entity would call you back into another trial soon enough, and the chase would start again.

You sighed, leaning back and closing your eyes for a moment. The camp was supposed to be a place of safety, a brief reprieve from the horrors of the trials, but it never truly felt like it. The shadows seemed to watch you, the ever-present feeling of being watched lingering even here.

“How’s Adam?” you asked after a moment, opening your eyes to look at Leon.

“He made it back,” Leon said, his voice heavy with relief. “Barely. Mikaela got him up just before the door closed.”

You nodded, grateful but knowing better than to celebrate. It was just another trial, another near-death experience in an endless cycle of them.

For now, you were safe.

Luckily, during the next trial, you weren’t one of the chosen ones. It was a relief, but it didn’t stop the restless feeling gnawing at your muscles. The camp, despite being a sanctuary of sorts, always felt suffocating when others were off risking their lives in the fog. You needed to move, so you decided to take a walk.

Of course, you never strayed too far. Not anymore.

You’d learned that lesson the hard way when you first arrived. Back then, you’d been terrified, too panicked to listen to anyone. The other survivors had tried to explain things to you—what this place was, what the trials meant—but their words only blurred together in the haze of fear clouding your mind. All you knew was that you were somewhere you didn’t belong, and you needed to get out.

So you’d run.

You sprinted as fast as your legs would carry you, ignoring the desperate calls of the others. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you had to escape. The trees around you blurred as you pushed yourself harder, your lungs burning with every frantic breath—until you slammed face-first into something solid.

It wasn’t a tree. No bark, no leaves—just an invisible wall that sent you reeling backward, clutching your nose in pain. You stumbled, dazed and confused, but before you could even think about what you’d just hit, you heard it: deep, guttural breathing, slow and deliberate.

Your head snapped up, and your blood ran cold. A obese figure loomed just on the other side of the barrier. His face was grotesque, smeared with greasepaint that cracked like old plaster. The Clown.

You screamed, scrambling to your feet and bolting back toward the camp. The sound of his laughter—wet and wheezing—chased after you, but when you risked a glance over your shoulder, he wasn’t following.

The Clown remained where he stood, staring at you with those cold eyes. Confusion flickered in your panicked mind, but you didn’t stop running until you were safely back in the camp.

Later, after you’d calmed down and stopped trembling like a leaf, Dwight had sat you down by the fire. He was the first survivor here, or so they all said, and he’d taken it upon himself to explain how the realm worked to newcomers.

“That’s why he didn’t follow you,” Dwight had said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “There’s a barrier between us and them. The Entity doesn’t let killers into our camp. Same way we can’t go into their domain. Not unless it’s during a trial.”

It had taken time for the words to fully sink in, but eventually, you understood. The killers could watch you from the other side of that invisible wall if they wanted to, but they couldn’t cross it. They weren’t allowed to harm you outside of the trials.

Still, that didn’t make the idea of running into them any less horrifying. You already saw enough of them during the trials. You didn’t need to see them here, too.

That’s why, even now, as you wandered through the edges of the camp, you kept your distance. The boundary between the survivors’ camp and the killers’ domain wasn’t visible, but you could feel it, like an unseen pressure in the air. You never dared to go too close.

But alas the camp wasn’t large, so it was almost impossible not to catch at least a glimpse of a killer lingering near the barrier from time to time. You’d gotten used to it, in a way—seeing their shadowy figures pacing just out of reach, watching.

But now, as you rounded a corner near the edge of the camp, you froze. There, just a few yards away, was Chucky.

The little doll hadn’t noticed you, too busy pacing along the barrier and cussing up a storm. You crouched low behind a boulder, not out of fear but curiosity, your eyes narrowing as you caught bits and pieces of his tirade.

“...That smug prick—thinks he’s so damn smart, huh? Always with the ‘grand plans.’ I’ll show him a plan—it’s called taking his head off with a kitchen knife!”

You tilted your head, straining to hear more. The Mastermind—you’d heard that name before. Albert Wesker. You’d faced him twice in trials, and both times, you’d died. He was fast, calculating, and far more terrifying than a doll with a knife. Where Chucky was a chaotic little bastard who relied on deception and sneak attacks, Wesker had power and strategy to back him up. You hadn’t stood a chance.

Still, the idea of Chucky throwing a tantrum over Wesker made you stifle a small, ironic laugh. The Entity certainly had a sense of humor when it came to the killers it pulled into its realm.

You were about to leave, figuring you’d heard enough, when something Chucky said made you freeze.

“...And now there’s a new guy? Already? What the hell does the Entity even need him for? We just got the Houndmaster! Isn’t that freaky dog-pack enough?”

A new killer?

Your eyes widened, and your breath hitched. You instinctively leaned forward, your curiosity overtaking your caution. You’d only just gotten used to the Houndmaster��another recent addition to the roster of killers. And now the Entity was adding someone else?

You thought about how peculiar it was. The Entity usually gave some time before introducing new killers, letting survivors adjust (or break) under the current conditions. The Houndmaster was still fresh, and you with the other survivors were still learning how to navigate her brutal trial. So why now?

You shifted slightly, your knee brushing against the dirt, and froze when Chucky suddenly stopped pacing. His head snapped up, his plastic eyes scanning the horizon, and for a moment, you thought he’d spotted you.

“Whatever,” he muttered, resuming his rant. “If this newbie thinks they can show me up, they’ve got another thing coming. I’ve been doing this way longer. What’re they gonna do? Kill me?”

You slowly backed away, keeping low until Chucky was out of sight. A new killer. The thought sent a ripple of unease through you. It wasn’t like you’d gotten comfortable with the existing ones—the trials were still brutal, the killers relentless—but the idea of facing someone new, someone whose abilities you didn’t yet understand, made your stomach churn.

Who—or what—had the Entity brought into its realm this time?

You couldn’t shake the feeling of dread as you rushed back to the survivors' camp, your mind racing with the news you’d just learned. When you burst into the center of the camp and announced the new arrival, the reactions were varied.

Some survivors, like Dwight and Leon, looked concerned but stayed quiet. Others, like Steve and Yuna, were visibly stressed. But there were those like Yunjin and Yui, who didn’t show any reaction at all.

Just as the murmurs of unease began to settle into the air, the survivors from the most recent trial landed back into the camp, their faces drawn with exhaustion. Before anyone could even ask about their experience, Claudette, always quick to speak, started rambling, her voice trembling with exhaustion.

“New killer,” Claudette gasped, wiping sweat from her brow as she collapsed onto the log near the fire. “The Virtuoso. That’s what he’s called. And he’s... terrifying.”

You felt a chill run down your spine at the name. The Virtuoso.

The other survivors gathered around, listening intently as Claudette, Meg, and Feng started explaining.

“He has a violin,” Meg said, her voice low and shaky. “A violin. He uses it as a weapon. And when he plays it... it’s like... you can’t hear anything. Our ears just—stop working. You lose all sound. It’s like you’re in a void for a few minutes, and you can’t even tell where he is. He would just come up behind us and we wouldn’t hear him at all.”

Feng nodded, her eyes wide with the memory. “And when he’s chasing you, he doesn’t stay silent. He hums or sings under his breath. It’s so creepy.”

You exchanged a look with Leon, both of you registering the horror of their words. A violin as a weapon? That was something you had never imagined.

“So, like the Huntress?” you asked quietly, trying to make sense of it. “He relies on sound to track you?”

Meg gave you a grim nod. “Kind of. But worse. It’s not just about hunting you—it’s about taking away everything you rely on. You can’t hear anything, can’t even react properly. He disorients you. Makes you feel helpless.”

“That’s... unsettling,” Leon muttered, the words heavy with the shared understanding that this new killer was unlike anything you had faced before.

It took a total of three trials before you finally faced the Virtuoso. The first round was against The Shape. You survived by a hair, heart pounding in your chest as you barely managed to escape through the exit. The second trial? Against Nemesis. You didn’t survive that one. His relentless pursuit, aided by the terrifying zombie hordes, had been too much to handle. You’d been caught and ended up on the hook. But the third trial was different—you faced Dracula, but somehow, against all odds, you survived. You’d made it through with flying colors, your team working together to power up the generators and escape.

And now, here you were, entering your fourth trial. This time, it was a new map—a small city that seemed stuck in time. Old, crumbling buildings lined the streets, abandoned cars scattered across the roads, rusted and forgotten. But the centerpiece of it all? A massive theatre that towered over everything, its marquee flickering like a faint ghost of a past long gone. The sight was eerie, and your instincts immediately kicked in.

You crouched low, moving as quietly as possible, not wanting to attract any attention. The map was unfamiliar, and you knew the key to surviving here would be finding a way to adapt quickly. You needed to figure out where the generators were, which killer you were facing this time, and if there were any survivors to find and help.

You made your way into one of the buildings—an apartment complex, judging by the layout. You tried the first door you came to. Locked. The second one, same. You didn’t linger long, knowing that if you wasted too much time, the killer would find you. You had to keep moving.

Your main focus now was to get a feel for the map. The theatre seemed to loom ominously in the distance, a place that probably had its own secrets. You had to remember that the killers loved these big, grandiose settings, where they could trap and hunt survivors in ways that felt like part of their twisted game.

As you cautiously made your way through the city, a sound broke the silence—something distant, but it sent a cold shiver down your spine. It wasn’t the usual rumbling of the Entity’s presence. This was something else. A soft, haunting melody, like the strains of a violin being played somewhere in the distance.

You froze.

That was the Virtuoso. The violin music—it was unmistakable.

You didn't know if he was close or far, but you knew that he was out there. You needed to find a generator, and fast, before he tracked you down. The eerie melody seemed to seep into the air, twisting everything, making it harder to focus. You crouched even lower, scanning the streets, every creak of the buildings or rustle of the wind making you jump. You had to keep it together. This was a new map. The city would be full of hiding spots and escape routes.

You made your way past another apartment, your heartbeat quickening as you heard the faintest hum of the violin. You weren’t sure if it was coming closer or just echoing off the buildings, but you couldn't risk staying in one place for too long. You kept your movements as quiet as possible, crouching behind abandoned cars and ducking into doorways when necessary.

And then you saw it. In the distance, hidden behind an alleyway, the faint outline of a generator. Your heart raced in your chest as you approached, the sound of the violin growing louder, now definitely closer. You had to power up the generator before it was too late.

You focused on the generator, keeping your hands steady as you worked to repair it. The rhythm of your actions matched the increasing intensity of the violin, the music growing louder, echoing through the alley like it was all around you.

Then, without warning, a sharp note sliced through the air, followed by a scream from a survivor nearby. It snapped you out of your concentration for a moment, but you forced yourself to ignore it, refocusing on the task. You had to finish this. But as you continued to work, you heard something else—a short solo, a few drawn-out notes that struck like a delicate thread of sound, and then… everything changed.

Suddenly, your body felt heavy. It was subtle at first, just a slight shift, a tug in your muscles, but then it intensified. Your hands grew sluggish, and your vision blurred at the edges. The music seemed to seep deeper into your mind, invading your senses like a drug. You could feel the melody wrapping around your thoughts, pulling you into a soft, sleepy trance.

You tried to shake it off, to focus on the generator, but the exhaustion hit you hard. You gasped, dropping to your knees, hands gripping the dirt and debris on the ground as you tried to steady yourself. What was happening? You felt dizzy, but not in a sick and bad way, no this was different—it was a comforting kind of dizziness, like being wrapped in a warm blanket that made you want to close your eyes and give in.

It was the strangest feeling. The violin’s notes was almost seductive, pulling you deeper, lulling you into a state of relaxed submission. It wasn’t painful—no, it was... pleasant. Your limbs felt like they were made of lead, and you found yourself slowing down, your movements growing languid, as if you were caught in some spell you couldn’t break. You wanted more of it. Whatever this feeling was, it was unlike anything you’d ever experienced.

Was this the Virtuoso’s ability? You felt your thoughts fuzzing at the edges as his melody played on, each note wrapping around your mind like a gentle whisper, coaxing you further into this strange, hypnotic state. What was he doing to you? The question seemed far away, like it didn’t matter. It was easier to just give in, to let the music take over and stop worrying about the generator, the trial, everything else.

But no. You couldn’t let yourself fall into that trap. You forced your hands to push against the dirt, trying to stand up, to shake off the exhaustion. You had to keep moving, keep thinking. You couldn’t afford to let him win. The Virtuoso was manipulating you with his music, using it to cloud your senses, to wear you down until you couldn’t think straight anymore.

You gritted your teeth, pushing through the haze in your mind, forcing yourself to crawl back to the generator. You had to get it done—now.

Your fingers were slow, trembling as you worked, but the sound of the violin kept playing, surrounding you, tightening its grip on your senses. You were struggling to focus, the exhaustion clouding your thoughts.

Suddenly, you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind you. You glanced over, your blurry vision making it hard to see clearly. But then you recognized her—Yui. She was stumbling, hurt, her clothes torn, and blood staining her skin. She looked dazed, her eyes half-lidded, like she was under the same spell you were. The exhaustion was evident in her posture, her steps unsteady as she approached.

You whispered, barely able to make the words come out, "Do you want me to heal you?"

But Yui didn’t respond to your voice. She pointed to her ears, a subtle, desperate gesture. She couldn’t hear you.

She crouched beside you, barely able to focus, but she reached for the generator. You could see the struggle in her expression as she tried to push through the same fog you were in. You both sat there working.

Then, you heard it. A scream. The unmistakable sound of a survivor being hooked. Your heart clenched, and panic began to creep in.

“Come on... finish...” You muttered under your breath, barely audible. You could barely focus, every part of you aching.

Yui’s hands were slower than they should have been, her movements sluggish, but she kept working beside you.

But just as you thought the generator might finally be finished, the air grew colder. You could sense something was coming. The music stopped. The silence was deafening.

Your hands trembled, the generator almost done, but you knew you couldn’t afford to be caught now. You had to finish this. You had to.

Just as the generator lit up and blared, signaling that it was finally done, Yui took off, her movements slow but determined. You exhaled in relief, ready to run yourself, but then something caught your eye. Yui was heading straight for a figure standing in the shadows, a tall, looming figure. She didn’t see him until it was too late.

The sound of a sharp, slicing movement filled the air, and you gasped in horror as Yui screamed, the sound cut short by a sudden thud as she crumpled to the ground. Her blood pooled around her, and there, standing over her, was the figure. A man, tall and lean, dressed in a dark and tattered suit that was stained with blood. His white undershirt was ripped, exposing skin underneath. But it wasn’t his clothing that made your heart race—it was his face.

A cracked porcelain mask covered most of it, resembling that of a twisted theater performer. From the cracks, you could see his eyes, dark and hollow, and his lips, painted with an smug expression. His black hair was slicked back, and his white gloves were stained, a deep, crimson red. He was a nightmare made flesh, a figure from a forgotten stage play brought to life in the most terrifying way.

You froze, watching as the man wiped Yui’s blood from the bow of his violin. That’s when you realized—this was him. The Virtuoso.

He looked up at you, and for a moment, you could have sworn there was no emotion in his gaze. His eyes were cold, detached. But then something shifted, the indifference was replaced with something else—something more dangerous. Interest. And that terrified you more than anything else.

The Virtuoso’s hand stretched out, and you saw him pull a black violin from his back, its surface stained with dark splatters of blood. Your heart raced as he held it to his chin, the bow raised, and began to play.

The moment his fingers touched the strings, the haunting melody flooded the air. Your body tensed, your head spinning, and that all-too-familiar exhaustion swept over you again. You gasped, trying to steady yourself, but it was like the music was pulling you under, drowning you in its grip.

Your legs buckled beneath you, and you fell to the ground. Your hands trembled, your head pounding as the exhaustion began to take over. You couldn’t think straight. Your mind felt like it was slipping away, like everything that was you was fading into the background, consumed by the tune he was playing.

Every muscle in your body thrummed with a dull, almost pleasurable ache, like your very essence was being swept away by the music. You couldn’t fight it. You didn’t want to fight it. The only thing that mattered now was the sound of that violin, that song that tugged at your soul.

But you had to stay conscious. You had to—stay awake.

You wanted to scream, to push through, but the tune was so lullingly beautiful. It was too hard to resist. Your eyes fluttered, the world around you starting to fade to black. You could see the Virtuoso’s face, his mask cracked but still emotionless, his cold gaze never leaving you as he played on, the haunting tune weaving its way deeper into your mind.

And then, everything went dark.

When you woke up, it was with a sharp, disorienting breath, your heart racing as your body jerked upright. You found yourself lying on something cold and hard, the rough texture of the floor beneath you. Confusion gripped you, and as you looked around, it hit you like a punch to the stomach: you were on a stage. The grand theater, the one you’d only glimpsed before.

How did you get here?

Did the Virtuoso bring you here? You could barely remember the last moments before everything went black. The music, his violin—it had all blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and pleasure. You shook your head, pushing yourself to your feet. Your legs wobbled slightly, but you managed to steady yourself.

The stage was crumbling around you. The curtains hung tattered and ripped, torn from years of neglect. The floorboards creaked beneath your weight, some of them so loose that they threatened to give way with even the slightest pressure. The way down was a steep, treacherous drop, the ground far below hidden by the darkness that seemed to consume the rest of the theater. The chairs facing the stage were old and covered in dust, their worn fabric peeling away like the remnants of a forgotten time. The air smelled faintly of blood, mixed with the scent of neglect.

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you looked around, your mind still foggy, struggling to grasp the situation. You needed to get out of here, but before you could take another step, you heard it—the familiar, haunting melody.

The violin. It came from somewhere deep within the theater, its sound clear and insistent, just like before. And like before, you felt it. The pull. The music wrapped around your mind like a shroud, soft yet relentless, seeping into your thoughts, digging into the very core of your being. You tried to ignore it, but the pull was too strong.

Before you could even react, you fell to your knees, gasping for air as your hands instinctively flew to your head. The pain was sudden, sharp, like a thousand tiny needles pricking at your mind, but then—then—it melted into something else. Something worse.

It felt too good. Too intoxicating. It was as if the melody had found something deep within you, something buried, and was now scratching at it, pulling it to the surface. You hated it. You hated how it made your heart race and your body burn with a strange, unbidden desire. This was different from the shock therapy The Doctor used. It wasn’t painful in the way you knew pain, like a jolt of electricity that shattered your thoughts. No. This was... pleasure of the mind, something so smooth and alluring, it felt like the essence of who you were was being coaxed from your very soul.

It was like drowning in euphoria and fear all at once. You wanted to stop it. You wanted to tear yourself away from it, but you couldn’t.

The tune continued, crawling deeper into your head, pushing against your will. Every note felt like it was peeling away at your very identity, unraveling the pieces of your mind, piece by piece, until all you could hear, all you could feel, was the melody.

You gasped again, your chest tight as the world around you began to blur. Was this what he wanted? Was this how he claimed his victims? With the music?

Your mind screamed at you to move, to run, but your body refused to obey. The melody still reverberated in your skull, a lullaby of twisted euphoria. And then, you saw him.

He emerged from behind the backstage curtains, the black violin still held under his chin, his fingers expertly gliding over the strings, pulling out notes that made your head swim. His eyes remained fixed on you as he began to hum along, the sound vibrating in the air, setting your nerves on fire.

You groaned, struggling to shake the haze from your thoughts, but it was no use. He was here now, standing before you. His presence towered over you, and you could feel the coldness of his gaze piercing through the haze that clung to your senses.

He stopped playing, the sudden silence swallowing the air around you. Your heart pounded in your chest as he crouched down, bringing his face dangerously close to yours. You could feel the heat of his breath, steady and cold at the same time, but his eyes… those eyes pierced into you, unblinking and filled with an unsettling curiosity.

You tried to look away, to break free from his stare, but before you could move, his gloved hand shot out and grasped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. His touch was firm, not painful, but there was no escaping it. You felt small, powerless under his grasp.

He studied you, his gaze moving from your face to the rest of your body, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he didn’t speak, just letting the silence linger between you. Then, his voice broke through the tension, deep and smooth, almost like a melody of its own.

"Where has the Entity been hiding you, I wonder?" his words was laced with dark amusement. His voice was soft, but it held an edge, as if he was enjoying your discomfort, your inability to escape him.

You didn’t know how to respond. Your body felt heavy, your mind clouded, but you could hear the taunting tone in his voice.

"You’ve been so quiet," he continued. "All you can do is whine, can’t you? Letting me do whatever I want."

You wanted to fight, to scream, to tell him to stop, but all you could manage was a weak grip on his arm, your fingers barely able to hold onto the sleeve of his bloodstained suit. Your strength was gone, sapped by the music, by him.

His lips curved into a knowing smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, and he leaned in closer, his voice a soft whisper now.

"I can’t wait to see how long you last."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you realized that, in this moment, you were nothing more than a puppet in his hands. You wanted to speak, to shout, to fight back, but you couldn’t form the words. His hold on you was suffocating, his fingers warm and unforgiving as they gripped your face and tilted your head back.

"You’re so adorable when you try to resist," he purred, his voice dripping with amusement. "You think you can escape, don’t you?"

You were trying to gather strength, to push him away, but before you could react, his hands shot out, swift and sure. In one fluid motion, he lifted you off the ground, throwing you effortlessly over his shoulder. You gasped, the sudden shift making the world spin around you.

You would have fought back against any other killer. You were used to wiggling free, to finding a way to outsmart and escape. But not with him.

He started humming again, each note seemed to echo in your head, making it harder and harder to think clearly, and it lulled you into a stupor.

The two of you passed through the decaying theater, the doors creaking open as he made his way out. The world outside was dark, the streets eerily empty. You tried to shake yourself awake, to fight the haze, and finally, your lips parted in a slow, slurred speech.

"W-where... where is everyone?" you managed, the words feeling foreign as they left your mouth, thick with exhaustion.

The Virtuoso didn’t even flinch, his pace steady as he continued walking, as if this was just another routine. He simply answered, his voice cold and casual.

"They’re gone," he replied, a slight edge of amusement in his tone. "Already given to the Entity. All of them."

The weight of his words sank in, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat as a realization dawned on you.

Oh. You were the only one left. The only survivor.

A wave of cold dread washed over you, and you couldn’t shake the sick feeling that had settled in your stomach.

And now, you were alone with him.

"You’ll learn to enjoy this feeling," he murmured, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

The weight of his words lingered in the air, suffocating you with their twisted promise. "You’ll learn to enjoy this feeling."

Just then the rumbling began, the map trembling under the familiar pressure, you knew the Entity was growing impatient. It wanted this to end quickly—its hunger insatiable. The last survivor, the final piece in its dark game, was about to be consumed. But then the Virtuoso suddenly released his grip on you. You were unceremoniously dropped to the ground, the rough texture of the pavement scraping your palms as you struggled to sit up.

You groaned, looking up to find the Virtuoso no longer watching you. Instead, his attention was fixed on his violin bow, the jagged edges glinting in the dim light, stained with blood.

“What’s happening?” you managed to ask, your voice shaky but filled with desperation.

Without looking up from his bow, he simply uttered one word, cold and commanding. “Crawl.”

You blinked, confusion settling in for a brief moment before your gaze drifted to the distance. Just a few meters away, the hatch—open and waiting. The escape. The only chance you had. Without thinking, you began to crawl toward it. Every movement felt like an agonizingly slow struggle, but you pushed yourself forward, determined to get to the only possible way out.

But as you moved, you heard it—his humming. It was soft at first, the haunting melody following you, filling the air around you. You dared a glance over your shoulder, and there he was. The Virtuoso was trailing behind you, his figure looming with a slow, deliberate pace. His bow was still clutched tightly in his hand, the faint sound of his humming growing louder as he moved closer. His lips curled into a manic smirk, one that sent a chill down your spine.

And then, in a voice that was far too cheerful for what was happening, he began to count.

“Ten...” His voice was smooth, almost musical, like he was savoring each number.

You could feel your heart racing, pounding in your chest, the escape hatch tantalizingly close but still so far away.

“...Nine…”

Every second felt like an eternity, the weight of his presence bearing down on you as you forced yourself to crawl. The sound of his counting echoed in your ears, filling you with dread.

“…Eight…”

You looked back again, sweat beading on your forehead. His expression was twisted, like he was enjoying this far too much.

“...Seven…”

The hatch was so close now. You could almost reach it.

“...Six…”

You pushed yourself harder, faster, but each movement felt like it drained more of your energy.

“...Five…”

The Virtuoso’s steps were closer now, his bow gliding smoothly through the air as he followed behind you, still counting, still humming.

“…Four…”

You gritted your teeth, pushing through the exhaustion, through the haze of his song, your body screaming at you to stop.

“...Three…”

The hatch was just a few inches away now. You could see it beckoning you.

“…Two…”

His humming was louder, almost deafening in its intensity.

“...One.”

And then, in a heartbeat, he stopped. The silence that followed was deafening, as if the world had held its breath. You froze, barely a few inches from the escape hatch. You could hear the sound of his violin bow slicing through the air.

And then, his voice, smooth as silk, reached your ears. “Such a shame, my dear.”

He walked past you, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the silence of the street. Without a word, he approached the escape hatch and closed it with a swift motion, the heavy metal door slamming shut behind him with an almost finality that made your heart race. When he turned back to face you, his smile was chilling, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

"Time to die," he said softly, his voice low, but filled with a cruel satisfaction.

He moved toward you slowly, deliberately, his every step measured as if he had all the time in the world. Your body trembled, your muscles stiff and weak from the exhaustion, the haze of the melody still clouding your mind. You struggled to move, but the world around you felt distant and blurry.

A haunting melody played in the background, filling the space between you and him, wrapping around your thoughts like a chain. Your vision swayed, the edges of the world fading into a soft blur as his presence grew closer. Then, with a gentleness that made the hairs on your neck stand on end, he positioned the bow against your throat, his touch light but firm.

His face was expressionless, calculating. His eyes locked onto yours as if studying you, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

He began to sing.

His voice was smooth, precise, almost like a lullaby. Each note slipped into your mind, soothing and terrifying all at once, as if he were performing an intimate, private piece just for you. The sound of his voice, along with the melody, distorted everything around you. The air thickened, pressing in from all sides, and you could feel your senses begin to unravel. The world seemed to twist, the music warping, growing louder, more dissonant, filling your head with confusion, a maddening disorientation that made it harder to breathe.

Your vision flickered in and out, the room around you stretching and bending with each note he sang. The pressure on your throat from the bow grew, the coldness of the violin's edge digging into your skin.

And then, without warning, in a single, fluid motion, he swept the bow across your throat.

The sharp strings bit into your skin, cutting deeply, and you gasped, feeling the hot rush of blood spilling from the wound. You fell to the ground, your body crumpling beneath the weight of the pain and the overwhelming sensation of his final song echoing in your ears.

Everything went dark.

The familiar feeling of falling overwhelmed you once more, a sinking sensation that seemed endless. And when you landed, it wasn’t the cold streets of the trial. No. You were back.

You were back in the survivors’ camp.

Alive.

Unhurt.

The sudden shift left you gasping for air, your heart racing as you blinked, trying to process what had just happened. You looked around. The camp was quiet, peaceful, almost like nothing had ever happened.

You sat there for what felt like an eternity, your back pressed against the rough bark of the tree. The camp was unusually quiet, save for the distant murmurs of other survivors. You had a clear view of the barrier between you and the killers, the oppressive feeling of the entity’s domain hanging in the air. It felt like days since you’d last faced a trial, days that stretched on, leaving you to wonder why you hadn’t been called back into the horrors of the realm.

Time blurred together. Trials came and went, but for some reason, you were left untouched, as if the entity itself had decided to leave you be. You watched as others came back, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear. Some spoke of the Virtuoso in hushed tones, their words tinged with dread. You overheard their stories: how they’d tried to outrun him, how they’d failed to survive a single trial with him, how his music had driven them to madness before the end.

But none of them had managed to make it through. None of them had escaped him.

He had become a legend in the realm, and for good reason. His abilities—his haunting song, his control over the survivors—had turned him into a killer of nightmares. No one had survived one trial against him.

You saw him in your dreams sometimes, his haunting music echoing in your ears, his voice soft and cruel. You shivered at the thought of facing him again, knowing that if the entity ever called you back, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

Trials passed, and yet the call never came. You began to wonder if you had been forgotten—left behind, abandoned in the shadows of the camp. Or maybe the entity was just waiting for the perfect moment to drag you back into the trial, to see if you would survive a second time.

Eventually, the call came. You were thrust back into the realm, pulled from the relative peace of the survivors’ camp and thrown into the chaos of the trials once again.

First came the Dredge, you were constantly on edge, and you barely made it through, but you survived.

Next, you found yourself up against the Demogorgon. You escaped—barely—each breath ragged, the taste of fear still fresh in your mouth.

Then, the Oni came, you barely manage to survive, barely.

The Doctor came next, his shock therapy was unbearable, his laughter echoing in your head. But again, somehow, you survived.

And then there was the Hillbilly, you sprinted, dodged, and hid, your heart pounding in your chest as you narrowly escaped the carnage.

You groaned loudly as the familiar feeling of being pulled into the trial washed over you, the world around you spinning before it all dropped away into darkness. When your feet hit the ground, you staggered, blinking against the sudden brightness.

Your eyes widened in horror as you looked around.

You were on his map.

The surroundings were hauntingly familiar—the dilapidated theater looming in the distance, the cracked, decaying streets, the smell of dust and blood in the air. It was as if the very atmosphere of the map itself was alive, pulsing with a sinister energy, beckoning you to come face to face with your worst nightmare.

You had to survive him. You had no choice. You couldn’t afford to fall victim to him again. The thought of hearing that haunting tune again, of being caught in his eerie, hypnotic grip, made your stomach turn. But there was no time for hesitation now.

With a deep breath, you forced yourself to focus. The trial had begun, and your survival depended on staying sharp, on staying one step ahead of him. You crouched low, scanning the environment for any signs of life, any survivors, and most importantly—any generators. You had to find a way out.

The air grew colder, and then you heard it—the soft, deliberate hum of his melody, distant at first, but slowly getting closer. You felt the weight of it, the pull in your chest, as the music seemed to crawl into your mind, trying to seduce you into a false sense of safety. You clenched your fists, forcing yourself not to give in. You couldn’t afford that.

You started moving, every step measured, trying to remain as quiet as possible. Your heart pounded in your chest, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you passed through the eerie streets, passing abandoned vehicles and broken-down walls.

You reached the edge of the map, your eyes scanning the horizon, but no sign of him yet. But you knew better than to relax—he could be anywhere, and the moment you let your guard down was the moment you’d pay for it. You had to stay focused.

Suddenly, you saw movement in the distance. Another survivor? Or was it him, creeping closer? You couldn’t tell, but you had no intention of waiting around to find out. You bolted for the nearest building, hoping to find some semblance of safety.

As you ducked inside, the door creaked loudly behind you, and you froze. The sound of his humming was unmistakable now, closer, almost as if it were right behind you. Panic surged through your veins, but you forced yourself to stay calm. You had survived against killers like the Demogorgon, the Xenomorph, and the Nemesis. You could survive this.

You quickly turned to look for a generator, anything to give you a chance to escape. But before you could make a move, the faintest touch of a violin note reached your ears—and with it, the world around you began to blur.

You staggered, your head spinning, the familiar exhaustion sinking in as the haunting melody wove its way into your mind. It was him, so close now.

Then everything suddenly went quiet.

You froze, your breath shallow, listening intently. There was no sign of the Virtuoso—no sound, no humming. Just silence.

You dared to peek out from behind the window, your eyes scanning the desolate street outside. It was empty, the shadows stretching across the cracked pavement, but you didn’t trust it. You couldn’t trust it. Still, it seemed safe enough to move.

Just as you were about to vault over the low wall and make a break for it, you were hit by a wave of music, a sudden, intense surge that made you gasp. It was like the sound wrapped around your body, heavy, suffocating, and in an instant, your vision blurred. The world felt distorted, like a fog had rolled in, the edges of everything softening into nothingness.

No.

You blinked rapidly, trying to regain focus, and when you turned to your left, you saw him.

He was standing there, so still, his gaze fixed directly on you.

How long had he been standing there?

You didn’t get the chance to ponder over that question, not with the sharp sting that followed.

His bow came down, slicing through the air with a sound that sent chills down your spine. You gasped in pain as the sharp edge slashed through your side, the blade cutting deep into your flesh.

The pain was immediate, and for a moment, everything stopped.

But instinct kicked in.

With a strangled cry, you vaulted, your body screaming in protest, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You held your side tightly, feeling the blood seep through your fingers as you sprinted down the street, desperate to put distance between yourself and him.

Behind you, you could hear the faint hum of his violin, the melody now twisted and taunting, as if it was mocking your attempt to escape.

"Run," he teased, his voice soft and smooth, almost playful as it floated on the wind. "It won’t help."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you pushed yourself harder, the pain in your side nearly blinding, but you refused to stop. The sound of his footsteps echoed behind you, slow and measured, but every time you glanced over your shoulder, you saw him gaining on you, moving like a shadow, a predator closing in.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, each step taking everything out of you. The street stretched out in front of you, the buildings offering little cover. The world felt so small here.

You ran past two survivors, Yui and Meg, working on a generator in the distance. You barely spared them a glance as they turned to look at you, their faces filled with terror before the Virtuoso's haunting violin notes reached them. Their screams echoed behind you, sharp and full of pain as the bow sliced into them.

But you couldn’t look back. You couldn’t afford to stop. You had to keep moving.

With your heart pounding, you bolted for the theatre, slipping through the back door just as his music faded behind you. The building was dark and quiet, save for the creaking of the old floorboards.

Inside, you found a room. Dimly lit, but it had a palette lying against the far wall, a perfect place to take a breath, even for a moment.

You crouched down and pulled out the medkit you had brought with you for this trial, you hissed through your teeth as you started to treat the wound in your side, carefully bandaging it, the blood still dripping down your hands. The pain was a constant throb, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. You had learned to survive worse.

The violin music grew louder, and you could feel him getting closer, his presence near the door.

You couldn’t stay in one place for too long. Not with him hunting you.

You took a deep breath and prepared to move again. You crept toward the door, every muscle tense, ready to spring into action the moment you heard his violin hum. The sound was becoming more insistent, like a heartbeat you couldn't escape from. You slowly cracked the door open, peering out into the dark hallway beyond.

No sign of him yet.

You made a break for the other side of the room, slipping past the shadowy corners and moving carefully toward a nearby window, hoping to get a glimpse of your surroundings. You had to figure out where the others were, or better yet, where a generator was.

Just as you reached the window, you heard it—a faint humming, followed by a low, dissonant note that made your spine stiffen.

He was here.

The unmistakable sound of the bow scraping against the strings pierced the silence, sending a shiver down your spine. You pressed yourself against the wall, barely breathing, trying to blend into the darkness.

You dared to peek out, your eyes scanning the edges of the room, and there he was. He was standing still, his back to you, seemingly unaware of your presence… but his head tilted slightly, as though sensing you.

Then, without warning, he turned, his eyes narrowed as he locked onto yours.

"Found you," he purred, his voice smooth.

In an instant, his violin was in his hands again, the bow raised, and before you could react, the first note rang out, and you felt it—the exhaustion, the pull of his music sinking into your mind. Your vision blurred, the world spinning around you.

Your body rebelled, but your legs wouldn’t move. It was like his melody had a grip on your very soul, twisting you with every note.

"Run," you whispered to yourself, but the word was drowned out by the haunting sound of the violin as he started moving toward you.

"Why run?" he hummed, his voice taunting as he advanced slowly.

You collapsed to your knees, gasping for air as the melody wrapped around your senses like a velvet noose. Each note sent a shiver down your spine, your body trembling with a mix of fear and something you hated to acknowledge.

The Virtuoso stopped a few feet in front of you, tilting his head as if admiring his handiwork. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "On your knees, just like the music intended. Isn't it beautiful? The way it breaks you down, piece by piece."

You tried to push yourself up, to fight the pull of his haunting melody, but your arms gave out, and you slumped forward, your hands trembling against the floor.

"Stop..." you managed to choke out, though your voice was weak, barely audible over the sound of his violin.

The Virtuoso chuckled, low and smooth, as he crouched down in front of you. He gently rested the bow under your chin, tilting your head up to face him. The cold, sharp edge of the bow scraped lightly against your skin, sending a shiver through you.

"Stop?" he repeated, feigning surprise. "But you don’t really want me to, do you?" His voice softened, almost a whisper. "The Entity chose you for a reason. You were made for this... to be shaped, to be played."

You tried to shake your head, to deny his words, but his gaze pinned you in place. His hand, gloved and stained with dirt and blood, reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

"Tell me," he continued, leaning closer, his voice dropping into a husky murmur. "How does it feel to be a part of something so... exquisite? To be at the mercy of art itself?"

You bit your lip, fighting the fog in your mind. Somewhere, deep inside, you knew this wasn’t right. You were a survivor—you had fought through so many trials, endured countless horrors. You had to fight this, too.

But his music was unlike anything you’d faced before. It wasn’t just a weapon—it was a manipulation of your very being, twisting your will, blurring the line between fear and something darker.

He tilted his head, waiting for a response, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement when you stayed silent. "No answer?" he said, his tone mocking. "Perhaps you're finally starting to understand... There's no escape from me."

Your breath hitched as he slung the violin onto his back with an almost practiced elegance. You saw your chance and scrambled to your feet, trying to make a run for it. But you barely got a few steps before a sharp pain erupted across your back.

You screamed as his jagged violin bow slashed through your skin, the searing pain causing you to stumble and fall forward. Blood trickled down your side as you tried to crawl away, but before you could even attempt to push yourself up, his hand gripped your wrist like iron.

With alarming strength, he yanked you back and slammed you against the cold, crumbling wall. The force knocked the wind out of you, leaving you gasping as the world spun.

"Still trying to run?" he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement.

You tried to push him off, but he pressed his body against yours, trapping you between him and the wall.

"Let me go!" you gasped, writhing beneath his grip.

His response was to catch your wrists in one swift motion, slamming them above your head and pinning them there with a single hand. His strength was inhuman, and no amount of struggling could break you free.

With his other hand, he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His gloved fingers dug into your jaw, tilting your head back as his eyes roamed over your face.

"Such defiance," he said softly, almost as if he were admiring you. "But even fire can be tamed."

Before you could muster a reply, before you could even process the fear coursing through you, he leaned in. His lips crushed against yours with a sudden, ferocious intensity that left you utterly stunned.

Your muffled gasp filled the air as his mouth moved against yours, his kiss possessive and unrelenting. His grip on your wrists tightened as you tried to pull away, your attempts feeble against the strength that held you in place.

Your heart thundered in your chest, torn between fear, anger, and a bewildering sense of helplessness. The world seemed to narrow down to him—his lips, his overwhelming presence, and the haunting melody of his violin still ringing faintly in the background.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours. "You can fight all you want," he murmured, his voice dangerously soft, his gloved thumb brushing against your trembling lip. "But you’ll never escape me."

Your legs felt like jelly, trembling beneath you. The weight of his gaze pinned you in place. You should’ve tried to run, screamed for help, done something, but your body betrayed you, too weak to move.

His thumb lingered on your lip, pressing lightly, as if testing your limits. He tilted his head, and that haunting hum escaped his throat again—a melody low and sinister that seemed to seep into your very bones.

“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice smooth and mocking as he studied you. “Is it fear? Or something else?”

You glared at him—or tried to—but the faint tremor in your chin betrayed your attempt at defiance.

He chuckled, low and dark, and his gloved hand left your face, sliding down to your neck. His fingers trailed lazily over your skin, the rough texture of the worn leather leaving a cold, ghostly sensation in their wake.

“You’re so fragile,” he mused as his hand traveled further, tracing the curve of your shoulder and down your arm. “And yet, so strong…”

His words trailed off as he moved closer again, his body pressing lightly against yours to keep you pinned to the wall. His free hand glided down your side, brushing over the torn fabric of your shirt and the faint wound left by his bow. His fingers paused there, pressing gently, almost mockingly.

You flinched, gasping softly at the sting of pain, and he hummed again, as if pleased by your reaction.

“Every mark I leave on you…” he whispered, his voice dripping with sadistic delight. “It’s a masterpiece in its own right.”

His hands didn’t stop, exploring further—over your waist, down to your hips. Each touch was deliberate, calculated, as if he were memorizing every inch of you he could reach. You tried to push him away, but he didn’t even budge.

“Still fighting?” he teased, his lips curling into a cruel smile as his eyes locked onto yours. “I admire your persistence… but we both know how this ends.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, frustration and helplessness bubbling as his hand continued. His touch wasn’t violent—it was careful—but that only made it worse. It wasn’t pain he was inflicting now, but a complete violation of your sense of control.

His gloved hand came back to your face, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at him. His thumb brushed over your trembling lip again, his gaze piercing into yours.

“I could keep you here forever,” he said, the words chilling in their sincerity.

His lips crashed against yours again, firm and unrelenting, leaving you breathless. You struggled at first, your body instinctively trying to push him away, but his grip on your wrists remained iron-clad. The cold leather of his glove against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his mouth on yours.

You whimpered into the kiss, your resolve crumbling as the sheer intensity of it overwhelmed you. It wasn’t just the act itself—it was him. His presence, his control, the way he seemed to consume you entirely.

His hand on your chin slid down, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw before resting on your throat. The weight of his touch there, firm but not constricting, made your breath hitch, and that only seemed to fuel him further. His tongue brushed against your lower lip, demanding entrance, and though you wanted to resist, your body betrayed you.

You parted your lips, and he wasted no time, deepening the kiss with a hunger that sent sparks of something unfamiliar coursing through you. You should’ve been disgusted, horrified even, but instead, a warmth began to bloom in your chest, spreading through your body like wildfire.

Why did this feel so good?

You had never had time for… this. Whatever this was. After being abducted by the Entity, survival had been your only focus. There was no room for affection, no space for intimacy, no chance to feel anything beyond fear and desperation. But now, under his touch, under his spell, you felt yourself slipping into something dangerously close to surrender.

And then it happened.

You kissed him back.

It was tentative at first, a soft, hesitant movement of your lips against his, as if testing the waters. But when he felt your response, his grip on your wrists tightened, and a low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest. His other hand, still resting on your throat, flexed slightly, his fingers curling against your skin as if claiming you.

The kiss grew deeper, more intense, and you found yourself leaning into him despite everything. Your mind screamed at you to stop, to pull away, to fight, but your body refused to listen. Every brush of his lips, every flick of his tongue, every subtle shift of his body against yours sent another wave of that intoxicating warmth crashing over you.

You hated him. You feared him. And yet, in this moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to resist.

When he finally pulled back, his lips parted from yours with a soft, wet sound, leaving you gasping for air. His eyes bored into yours, dark and unreadable, as he studied your flushed face.

“There it is,” he murmured, his voice low and almost… tender? “I knew you’d come around.”

You tried to look away, shame and confusion twisting in your chest, but he wouldn’t let you. His hand on your throat moved back to your chin, tilting your face up again so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Don’t look so conflicted,” he teased, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re mine now, remember? There’s no going back.”

His hand lingered on your chin, thumb brushing against your skin with an unsettling softness, as though savoring the moment. His smirk widened as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice a velvet whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “The pull… the surrender. Fighting me is pointless.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his free hand began to trail down your body, gliding over your shoulder, tracing the curve of your arm, and finally resting at your waist.

Your heart raced as you tried to push him away again, weakly pressing against his chest, but he didn’t budge. If anything, the pressure of his body against yours only increased.

“Shh,” he cooed, his lips ghosting over your ear. “Why do you still resist? Haven’t I shown you how… good this can feel?”

You hated how his words stirred something inside you, how the warmth from before was now spreading like fire under your skin.

He leaned back just enough to study your face, his gaze softened slightly, but there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes, as though he was enjoying watching you struggle with your own emotions.

“You’re so used to running,” he said, almost thoughtfully, as if speaking to himself. “So used to fighting. But here, with me…” His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you closer. “You’ll learn to stay. To submit.”

The word sent a jolt through you, and your eyes widened as you finally found your voice.

“I’ll never—”

But before you could finish, his lips were on yours again, silencing your protest with a kiss far more intense than the last. It was consuming, overwhelming, and despite your words, you felt yourself melting into it. His grip on your wrists remained firm as his other hand moved to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place.

You tried to focus, to think, to fight, but his kiss drowned out every thought, leaving you with nothing but the sensation of him.

When he pulled back this time, he was breathing heavier, his dark eyes locked onto yours. “See?” he said softly, his voice a mix of satisfaction and something deeper. “You’re already mine.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, frustration and confusion boiling inside you. You hated him. You hated how he made you feel, how he twisted your will, how he toyed with you like you were nothing more than a plaything. But most of all, you hated how a part of you wanted to stay.

He tilted his head, watching you with a curious expression, as though trying to decipher the storm of emotions on your face. Then, with a smirk, he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear once more.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “We have all the time in the world to figure this out.”

And with that, he released your wrists, stepping back and letting you collapse to the ground, your legs too weak to hold you up. You looked up at him, your body trembling, your mind spinning, as he simply stood there, staring down at you with that infuriatingly smug expression.

“Run,” he said, his voice almost playful as he gestured toward the door. “I’ll even give you a head start.”

But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You were trapped—not just by him, but by your own warring emotions.

He watched you with those sharp, unrelenting eyes as you remained frozen, staring up at him. His smirk faded, replaced by a look of amused annoyance.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I offer you a chance, and yet you just sit there like a lost little lamb.”

Before you could react, he moved with frightening speed, grabbing you and slinging you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You let out a small yelp, weakly squirming in his grip, but his hold was ironclad.

“Keep struggling if you want,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. “It won’t make a difference.”

He started walking, his steps slow and deliberate, as though savoring the moment. The sound of his boots against the cracked floorboards echoed through the empty halls of the theater. You hung limply over his shoulder, your mind racing as you tried to process what was happening.

Then, out of nowhere, he started talking.

“You know,” he began, his voice calm and eerily conversational, “they called me a genius once. A prodigy.” He chuckled darkly. “The greatest violinist of my time. My performances brought crowds to their knees. They cried, they cheered… They worshipped me.”

You frowned, unsure of where he was going with this, but he continued, as though you weren’t even there.

“But it wasn’t enough,” he said, his voice tightening with anger. “I wanted more. I needed to create the perfect symphony. Something timeless. Something unforgettable.”

His grip on you tightened slightly, his gloved hand pressing into your back.

“So I poured everything into my masterpiece,” he went on, his tone shifting into something almost wistful. “Years of work. Painstaking detail. Every note, every pause, every crescendo—perfection.”

You hesitated, your curiosity getting the better of you. “…What happened?”

He stopped walking for a moment, his silence heavy and foreboding. Then, he let out a bitter laugh.

“They rejected it,” he said, his voice cold. “Those self-important critics. They said it lacked ‘soul,’ that it was too mechanical, too precise. They dared to insult my work.”

You swallowed hard, already sensing where this was going.

“So,” he continued, resuming his slow, steady pace, “I invited them all to a private concert. My ‘final performance,’ I told them. And they came, eager to tear me apart one last time.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down your spine.

“But this time, they didn’t leave. Not alive, anyway.”

You stiffened, your breath catching as his words sank in.

“They didn’t understand art,” he said, his voice growing colder. “Not until they became part of it. Their screams, their fear… It was the most beautiful symphony I ever created.”

You could barely comprehend what you were hearing. He wasn’t just mad—he was completely deranged.

“And then,” he said, his tone shifting into something almost reverent, “the Entity came. It saw my genius, my passion, and it gave me a new stage. A new audience.”

He stopped walking, his gloved hand coming up to idly adjust the strap of his violin, which was still slung across his back.

“And now,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, “I perform for eternity. Each trial, a new composition. Each scream, a new note.”

You shuddered, your mind racing. His story was horrifying, but what scared you the most was the way he spoke about it—with pride, with satisfaction.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked weakly, your voice trembling.

He tilted his head, as though considering your question. Then, he chuckled softly.

“Because,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, “you’ll be part of my next masterpiece.”

Your blood ran cold as his words sank in. You wanted to scream, to fight, but your body felt too weak, too drained. All you could do was hang there, helpless, as he carried you deeper into the dark, abandoned theater.

And all you could think was, he’s completely mad.

He carried you through the desolate theater, his footsteps unhurried, as though he were savoring every moment of your despair. When he finally stopped, you felt your stomach churn as your gaze landed on a rusted, blood-stained hook.

“No,” you croaked, struggling weakly in his grip, but he only chuckled darkly, his gloved hand tightening around you.

“Oh, yes,” he replied, his voice dripping with mockery.

With terrifying ease, he lifted you off his shoulder and slammed you onto the hook. Pain shot through your body as the sharp metal pierced your flesh, forcing a scream from your lips. You writhed and struggled, the agony unbearable, but the hook held firm.

Your scream echoed through the empty halls, and his reaction was chilling. His head tilted back slightly, his lips parting as though he were savoring a fine wine. His eyes gleamed with a wild, crazed light, and the corners of his mouth curled into a manic grin.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice low and trembling with excitement. “That’s it. That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for.”

You gasped for breath, tears stinging your eyes as you glared at him. “You’re insane,” you spat weakly.

His grin only widened. He stepped closer, tilting his head, his gaze fixed on you with a kind of sick fascination.

“Next time I put you up here,” he said, his voice soft but dripping with menace, “I expect to hear you scream my name instead.”

You flinched at his words, your breath hitching. “I—I don’t know your name,” you managed to choke out.

At that, his grin shifted into something even more unsettling—a sickeningly sweet smile that made your blood run cold.

“Then let me enlighten you,” he said, leaning in closer. “It’s Heeseung. And you’d better not forget it.”

His voice dropped lower, dangerously smooth. “Because if you do… I’ll make sure you never forget. I’ll carve it into your mind, your body, your soul.”

Your heart raced as his words sank in, his soft, mocking tone making your skin crawl.

He straightened up, pulling his violin from his back with a flourish. Heeseung’s eyes never left you as he adjusted the instrument beneath his chin, his gloved fingers dancing over the strings.

“And now,” he said, his voice almost playful, “I leave you with a parting gift.”

He raised his bow, but before he began to play, he blew you a kiss—a mocking, exaggerated gesture that sent a chill down your spine.

“Until next time, my dear,” he said, his voice dripping with malice.

Then, he walked away, the haunting melody of his violin filled the air. You hung there, trembling and bleeding, as his tune echoed through the empty theater.

And all you could think, through the haze of pain and exhaustion, was how he and Ghostface would make the best buddies. If they hadn’t already.

You could practically imagine it: Ghostface with his twisted sense of humor, showing pictures of his victims, while Heeseung played a chilling melody in the background. The thought almost made you laugh—a bitter, hysterical sound that was quickly swallowed by a wave of pain.

"Perfect little psychopaths," you muttered under your breath, your voice weak and trembling.

And yet, part of you wondered if they had met. The Entity’s domain wasn’t small, and the killers had their own ways of crossing paths. You could imagine Ghostface mocking Heeseung’s perfectionism, while Heeseung would likely call Ghostface’s theatrics "childish." Still, their combined sadism would leave anyone unfortunate enough to cross their paths wishing for a quicker end.

“Maybe they’re pen pals,” you muttered weakly, clinging to the absurdity of the thought to distract from the throbbing pain.

"How funny would that be," you mumbled to yourself, letting out a breathless, bitter laugh as the Entity’s claws dug deeper. The pain was unbearable, and you could feel your strength fading fast. The realization hit you like a brick wall: no one was coming.

You glanced around weakly, but the map was eerily quiet, void of footsteps or whispers of another survivor. It was just you—hooked, bleeding, and alone.

With a sigh of resignation, you let your hands drop, giving up the fight against the Entity’s claws. “Guess this is it,” you whispered to yourself, closing your eyes as the final pull of the Entity claimed you.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t been through this before. You knew you’d wake up in the survivors’ camp, alive and unhurt. But this time… this time felt different.

When you opened your eyes again, you were sprawled beneath the familiar tree in the survivor camp, your body whole and your wounds gone. The gentle hum of the campfire reached your ears, and the familiar sounds of chatter surrounded you.

But you didn’t join the others. Instead, you sat there, frozen, your thoughts a whirlwind.

Your fingers absentmindedly moved to your lips, grazing the soft skin as if to confirm something. Heeseung’s kiss had been like his music—intoxicating, haunting, impossible to forget. You hated that you could still feel it, like a ghost of his touch lingering there.

You clenched your fists, cursing under your breath. What the hell was wrong with you? He was a killer. A deranged, sadistic monster who found joy in tormenting you. And yet…

You shook your head, trying to banish the thought. But the image of him wouldn’t leave your mind.

The other survivors’ voices seemed to fade into the background as you stared into the campfire, lost in your thoughts. You’d faced countless killers before, survived their wrath, even laughed off their brutality. But this… this was something else entirely.

Heeseung, you thought, his name echoing in your mind like a song you couldn’t forget.

Heeseung.

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anika-ann · 4 months ago

Text

Restless Hearts - S.R.

Type: one-shot, established relationship, next-to-zero plot

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 6,2k

Summary: Moving in together with Steve is the dream come true – or it should have been. You didn't exactly have the chance to benefit from that since he shipped off to a mission for days and is only now coming back.

You grow restless. And to make it worse, you only get to reunite with him on this stupid��pompous party instead of your home. Well. Just few more hours of socializing to survive.

You could handle that, right?

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, semi-public sex if you squint, unprotected sex, language, Steve being a menace, two idiots in love who can't keep their hands off of each other

A/N: written for the Smutty September Fest hosted by @mercurial-chuckles . Thank you for hosting 💕 I have chosen multiple prompts - finding a somewhat private area at a fancy party to f* and quickie where you don’t take any clothes off, just tug and pull and expose the essentials 🤭

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Sparkling lights. Sparkling drinks. Elegant gowns and sharp suits. Subtle polite laughter and conversation occasionally interrupted by a louder exclamation and a genuine burst of laughter from the groups forming around those who knew how to charm a crowd. A non-descript music, one song bleeding into another, a few couples trying to find space on the dancefloor that had mostly changed into an agora, a space for conversation rather than for moving in well-practiced sync.

The dress skirt brushing over your knees and ankles, a slight chill on the back of your neck as someone opened the balcony doors, letting in fresh April air of New York City. The light stink of alcohol and sweat amongst the hundreds of expensive perfumes and colognes. The rich aftertaste of the sting of bubbles, sweet and spicy on your tongue.

The golden lights shone bright but intimate, reflecting in your champagne glass and prompting you to finish your first – and likely one of the lasts – drink of the night.

You weren’t much of a drinker. You indulged every once in a while, more of curiosity about what fancy brand the host had chosen for the occasion and a thing of courtesy, using the glass like a required social prop.

Such was the case tonight too – a fancy evening for investors and associates of the Earth’s mightiest heroes. Politicians, diplomats, government officials, high-ranking military officials and filthy-rich entrepreneurs – mostly not your crowd, to speak plainly. There was a slightly better company too, even if scarce: former agents and other colleagues – well-vetted beforehand, of course – scientists, non-profit representatives, veterans. Several Avengers too, of course.

But your favourite – the one who had brought you deeper into the world of superheroes – was yet to be found.

Steve Rogers most definitely was your favourite; nearly flawless moral compass, loyal, protective of the less fortunate ones and his own. A fighter who had won and lost all too much; an artist, who saw beauty around him nevertheless. A kind soul with an enormous heart, perhaps a tad too big for his own body despite his impressive physique. Larger than life and yet somehow humble enough in his insistence that he was just a man, ordinary, like most; just lucky enough to had been given a chance to fight and to defend.

And to love.

Steve Rogers certainly was your favourite, as he should be; the goodness of the world distilled into one man, with a face and a body of worth of being sculpted by the masters of ancient arts, the warmest smile and a sparkle to his eye a testimony to his brilliant mind and wicked humour. All that at your fingertips; all that supposedly yours, as incredible as it seemed at most times.

He was yours.

Your boyfriend of four months and seventeen days.

Not that you had been counting; perhaps just a little. You were innocent in the matter, however; it was mostly your and Steve’s friends, teasing you about taking things slow. According to Bucky, had you been taking things at Steve’s desired pace, with how smitten he apparently was, he would have already had a ring on your finger.

You didn’t dare to judge, afraid of raising your hopes a little too much; however, there was something to be said about Steve Rogers in love. He made it clear; so painfully and blissfully clear, letting you feel his much-reciprocated adoration in hundreds if not thousands of little moments.

In his touch. In his words. In his actions.

Your demanding jobs perhaps did slow down your progress a bit, making even the settling on a day of your first date quite the feat; but it was one of those good things that made the waiting worth it.

If Steve was smitten, so were you; and while a proposal would feel rather rash, you certainly not at all thinking about how you’d probably say yes anyway, because you simply knew, you’d settle for moving in together.

You had moved in together, thirteen days ago.

And the move in that had left you with half-unpacked boxes, cold bed and an apartment lacking the true aura of a home, because the person you wished to build it with was godknowswhere in a middle of Siberia, having left after a passionate welcome-to-our-new-home and a message delivered at three damn forty a.m.

Steve had left the pleasant warmth of your bed at four, with a profound sleepy apology and a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Left for an off-grid no-contact mission. Lasting for days.

For all the faith you had in his skill and strength, the worry that came with him being away for so long without as much of a short text was eating at you; and then there was the matter of simply missing him, the empty feeling only accentuated by having expected to be nearer to him at last and getting this instead. You were an independent woman and you could live your life without a man just fine, but goddamn were you also a woman madly in love, missing your boyfriend.

And you were growing impatient.

You were still at your first drink, yes, but knowing Steve should appear at any moment did not help calm your nerves, the slightly uncomfortable but exciting swirl of anticipation of seeing him again – in a suit no less – as intense as the yearning for comfort of actually seeing for yourself that he was safe and sound.

He had texted you, at last, about four hours ago, that he was on his way, nothing but a couple of bruises already healing, looking forward to seeing you.

You had agreed to meet at the venue; he would be running last minute, or perhaps even fashionably late, grabbing a quick shower and a shave at his at-hand quarters at the Tower, just throwing on a suit he kept there for such occasions. You had offered to help – for the completely selfish reason of seeing him sooner and in private instead of in front of hundreds of watchful curious eyes – but he had sweetly refused, argumenting that at least one of you should be on time and promising he would find you first thing upon his arrival.

You would have grumbled if you hadn’t been soothed by the Love you, can’t wait to hold you again, he had texted after. He was a charming loveable bastard like that.

As the infamous murmur of excitement arose around you, bringing you back to the present, your eyes easily found the source of the commotion: Steve Rogers himself.

Your heart rate accelerating reminded you that not being able to meet Steve before the event might have been a blessing. Had you had the chance to get your hands on him, you two would probably end up being very much unfashionably late; a welcome home kiss would have simply not sufficed.

He was breathtaking.

The traditional black suit with navy blue glint was fitted for certain; tight where it should be, accentuating Steve’s absurdly broad shoulders and thin waist, pants no doubt hugging all the right places from behind somehow complimenting his long muscular legs too, pristine white shirt with a bowtie matching the suit; the soft blue reflection emphasized the colour of his eyes as they scanned the room without ever stopping his progress, his polite smile spreading wide when his gaze found yours, the blue of his irises turning warmer; the most beautiful feature to his face battling the magnificence of his sharply cut jaw.

The instant relief washing over you screamed of how anxious you had actually been before you had seen him alive and well; the warmth spreading through your veins whispered of comfort, a tidal wave of feeling at home after a long travel; the heat curling in your belly and sending sparkles through every nerve ending reminded you that your body had been missing him in all different ways.

Your gaze zeroed on his every step. He seemed to move too slow and too fast at once; and suddenly he was standing in front of you, one hand gently grasping yours, the other lightly laying on your waist, a chaste kiss to your temple lingering as your body naturally sought his and carefully leaned into his entirely publicly appropriate greeting. The familiar woodsy notes of his cologne and aftershave had your heartbeat pick up and instinctively move closer into his embrace and breathing in deeply, the scent going straight to your head; but following his lead, you didn’t get too close, letting the gentle timbre of his voice soothe your need for connection instead.

At last; he was home. He was here, with you, and his love, while contained in socially acceptable gestures, seemed to draw a protective circle around your pair, shining brighter and warmer than the lights and all the luxuries around combined.

“Hey sweetheart. It’s so good to see you,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek this time, his eyes lit alive as he retreated, a hint of a smile still playing in the corner of his lips. “And you are absolutely stunning. Almost tripped over my feet the moment I set my eyes on you.”

Resisting the urge to tenderly slap his side at the exaggeration, at making your face burn hot – and something inside you purr with satisfaction since you had chosen your outfit with care, much like your makeup and hairdo – you gathered your composure, straightening your posture and charming a smile for him in return.

In one of many late-night conversations, when he had revealed his artistic side to you, he had admitted he loved to feast his eyes on all kinds of art from the most ordinary ones to the rarest; you had understood then that while a fighter and just a man in his core, his soul was a thing seeking beauty and goodness everywhere. In both things and people. A doodle could make him smile and hum in delight as much as a painting or a sculpture, he had said shyly; a building, an arrangement of flowers, a beautiful dress too. The last one, however, he had appreciated most on a woman as bewitching as yourself, he had told you, a tender finger on your jaw, a glint of dark mischief in his eye, lips slanting over yours and stealing your breath in a matter of a second; proving he was appreciative of you just as much when you were wearing nothing at all.

This time, however, you liked to believe he enjoyed the sight of you in the dress indeed; the top was hugging your curves like a second skin, the dark crimson fabric bled into a breeze-light skirt, shorter at the front, longer at the back, offering a less-than-scandalous but still teasing peek of your legs and clear view of your matching heels.

“It’s really good to see you too, love. And you look quite handsome yourself… I nearly dropped my drink upon seeing you,” you reciprocated with a small smirk, pointedly finishing your drink at last, heat flaring in your core when you caught Steve’s gaze lingering on your lips as they barely touched the edge of the glass, not leaving an imprint despite the dangerously red colour of your lipstick.

As you set your glass on the nearest table, you took a satisfactory note of Steve’s gaze flickering even lower, and bit back a smile.

As high as the neckline of your dress was, actually reaching half-up your throat and barely but chastely covering your shoulders, the oval-shaped cut stretching from between your collarbones down over your sternum was a rather intentional trap.

And your Captain had fallen right into it, his Adam’s apple bobbing before his gaze snapped back to your face, pupils wider, irises having gained just a tad darker shade. The fresh surge of confidence was almost as intense as the swoop of desire in your lower belly, sending your thoughts spiralling far away from a behaviour socially acceptable at an event like this.

It made you want to abandon the event and let it sort itself even if Steve had just barely arrived.

Who cared anyway? Steve deserved a proper rest after a taxing mission; rest and more, whatever his heart desired. And maybe not only his heart; if you were honest with yourself, you were only a hot-blooded human being like the rest of the world and were looking forward to truly greeting Steve home in all the ways imaginable.

You could control yourself in the public, of course, and you genuinely understood the importance of networking. But you should bring up simply taking Steve home for his own good; and you could profit from it all the same. From his proximity, from the privacy of your home, from getting your hands on the insanely handsome man’s body.

Whether he sensed the sparkles in the air you weren’t sure; but he leaned towards your face, his voice dripping slow and rich like honey from his lips brushing your ear, sinful despite the words being perfectly innocent.

“It works well then, honey.” He offered you his elbow, straightening his posture as if he was so damn proud to show off what kind of a woman he had on his arm. “Let’s go fulfil our duty of mingling so we can excuse ourselves as soon as possible.”

With his last words carrying alluring notes of an intimate promise, you conceded.

Nodding, you arranged your face in a polite smile, crafted to nonchalant perfection.

“Let’s go mingle indeed.”

Indeed, let’s work so we can sneak away and go home as soon as possible.

Your plan had gone a little awry.

In the glow of delight at Steve’s arrival, you had underestimated the number of people who found it their crucial mission to meet and greet and catch up with Captain America.

You had kept up the pleasant façade through all the conversations, nodding and chuckling politely when the situation called for it; but you were growing weary and you could feel tension gradually building in Steve’s shoulders as well, the way you remained connected by at least an inch of a touch at all times permitting you to observe the change.

You had thought it would help when you subtly nodded towards the dance floor; his smile turned much more genuine as he asked you for a dance, earning your pair a breather and a moment of shared intimacy for a few songs.

But you had been wrong in your strategy; if it were possible, Steve’s jaw appeared locked even tighter than before once your reprieve was deemed to last too long and you agreed to return to socializing. His touch grew into a hold; at moments, it was but a grip, until you felt him forcefully relax and ease the pressure.

You didn’t blame him one bit.

He must have been exhausted; away from home for so long, physically and mentally drained after an intense, albeit successful mission, forced to put on a mask for everyone else’s benefit, because Steve Rogers, to a point, was a poster boy. As much as he was trying to change that, working on allowing himself to show and accept his humanity, he remained the embodiment of a hero who never gave up and raised others on his own shoulders despite scratching the bottom of the barrel of his own energy.

He remained cordial and polite and a gentleman; he offered to get you a drink as you excused yourself to the bathroom, returning only to find him – visibly annoyed, for once – trapped in a conversation with Tony. A conversation which was probably not at all important, but apparently couldn’t wait, at least in Tony’s mind. ��

“Such a charming woman, standing here all by herself. How is that even possible?” questioned a voice from your left just as you pondered rescuing your boyfriend, causing you to waver.

It was a very male voice. An unfamiliar voice.

And had it been Clint or Sam or Bucky, you’d laugh at the poor line, which would no doubt be told with a drop of teasing; or in Thor’s case, entirely genuine and fitting to Asgardian but not Midgardian ways. Hearing it from a stranger, though, that made you want to roll your eyes.

You were a strong soldier of God so to speak, however; you turned to the source of the voice with a smile with just a slightly sharp edge – one the tall lanky man was oblivious to, as it turned out – and greeted him with a measured Sir.

As he introduced himself, you learned that Mr. Doctor Bowers PhD. might have had two PhDs but none of them was in taking a goddamn hint. Because now you were sort-of trapped much like Steve was, the written and unwritten rules of courtesy not permitting you to make up an excuse of needing to go to the bathroom after you had clearly just come back.

You counted seconds, pondering how soon you could leave the man behind without appearing too rude. You got to a hundred when your patience truly was wearing thin.

He was still not taking any of the hints you had dropped. Worse, even. You weren’t presumptuous enough – unlike some people in the mostly one-sided conversation – to imagine the flirting. He was clearly attempting to flirt and was failing miserably. He was shameless about it too, even if a little condescending.

Ninety-four seconds later, you had enough of him and far too little of Steve; your skin seemed to be already burning where Steve had last touched you, yearning for the contact to return in a perhaps clingy, but entirely honest way.

And suddenly, as if some miracle provided by Asgardian magic, the touch was back.

Steve’s arm was curling around your waist, his side pressing to your hip, his lips making a gentle – and strangely electric – contact with your hairline.

“I’m sorry about the hold-up, sweetheart. Who’s your… friend?”

It was a little funny, really. The man matched Steve in height, but at the biting note in Steve’s voice, he shrank at least a foot and a half.

He introduced himself after clearing his throat, maintaining the remnants of his composure which all of sudden carried no hint of the wannabe seducer. You wanted to kiss Steve right on the lips right there for that alone.

Mr. Doctor PhD also probably regretted extending his hand for Steve to shake; because at Steve’s grip, no doubt stronger than necessary despite his entirely nonchalant mask of politeness, he actually winced.

You were no supporter of violence, much like Steve, which might seem ironic to some given his profession – but the lick of heat at seeing Steve put the guy into back into his place sent a shudder of undiluted want down your spine and straight into your core, your posture involuntarily shifting in response. Steve’s hold on you tightened.

“I have to talk to my girlfriend now, if you excuse us. See you around,” Steve said, already spinning you towards the exit to drive his point to the end.

You didn’t resist.

If anything, you couldn’t walk fast enough, regretting wearing heels and wishing for a pair of sneakers instead to sneak away from the party altogether at last.

Only when Steve led you further and further away from people, deeper into the complex, your heart began thundering in your chest; you noticed that the tension in his muscles you had worried about had grew tenfold and realized that his announcement about needing to talk to you might be more than an excuse.

“Steve, are you alright?”

“Fine,” he responded flatly, yet in a voice carrying hundred times more warmth than just a moment ago.

Right. And the Sun is blue, the pigs can fly and tachyons had always been proven particles of matter.

You swallowed the snarky response, glancing at him as you barely kept up with his long strides; still, you could tell he was holding back, having seen him march with much more hurry and relentlessness.

“Thanks for the rescue, by the way. Really,” you pipped up, one corner of your lips rising despite your stomach turning tight at the unreadable expression on Steve’s face. “Guy simply couldn’t take the hint that I only have eyes for my Captain.”

An uncomprehensible grumbly noise vibrated in Steve’s chest, his arm sliding from your waist in favour of taking your hand in his instead.

Apparently, your attempt at cheering him up failed; you should have known.

The corridor was now completely devoid of people; you had arrived to the part of the floor with three small conference rooms, one an each of them dark and empty – because everyone was at the party.

Your smile turned truly nervous at that point, your mind racing as much as your heart. Steve wouldn’t have led you here unless he wanted to urgently talk about something important. You were a little baffled as to why hadn’t he opted for the elevator and his former quarters instead; but you didn’t question it as he placed his palm on the scanner and practically threw one of the doors open and all but pulled you in, some of the lights automatically flickering to life.

That was all that your ordinary human brain had time to register.

Because then Steve’s hand found firm purchase of your neck, cupping your jaw, lips slanted over yours with ferocity and passion that had your mind snap blank and set your body on fire, your hands limply landing on his firm chest.

Oh. O-okay.

More than okay.

You were forced to walk backwards, Steve’s other hand pressing against your hip to lead your step and steady you at once; an anchor you desperately needed in the whirlwind of puzzlement and madly stirred desire. Your lips parted in invitation just before your ass hit the conference table, an unvoluntary whimper escaping you when Steve’s body aligned with yours, every single part of him bare his lips tight and wound up, his hardness brushing against your thigh.

At the small sound so willingly consumed by his demanding kiss, he squeezed your hip harder, tongue exploring hundred-times explored with delight, air stolen from your lungs, your hands scrambling to grab his suit jacket to pull him even closer.

Who needed breathing anyway?

You didn’t. And you didn’t care how you got here either, be it desire fuelled by impatience or jealousy or the endless time apart, your choice of a dress or your lipstick which you knew Steve liked so much. You didn’t give a damn.

He was the spoilsport, releasing your lips and pressing his forehead against yours, his quick breaths fanning your face, hand from your neck sliding lower, an almost inhuman sound pushing through his teeth when his fingertips found the exposed skin on your breastbone, petting the soft spot adoringly.

You had not known until that moment how much you craved his touch precisely at that spot and how weak in the knees it could make you.

“Please say y-“

“Yes,” you gasped, instantly rewarded by his mouth on yours again with a muttered but hearty-

“God, I missed you-“

-dextrous fingers sliding under your skirts and hiking the fabric up as they travelled up your thigh, Steve’s pelvis rocking against yours, creating delicious friction against your core.

“I missed you too.”

Your hands went to roam over his freshly shaven jaw, over his shoulders, pushing the jacket off just to make him growl in frustration when he had to stop touching you for two full seconds to get rid of it.

“Sorry, want to feel you,” you apologized nonsensically, every single moment of his touch going straight to your head like a strong sweet wine, intoxicating and addictive, much like his scent, his taste, consuming all of your senses.

“Need to have you-”

“You have me,” you said breathily, a plea and a promise at once, thoroughly appreciated by a squeeze to your ass, fingertips wandering towards where you needed him the most--

And then Steve halted in his progress, body turning into a statue as he came in contact with bare skin, lips stilling on yours.

You gulped, trying to judge his reaction despite your haze.

You had had… a little incident when dressing up to the nines. Your broken nail nicked your thigh-high, sending a run up your calf. Uncharacteristically unprepared, you had found out if was your only pair. And sure. You could have run to a store. You could have express-ordered; stores would trip over their feet to deliver to Ms. Captain America in need. You could have worn a pantyhose.

And yet, your mind had steered you towards the drawer where you had kept tights specifically bought for a wholly different occasion than a social outing.

Why not? Your dress was long enough. And having hoped Steve’s mission would bring him home victorious and excited, having missed all of him terribly, you thought you might at least save some time once you two would be home.

Except you weren’t at home now. But that wasn’t on you – you were completely innocent in that matter.

Except you weren’t and your tights were conveniently sewn with a large enough opening to have Steve fit his hand or other parts of his body through, leaving but a flimsy lace panties in his way.

“Sweetheart?” he rasped, licking his lips as if to tempt you further, to confess your sins born of love and lust. He pulled back just an inch, to meet your gaze, his own pupils blown so wide only a thin ring of your beloved blue remained.

You gulped; not ashamed, not truly, perhaps a little apprehensive of his judgement. You had worn what was pretty much an erotic prop to a high-class event and had you not been careful and had had an accident, anyone seeing or god forbid snapping a picture…

“I… wanted to greet you home… and feel you as soon as possible,” you admitted silently, heart thundering in your chest, in your ears, in your temples, in your fingertips fisting the collar of Steve’s shirt.

A beat of silence.

Several wild beats of your heart.

“Christ, I love you-“

You were hoisted up on the edge of the table in a lightning speed and a mouth-watering display of strength, lips devoured by Steve’s with enough force to bend you backwards, the line of your soaked panties pushed aside to not waste time indeed as Steve’s fingertips dipped into your slick with a mutual groan of pleasure.

“Steve-“

“That’s right, honey,” he whispered, lips teasing the soft skin of your throat now, “I’m here now, all yours.”

He teased your lower lips back and forth, once, twice, three times too many and then he finally entered you with two fingers, a dark chuckle coming deep from his throat at the gasp of his name, stepping closer between your spread thighs to press your legs further apart.

He pumped his fingers with ease, driving you towards the stars at a dizzying speed, pressing a soothing kiss to your sternum when you cried out at him curling his fingers just right.

“That’s it, honey… sing for me. Just for me,” he pleaded, contradicting his plea by claiming your lips again and pushing deeper, faster, wicked,your whimpers swallowed greedily, all his, just like you were, on the brink of ecstasy.

You were trembling; in pleasure, in anticipation of absolute bliss, with Steve’s hand firmly pressed to your lower back to hold you close and annihilate you in the most exquisite way known to man. His words, his touch, the husky notes of his voice, the sheer need radiating off him and still making sure you were to steal the first round of fireworks just for yourself.

It exploded through your body without warning.

You broke with a cry of his name, lips freed just so he could hear the delicious sound, so beautifully seconded by his harsh breaths and so filthily accompanied by the wet sound of your pleasure you had no capacity to be ashamed of but revelled in instead.

You knew he did too. Because he had done that to you, for you. It was his and yours and both was a privilege; and lust incarnate, as he brought you down from your high gently as it be, his hand disappearing from your back in favour of undoing his fly and zipper.

Feel as soon as possible; no time to waste. Pants shoved down only as little as necessary, boxers following, a peek of a mouthwatering – and always a little intimidating – sight was all you got.

A small startled sound escaped you when you were being pulled further towards the edge of the table without a moment of reprieve, a chuckle bubbling in your throat at Steve’s impatience – but with no malice. God knew you understood; the moment the head nudged your entrance, coating him in your slick, your orgasmic bliss was long gone, replaced by even more acute need.

You wanted him. Now. All of him. Wanted to feel him deep inside you, wanted him to fill you so completely as only he ever could, devoured by him, desired and loved.

And you wanted to make him feel as delirious with pleasure as he had made you a moment ago, wanted to make his world so hot it turned white for a moment, make his knees buckle with the force of his release.

Your gaze met his, eyes feasting at the beautiful panting mess he already was, all pristine in his suit and bowtie and ready to ruin and be ruined, lips crimson and kiss-swollen and parting with a groan as he slowly pushed into you.

“Look at me, Steve. Want you to see what you do to me,” you whispered, the little broken sound pushing past his lips the only warning you got before he snapped his hips forward with a curse on his lips and sheeted himself fully inside you at once. God, so fully and suddenly that all air got knocked from your lungs.

His hand grasped your jaw, tender but firm, a dangerous glint in his eye, thumb running over your painted lower lip.

“Oh I’m looking, honey.” His gaze flickered down as he retreated almost all the way out, shining with your arousal, and thrusted deeply again, causing your eyes to flutter shut. “And there’s nothing prettier than you falling apart for me, so let. Me. See you.”

He accentuated every word with a sharp snap of his hips, stroking and stretching your walls over and over, setting a rhythm, teasingly slow and punishingly quick, hand and lips roaming, grabbing and caressing, kisses all teeth and all soft, grip on your hips keeping you still to assure he could take you exactly as he liked and encouraging you to roll your hips at your pace as you balanced on the edge of the table all the same.

“Missed you.”

“Love you.

“Need you.”

“So good for me.”

“I’m so damn lucky.”

“Please.”

“Look at me.”

“Give it me, honey.”

Your head was spinning as you were consumed by bliss, spiralling towards your peak so fast you couldn’t tell anymore which words were yours and which were his, where you ended and he began, clinging to each other as you were carried higher and higher, your ears ringing and still allowing you to hear the clinks of the belt buckle and the sinful sound of your rapid love-making; like a lightning running through yours very being, you shattered with a high-pitched whimper of Steve’s name, an echo of a hoarse voice stringing curses and praise barely reaching your conscience.

You panted against Steve’s shoulder as he curled around you, minuscule movements of hips to ride out both of your highs, soft words spilling from his lips as he was barely caching breath himself.

You took a minute, maybe two or five, still, clinging to him all the same, the heady scent of sex and sweat weighing down the air, your tongue heavy and throat parched, fingers carding through Steve’s damp hair softly.

And still, you chuckled breathlessly as Steve kept running his warm hand up and down your back, the sound causing him to press a kiss to your lips that tasted of apology for some reason.

“Well…”

“I’m sorry for pouncing on you, sweetheart,” he muttered, a genuine note of regret nearly lost in the pleasure carried over to his voice.

Your smiled must have looked exhausted, you thought; but blissed out.

Oh, your sweetheart of a boyfriend. As if you hadn’t just both enjoyed this tremendously. Surely, he didn’t really mean it, did he?

“I’m sorry for sort-of setting a trap then…” you followed suit, the words feeling simply wrong on your tongue. “Except I’m not.”

At that, Steve lifted his head, meeting your gaze, his eyes sparkling with mischief and desire still.

“Me neither.”

You grinned, trying not to be acutely aware of his hardness still stretching you to your fullest.

Of course he wasn’t entirely satisfied. One round had barely even been enough.

“That’s what I thought. Good.”

He mirrored your expression, his grin a little boyish and devilish at once, his expression soft but somehow everything but innocent.

Yet, he caressed your face with his fingertips with tenderness, from your damp temple over your cheekbone to your jaw, gently pressing against your lips.

“I love you. And I missed you. So much. I swear I just wanted to go home – take you home, the moment I walked in,” he admitted, causing your smile to turn sympathetic.

You knew all about that; it was all you had been truly thinking about the whole evening.

“I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh…” you trailed off, sensations slowly returning to your body outside the all-consuming pleasure. You felt like you were burning; sweaty and fucked-out for the lack of a better term, most of your body tingling… You chuckled self-deprecatingly. “God, my legs shake so much… what did you do to me?”

Steve’s hands moved to your thighs as if he needed to feel it and steady the trembling, to help, teeth worrying over his lip, just a hint of guilt – and a whole lot more of something you didn’t dare to decode, because those were some dangerous waters.

You expected him to pull out and help you stand then, clean up; after all, he was a gentleman like that, always supporting you.

He did the former, tenderly so as not to hurt you; but not the latter. When he carefully left your body and you tried to stand, he halted your movements with tightening his hold on your thighs, his gaze roaming all over you as you glanced at him all with puzzlement.

“Steve?”

“Maybe you should lie down,” he suggested lowly, his gaze flickering from your still quaking legs to the opening of your dress on your chest and to your lips and then back.

You swallowed against your dry throat.

The dangerous waters you hadn’t dared to explore roared in the back of your head, a shudder of scalding heat running through your body.

He hadn’t cleaned up. He hadn’t tucked himself in. He was still… as always---he-

You licked your lips, your heart stumbling so hard in your chest it was almost painful.

Wordlessly but with his blown pupils observing you like a hawk, one of his hands moved to your shoulder, gently pushing, encouraging you to lie down on the desk indeed.

And who were you to protest? His gaze was once again pleading and challenging you.

Please, say yes.

Like a fallen angel coaxing you to sin; and you’d all but follow hm straight to hell, because you knew he’d show you heaven unparalleled.

The table was cold and unforgivingly hard against your back, but you didn’t care; all you cared about was Steve looking at you like that, like you were a goddess and a prize he had sworn to win, guiding your leg up to rest your ankle against his shoulder, his hot mouth pressing a kiss to your calf. His other hand pushed his pants and boxes down his legs this time, before he reached for your other leg and wrapped it around his waist, once again nudging your sensitive opening.

“Just one more, honey,” he coaxed you, as if you needed convincing, as if the tremble of your body hadn’t turned from blissful and exhausted to one of anticipation. “Just one more and then we’ll go home…”

He pressed another kiss to your calf and met your gaze as he slowly sank back in with ease, something devilish and painfully alluring flashing in his eyes as a shudder ran through your body, sensitive from your earlier activities.

“And when we’re there, I’ll take you once more… once for every day I would have made love to you, had I been in our home with you as I should have.”

In the haze of your mind, the math didn’t seem to math or even matter, even though you felt it should.

But for now, all you could focus on was Steve, finally with you, and soon coming to your shared home with you, at last.

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

The event's masterlist

*chuckles* I’m in danger🥹

I hope Steve makes sure she’s hydrated and eats something in between🤭 And maybe gets some sleep; not all of us are supersoldiers 🥹

ANYWAY. Thank you for reading! Drop feedback if you're willing and may September bring you many smutty cozy evenings and peace 💕

#smutty september fest 2024 #indulge with chuckles #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x you #captain america fanfiction #captain america fanfic #restless hearts #anika ann #anika writes

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writingwisterias · 30 days ago

Text

Day 23: Praise Kink

ID! Leon Kennedy x AFAB! Reader Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Praise Kink, Training, Gun, Training room sex Masterlist

Of course, Leon had noticed your training had begun to slip, he was dragging himself to the shooting range with you every morning. No matter how hard he tried your score never increased. He could see your confidence slipping as the other recruits began to notice your low score. If he wanted to find you he was sure you were in the shooting range. You tried everything you could to get better and yet the more your confidence slipped so did your score. He could see the fire of ambition slowly die inside of you and decided enough was enough.

He hated being awake so early, especially after he spent the night in some stupid bar he stumbled into. At least you were thankful for the extra attention he was offering. He saw you standing outside the door to the shooting range, two coffees held in your hands as you looked off into the distance. Your headphones looked like earmuffs over your head as you wrapped up warm to fight the winter chill. It was early enough the range would be empty, none of the agents assigned to training groups of recruits would be arriving any time soon, and the sky was still dark. Your frame is highlighted dimly with the street lamps.

Your smile was brighter than any lingering stars as you saw him. Your sweater-covered hand holding out the hot drink to him. “I needed one so I thought you might as well” You spoke. He could hear your music as you pulled the headphones away from your head, they now hung around your neck. “Keep listening to music at that volume you won't need any ear protection when shooting” Leon teased. His heart fluttered at your shy smile blush coating your cheeks as your hands began rummaging your pockets for your phone to lower the volume.

Easing into the training wasn’t the hard thing, it was just your aim. It was even worse than before everyone started teasing, Leon predicted the constant bullying from everyone else was a direct result. So instead of following the methods of all the other agents assigned to this task, he took a kinder approach. Hoping his praise and chilled-out attitude would help you relax and not overthink. It worked to his credit; your aim was improving and your score was slowly increasing. Yet your mind loved the extra attention Leon gave you, heart fluttering at every adjustment he would step closer to do. His rewarding words heading to other areas.

You jumped slightly as he stepped closer to readjust your grip, his eyebrows pinching in confusion as his hands touched your hip. “You good? I didn’t mean to make you jump” Leon spoke. His breath tickled your neck causing you to flinch slightly, blush coating your cheeks as you felt bad for your reactions. You knew it was because you had woken up earlier than normal, your toy in your nightstand finding its purpose yet again after another dream of Leon fucking you. Having to face him after such a graphic dream was tough, his close proximity didn’t help either.

“I’m good sorry, I don't know why I’m so jumpy today..must have been a dream I had” You half laughed. Leon clearly assumed it was a nightmare the way he nodded, silently agreeing with you. “I’m here if you want to talk about it. We have time before the others show up”

He was too kind for his own good sometimes, his caring nature making him all the more alluring to him. You could have made up something, some random nightmare but Leon was smarter than that. He would have clocked on instantly. Instead, you chose the cheap side and said you didn’t want to talk about it. Leon just raised an eyebrow.

“Our training sessions are a safe space for everything and anything…Do you trust me?”

Your heart stuttered unable to think of a reply faster than the hot flush set in. “I do trust you…it’s just…just complicated” You muttered, your arms crossing over your chest as you met his gaze. You felt so small and shy like you were about to be scolded by a teacher. Once that was always nice to you and then you suddenly get into their bad books. “Complicated how?” Leon asked, his body now resting on the bench - nudging ammo out of the way to set his arms beside him. His hands looked so good, flexed over the edge of the table. His veins were now more prominent. They always looked well-kept. “Something on my hands?” he laughed meeting your eyeline. You broke out of your trance shaking your head. “No No, they just look good”

“My hands?”

God you were just making this worse. Digging yourself deep into a hole you weren’t sure you could get out of. Leon smirked, his teasing attitude written all over his face. He had already caught you out on your own lie, your body language speaking volumes over your words. Leon stood up, sauntering over to your stuttering form, his hands landing on your shoulders instantly calming you. “Do you ever relax?” He chuckled. Leon was so close, yet there was no gun in your hand. He was voluntarily in your space. “It’s hard to relax sometimes” You muttered back, hand rubbing the back of your neck nervously as you met his eyes. Leon chuckled, his face inches from yours. “Let me help you”

He watched your features for any rejection, giving you time to process his request. His grin grew when he saw it, the subtle nod of your head. His lips were softer than you originally thought they would be as they landed on yours. They worked in sync perfectly with yours. His presence was dominating demanding control which you gladly gave him. Leon spun you around, walking you back towards the shelf he was just perched on. You worked on removing your leggings, whilst he focused on his trousers. The kiss never broke.

He only broke it to hoist you up on the shelf, his body spreading your legs as he invaded your space. “You impressed me today. Seems our 1-1 time is working”

Leon tasted like the coffee you had given him this morning mixed with the faint taste of whiskey he drank last night. It was intoxicating. Your tongue already craving more. His compliments melted your brain as his lips muttered them against your neck. Blemishes making themselves known with the sting he left behind. Leon sunk his cock inside of you with a groan. Your walls instantly welcome him, warming him. “Fuck..pretty girl having such a perfect cunt” He grunted as he began to move.

He made sure you felt every inch, his hips pistoning inside you at such an insane speed. Leon’s hand gripped at your thighs, holding one over his hip as the other hand gripped at your head bringing you in for another kiss. Leon was bold and passionate with you. Worshipping every clench, moan or whimper you gave him as he continued to fuck you. “Such a good girl, I should reward you like this all the time and then maybe you’ll be the best agent there is”

Your brain faltered at creating any form of a coherent response, the letters jumbling up as your head fell against his shoulder. His praise continued to tighten the coil in your stomach, almost ready to snap. “Be a good girl and cum before the others arrive, I want to feel it around my cock”

He groaned loudly as you finally snapped, your cum instantly coating his cock coating his trousers. The forces of your orgasm caused his. He moaned as your legs tightened around him, trapping him inside as he coated your walls. “There's more if you break your record in front of the rest of them”

“Seems like a worthy reward”

Taglist: @kasueli@luvrgreyy@michellekmsh@miss0giarra@cinnabunnysavvy@redollface@my-loved-figure-skates@luvlouiee@drawboo22@moth-quasar@nyxxoxo@crazy-b1tch

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon smut #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader

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wtfsteveharrington · 7 months ago

Note

love love love your writing, could you do something with luca? maybe reader gets hurt in the kitchen and he has to help her

a/n: thank you so much :’) i went a different kitchen than you meant probably but i hope u like <33

warning!! contains non-graphic mentions of accidental cuts, blood, and a physical injury.

The apartment is peaceful. Candles lit, soft music playing from a playlist you both curate, and it was pretty enough outside to leave the windows cracked open for a breeze.

You’re turning around with a stack of t-shirt’s in your arms, only half paying attention when you feel yourself bump into something that promptly shatters to the ground and disrupts the peaceful environment.

“Shit!” You both echo at the same time from being startled.

Luca’s wrapping a towel around his hand, leaving everything in the kitchen behind as he hunts you down. “Darling? What happened? Are you alright?” He took just enough time to realize that the knife had gotten him when he jumped, acknowledged he was alright, and quickly went to check on you. You’d always come on the top of his priority list.

You’re standing in a pile of glass, a deep set frown on your lips as you look around at mess made by a broken vase. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I was trying to put away our laundry and forgot I moved the vase to the edge of the dresser earlier when we were cleaning. Just caught the corner and it fell.”

Looking up at him with a little pout, “I’m sor-“

You’ve honed in on his towel wrapped hand, the hint of blood soaking through the thin material.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely fucked my hand.” He gives you some sort of ‘What can you do’ look while shrugging his shoulders. Luca has had his fair share of kitchen incidents and was much more accustom to injuries. It was deep enough to need stitches, just needed to be rinsed and bandaged.

You, however? Very much not used to seeing your boyfriend like this.

A gasp falls from your lips as you rush over to grab his wrist, taking a peek under the towel and wincing. “Luca!” He doesn’t have time to respond before you’re dragging him back into the kitchen to get him taken care of.

You’re standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the sink, trying to fight the urge to panic at the sight of him injured due to a mistake you made. He can see the way your face is all twisted up with concern and he hates it.

“M’alright… Done much worse to myself before. Won’t even leave a scar.” A scar? You frown more as you make sure the cut is clean and step back to go fish out the first aid kit from the bathroom.

“Stay put, please.”

Luca, a man, stands there as he’s told but does admire the sway of your ass as you barrel away. He then gets to admire the swell of your cleavage under your top and - “Shit!” He hissed out as you’re grabbing his hand again to apply a bit of ointment.

“Shoulda paid less attention to my boobs and you would have seen this coming.” You tease while trying so hard to keep the mood as light as you can muster. There was still a course of guilt running through your veins as you continue patching him up.

“I truly am fine, you know? Comes with the job territory. Won’t be the last time I get cut.” He leans in to press a tender kiss to your head and you gravitate towards the touch. You know it’s not a life or death situation but between being embarrassed over both breaking the vase and indirectly injuring Luca you were a little solemn to say the least.

“I know, just hate I caused this.” The bandaid is smoothed over his skin and you give it another once over before bringing it to your lips, kissing over the bandaid. Luca allows you to continue fretting over the injury for a moment until he’s moving his hand to cup your jaw and make look up at him.

“It was an accident, no?” You both nod. “Exactly… I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re both fine. Don’t want you beating yourself up over this.”

You take a deep breath and allow his words to sink in for a moment before nodding once again. Eyes flickering up to his before you lean in and press a tender kiss to his lips. “M’sorry you got hurt…” Another kiss. “Was kinda hot how well you handled it though.”

Luca laughs against your mouth, a wide grin on his features as he feels your anxiety finally start to settle. He steals one more kiss before stepping back to acknowledge the state of the kitchen, giving your waist a squeeze before he goes.

He glances over the cutting board that was the culprit of injury and the food that started to burn while he was tended to. Shrugging his shoulders, turning to smirk at you with pure love and devotion in his eyes.

“Fuck it, let’s go have a date night out instead.”

A hand claps against the flesh of your ass as he passes you to go get changed.

#chef luca x reader #chef luca x you #chef luca blurb #luca x reader #luca the bear #will poulter x reader #chef luca #carmen berzatto x reader

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jehhskz · 25 days ago

Text

Love Again - Part 2

she fell first, and she fell harder

summary: you just got back to Seoul, and hopefully you'll get back into his heart too

genre: romance, fluffy cliche, second chances, smut

warning: this fic contains smut, so it was made for adults only, MDNI.

jé's note: did a little something super self indulgent, if you read this, please be kind, it's my first time and english isn't my first language. huge thank you for my girlies for all the support, special thanks to @doitforbangchan & @jeonginsleftcheek for beta reading it, your words made me happy. and it got a little big, so i had to split it into 2, the link for part 1

divider by @saradika-graphics

After the passport issue, Joo-wan rearranged for you to go with the boys to Japan. At first you were excited, making plans just like you did for Australia, but now you were desperate texting everyone from the staff team to go on your behalf, but unfortunately, everybody already had their own plans they couldn’t cancel.

You wanted to cry, you didn't want to be near Hyunjin, you didn't want to hear his voice, didn't want to see him, because you knew you wouldn't be able to hold back the tears, like you weren't now, already feeling them falling down on your cheeks.

You were watching everyone's close friends stories, loving to see the boys partying and having fun, you chuckled seeing the picture Changbin posted of him carrying Hyunjin in their ‘honeymoon’ as he captioned, Joo-wan video dancing to My House by 2PM was amazing, but something you saw in the back caught your attention: Chae-hee going upstairs hugging Hyunjin, your laughing stopped and your heart sank.

Then it was Na-yeon's video with Minho, they appeared in the back again, a new angle, making their way to the stairs, Hyunjin's arm was thrown over her shoulder. But the worst was yet to come.

Heyoon rushed home as soon as she finished her work, finding you crying, curled in your bed, she laid behind you, a comforting hand gently tapping your shoulder as you told her all about it. It all started when you saw the green neon ring, Chae-hee added you to her close friends.

There was a picture of Hyunjin, his back turned to the mirror, you couldn’t see his face, but Chae-hee’s, she was hugging him, head resting on his shoulder and she had her tongue out, looking directly at the mirror as she took the picture.

Next one was them lying in bed, it was mostly their faces but you could still see the clothes on, he had his eyes closed and a slight smile, Chae-hee was doing a peace sign and winking, she wrote ‘the best day’ on it.

Then the last one made your stomach twist, it was the day after, Chae-hee made a video, Slow Down by Chase Atlantic was playing, it was blurry at the beginning but it was clearly Hyunjin lying there, peacefully sleeping, then she turned the camera, giggling and blowing kisses, wearing nothing but his robe, the Hyunjin engraved appearing as she stopped in front of the mirror, ending the vídeo.

Timing's really a bitch. As you saw the grey bar of that last stories coming to an end, you got a new message:

Jagiya: about to catch the flight, missing you 😘

The pang in your heart got worse.

~ {♡} ~

“Oh my God, Na-yeon!” Chae-hee grabbed the younger by her arms roughly “How many times do I have to tell it's three steps then turn to the right, not to the left!”

“I'm sorry, Chae-hee. I'll pay more attention from now on” Na-yeon's voice was shaky.

“You better, we are about to debut, mistakes like this aren’t supposed to happen” Chae-hee glanced at the girls, as if warning.

Their music was still playing and the volume was up, so they only realized the door was opened when you stepped in. Chae-hee was still gripping on Na-yeon's arms, her long nails digging on the flesh, she let go of her roughly when she saw you.

Her grip quickly turned into an embrace, a stupid attempt to fool you or whoever walked in that nothing was happening.

“Oh, excuse me” You said as you rushed to the couch “I forgot my water bottle here”

Of course, of all the people, you had to run on Chae-hee, you didn't notice her grin when she saw you, so triumfant for the way you and Hyunjin fell apart, but you surely noticed the fear in Na-yeon's eyes, when she glanced at you and then your suspicious were confirmed, there it was: the last strike.

With a last glance before closing the door, Chae-hee smirked, waving at you.

Enjoy while it lasts Chae-hee, that smirk will vanish your lips really soon, you thought while you waved back and closed the door.

Now, all you needed was to come with a plan to gather proof. And tag along with the Hyung Line for their solo mv's shooting, a full group mv shooting, going to do christmas shopping, attend a birthday party all in the meanwhile keep avoiding Hyunjin. Ugh, the end of semesters can be so tiring.

~ {♡} ~

You were acting weird, Hyunjin realized it as soon as you reunited after he came back from Australia, barely hugging him when you met at the company, which at first he thought it was because there was people around, but then you were taking longer and longer to answer his texts, so cold and distant, so different from your usual bubbly self.

Then, you'd give excuses to not be alone with him and didn't even bring coffee for the boys as you usually did. At first he didn’t pay much mind, you were probably pmsing, Hannah would always get moody around this time of the month, Chan told him.

But damn, how long does a pms lasts? The weeks were passing and it only seemed like you were becoming more distant, more strange.

He was looking gorgeous, yeah you thought it all the time, but this time, wearing a crop top, he was just extra good, the sight of his abs making you want to cry, because there was nothing you wanted more than kiss and lick the exposed skin. And he knew it, so the fact you didn't push him inside the nearest storage room was weird af.

Also, what were you doing typing so fast and with your eyes glued on your phone all the time?

Annoyed, during the break from filming, he grabbed the device from you, his fingers wrapped around your wrist and he pulled you inside a storage.

“Hey, what are you doing? Are you crazy?” You were surprised as you watched him close the door, lean on his back and scroll through your phone, reading your messages.

“All good… will be great… you know the place?… see you tomorrow… can't wait?” He was reading your texts aloud.

“It seems like you're being the crazy one here” He stared at you “Are you cheating on me?”

Hyunjin's audacity was something you always loved, but right now?

It was annoying you beyond limits.

“What?” Your eyes widened as you heard his question, he couldn’t be serious “Are you insane? Of course not!”

“Then what the fuck is this?” He showed the screen to you, your chat with Min Kyu on display.

“It's just some work stuff” You shrugged and he rolled his eyes.

“Some work stuff?”

“Yeah”

“Just that?” He insisted, hoping you'd tell him what exactly you've been up to, but instead you just nodded and then stayed silent.

“So this is how it's going to be? We've got secrets from each other now” He scoffed, running his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, I guess so” You crossed your arms in front of your chest “You didn't seem to care when it was your turn”

“Oh my God, y/n. Is it still about Chae-hee? I told you, I didn’t tell you she was there because it wasn't a big deal!” His tone was hard, he was annoyed you were still holding grudges.

That was what it was for him, no big deal. He cheated on you, he fucked Chae-hee and it wasn't a big deal.

“Right, no big deal. The party? No big deal either” You scoffed.

“Yeah, it’s nothing serious either, you get drunk and those stuff happens”

No big deal. Stuff happens.

You clenched your fists, his luck was him being at work, and being called by another staff that was looking for him.

“Don't think we're done, because we aren’t” His voice was cold, he was clearly mad at you, as if he had any right to be, you thought.

But he still grabbed your jaw to hold you in place and gave you a quick kiss before leaving to film.

Proving your heart and brain weren’t connected, you kissed him back and it made you even more annoyed.

You were avoiding him the majority of time and would have left if Hyunjin didn’t predict that and walked away with your phone, forcing you to wait until he finished filming.

Hyunjin was mad because you were being a brat for no reason. If there was a person who had the right to be mad at him, it was Felix, and the boy was completely fine.

No, Hyunjin wasn’t a heartless bitch like you were thinking, it was simply that you and him had different pov’s of what happened in Australia.

Every story has two sides: what people remember and what really happened.

You knew Chae-hee and Hyunjin's side, now let's go back to that night and find out who was speaking the truth.

~ {♡} ~

“You're so cute, I'm gonna eat bread” Hyunjin threw himself over Jeongin, disheveling the younger's hair.

“Noo, leave me alone” Jeongin held his hands, and Hyunjin sniffed him, murmuring against his head that his hair smelled good.

“I think you should stop drinking” Jeongin said as he fixed Hyunjin's posture, sitting him properly on the couch.

Hyunjin nodded and then leaned on his back.

“No more drinking” He smiled cheekly.

“Seriously, you had enough” Jeongin laughed.

“Inniee, when am I not being serious?” Hyunjin threw his hands up, then looked at Jeongin when the boy opened his mouth to reply “Don't!”

After a few minutes, Hyunjin seemed to be fine, he told Jeongin he didn’t need to worry and that he would head to their room soon. He wasn’t too drunk, it was okay to leave him alone, so Jeongin thought he could make a quick stop at the kitchen.

“Hey there” Hyunjin jolted when Chae-hee sat beside him, making her giggle, she held out a drink for him.

“No, thanks. I'm fine” He waved, but she kept her hand still.

“Please Hyun, I insist” She smiled at him “Just a toast, uh? To celebrate the success of the tour”

He looked at her and then at the cup.

“Please?” She batted her eyelashes and he thought why not, just a cup wouldn’t be bad, he took it and she grinned.

“Cheers!” She clinked their cups, eyes locked with his as they drank.

Her breath caught in her throat when his face twisted, but she breathed again when she saw he kept drinking.

Just one drink became a few more, until Hyunjin got tired and stood up, he tripped when he took a step. Chae-hee quickly stood up and held him.

“Hey, easy there, buddy” Chae-hee giggled, placing his arm over her shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist.

“C'mon, I'll help you” And just like that, she guided him towards the stairs.

Jeongin saw them going, but since he didn’t know about you and him being together and knew about Chae-hee's interest in Hyunjin, he didn't pay much mind.

Entering the room Chae-hee saw the mirror next to the door and smirked, she turned Hyunjin to stand facing her, hugging him and quickly snapped a picture.

Too drunk to notice, he plopped down on the bed as soon as she let him go, and she laid by his side.

Chae-hee tried to lean closer to him, but he turned to the other side.

She tried again, using her hand to turn his face to her but he turned back again. Chae-hee scoffed and sat down, crossing her arms, thinking.

“Hyun, why are you being so cold with me? Don’t you like me anymore?” Chae-hee whispered, looking down at him, Hyunjin didn’t say a thing.

The girl grabbed her phone and clicked on the filming icon, hopefully she could take a good screenshot later. She laid back again.

“Is it because of y/n, isn't it?” Hyunjin smiled when she mentioned your name.

“I remember the way you used to look at me, watch me practice…” Her breath hit his neck, making him chuckle slightly and shift away.

“You wanted to fuck me, didn't you?” She teased him and he drunkenly nodded, Chae-hee smirked.

“Well, I’m here now, this is your chance” Chae-hee shrugged, seeing he didn’t make a move, she tugged him by his shirt, pulling him closer to her, throwing a leg over his, ‘side straddling’ him.

He groaned, placing a hand on her waist and Chae-hee smirked.

“Chae-hee?” Hyunjin whispered and she leaned closer.

“Yes, Hyun?” Her voice was sultry, she closed her eyes, leaning even closer.

“I'm gonna…” But he didn’t finish the phrase, because he started vomiting.

“Ewwww” Chae-hee screamed and scooted away from him like a flash “What the fuck??”

Hyunjin rolled on his back again, his eyes still closed.

Chae-hee got off the bed with a jump, her face twisted when she looked at the mattress, but then her gaze landed on the Versace robe thrown over a chair and it gave her an idea.

Luckily she decided to wear a sleeveless top tonight, so when she took her jacket off and wore the robe, positioning her phone on the right angle it gave the illusion she was bare under it. Perfect.

Taking a last glance at him, she assumed he fell asleep, because he didn’t shift. So, Chae-hee took the robe off, threw it back on the chair and rushed outside of the room.

She ran into Felix as she was heading back to the stairs, and he believed her lame excuse of the bathroom downstairs being occupied. He was sharing the room with Hyunjin, and was just about to find his drunk friend there.

~ {♡} ~

It was usual for some idols to have a ‘favorite’ practice room, some would say the aura was different, it gave them good luck and such things. For Chae-hee, her preference for that practice room was because she heard Jong-ho - her staff - saying the security camera stopped working a few months ago.

After you confirmed your suspicions about Chae-hee abusing Na-yeon, you knew you needed more than words to prove it. Learning the camera wasn't working felt very disappointing, but also made sense why that room was always reserved for LuaX.

You knew Na-yeon wouldn’t have the guts to expose Chae-hee, so you had to come with a plan C, and that's when you texted Min Kyu, being a software engineer, he surely would know what to do.

Not telling anyone about your plan was difficult, you hated keeping secrets, especially from Hyunjin, but you thought he would think you were just trying to get rid of Chae-hee because you were being jealous, he also didn’t tell you she was there in Australia, and Hyunjin had a lot of chances to, and then… he fucked her there, and couldn’t even man up and tell you he fucked up and apologise or break up.

Jagiya: where are you?

To avoid curious eyes, you and Min Kyu met up at the agency on saturday morning, a day you knew the company would be almost empty.

“Are you sure this will work?” You asked, watching him sat down on the floor, installing a micro camera inside an electrical outlet.

“You'd be surprise with the quality” He looked up and smirked “Why don't you pick the laptop, I'll move around for you to check?”

“Okay” You went to sit down on the couch and put the laptop on your thighs “Is this C34 program?”

“Yeah, just click and it will start automatically”

“Alright” You clicked and the vídeo player appeared on the screen, you saw the room and Min Kyu walking around perfectly.

“It's great!” You clapped, watching him jumping around and you chuckled.

Jagiya: what do you mean you aren’t coming tonight?

Jagiya: yongbok just told me

Jagiya: why aren't you replying to my messages?

Jagiya: never mind, be ready at 7, i'm coming to pick you up

You: don’t, i’m not going

~ {♡} ~

Hyunjin went, and now it was 7:20, you left him on the couch, but he moved to your bedroom, lying in your bed while you were in the shower, because there was no way you’d appear on the holiday festivities of the team wearing sweatpants. Your little jolt of surprise when you walked in and saw him there didn't go unnoticed by him, who laughed even more when you opened your drawer and closet to pick your clothes.

“You can change here, you know?” He said cheekly “It's nothing I've never seen before”

“No!” Your exclamation before shutting the bathroom's door made him chuckle.

You looked pretty, Hyunjin thought when you came back all dolled up, wearing an army green top and dark wash jeans that matched his and black boots. You were putting on your earrings when he got up.

“You're looking good” Hyunjin said as he stood behind you.

“Thanks, you look good too” He was wearing a light blue shirt that you were pretty sure was from Versace.

“I know” His cocky grin appeared.

You looked at you both in the mirror. He wasn’t supposed to be here first place, but damn, why was it so hard for you to ignore him? Why did you have to be the weakest soldier?

Maybe, just maybe… you had hoped it all was a huge misunderstanding, but then…

You saw the photos, the video, how could you still be so delusional if there was proof?

And why did he keep acting like nothing happened? He didn't have any consideration for you?

If Chae-hee didn't post, he'd be fooling you all this time. This realization made your heart sink.

Chae-hee was still a major bitch, of course, but she actually did you a favor, showing you his true colors.

“Where's your car?” You looked around when you left the house, then turned to face him.

“It's home, I’ll be drinking so I’m not driving tonight” His phone buzzed and he grabbed it from his pocket, he smiled.

“Great, Felix's coming” Hyunjin threw an arm over your shoulder and you shivered, but instead of hugging him back, you crossed your arms in front of you.

“Don't you think you're exaggerating?” You couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or being serious. Either way, it annoyed you.

“I mean, I get you're jealous, it was even kind of cute before, but now it's starting to piss me off” You shifted away from him.

“Well, if I'm bothering you so much, why don't you go out with Chae-hee instead?” You saw him roll his eyes, leaning back against the wall “You two seemed to have so much fun together”

“Damn it y/n!” He ran his hand through his hair and then pointed at you “See? That's why I didn’t tell you she was there, because you'd start a tempest in a teapot”

“Ohh so now it's my fault?”

“I was thinking about you and…” His tone was raising, but you interrupted him.

“Thinking about me? I think I was the last thing crossing your mind while you were there distracting her!”

“I told you I accepted to go out because she was crying, she’s about to debut, that’s not easy y/n, I've been there, I know how it feels!”

“So being the great person you’re, you were just comforting her…” He nodded, despite your ironic tone “Hyunjin's so great, taking his little friend to get ice cream, yeah”

“I know she wasn't sucking just popsicles!” You snapped and his eyes widened.

“What do you mean?”

“The party, Hyunjin. Stop trying to fool me, I know everything, Chae-hee posted you and her together!”

Hyunjin had no idea about what you thought that happened at the party, until now. Damn, he barely had any memories from it, aside from some flashes of him dancing, drinking and the worst headache he ever felt on the next day.

“But y/n, I didn’t… I…”

“Shhh, do us both a favor and don't even start!” You waved him off, turning away, just a little more and you knew you'd be pathetically crying in front of him.

He didn’t have much time to think or even say anything else, because Felix's car was just turning the corner and driving down the street.

You stayed silent the whole drive to the restaurant, staring out of the window and wiping the insistent tears that would escape, glad your mascara was waterproof.

~ {♡} ~

Some of the staff and the boys were already there when you arrived. You made sure to sit with Changbin and Chaeryeong, staying very far away from Hyunjin, avoiding even looking at his way.

Joo-wan was grilling the beefs, Seungmin was making sure no one’s cup was empty and you were concealing your sadness really well, enjoying the chat with your friends.

During the drive there, Hyunjin tried to remember the details of that night, he remembered Chae-hee being at the party, she had some drinks with her, he tripped and then he was already in bed. He remembered her talking to him…

And that was all. He was sure he didn’t do anything, there was no way, but what the hell were those stuff you said you saw?

That was the question burning in the back of Hyunjin's head… until the alcohol kicked in.

“Alright, alright. Time to reveal our resolutions for next year!” Changbin exclaimed excitedly.

“Are we finally seeing your abs?” Minho teased, making everyone laugh.

“Wait, what resolutions?” Jisung's eyes got wide.

“I have no idea” Jeongin chuckled.

“Well, you'd know what I'm talking about if you checked the group chat” Changbin said, annoyed and the boys laughed.

“Which reminds me, where's our list from last year? We gotta check if we achieved it or not” He looked over everyone and nobody had a clue.

“Wait, wasn't Han responsible for that?” Seungmin questioned and Jisung grabbed his phone, checking the notes.

“Oh shit, I lost it” He whined.

“Jisung's resolution: stop losing things!” Minho chuckled when Han cursed him.

“Now Chan, what's your plans for next year?” Changbin turned to the older.

“Okay, let’s see…” Chan thought for a moment “Next year I plan on fixing my sleep”

“I'll learn english!” Minho raised his hand.

And so it went, Chaeryeong was taking notes as everyone would list their resolutions.

“Next year I won’t let people use me as they please” You said looking directly at Hyunjin and despite being drunk, he understood it right away.

“Ohh that's a good one!” Joo-wan high fived you.

“Next year I'll talk to my partner instead of jumping to conclusions” It was Hyunjin's turn, and he stared at you too.

“Oh yeah, communication’s important” A drunk Jeongin nodded.

“I won’t need to jump into conclusions because my partner won’t give me reasons to be suspicious of him” You looked at him again.

“Yes, we love reassuring men!” Nabi, another staff member, clapped.

Han and Felix exchanged looks.

“I'll wear more crop tops on stage!” Jeongin said completely oblivious to the tension going on.

“I won’t waste my time with a girl who doesn't trust me” Hyunjin scoffed.

“Yeah, if she doesn’t trust you, she isn't worth it” Joo-wan said and Hyunjin right at you as he nodded.

You couldn’t tell what hurted more, Hyunjin's cold tone or him calling you a waste of time.

“Oh, you'll definitely have plenty of options to pick, let’s just hope you're smart enough to make the right choice and not let bitches use you again” You hissed and Hyunjin scoffed.

“Okay, this is getting a bit personal” Changbin whispered to Chaeryeong.

“Are they dating?” She whispered back at him and he was about to answer when you stood up and left.

“Uhh, don’t think so anymore” Changbin whispered and they both watched as Hyunjin stormed off after you seconds later.

“Y/n!” You froze for a moment when you heard Hyunjin call you.

“Don't waste your time coming after me!” You started walking again, your heels clicking as you stepped determined to the garbage cans.

“What are you doing?” Hyunjin shouted when he saw you trying to pull the ring he gave to you. His fingers brushed his own automatically.

“What looks like I'm doing?I'll throw this off!” You hissed, struggling to take the ring off of your finger. You cursed under your breath, it was stuck.

You tried some more, whining but wouldn’t give up until you took it off. Gazing at him, your closed hand reached the recycle bin and you opened, the ring making a clink sound as it hit the bottom.

“Y/n, what the fuck did you do?” His eyes widened and he shouted, grabbing you by your shoulders.

He let go of you and went to the bin, trying to shove his arm inside to take it back.

Luckily all the trash was collected earlier and the bins were sanitized.

“You know what? Why don't you take the opportunity since you're already there and throw yourself too?” You crossed your arms in front of yourself.

“But not on this one, no, no. Let's be organized, dildos belong to that one!” You kept running your mouth, pointing to the plastic ones.

He ignored you, too worried about taking the jewel back.

“Damn it, y/n. It was expensive!” Hyunjin shouted again, he took a few steps back, running his hands through his hair.

You shut your mouth, reality kicked in, the ring wasn't a simple one you can buy on those little tents on the street.

It was a jewel, original, a whole year of your salary worth it.

Oh shit.

“Oh my God, I fucked up, I fucked up” You cried out, taking large steps to the bin you threw it and leaning onto it.

In your attempt to trying to reach, you were almost falling inside “I'm so fucked up, I belong in the trash too”

“Y/n, stop…” Han was making his way coming to you.

“Shh, don’t!” Hyunjin stopped him, grabbing him by his shoulder “She started, now she finishes it!”

“Dude, what if she hurt herself?” Both looked at you, butt up in the air, half body almost all in, struggling.

“Ugh, okay. Fine” Hyunjin walked to you and grabbed you by your waist, easily carrying you out.

“Y/n, enough!” His voice was cold as he hissed at you.

“Nooo, let me go. I fucked up, I need to go to the trash” You cried out, trying to escape him.

“Okay” He rolled his eyes and opened his arms, letting you go.

“Hunf, too bad there isn't a bin for toxic garbage here” He scoffed under his breath after seeing you sit down in front of the paper recycle bin.

“Y/nnie, what are you doing now?” Han rubbed his temples, stopping by your side.

Han sighed when he saw you hug your knees and noticed the tears running down your face. C'mon, he was tired, it was late, he just wanted to go back home.

“Hyunjin said I'm toxic, I'm not worth even being recycled!” You sobbed, pointing at him.

“Dude, what the fuck, why are you being mean to y/nnie?” Felix turned to his friend, and Hyunjin's smirk suddenly faded, giving room for the tears appearing in the corner of his eyes.

“Oh shit, what am I doing?” He snapped and when you realized, he was sitting by your side.

“Don't get near me, I'm radioactive, I’ll contaminate you with my toxicity!” You nudged him away.

“Y/N, HYUNJIN!” Felix's deep voice brought you both attention to him.

“Oh Felix” Hyunjin blushed slightly, giggling.

“Enough of this bullshit, the both of you. Stand up, we're leaving now!” Felix didn't need to order twice, you and Hyunjin quickly obliged.

Hyunjin started following Felix and you followed Han, stopping in your tracks when you realized they were heading to the same car. Han held you by your shoulders, preventing you from running and led you to Felix's car.

~ {♡} ~

Felix drove everyone to his place, and he and Han helped the two of you to get inside.

“Shit, they are still drunk” Felix complained to Jisung, as he sat Hyunjin by your side on the bed, the other hands playing with the pedants from his necklace.

“I told you it wasn't a good idea to let them drink that bottle of soju. Why did you have that in your backseat, anyways?” Han looked at Felix with his eyes widened, Felix having a bottle in his car was really random, just like that whole night.

“Are you an angel, Yongbok?” Hyunjin twirled his finger in the blonde's necklace, whispering, mesmerized with the shining pendant.

“Stop it” He pushed Hyunjin's hand away and took a step back “It was a gift, I forgot it was there until y/nnie found it and chugged half of it before Hyunjin could steal it from her”

Meanwhile you were a crying rambling mess, trying to calculate how you'd survive without a paycheck.

“Ugh, they are annoying me. Maybe we should push them under the shower, to sober them up” Han sighed, he was really tired.

“Hey hey, nobody's gonna take y/n's clothes off” He pushed the boys off and stopped in front of you, his hands pushing your jacket off your shoulders “Only I can do it”

“Stop it! Only my boyfriend can undress me” You snapped and pushed him to the side.

He lost his balance and fell on the bed, rolling on it, he groaned dramatically as if you hurted him. You watched the scene unfold in slow motion: Hyunjin rolling off the edge, your hand reaching out to prevent him from falling, losely grabbing his hair, the strands slipping through your fingers and him hitting the floor causing a thud that made you jolt.

“Oh no, Jinniee. Are you okay?” You peaked over the mattress worried, holding your hand out for him who accepted it.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you” You drunkenly cried out, helping him get back and lay down.

Hyunjin murmured something you didn't understand and threw his arms around your neck, swiftly pulling you to him, making you fall.

“I missed you so much, love” His voice was low and muffled as he had his face buried in your hair, but you heard it loud and clear, your heart jumped.

“Me too, jagi. Me too” You softly murmured, a hand reaching up and gently caressing his cheek, he purred.

“That’s just like ferrets sleep, you know? I saw it in the Nature Channel” Jisung chuckled to Felix, who picked up his phone and snapped a picture of you sleeping entangled with each other.

“Although with those biteable cheeks,y/nnie looks more like a quokka” Felix chuckled, he beckoned to Jisung for them to leave the room.

“Nighty nighty, sweet dreams babies” He said cheekly after turning the lights out and then he closed the door.

~ {♡} ~

It was past noon when you woke up, the rays of light escaping through the curtains annoyed you, so you decided to turn around and then you realized not only you weren’t at your bedroom but also weren’t alone.

Although his grip on your waist got tighter, Hyunjin was still sound asleep as you turned around facing him. You opened your eyes slowly and sighed looking at him, sleeping so cutely, a strand of his hair fell in front of his face and you gave in the urge to brush it off, fingertips gently caressing him and he sighed.

So cute, doesn't even look like you test my patience 24/7, you thought, still caressing his face. You leaned a little closer, wanting to kiss him, like you used to do before, but then your gaze fell on your hand, the absence of your ring being a hard confirmation that the last few weeks weren’t just a bad dream.

“You know it’s rude to stare” His hoarse voice made you jolt and you rolled away.

“I wasn’t staring” You scoffed.

“Yeah, right” He chuckled, his eyes still closed as he stirred up like a cat.

You heard knocks on the door and when it opened, Felix appeared covering his eyes.

“Wakey wakey, are you decent?” He said cheekly and you saw Hyunjin's grin when he tossed a pillow at his friend.

Felix grabbed the pillow and threw himself on the bed, between the two of you.

“I came to say that lunch's ready”

“Lunch? What time is it?” Your eyes widened and you covered your mouth in surprise.

“It's 1pm” Felix chuckled and leaned forward, disheveling even more your hair “Seems like you had a great night of sleep” He teased.

“Shut up” You used your pillow to hit him.

“My head hurts” Hyunjin complained and Felix touched his forehead.

“Poor baby, c'mon. Let's eat some lunch, you're gonna feel better” He pouted at the brunette.

As a big fan of their bromance, deep down you were loving the private hyunlix session, but you had to stop watching their chat to go to the bathroom.

Downstairs, Seungmin and Han were finishing settling the table, the delicious aroma of the food made you float towards the dinner table. After enjoying your meal, you offered to wash the dishes, and while you were drying the plates, something small and shining on the counter island caught your attention.

“Is it mine…” Your fingers were just about to touch the ring when Hyunjin covered it with his hand and pulled it to him.

“It's mine now” His smirk didn't meet his eyes as he put the ring on. Felix and Jisung rescued the jewel earlier this morning.

“Yeah, of course” You whispered, looking down, it would be too much audacity of yours to do that whole scene and still want the ring back.

You weren’t even together anymore.

You weren’t even together anymore,

wow, it's real and official now.

~ {♡} ~

Every night after work you grabbed your fluffy blanket, something good to eat and snuggled up on the couch to keep up with C34 like it was Netflix. As if it was a stupid trick of destiny, nothing happened.

Day after day, Chae-hee seemed to be… Lovely, with the girls.

Hugging them, hyping them up, bringing them water and snacks, that Chae-hee made you wonder if you were overreacting, if what you saw that day was just an isolated event, but what about the other times Na-yeon seemed to be hurt? It couldn’t be a coincidence.

And it wasn't.

One night, you were smiling, watching Minho and Na-yeon chatting, then he gave her a quick kiss before running out, the girls appeared minutes later. Your smile stayed in your face as you watched them dancing, they were really good.

Their song was catchy and you were dancing on your spot when it happened, Chae-hee pushed Na-yeon down and the girl fell on her butt. You stopped and leaned closer, paying attention you saw Chae-hee was yelling at her, then another member approached and helped Na-yeon get up, you recognized her it was Ha-ri, she said something to Chae-hee and then covered herself with her arms as Chae-hee stepped up ready to smack her.

You clicked a few times and then the video was saved on the cloud. Your gaze went to the calendar, marked with a star was the date of their presentation pre-debut, which meant they would do a pocket show for the big names in the industry, a little warm up before the actual debut, a little something before their names would drop and their faces would be all over the internet.

~ {♡} ~

“Relax, you're gonna do great!” Minho whispered in Na-yeon's ear, he was hugging her when you walked in.

You laughed slightly when he broke away from her, tapping her shoulder.

“Uh, I'm going to meet up with the boys. Keep up, fighting!” You both waved him bye and you turned to face a tomato-like Na-yeon.

“Ohh, special support from the boys? Sounds nice” You said cheekly and Na-yeon waved her hand in a silent plea for you to stop teasing her and you chuckled.

“So, where's the girls?” You leaned against the vanity, absentmindedly playing with the makeup brushes with your fingers.

“They went grab something to eat and will be here soon” Na-yeon sat on the little couch there and you realized her shoulders were trembling slightly.

“Don't be nervous, Na-ye. Everything will work fine, I saw you dancing and you're really good” You smiled at her and she smiled back.

Na-yeon opened her group's chat and saw a picture Chae-hee sent of the boys waiting for their presentation, the older one made a heart around Hyunjin and sent a screenshot of a text where she basically intimated him to come. She sighed, putting her phone down.

“Y/n, can we meet up for a coffee later?” Na-yeon said shyly, fidgeting the hem of her skirt.

“Sure, I would love to! Coffee's on me, let's celebrate your debut” Seeing Na-yeon's shyness, you assumed she finally gathered courage to share what was happening in her group.

Maybe she was finally ready to ask for help? This would be such a sweet surprise to her, you both would celebrate Chae-hee's departure, but you couldn’t tell her that yet.

But Na-yeon didn't plan on talking about the abuse she has been suffering, the reason she invited you was because she thought you were a good person and didn't deserve what Chae-hee did to you and Hyunjin, so she'd tell you what really happened during their time in Australia.

The door opened and you saw the girls entering, giggling and teasing each other, Chae-hee smirked when she saw you.

“Y/n, what a nice surprise. Came to support us?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything” Your smile was genuine, you were really eager to watch them on stage.

You checked on your phone, just a few more minutes.

“Well, guess I'm going. See you later girls, fighting!” You stood up and waved for them, Chae-hee was still smirking, she had no idea.

You met the boys at the auditorium, and it would be a lie if you said it didn't hurt when you saw Hyunjin was there. Okay, all of the Stray Kids were there, but still.

“Hey y/nnie, come sit with us!” Chan beckoned at you, Hyunjin acted as if you weren’t even there as you passed him by.

You sat down beside Jeongin, Hyunjin was two chairs away, you avoided looking at him until the lights were out.

He had the same idea, peeking over to check on you while you weren’t looking.

“Hello, we're LuaX and we are going to show you our first song, please enjoy it” Chae-hee said shyly, it was insane how different and fake she looked on stage.

Their first mv started being played on the big screen, it was good, they went for a domestic style, mostly of the scenes being filmed by them and it seemed to please the audience.

Everybody clapped when it ended and then another video started, ‘get to meet the girls from LuaX', some claps and whistles could be heard as flashes of clips from each girl appeared, until it all turned into a full black screen and Ha-ri's name appeared blinking, starting her introduction.

After Ha-ri, it was Na-yeon's turn and then Chae-hee, you shifted on your seat. It started like the others, showing little Chae-hee dancing in a school presentation, more videos of her dancing as she grew up until the screen went black again and stayed like this for a minute. The staff exchanged worried glances, imagining it was a malfunction.

“What are you doing? Fix it!” Chae-hee whispered between gritted teeth to the intern who was in control of the laptop.

As the boy was about to tap on the keyboard, the image appeared again, but instead of the interview with Chae-hee, what appeared on the screen made everybody gasp.

Footage of Chae-hee abusing not only Na-yeon, but the others too, yelling at them, harshly stumbling on them during their dances making them fall, gripping them by their arms…

“What the fuck is this? Turn this off, now!” She hissed at the intern and he clicked over and over, but nothing happened.

Desperate, Chae-hee went to him, palms slamming the keyboard, but the images were still up, so she looked around and ran to pull the plug, the last image appearing was her pushing Na-yeon.

“I… I can explain… I…” The lights were turned on, Chae-hee stared desperately at everyone watching, but something inside her clicked when her gaze met yours, the smirk on your lips telling her all she needed to know.

She stormed away from the stage, the whispers filled the room, Hyunjin noticed you chuckling lightly, he was shocked. Hong-jo went to hug Na-yeon, checking if she was alright and the girl nodded, then she looked at you and you smiled, she understood it right away too.

~ {♡} ~

“I still can't believe you exposed Chae-hee, I could never imagine we were being filmed” Na-yeon blushed slightly, playing with the straw of her caramel latte.

You softly chuckled because you knew she was wondering if you saw her and Minho too.

“I had to gather proof because it was a serious accusation” You leaned forward, whispering “But don’t worry, I made sure to save only those parts, all the rest was deleted”

“What happens to us now? Aren’t we going to debut anymore, is LuaX ruined forever?” She asked after thinking for a moment, was her dream ruined?

“No, no. You, Hari and Ji-soo will debut, don’t worry” Na-yeon smiled, relieved.

“You'll just have to work a lot and harder, because there will be need to erase every single trace of Chae-hee”

“Thank you, for helping me…” Na-yeon smiled shyly “The girls appreciate it too, they just aren’t here because I needed to talk to you in private”

“Is there anything wrong?” You put your mocha latte down and looked at her with concern.

“It's about you and Hyunjin” She picked her phone and unlocked it, opening the chat app.

“Oh, Na-ye, I'm sorry but I don’t wanna talk about him today” You looked down and Na-yeon touched your hand.

“No, y/n. It’s really important, listen, please” She said softly and then she clicked play on the audio Chae-hee sent to her a couple days ago.

Your stomach twisted as you heard Chae-hee describing what happened after she took Hyunjin upstairs, followed by her plan of adding only you to her close friends, that way nobody could contest her and you'd break up with him. Hyunjin was telling the truth and you didn't believe him.

“That's why he was acting so nonchalant about it…” You murmured to yourself, feeling the tears coming.

“We had a fight and he said nothing happened, and still I didn’t believe him” You covered your face with your hands, crying.

“Oh y/nnie, it's not your fault, I'd fall for her tricks too” Na-yeon tried to calm you down.

“I didn’t believe him and now he doesn't want me anymore, he said I was a waste of his time” You cried and Na-yeon reached out, gently tapping your arm.

“He's ignoring me, he's probably already dating her now”

“No, no, they aren’t together, I can guarantee you” Na-yeon shook her head.

“Chae-hee's mad af because she wanted to give him another chance after the er… incident, but he keeps turning her down” She whispered and you felt a little relief.

“He still likes you, y/nnie. Minho told me Hyunjin talks about you a lot” She blushed at the mention of Minho, and omitted the part where Hyunjin's talks about you were all complainings, all that mattered was that he was thinking about you, right?

~ {♡} ~

Hyunjin was surprised, he knew Chae-hee was nice to him because she wanted to pull down his boxers, but he didn’t think she was such a bitch. And he still had no idea what she did to him that night, all he remembered was her helping him get to his room and then Felix changing the sheets and taking care of his drunk ass.

Chae-hee leaving was the hot tea on the halls of JYP, no one knew who manipulated the video, but most of the people praised the one who did, saying if they had the chance, they would do the same. Hyunjin would smirk walking down the halls, he knew it was you right away.

So that was that mysterious work thing you didn't want to tell him. He was still hurt because of that, and a lot of other things too, the top on his list was you not believing him, that’s why he has been ignoring you and pretending you didn't exist, and he thought he was doing a great job at it, but the boys wouldn’t agree since he couldn’t stop talking about you.

The girls from LuaX were super busy recording their songs again and changing choreographies, but the days were much better now, without a trace of Chae-hee. You were relieved to walk around the company and not run into her anymore, not big on believing in energies and stuff, but the vibes definitely felt better without her there.

Speaking of vibes, yours weren’t the best as you finished packing for Japan. You tried for the last time to change it, but it didn't work, so you were here, zipping up your last suitcase.

You checked everything in the house one last time, all good, then went out to wait for Felix, you'd both head to the airport together, the boys flew the day before and he stayed because he had an event to attend on the date.

Leaning on your back on the wall, waiting outside on the street, you sighed when you realized your headphone ran out of battery. As you were putting it back inside your purse, a familiar voice shouting your name caught your attention.

“Chae-hee?” You blinked as you watched her hard steps towards your direction. How the hell did she know where you lived?

“You bitch, I know it was you who made that video!” Chae-hee kept shouting and pointing at you, she was coming closer now.

“Yeah, it was me. Did you like my editing skills?” You scoffed, crossing your arms in front of your body and grinning at her.

Chae-hee closed her hand into a fist and groaned as she advanced towards you, in a quick move, you grabbed her fist mid air as it was about to hit your face and smirked.

“Chae-hee… were you going to punch me?” You pouted, grip on her wrist getting tighter as you shook your head feigning disbelief “I thought we were friends? Close friends even” You mocked.

“Ughh, let me go!” She tried to pull her hand, and you thought for a moment, you weren’t planning on it, but you saw the car parking near you, so you had to, you needed to take the ride.

Unfortunately, that wasn't yours.

“Bitch!” Chae-hee spat, massaging her bruised wrist after you pushed her away, letting go of her hand.

Chae-hee came ready to punch you again, trying to catch you off guard.

“Bitch, don’t you ever try to lay a finger on me again!” You said through gritted teeth as you grabbed her wrist again and lifted her arm, at the same time in a swift move you used your dominating hand to punch her on cheek.

A strangled sound came out of Chae-hee's lips and she fell down, she touched her face, it was stinging really bad and red, you took a step and leaned down, grabbing a fistful of her hair and forcing her to look at you.

“And just so you know, this one was for what you did to Hyunjin. If you wanna keep that pretty face intact, don’t ever get near him again!” You pushed her and she trembled.

“Now get out of here!” You ordered and she crawled backwards a few steps and then awkwardly stood up and ran away.

You sighed, rubbing your temples, the rush of adrenaline slowing down and you were realizing what happened, your hand hurted.

“Y/nnie, are you alright?” You jolted when you turned around and saw Felix walking up to you.

“Lixie, oh my God. For how long were you here?”

“Long enough” He chuckled and pulled you into a hug.

“Oh, that’s embarrassing” You said shyly, hiding your face on his chest.

“Don't be, it was good. You learned it really well” He chuckled.

When you asked Felix to teach you some taekwondo moves, you were just playing around, but in the end turns out it was very useful.

“Thanks to my Sensei”

“This is for karate, in taekwondo we say Sabomnim” He pinched your cheeks.

“Then thanks Sabomnim!” You said cheekly.

“That's better. Now, let's go, I don’t want you picking more fights on the streets” He disheveled your hair, and you groaned.

~ {♡} ~

The moment you stepped in Japan, you changed your mind, you were glad you came, as you looked out of the window, you were excited to go out and explore it all, although fitting your list of places to go and things to do was a real challenge with the busy agenda of the boys.

You and Hyunjin? Well… it was complicated.

In the perfect world, you'd run into his arms as soon as you'd step into the hotel, and you'd tell him all about your talk with Na-yeon and later would be at his room showing how sorry you were for not believing in him. Unfortunately, life wasn't a fanfic and he reminded you that when he ignored you as he passed you by.

But as the days went by, something changed, Hyunjin even quickly grinned at you at the Versace store, during the event he participated and if your mind wasn't tricking you, he murmured to the pinkish fluffly plushie he won, that his new additional's name was now ‘y/nnie’.

When you texted Heyoon about it, she told you not to get your hopes up - too late. You knew she just wanted to protect you from another heartbreak, one more and you could request a song on that TV show where players who score 3 gols get their favorite song played, but what if this time it worked out?

What's the saying? Third time’s a charm?

Yeah, maybe you could request a song, after all, but a romantic instead of a sad one.

~ {♡} ~

Few things made you so happy as day offs, sleeping until noon, going to eat out, shopping, today was the day. You smiled as you checked your phone, the time marked 12:20 when you woke up, no alarm, no messages, no notifications, just silence and peace, wow, when was the last time you felt that?

You sat down, lazily stirring up and went jumping to the bathroom, thinking about the stuff you had planned for today. Your day was going great, you checked out almost all of your list, you realized as you placed your purchases on your bed, admiring all the shopping bags laying there.

And to end it perfectly, time to relax, you said to yourself as you walked though the hotel heading to the hot tub. Your smile got wider when you saw the sign written Relax & Enjoy, oh you'd definitely would.

Your eyes sparked when you opened the door, unraveling the coziness inside, the room was large, floor and walls made of wooden with two walls made fully of glass, presenting a beautiful view of a garden, the trees offering privacy to the guests that can enjoy the hot tub or just light up some incenses and meditate on the lilac futon, adorned with fluffy cushions, you wondered if it was okay to take a nap there later.

You lit some lavender incenses, then kneeled down, pressing some buttons and stood up again, you let the white robe slid down your figure and you stepped into the hot tub, wetting your foot slowly, testing the temperature before lowering your body down in the warm water, sitting down.

Sighing, would be a lie if you said you didn't wish Hyunjin was there with you, thinking about him made you realize, you haven’t seen or heard from him or any of the boys the whole day.

“Wow, I can even hear my thoughts, nice” You giggled, leaning back and closing your eyes “So peaceful…”

Being so relaxed, you were almost napping right there, but your peace didn't last long. You didn't hear the crack of the door opening or the footsteps walking where you were, until you heard the sound of giggling and the water splashing around.

“Spoke too soon” You rolled your eyes after opening them and seeing Jeongin, Han and Felix sitting down around you.

“C'mon, don’t act like you weren't missing us” And there he was, sitting down in front of you, that annoying grin playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat.

The whole time, you tried and failed to look away from him, and Hyunjin would often chuckle, not because he thought what one of the boys said was funny, but because he could see his effect on you. The struggle was real, and the boys were noticing too, giggling and exchanging looks.

After what felt like hours, the boys decided to leave, their smirks were unnoticed by you as one by one they stood up, waving you goodbye. You looked at Hyunjin and he shook his head, not making a move to leave, great, you thought.

You laid your head back down and closed your eyes, his soft giggle made you feel butterflies.

“Heard you punched Chae-hee because of me” Hyunjin broke the silence after some time, you weren’t seeing it, but you knew the smirk was there.

“It was…” You started saying, but he interrupted.

“Really hot…” You looked at him as he approached you “Felix showed me the video, that punch was really good, wish I was there to witness in person”

“Oh c'mon” You covered your face, embarrassed that Felix filmed the whole thing and especially that Hyunjin watched it.

“Admit it, you've been wanting to do this since you laid your eyes on her” He teased you, closer now.

You giggled, but nodded, your face still covered.

“I knew it” He chuckled, gently pulling your hands down.

“What are you doing?” You whispered as he held your hands and placed them over his shoulders, leaning closer. You wondered if he could hear your heart beating faster.

“Something you're dying for me to do, since the show last night” He said cocky and before you could say anything, his lips pressed against yours.

Hyunjin's hands went to your waist, pulling you close to him as he teased your bottom lip with his tongue, you gave him entrance and wrapped your arms around his neck, he smiled against your lips when he felt you coming up to sit on his lap, a soft sound escaped your lips as his big hands reached your ass, gripping the flesh hard, pulling you even closer, he groaned as it made you grind against him.

It felt good, he did it again and again, his hands guiding your hips, while his lips left yours to make a trail of kisses on your neck, going straight to the spots he knew you were more sensitive, licking and sucking on the skin.

The way you moaned so softly, digging your nails on his shoulder, dragging your pussy up and down on his bulge, adjusting yourself, he knew you were about to come soon and if he didn’t do something quick, he would too.

You whined in protest when he held you in place, stopping your moves and it made him chuckle.

“Oh I'm sorry, did I interrupt your fun?” He chuckled teasingly.

“Jagiya” He chuckled again, finding your annoyance cute, but he wouldn’t tease you further, not today…

Hyunjin moved you, making you straddle his leg, tensing up his thigh, he helped to adjust you and gave your butt another squeeze, before you started grinding on him again.

You leaned forward, kissing his neck, moans muffled against his wet skin as you kept going, his hands roamed all over your body, until they stopped by the strings of your bikini, working quick to untie them, letting the piece float on the water, hands cupping your breasts, thumbs teasing the sensitive buds. Your legs started getting shaky and your moves sloppy, Hyunjin held you by your hips, guiding your moves as he knew by the way your moans were getting louder and your body tensing up, you were about to come.

And you did, holding tight onto him, burying your face on his shoulder, you gave it a delicate kiss, lips lightly brushing against his skin, nibbling on it as you came down from your high.

“Let’s move to the fuck futon” He whispered in your ear before lightly nibbling your earlobe, making you shiver.

“It's not a futon for fucking, oh my God” You murmured under your breath, embarrassed and he chuckled.

Hyunjin gently pushed you off him and you stood up, followed by him and both walked to the futon, you couldn’t help but smile as he sprawled out a towel on it, before beckoning for you to lay down. You obliged, and he kneeled in front of you, hands running up your thighs until they reached your bikini bottom, his fingers hooked on the waistband, watching in awe as his hands slowly pulled the fabric down your thighs until it reached your ankles and then it was tossed behind him.

“So pretty” He whispered and twiched inside his swimtrucks, that grin appearing.

You wasted no time in wrapping your arms around him when he crawled on top of you, slotting between your legs, he kissed you and his hand started exploring your body again, gripping on your waist, your curves, until it slid down to your thigh, he alternated between caressing and squeezing the flesh, the kiss getting deeper as his touch got bolder, fingertips slowly making their way to your inner thigh, until it reached your middle.

Your own hands explored his body too, feeling his muscles up, pulling him closer, your fingers digged on his biceps as he slid his fingers between your folds, then pressed on your clit, starting to rub lazy circles on it. Hyunjin smirked, feeling how wet you were already, and you moaned against his mouth, nibbling his bottom lip as his finger slid inside you. He pumped it a few times before adding a new one, his lips making a trail of wet kisses to your jaw, then your neck and going down.

“Jinnie…” You moaned a little louder, when he found that sweet spot inside you.

“Here?” His fingers curled up, and his lips attached to your nipple, tongue swirling around the hardening bud, before he started sucking.

You nodded, a little breathless, your hand went to his hair, fingers carding through his locks and his free hand slid up, fondling your breast, while he sucked on the other.

“Don't stop…” You pleaded, hips moving against his fingers that were pumping in and out quickly, his lips latching on your other breast, he kept alternating between them.

Hyunjin withdrew his fingers and started to rub on your clit, he could tell you were about to come again, from the lightly trembling of your body under him, the way you pulled him closer and kept lifting your hips again.

Just one more rub and you'd be gone, he softly chuckled, when you protested as he stoped his moves completely. You groaned in frustation.

“Ah, don’t worry. You're gonna cum…” He brought his coated fingers to your mouth, slowly sliding the digits inside, your eyes locked with his as you licked his fingers clean off your juices. He smirked and stood up. “...but around my cock”

You watched his hands working fast to get rid of his clothing, clenching around nothing as you saw the pinkish tip glistening with precum. He looked at you, biting into his lower lip as he stroked himself a few times before finding his way back between your legs.

He dragged his cock over your slit, hissing as he coated the length with your arousal. Hyunjin stared at you as his tip teased your entrance, and you nodded slightly, he leaned down, capturing your lips as he slid in slowly, opening you up inch by inch.

Even though he prepared you with his fingers, it still burned as he got in, your nails digging on his back and your eyes closed, Hyunjin caressed your cheek and started peppering kisses all over your face and your lips, distracting you as he pushed up until he bottomed out.

The kisses kept going, slowly and sweet. He stood still, letting you adjust to him before he started moving, slowly the burning sensation was disappearing.

“Too big, Jinnie…” Your sweet cry made him push deeper, grinning against your lips.

“Shhh, it's alright. You take me so well, baby” He picked up the pace, going faster.

He held your thigh, lifting it up, the new angle letting him reach deeper, yours and his moans filling up the room. Your nails scraped his back and he hissed with the mix of pleasure and pain.

“So fucking tight” He groaned and you instinctively clenched around him “Oh shit”

Hyunjin leaned in, sucking on your breast again, earning more moans from you as he moved fast, angling his hips to hit that spot that made you see stars as you moved against him, meeting his thrusts.

He made a trail of wet kisses up until he reached your lips, swallowing your moans, you held him tight against you, clenching more around him and pushing him closer to the edge, so his hand reached between you, finding your clit and rubbing circles against the bundle of nerves. Your sweet moans getting louder and more desperate were like music to his ears.

“I love you” The words easily slipped out of your lips when he broke the kiss, it wasn't a reflection of your foggy mind, consumed by the pleasure he was giving to you. You truly meant it.

“I love you too” His words made your heart fluster, and you pulled him closer again, passionately kissing him.

“Jinnie… please” You cried out, breaking the kiss.

“I've got you, doll. You can cum, now” He rubbed faster.

A thing he loved about you, how easily he could make you cum, it was both exciting and endearing for him, every time he felt you were about to, he would slow down his thrusts and his fingers moves, forcing you to last longer, but now that he was almost gone too, he would let you go all the way.

“Jinnie, oh shit!” Your legs started trembling, followed by your body, your nails dug on him as you came, almost making him come too, from all the clenching so hard around him.

He kept rubbing your clit as you came down from your high, his thrusts were getting sloppy and his balls tightening. You noticed when Hyunjin started pulling out.

“Don't you dare!” You said through gritted teeth, wrapping your legs tight around his waist, locking him in.

His eyes widened as he looked at you with surprise, damn, he thought that was hot, he quickly picked up the pace again. Hard, fast, deep.

He groaned against your neck and you felt the warm, white ropes of his release filling you up. You embraced him, legs still wrapped around his waist, keeping him close as he still thrusted a few more times, not letting one drop go to waste.

The moans were replaced by “I love you's” and the sound of breaths hitched, hearts beating rapidly and in sync, you kissed his hair when he collapsed on top of you, lying his head on your chest.

~ {♡} ~

You were nervous, after the fog of the moment dismissed. You knew you both would have to talk, you still needed to apologise to him, make everything clear, and all, plus there was a not so small train of thoughts creeping in the back of your head, what if it was a spur of the moment thing? What if he would change his mind after he kisses you goodnight and leaves you at your door? What if he would come back to his senses and ignore you the next day?

Luckily, all those worries were pushed away as he pulled you closer against him, his grip tight on your waist as he moaned, burying himself into your tight heat.

You hated waking up early in the morning, but that day, you couldn’t be happier to be woken by him. Spooning you, his hard on pressed against your butt, lips teasing your neck, lazily licking and sucking on the skin, and hand shoved under your pajama top, cupping your breast, of course.

“Damn, doll. This pussy's perfect, just made for me” His thrusts were getting sloppy, and you gripped the sheets, his hand rubbing circles against your clit, making you cry out, calling his name as you came for the second time in the morning.

He came shortly after, gripping on your hips and holding you in place as he filled you up, and as you watched him swing off the bed, admiring his cute little butt as he went to the bathroom, to grab a washcloth to clean you both, you couldn’t help but smile. You could get used to this.

Turns out, your trip to Japan was amazing.

You realized that as you two spent the last day there exploring and enjoying your time together, like you used to imagine it would be. No, it was better, because this time it was real.

Was real in the way his fingers intertwined with yours, as you walked on the streets; in the sweet sound of his giggles when you said something that he found funny; in the way his eyes sparked when something caught his attention; in the warmth of his embrace, as you watched the sunset in a park before heading back to the hotel.

And it was perfect, as you received a goodnight kiss, and snuggled up against him to sleep again.

~ {♡} ~

Every fruit produced here's organic, delivered with love from our family to yours.

A smiling and sweet old lady said to the camera, as she walked in joining a small group of people standing in the field, holding baskets, each one had a variety of fruit. A girl, wearing a denim jumpsuit, with a straw hat to conceal her face and a basket full of apples, stepped forward.

Take care of your health, start the new year in the right way, with Organic Life.

You didn't need to see the hat being gone by the wind to recognize that voice, but the scene made everyone in the living room laugh, watching her desperate frown for being recognized, a short desperate shot where you could clearly see she was dropping the basket before the ad ended.

“So, what is it? Chae-hee's an actress now?” Seungmin wondered, switching the tv channel.

“I thought she was banned from the industry, after everything that happened” Chaeryeong

commented, snuggling up against Changbin on the couch.

“And she is!” Na-yeon picked her mug from the coffee table “That's actually her family's farm, she was forced to get back with them because nobody wanted to sign her” She had a smirk as she said that, ever since Na-yeon knew Chae-hee, the older always told her how much she hated the country life, and that she would leave and never look back.

“Well, she can be the cows’ idol now” Minho shrugged and everyone laughed.

The group was reunited at Han and Minho's place to celebrate the New Year's. It’s been some weeks since you came back from Japan, you were suppose to be used to reality by now, but as you felt Hyunjin suddenly wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind and nuzzling his nose against your neck, you giggled and realized you were still in a daydreaming state.

He turned you to face him, everyone gathered in the living room, the last presentation of the night ended and now the singers were starting the countdown.

10, 9, 8…

The bright and big numbers flashed on the screen.

7, 6, 5, 4… You wrapped your arms around his neck, both smiling as you leaned closer.

3, 2, 1… Your lips finally connected, happy New Year!

Same night, last year, you were at a party that Heyoon dragged you, closing your eyes and making a wish as the clock hit midnight. Now, one year later, your wish came true.

You and Hyunjin were embracing at the balcony, watching the fireworks.

“Give me your hand” Hyunjin grabbed your wrist and you watched intently as he took his - yours - ring off of his finger.

“I believe this belongs with you” He smirked, sliding the band on yours, then he gazed at you “Just stay away from bin's this time around, okay?”

“Oh wait, wait!” Han stood up and rushed inside, you watched with confusion.

Jisung came back a minute later, waving a tiny bottle, you identified what it was when he approached you.

“Super glue?” Hyunjin's eyes widened, surprised.

“Just to make sure” Jisung explained, trying to grab your hand but you pulled back.

“Hey!” You protected your hand, eyebrows narrowing at him before turning to Hyunjin, your tone soft as you talked to him “Don't worry, this ring's never leaving again”

“It better not, although Jisung's idea isn't so bad” He teased you and you slapped his arm.

Later that night, the subtle sound of clothes begin discarded on the floor, kissing, giggling and whispering were filling your room.

“Thank you, for the ring and for letting me love you again” You whispered between the kisses you were peppering on his face, the last being on his lips.

“I'm the one who should thank you, for coming back to my life” He smiled so sweetly, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb, before swiftly rolling you both, lying on top of you and capturing your lips again.

Maybe it's right, maybe wishes do come true, if you wish hard enough.

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #My fic

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elliesmainhoe · 8 months ago

Text

"SUPER GRAPHIC ULTRA MODERN GIRL"

Ellie Williams x Fem!reader

Summary: wasting a friday night on a first dare with a boy you've never met in person was a dumb idea- and suprise! it all goes to shit- but Ellie's there to make sure you have a good time.

Warnings: boys are boring, ellie is hot, suggestive, alcohol, mentions of weed consumption, groping.

WC 500

DAY 2 OF SAPPHIC SUMMER

Fuck you were stupid.

You would think at 23 years of age you would have learned to never waste a sacred Friday night on a first date. So here you were, with your hair straight, glittered eyelids, and glossed lips listening to a man you had met on BUMBLE talk about geo politics or some shit- you had stopped paying attention to whatever he was talking about at least an hour ago- or at least it felt like an hour ago.

Downing another shot, and giving the man in front of you a tight smile- “hey wanna dance? I love this song”

“nah- ‘m not a dancer”

Oh for fuck sake- could this get any worse? Your surrounded by loads of hot couples, grinding on each other, the smell of alcohol, sex and weed engulfed the space around you, and instead of having a hot one night stand with a stranger, you have to listen to this man- who was wearing the most disgusting, fugly skinny jeans which looked like they hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in a decade.

As if an otherworldly being had heard your thoughts a meek tap is felt on your shoulder, you turn around to see a pretty girl, around your age, maybe a little younger with a nervous smile on her face.

“uh- ill have that dance, if your still offering…”

With a laugh you take her hand, turning quickly to the man who now looked bewildered “ill speak to you later, or not-” you smile before dragging the girl to the dancefloor, illuminated by pink led lights and packed with people. You grabbed the woman’s wrists wrapping her arms around your waist as you push your ass against her groin, grinding against her to the beat of the music.

Her hands grip at your waist, pushing up against you in retaliation, “what were you doing with that asshole,huh?, a man like him can’t handle a bombshell of a girl like you-”

“what ‘re you saying, think you could handle me pretty girl?” a cocky smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you turn around, so you were now chest to chest with her, looking at the bashful blush on her cheeks at the nickname.

Your hips push forward now pelvis to pelvis with the girl, making her sputter out “ ‘m not pretty- im like so rugged”

You give another teasing laugh, hand brushing up into the girls hair, bodys moving together in unison “rugged huh?” you hum “suppose that makes sense, my knight in shining armour”

She grins at the compliment, hands moving down from your waist and landing on your ass, squeezing at the plush flesh, startling you into a whimper, suddenly becoming aware of how close your faces are, feeling the fan of her breath on her face.

“where you planning on sweeping me away from that asshole as soon as I got in here or what?”

“what can I say, I know what I want… now- your place or mine?”

••••••••••••••

WOOF WOOF WOOF- ALL HAIL OUR SUPREME LEADER CHAPPEL ROAN

not proofread

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onelittlespiral · 7 months ago

Note

Hey, it's been pretty hard to motivate myself to write lately with my new job, so I want to reward someone who's doing a great job getting his work done lately. I want to give idesofrevolution a nice musky dudebro transformation he'll really love, and hopefully the mystery transformation gives me some more free time to be horny and creative.

Subject: Order #100690

Dear Fred,

Thank you for your recent purchase from The Spiral, home for all your transformation needs! Your order #100690 has been received and is on its way as we speak. Your order includes:

(1) Bro(Musk)_From_Friend(Online; Blog)

(1) Mystery(Self)

Please note that due to the subject’s history with transformations, delivery methods may be delayed or gradual. Expect fulfillment in 2-3 weeks.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

We knew you’d come around and round and round and round…

You couldn’t wait to hear back from The Spiral, checking your inbox every couple of hours for any updates on delivery. Training was slow and boring at the new office, so there wasn’t much to do besides sit through the standard HR videos on one monitor and scroll social media on the other. That was when you received an email notification. You opened it up, and excitement turns to disappointment. Just another boring diversity video. You pop it up on the side, plug in your headphones, and wait for the stock music and graphics to start. Except, this one is different. You are watching from a first person perspective as a man walks into a room and lies down on a couch. The camera captures his enormous pecs, hiding the rest of his torso, as they flex a little. You glance around the office, nervous about who may be watching. Something must be wrong, this can’t be your afternoon assignment. But your eyes are drawn back to the screen when the door opens again and another beautiful man graces the screen. Your eyes fix on his, as he leans into the camera for a kiss. You can almost feel his heat through the screen, and you’re soon relaxed in your chair, watching the show.

As he slowly grinds against you, you subconsciously begin to rub at your own crotch, simulating his movements. You begin to feel a horny fog fill your mind as you begin to buy into the fantasy, beginning to ignore your surroundings and forget about your coworkers. It isn’t long before your dick is fully out, imaging how good it feels to have his soft hands rubbing your hardening member. You don’t even notice how much you are beginning to leak pre-cum, synchronized with when he places his delicate lips on your cock and takes the whole member in one motion. You lean back in your chair and let the waves of pleasure relax your muscles. You begin to feel so heavy, as your arms grow tired of stroking. You place them behind your head, letting this experience overtake you as you continue to have your cock expertly worked by a pro. You begin to match his tempo, thrusting in time. Your grunts are getting deeper as you begin to get close. Your partner feels it coming, and steadies his tempo. He doesn’t want you to come too soon. But the fog in your brain is only intensify, leaving you more aroused by the moment. You aren’t able to hold it in much longer.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum in you, and you better not miss a drop,” you say, and his eyes show understanding. You reach out and tug at his hair, taking control of the tempo as his eyes begin to water. But he doesn’t have to worry for too long. You are soon dumping your load in his stomach, and he cums hands free in turn, as the director gets the money shot.

“CUT! That’s a wrap.”

Your partner gets up and wipes himself down. You just grab your shorts and sit back down on the couch.

It’s going to be a long day of shooting, but you love it. At least here you get to be horny and own it. And, more importantly, get paid. Could be worse. You could be stuck at some stuffy office job. Just then your phone buzzes with a notification. One of your friends just posted, let’s see… oh, @idesofrevolution. Good thing too, you had been worried about Frost. Annnnd a second notification from your management company, The Spiral. They were sending you some confirmation info… something about the Doctor himself coincidentally enough. Seemed to be some details about a movie scene or something meant for him, so probably some mix up. Let’s see what it says…

Dr. Frost was has some background knowledge on our methods from years of research into his own transformation methods. Consequently we took a more gradual approach. Slowly, we began introducing neural waves throughout his day to prime him. In his home, in his car, on his blog, we implemented subtle messages about growth. About muscle. About musk. After all, who needs to waste so much time showering every day? When his deodorant sticks keep going missing, what was the point in buying more? After all, he no longer had much time to go to the store, as he logged off from work and drove straight to the gym every day. At first he wondered why he was suddenly so worried about his health. But as we continued to amplify our waves, he soon stopped worrying. It was natural to want to be strong. It was natural to reek. It was natural to feel good, bro. I’m in control.

As his musk intensifies, he is only conditioning himself to become more and more self indulgent. We began alternating frequencies, sending his testosterone through the roof, driving a new crop of hair growth and keeping his balls plenty full. Between his pit stench and constant gym pump, he is keeping himself at a near constant leak of pre-cum, and quickly soiling any attempt at covering himself up. Not that he cares. He hasn’t showered in a few weeks, only allowing himself tongue baths from whatever gym bro he catches staring and manages to get into his truck for a make out sesh. His memories are evaporated, nothing more than a sweat stain on his favorite cap. His brain is so high on his own supply, our neural waves had to be amplified to get through his brain fog. Hell, he can hardly form a proper sentence, bro. We have taken the liberty of updating his blog to more accurately reflect his new interests. His stories have been replaced with his thirst traps and progress photos. We are satisfied with his progress and have left him to continue his journey of his own, new and improved, free will.

You should really reach out to him sometime. See if he wants to take his modeling career in a new, more exciting direction. Could be fun to suck that musky cock…

Subject: Order #100690 Fulfilled

Dear Fred,

Your order has been fulfilled. We know you have many options, but thank you for supporting The Spiral.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

#musk #male transformation #transformation #hypnosis #bro #jock #reality change #jockification #bogo #technology tf #male tf

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months ago

Text

All the books I reviewed in 2024

I reviewed 26 books this year: 15 novels, 5 nonfiction books, and 6 graphic novels. Even though I feel perennially behind on my reading (and objectively, I do have 10 linear feet of "to be read" books on the shelf), I think this is a pretty good haul.

Books are pretty much the ideal gift, if you ask me. Of course, I'm biased as a former bookseller and library worker, and as an author (of course) – I had three more books come out in 2024 (see the end of this post for details).

I started a lot more than 26 books this year. Long ago, I figured life was too short for books I wasn't enjoying, and I'm pretty ruthless about putting books down partway through if I think they're not going to reward finishing them. I probably start 10 books for every one I finish. However, I do review more than 90% of the books I get through. It's rare for me to keep reading a book all the way to the end if I'm not enjoying it enough to unconditionally recommend it. I rarely review books I don't like – there's not really any point in cataloging the list of books I think you won't enjoy reading, and most books I don't like very much are broken in ways that are too banal to comment upon.

The list below is pretty great, but if you're looking for more, here's the haul from 2023:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/01/bookmaker/#2023-in-review

NOVELS

I. Cahokia Jazz by Francis Spufford

A fucking banger: it's a taut, unguessable whuddunit, painted in ultrablack noir, set in an alternate Jazz Age in a world where indigenous people never ceded most the west to the USA. It's got gorgeously described jazz music, a richly realized modern indigenous society, and a spectacular romance. It's amazing.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/04/cahokia/#the-sun-and-the-moon

II. After World by Debbie Urbanski

An unflinching and relentlessly bleak tale of humanity's mass extinction, shot through with pathos and veined with seams of tragic tenderness and care. Sen Anon – the story's semi-protagonist – is 18 years old when the world learns that every person alive has been sterilized and so the human race is living out its last years.

The news triggers a manic insistence that this is a good thing – long overdue, in fact – and the perfect opportunity to scan every person alive for eventual reincarnation as virtual humans in an Edenic cloud metaverse called Gaia. That way, people can continue to live their lives without the haunting knowledge that everything they do makes the planet worse for every other living thing, and each other. Here, finally, is the resolution to the paradox of humanity: our desire to do good, and our inevitable failure on that score.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/18/storyworker-ad39-393a-7fbc/#digital-human-archive-project

III. Jonathan Abernathy You Are Kind by Molly McGhee

A dreamlike tale of a public-private partnership that hires the terminally endebted to invade the dreams of white-collar professionals and harvest the anxieties that prevent them from being fully productive members of the American corporate workforce.

We meet Jonathan as he is applying for a job that he was recruited for in a dream. As instructed in his dream, he presents himself at a shabby strip-mall office where an acerbic functionary behind scratched plexiglass takes his application and informs him that he is up for a gig run jointly by the US State Department and a consortium of large corporate employers. If he is accepted, all of his student debt repayments will be paused and he will no longer face wage garnishment. What's more, he'll be doing the job in his sleep, which means he'll be able to get a day job and pull a double income – what's not to like?

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/08/capitalist-surrealism/#productivity-hacks

IV. The Book of Love by Kelly Link

If you've read Link's short stories (which honestly, you must read), you know her signature move: a bone-dry witty delivery, used to spin tales of deceptive whimsy and quirkiness, disarming you with daffiness while she sets the hook and yanks. That's the unmistakeable, inimitable texture of a Kelly Link story: deft literary brushstrokes, painting a picture so charming and silly that you don't even notice when she cuts you without mercy.

Turns out that she can quite handily do this for hundreds of pages, and the effect only gets better when it's given space to unfold.

It's a long and twisting mystery about friendship, love, queerness, rock-and-roll, stardom, parenthood, loyalty, lust and duty.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/13/the-kissing-song/#wrack-and-roll

V. Lyorn by Steven Brust

The seventeenth book in Steven Brust's long-running Vlad Taltos series. For complicated reasons, Vlad has to hide out in a theater. Why a theater? They are shielded from sorcery, as proof against magical spying by rival theater companies, and Vlad is on the run from the Left Hand of the Jhereg – the crime syndicate's all-woman sorceress squad – and so he has to hide in the theater.

The theater is mounting a production of a famous play that's about another famous play. The first famous play (the one the play is about – try and follow along, would you?) is about a famous massacre that took place thousands of years before. The play was mounted as a means of drumming up support for the whistleblower who reported on the massacre and was invited to a short-term berth in the Emperor's death row as a consequence.

The plot is a fantastic, fast-handed caper story that has a million moving parts, a beautiful prestige, and a coup de grace that'll have you cheering and punching the air.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/09/so-meta/#delightful-doggerel

VI. Till Human Voices Wake Us by Rebecca Roque

A teen murder mystery told in the most technorealist way. Cia's best friend Alice has been trying to find her missing boyfriend for months, and in her investigation, she's discovered their small town's dark secret – a string of disappearances, deaths and fires that are the hidden backdrop to the town's out-of-control addiction problem.

Alice has something to tell Cia, something about the fire that orphaned her and cost her one leg when she was only five years old, but Cia refuses to hear it. Instead, they have a blazing fight, and part ways. It's the last time Cia and Alice ever see each other: that night, Alice kills herself.

Or does she? Cia is convinced that Alice has been murdered, and that her murder is connected to the drug- and death-epidemic that's ravaging their town. As Cia and her friends seek to discover the town's secret – and the identity of Alice's killer – we're dragged into an intense, gripping murder mystery/conspiracy story that is full of surprises and reversals, each more fiendishly clever than the last.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/16/dead-air/#technorealism

VII. The Steerswoman by Rosemary Kirstein

Randall "XKCD" Munroe pitched me on this over dinner: "All these different people kept recommending them to me, and they kept telling me that I would love them, but they wouldn't tell me what they were about because there's this huge riddle in them that's super fun to figure out for yourself. "The books were published in the eighties by Del Rey, and the cover of the first one had a huge spoiler on it. But the author got the rights back and she's self-published it."

How could I resist a pitch like that? So I ordered a copy. Holy moly is this a good novel! And yeah, there's a super interesting puzzle in it that I won't even hint at, except to say that even the book's genre is a riddle that you'll have enormous great fun solving.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/04/the-wulf/#underground-fave

VIII. Moonbound by Robin Sloan

Moonbound's protagonist is a "chronicler," a symbiotic fungus engineered to nestle in a human's nervous system, where it serves as a kind of recording angel, storing up the memories, experiences and personalities of its host. When we meet the chronicler, it has just made a successful leap from its old host – a 10,000-years-dead warrior who had been preserved in an anaerobic crashpod ever since her ship was shot out of the sky – into the body of Ariel, a 12-year-old boy who had just invaded the long-lost tomb.

This is doing fiction in hard mode, and Sloan nails it. The unraveling strangeness of Ariel's world is counterpointed with the amazing tale of the world the chronicler hails from, even as the chonicler consults with the preserved personalities of the heroes and warriors it had previous resided in and recorded.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/11/penumbraverse/#middle-anth

IX. Fight Me by Austin Grossman

Aging ex-teen superheroes weigh the legacy of Generation X, in a work that enrobes its savage critique with sweet melancholia, all under a coating of delicious snark. The Newcomers – an amped-up ninja warrior, a supergenius whose future self keeps sending him encouragement and technical schematics backwards through time, and an exiled magical princess turned preppie supermodel – have spent more than a decade scattered to the winds. While some have fared better than others, none of them have lived up to their potential or realized the dreams that seemed so inevitable when they were world famous supers with an entourage of fellow powered teens who worshipped them as the planet's greatest heroes.

As they set out to solve the mystery of the wizard who gave the protagonist his powers, they are reunited and must take stock of who they are and how they got there (cue Talking Heads' "Once In a Lifetime").

The publisher's strapline for this book is "The Avengers Meets the Breakfast Club," which is clever, but extremely wrong. The real comp for this book isn't "The Breakfast Club," it's "The Big Chill."

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/01/the-big-genx-chill/#im-super-thanks-for-asking

X. Glass Houses by Madeline Ashby

Kristen is the "Chief Emotional Manager" for Wuv, a hot startup that has defined the new field of "affective computing," which is when a computer tells you what everyone else around you is really feeling, based on the irrepressible tells emitted by their bodies, voices and gadgets.

Managing Sumter through Wuv's tumultuous launch is hard work for Kristen, but at last, it's paid off. The company has been acquired, making Kristen – and all her coworkers on the founding core team – into instant millionaires. They're flying to a lavish celebration in an autonomous plane that Sumter chartered when the action begins: the plane has a malfunction and crashes into a desert island, killing all but ten of the Wuvvies.

As the survivors explore the island, they discover only one sign of human habitation: a huge, brutalist, featureless black glass house, which initially rebuffs all their efforts to enter it. But once they gain entry, they discover that the house is even harder to leave.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/13/influencers/#affective-computing

XI. The Sapling Cage by Margaret Killjoy

A queer coming-of-age tale in the mode of epic fantasy. Lorel wants to be a witch, but that's the very last of the adventurous trades to be strictly gender-segregated. Boys and girls alike run away to be knights, brigands and sailors, but only girls can become a witch. Indeed, Lorel's best friend, Lane, is promised to the witches, having been born to a witch herself.

Lorel has signed up for witching just as the land is turning against witches, thanks to a political plot by a scheming duchess who has scapegoated the witches as part of a plan to annex all the surrounding duchies, re-establishing the long-disintegrated kingdom with herself on the throne. To make things worse (for the witches, if not the duchess), there's a plague of monsters on the land, and the forests are blighted with a magical curse that turns trees to unmelting ice. This all softens up the peasantfolk for anti-witch pogroms.

So Lorel has to learn witching, even as her coven is fighting both monsters and the duchess's knights and the vigilante yokels who've been stirred up with anti-witch xenophobia.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/24/daughters-of-the-empty-throne/#witchy

XII. Blackheart Man by Nalo Hopkinson

A story that will make you drunk on language, on worldbuilding, and on its roaring, relentless plot. The action is set on Chynchin, a fantastic Caribbean island (or maybe Caribbeanesque – it's never clear whether this is some magical, imaginary world, or some distant future of our own). Chynchin is a multiracial, creole land with a richly realized gift economy that Hopkinson deftly rounds out with a cuisine, languages, and familial arrangements.

Chynchin was founded through a slave rebellion, in which the press-ganged soldiers of the iron-fisted Ymisen empire were defeated by three witches who caused them to be engulfed in tar that they magicked into a liquid state just long enough to entomb them, then magicked back into solidity. For generations, the Ymisen have tolerated Chynchin's self-rule, but as the story opens, a Ymisen armada sails into Chynchin's port and a "trade envoy" announces that it's time for the Chynchin to "voluntarily" re-establish trade with the Ymisen.

The story that unfolds is a staple of sf and fantasy: the scrappy resistance mounted against the evil empire, and this familiar backdrop is a sturdy scaffold to support Hopkinson's dizzying, phantasmagoric tale of psychedelic magic, possessed children, military intrigue, musicianship and sexual entanglements.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/20/piche/#cynchin

XIII. Julia by Sandra Newman

Julia is the kind of fanfic that I love, in the tradition of both The Wind Done Gone and Rosencrantz and Gildenstern Are Dead, in which a follow-on author takes on the original author's throwaway world-building with deadly seriousness, elucidating the weird implications and buried subtexts of all the stuff and people moving around in the wings and background of the original.

For Newman, the starting point here is Julia, an enigmatic lover who comes to Winston with all kinds of rebellious secrets – tradecraft for planning and executing dirty little assignations and acquiring black market goods. Julia embodies a common contradiction in the depiction of young women (she is some twenty years younger than Winston): on the one hand, she is a "native" of the world, while Winston is a late arrival, carrying around all his "oldthink" baggage that leaves him perennially baffled, terrified and angry; on the other hand, she's a naive "girl," who "doesn't much care for reading," and lacks the intellectual curiosity that propels Winston through the text.

This contradiction is the cleavage line that Newman drives her chisel into, fracturing Orwell's world in useful, fascinating, engrossing ways. Through Julia's eyes, we experience Oceania as a paranoid autocracy, corrupt and twitchy. We witness the obvious corollary of a culture of denunciation and arrest: the ruling Party of such an institution must be riddled with internecine struggle and backstabbing, to the point of paralyzed dysfunction. The Orwellian trick of switching from being at war with Eastasia to Eurasia and back again is actually driven by real military setbacks – not just faked battles designed to stir up patriotic fervor. The Party doesn't merely claim to be under assault from internal and external enemies – it actually is.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/28/novel-writing-machines/#fanfic

XIV. The Wilding by Ian McDonald

McDonald's first horror novel, and it's fucking terrifying. It's set in a rural Irish peat bog that has been acquired by a conservation authority that is rewilding it after a century of industrial peat mining that stripped it back nearly to the bedrock. This rewilding process has been greatly accelerated by the covid lockdowns, which reduced the human footprint in the conservation area to nearly zero.

Lisa's last duty before she leaves the bog and goes home to Dublin is leading a school group on a wild campout in one of the bog's deep clearings. It's a routine assignment, and while it's not her favorite duty, it's also not a serious hardship.

But as the group hikes out to the campsite, one of her fellow guides is killed, without warning, by a mysterious beast that moves so quickly they can barely make out its monstrous form. Thus begins a tense, mysterious, spooky as hell story of survival in a haunted woods, written in the kind of poesy that has defined McDonald's career, and which – when deployed in service of terror – has the power to raise literal goosebumps.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/25/bogman/#erin-go-aaaaaaargh

XV. Polostan by Neal Stephenson

Not a spy novel, but a science fiction novel about spies in an historical setting. This isn't to say that Stephenson tramples on, or ignores spy tropes: this is absolutely a first-rate spy novel. Nor does Stephenson skimp on the lush, gorgeously realized and painstakingly researched detail you'd want from an historical novel.

Polostan raises the curtain on the story of Dawn Rae Bjornberg, AKA Aurora Maximovna Artemyeva, whose upbringing is split between the American West in the early 20th century and the Leningrad of revolutionary Russia (her parents are an American anarchist and a Ukrainian Communist who meet when her father travels to America as a Communist agitator). Aurora's parents' marriage does not survive their sojourn to the USSR, and eventually Aurora and her father end up back in the States, after her father is tasked with radicalizing the veterans of the Bonus Army that occupied DC, demanding the military benefits they'd been promised.

All of this culminates in her return sojourn to the Soviet Union, where she first falls under suspicion of being an American spy, and then her recruitment as a Soviet spy.

Also: she plays a lot of polo. Like, on a horse.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/04/bomb-light/#nukular

NONFICTION

I. A City on Mars by Kelly and Zach Weinersmith

Biologist Kelly Weinersmith and cartoonist Zach Weinersmith set out to investigate the governance challenges of the impending space settlements they were told were just over the horizon. Instead, they discovered that humans aren't going to be settling space for a very long time, and so they wrote a book about that instead.

The Weinersmiths make the (convincing) case that every aspect of space settlement is vastly beyond our current or reasonably foreseeable technical capability. What's more, every argument in favor of pursuing space settlement is errant nonsense. And finally: all the energy we are putting into space settlement actually holds back real space science, which offers numerous benefits to our species and planet (and is just darned cool).

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/09/astrobezzle/#send-robots-instead

II. Dark Wire by Joseph Cox

Cox spent years on the crimephone beat, tracking vendors who sold modded phones (first Blackberries, then Android phones) to criminal syndicates with the promise that they couldn't be wiretapped by law-enforcement.

He tells the story of the FBI's plan to build an incredibly secure, best-of-breed crimephone, one with every feature that a criminal would want to truly insulate themselves from law enforcement while still offering everything a criminal could need to plan and execute crimes.

This is really two incredible tales. The first is the story of the FBI and its partners as they scaled up Anom, their best-of-breed crimephone business. This is a (nearly) classic startup tale, full of all-nighters, heroic battles against the odds, and the terror and exhilaration of "hockey-stick" growth.

The other one is the crime startup, the one that the hapless criminal syndicates that sign up to distribute Anom devices find themselves in the middle of. They, too, are experiencing hockey-stick growth. They, too, have a fantastically lucrative tiger by the tail. And they, too, have a unique set of challenges that make this startup different from any other.

Cox has been on this story for a decade, and it shows. He has impeccable sourcing and encyclopedic access to the court records and other public details that allow him to reproduce many of the most dramatic scenes in the Anom caper verbatim.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/04/anom-nom-nom/#the-call-is-coming-from-inside-the-ndrangheta

III. The Hidden History of Walt Disney World by Foxx Nolte

No one writes about Disney theme parks like Foxx Nolte; no one rises above the trivia and goes beyond the mere sleuthing of historical facts, no one nails the essence of what makes these parks work – and fail.

The history of Walt Disney World is also a history of the American narrative from the 1960s to the turn of the millennium, especially once Epcot enters the picture and Disney sets out to market itself as a futuristic mirror to America and the world. There's a doomed plan to lead the nation in the provision of an airport for the largely hypothetical short runway aircraft that never materialized, the Disney company's love-hate affair with Florida's orange growers, and the geopolitics of installing a permanent World's Fair, just as World's Fairs were disappearing from the world stage.

In focusing on the conflicts between different corporate managers, outside suppliers, and the gloriously flamboyant weirdos of Florida, Nolte's history of Disney World transcends amusing anaecdotes and tittle-tattle – rather, it illustrates how the creative sparks thrown off by people smashing into each other sometimes created towering blazes of glory that burn to this day.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/15/disnefried/#dialectics

IV. Network Nation by Richard R John

An extremely important, brilliantly researched, deep history of America's love/hate affair with not just the telephone, but also the telegraph. It is unmistakably as history book, one that aims at a definitive takedown of various neat stories about the history of American telecommunications.

The monopolies that emerged in the telegraph and then the telephone weren't down to grand forces that made them inevitable, but rather, to the errors made by regulators and the successful gambits of the telecoms barons. At many junctures, things could have gone another way.

Most striking about this book were the parallels to contemporary fights over Big Tech trustbusting, in our new Gilded Age. Many of the apologies offered for Western Union or AT&T's monopoly could have been uttered by the Renfields who carry water for Facebook, Apple and Google. John's book is a powerful and engrossing reminder that variations on these fights have occurred in the not-so-distant past, and that there's much we can learn from them.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/18/the-bell-system/#were-the-phone-company-we-dont-have-to-care

V. A Natural History of Empty Lots by Christopher Brown

A frustratingly hard to summarize book, because it requires a lot of backstory and explanation, and one of the things that makes this book so! fucking! great! is how skillfully Brown weaves disparate elements – the unique house he built in Austin, the wildlife he encounters in the city's sacrifice zones, the politics that created them – into his telling.

This series of loosely connected essays that explains how everything fits together: colonial conquest, Brown's failed marriage, his experience as a lawyer learning property law, what he learned by mobilizing that learning to help his neighbors defend the pockets of wildness that refuse to budge.

It's filled with pastoral writing that summons Kim Stanley Robinson by way of Thoreau, and it sometimes frames its philosophical points the way a cyberpunk writer would.

The kind of book that challenges how you feel about the crossroads we're at, the place you live, and the place you want to be.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/17/cyberpunk-pastoralism/#time-to-mow-the-roof

GRAPHIC NOVELS

I. Death Strikes by David Maass and Patrick Lay

"The Emperor of Atlantis," is an opera written by two Nazi concentration camp inmates, the librettist Peter Kien and the composer Viktor Ullmann, while they were interned in Terezin, a show-camp in Czechoslovakia that housed numerous Jewish artists, who were encouraged to make and display their work as a sham to prove to the rest of the world that Nazi camps were humane places.

Death Strikes was adapted by my EFF colleague Dave Maass, an investigator and muckraker and brilliant writer, who teamed up with illustrator Patrick Lay and character designer Ezra Rose (who worked from Kien and Ullmann's original designs, which survived along with the score and libretto).

The Emperor's endless wars have already tried Death's patience. Death brings mercy, not vengeance, and the endless killing has dismayed him. The Emperor's co-option drives him past the brink, and Death declares a strike, breaking his sword and announcing that henceforth, no one will die.

Needless to say, this puts a crimp in the Emperor's all-out war plan. People get shot and stabbed and drowned and poisoned, but they don't die. They just hang around, embarrassingly alive (there's a great comic subplot of the inability of the Emperor's executioners to kill a captured assassin).

While this is clearly an adaptation, Kien and Ullmann's spirit of creativity, courage, and bittersweet creative ferment shines through. It's a beautiful book, snatched from death itself.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/23/peter-kien-viktor-ullmann/#terez

II. My Favorite Things Is Monsters Book Two by Emil Ferris

The long, long delayed sequel to the tale of Karen Reyes, a 10 year old, monster-obsessed queer girl in 1968 Chicago who lives with her working-class single mother and her older brother, Deeze, in an apartment house full of mysterious, haunted adults. There's the landlord – a gangster and his girlfriend – the one-eyed ventriloquist, and the beautiful Holocaust survivor and her jazz-drummer husband.

Ferris's storytelling style is dazzling, and it's matched and exceeded by her illustration style, which is grounded in the classic horror comics of the 1950s and 1960s. Characters in Karen's life – including Karen herself – are sometimes depicted in the EC horror style, and that same sinister darkness crowds around the edges of her depictions of real-world Chicago.

Book Two picks up from Book One's cliffhanger and then rockets forward. Everything brilliant about One is even better in Two – the illustrations more lush, the fine art analysis more pointed and brilliant, the storytelling more assured and propulsive, the shocks and violence more outrageous, the characters more lovable, complex and grotesque.

Everything about Two is more. The background radiation of the Vietnam War in One takes center stage with Deeze's machinations to beat the draft, and Deeze and Karen being ensnared in the Chicago Police Riots of '68. The allegories, analysis and reproductions of classical art get more pointed, grotesque and lavish. Annika's Nazi concentration camp horrors are more explicit and more explicitly connected to Karen's life. The queerness of the story takes center stage, both through Karen's first love and the introduction of a queer nightclub. The characters are more vivid, as is the racial injustice and the corruption of the adult world.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/01/the-druid/#

III. So Long Sad Love by Mirion Malle

Cleo is a French comics creator who's moved to Montreal, in part to be with Charles, a Quebecois creator who helps her find a place in the city's tight-knit artistic scene. The relationship feels like a good one, with the normal ups and downs, but then Cleo travels to a festival, where she meets Farah, a vivacious and talented fellow artist. They're getting along great…until Farah discovers who Cleo's boyfriend is. Though Farah doesn't say anything, she is visibly flustered and makes her excuses before hurriedly departing.

This kicks off Cleo's hunt for the truth about her boyfriend, a hunt that is complicated by the fact that she's so far from home, that her friends are largely his friends, that he flies off the handle every time she raises the matter, and by her love for him.

Malle handles this all so deftly, showing how Cleo and her friends all play archetypal roles in the recurrent missing stair dynamic. It's a beautifully told story, full of charm and character, but it's also a kind of forensic re-enactment of a disaster, told from an intermediate distance that's close enough to the action that we can see the looming crisis, but also understand why the people in its midst are steering straight into it.

Packed with subtlety and depth, romance and heartbreak, subtext that carries through the dialog (in marvelous translation from the original French by Aleshia Jensen) and the body language in Malle's striking artwork.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/25/missing-step/#the-fog-of-love

IV. Bea Wolf by Zach Wienersmith and Boulet

A ferociously amazingly great illustrated kids' graphic novel adaptation of the Old English epic poem, which inspired Tolkien, who helped bring it to popularity after it had languished in obscurity for centuries.

Weinersmith and Boulet set themselves the task of bringing a Germanic heroic saga from more than a thousand years ago to modern children, while preserving the meter and the linguistic and literary tropes of the original. And they did it!

There are some changes, of course. Grendel – the boss monster that both Beowulf and Bea Wulf must defeat – is no longer obsessed with decapitating his foes and stealing their heads. In Bea Wulf, Grendel is a monstrously grown up and boring adult who watches cable news and flosses twice per day, and when he defeats the kids whose destruction he is bent upon, he does so by turning them into boring adults, too.

The utter brilliance of Bea Wulf is as much due to the things it preserves from the original epic as it is to the updates and changes. Weinersmith has kept the Old English tradition of alliteration, right from the earliest passages, with celebrations of heroes like "Tanya, treat-taker, terror of Halloween, her costume-cache vast, sieging kin and neighbor, draining full candy-bins, fearing not the fate of her teeth. Ten thousand treats she took. That was a fine Tuesday."

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/24/awesome-alliteration/#hellion-hallelujah

V. Youth Group by Bowen McCurdy and Jordan Morris

A charming tale of 1990s ennui, cringe Sunday School – and demon hunting.

Kay is a bitter, cynical teenager who's doing her best to help her mother cope with an ugly divorce that has seen her dad check out on his former family. Mom is going back to church, and she talks Kay into coming along with her to attend the church youth group.

But this is no ordinary youth group. Kay's ultra-boring suburban hometown is actually infested with demons who routinely possess the townspeople, and that baseline of demonic activity has suddenly gone critical, with a new wave of possessions. Suddenly, the possessed are everywhere – even Kay's shitty dad ends up with a demon inside of him.

That's when Kay discovers that the youth group and its corny pastor are also demon hunters par excellence. Their rec-rooms sport secret cubbies filled with holy weapons, and the words of exorcism come as readily to them as any embarrassing rewritten devotional pop song. Kay's discovery of this secret world convinces her that the youth group isn't so bad after all, and soon she is initiated into its mysteries, including the existence of rival demon-hunting kids from the local synagogue, Catholic church, and Wiccan coven.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/16/satanic-panic/#the-dream-of-the-nineties

VI. Justice Warriors: Vote Harder by Matt Bors and Ben Clarkson

Vote Harder sees Bubble City facing its first election in living memory, as the mayor – who inherited his position from his "powerful, strapping Papa" – loses a confidence vote by the city's trustees. They're upset with his plan to bankrupt the city in order to buy a laser powerful enough to carve his likeness into the sun as a viral stunt for the launch of his comeback album. The trustees are in no way mollified by the fact that he expects to make a lot of money selling special branded sunglasses that allow Bubble City (and the mutant hordes of the Uninhabited Zone) to safely look into the sun and see what their tax dollars bought.

So it's time for an election, and the two candidates are going hard: there's the incumbent Mayor Prince; there's his half-sister and ex-girlfriend, Stufina Vipix XII, and there's a dark-horse candidate Flauf Tanko, a mutant-tank cyborg that went rogue after a militant Home Owners Association disabled it and its owners abandoned it. Flauf-Tanko is determined to give the masses of the Uninhabited Zone the representation they've been denied for so long, despite the structural impediments to this (UZers need to complete a questionnaire, sub-forms, have three forms of ID, and present a rental contract, drivers license, work permit and breeding license. They also need to get their paperwork signed in person at a VERI-VOTE location, then wait 14 days to get their voter IDs by mail. Also, districts of 2 million or more mutants are allocated the equivalent of only 250,000 votes, but only if 51% of eligible voters show up to the polls; otherwise, their votes are parceled out to other candidates per the terms of the Undervoting and Apathy Allotment Act).

What unfolds is a funny, bitter, superb piece of political satire that could not be better timed.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/11/uninhabited-zone/#eremption-season

As I mentioned in the introduction to this roundup, I had three books out in 2024; a new hardcover, and the paperback editions of two books that came out in hardcover last year. There's more on the horizon – a new hardcover novel (PICKS AND SHOVELS) in Feb 2025, along with the paperback of my novel THE BEZZLE (also Feb 2025). I just turned in the manuscript for my next nonfiction book, ENSHITTIFICATION, which will also be adapted as a graphic novel. I'll also be shortly announcing the publication details for a YA graphic novel, a new essay collection and short story collection.

If you enjoy my work – the newsletter, the talks, the reviews – the best way to support me is to buy my books. I write for grownups, teens, middle-schoolers and little kids, so there's something for everyone!

I. The Lost Cause A solarpunk novel of hope in the climate emergency. "The first great YIMBY novel" -Bill McKibben. "Completely delightful…Neither utopian nor dystopian…I loved it" -Rebecca Solnit. A national bestseller!

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865946/thelostcause/

II. The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation A detailed disassembly manual for people who want to dismantle Big Tech. "A passionate case for 'relief from manipulation, high-handed moderation, surveillance, price-gouging, disgusting or misleading algorithmic suggestions. -Akash Kapur, New Yorker. Another national bestseller!

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

III. The Bezzle. A seething rebuke of the privatized prison system that delves deeply into the arcane and baroque financial chicanery involved in the 2008 financial crash. "Righteously satisfying…A fascinating tale of financial skullduggery, long cons, and the delivery of ice-cold revenge." –Booklist. A third national bestseller!

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle/

#pluralistic #books #reviews #fiction #nonfiction #graphic novels #gift guide

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ravenadottir · 3 months ago

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islanders' data and anecdotes if they were honest:

SEASON 1

❝ main character ❞ she's the only one that makes any sense

❝ allegra ❞ 24, swansea, cocktail entrepreneur, the public loves to hate her

❝ erikah ❞ 20, norwich, jobbing actor, she changes, every guy will be the love of her life until a new guy comes around

❝ jen ❞ 22, london, fashion blogger, the equivalent of a piece of paper until she couples up with someone for clout

❝ talia ❞ 23, watford, music journalist, she's the only one everyone agrees is the best person here

❝ jake wilson ❞ 29, preston, chef, chicken shit that waits way too long to say something

❝ mason❞ 24, romford, musician and underwear model, if "this could've been an email" was a person

❝ miles ❞ 22, glasgow, carpenter, not interesting enough to remember. also tattoo

❝ tim ❞ 23, truro, dj, alright, we'll allow it

❝ jasper ❞ 26, kingston, financial advisor, straight to the bin

❝ levi ❞ 26, manchester, professional water polo player, sock balls

❝ rohan ❞ 23, wolverhampton, psychology student, he joined the villa and that's pretty close to the circus. also, see "injustice"

❝ cherry❞ 20, suffolk, west end performer, try hard

❝ reese taylor ❞ 22, birmingham, newsagent by day, professional wrestler at weekends, revolting lack of personality

❝ sammi ❞ 22, london, graphic designer and artist, the definition of 'wasted potential"

❝ lucy ❞ 25, bristol, “adventurer”, *snake sounds*

❝ returning miles ❞ 22, glasgow, carpenter, we still don't care

❝ returning jasper ❞ 22, kingston, financial advisor, at least we found out he has a pet snake

SEASON 2

❝ hope ❞ 26, london, brand ambassador, '‘voted “most likely to be the center of the drama because she puts herself there"

❝ lottie ❞ 24, melbourne, makeup artist, i have one personality trait and that's all you're gonna get

❝ main character ❞ she should change her name to 'girl #5'

❝ hannah ❞ 21, st. albans, social media assistant, she went home really soon because she was so shy, we're sure that's not gonna bite anyone in the face

❝ marisol ❞ 24, portsmouth, law student, talks too much/says nothing at all

❝ gary rennell ❞ 23, chatham, crane operator, SLUT

❝ noah ❞ 25, romford, librarian, QUIET SLUT

❝ rocco ❞ 21, belfast, owns a “cocktails and cronuts” food truck, LYING SLUT

❝ ibrahim ❞ 22, birmingham, gold player, SHY SLUT

❝ bobby mckenzie ❞ 24/26, glasgow, hospital caterer, does impressions and bakes some stuff

❝ priya ❞ 29, manchester, estate agent, should've noticed she's bi during the fucking season

❝ henrik ❞ 23, isle of wight, climbing and wilderness survival instructor, shiny and dumb/smooth brain/nothing behind those eyes

❝ lucas koh ❞ 27, oxford, physiotherapist, yes

❝ chelsea ❞ 23, buckinghamshire, interior decorator, there's pink and there's champagne

❝ jakub zabinski ❞ 25, rochdale, personal trainer and fitness model, real life mutant ninja turtle but like white

❝ elijah ❞ 26, watford, hairdresser and model, he's there and then he's not

❝ felix ❞ 21, rotherham, nightclub promoter, annoying little cousin that grows up to be the annoying little virgin at the club

❝ kassam ❞ 26, new castle, techno dj, if you blink you might miss him

❝ graham ❞ 23, devon, commercial fisherman, ginger thanos

❝ arjun ❞ 24, norwich, dog groomer and influencer, "where's my hug?" kind of guy

❝ carl ❞ 29, dublin, tech entrepreneur, he's almost learning how not to sound like a robot

❝ shannon ❞ 24, dublin, professional poker player, "you'll forgive how annoying she can be because of her body"tactics, players, poker analogies all the time"

❝ blake ❞ 22, kensington, if you blink you won't miss her because she's so goddamn annoying

❝ elisa ❞ 22, london, social media influencer, the human form of a gear shift because of all the blame she shifts

❝ jo ❞ 23, cheshire, bmx racer, was here for only three days and it was still too long

❝ returning henrik ❞ 23, isle of wight, climbing and wilderness survival instructor, absolutely not the same person and it gets worse

❝ returning lucas ❞ 27, oxford, still a physiotherapist, "toxic fucks"

❝ returning hannah ❞ now 22, st. albans, she resented lottie so much she became her

#litg #litg s2 #litg season 2 #litg s1 #litg season 1 #litg bobby #litg lucas #litg gary #litg priya #litg talia #litg jake #litg rohan #too many to tag #love island the game

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redfoxwritesstuff · 6 months ago

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A Misdemeanor Of The Heart, Chapter 9, Human!Alastor x Married!Reader

Chapter Trigger Warnings: graphic depictions of domestic abuse, rape and suicidal ideation hinted on, time period appropriate racism.

AN: Listen- see those warnings above? I fuckin mean it. If you're not in the right headspace or you need to walk away for a bit, do so. This shouldn't need stating but I will anyway, Laurence is a terrible man and his views are not that of my own.

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Streets, shops, and houses passed by in a silent blur. The radio was off and the rumble of the engine was the closest thing to music you had to focus on. That and the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of Laurence’s fingers against the wheel.

Dread churned in your stomach, raising bile that you had no choice but to swallow down. Laurence wouldn’t like it if you vomited in his car. He would like it even less if you asked him to stop for you to do it on the side of the road. It wouldn’t look good. It wasn’t ladylike.

It would just make things worse for you, anyway.

Reaching forward, you switched on the radio. Anything to drown out the deafening silence. Alastor’s voice filled the car, chipper and full of life. He was mid sentence, speaking on the latest body found just outside of town. How could he sound so alive while speaking of the dead?

Laurence reached over and switched the radio off, turning the knob with so much force it was surprising he hadn’t ripped it from the console. The only sounds he would allow you were the steady thumping of one finger after the other hitting the wheel and the rumble of the car, it seemed.

The paper around the flowers crinkled as you pulled them tighter against your chest. When was the last time someone else had gotten you flowers? Laurence used to, back when you were courting but had it happened since the day you wed?

Now that you thought about it, you didn’t think it had. You would buy yourself flowers occasionally. They made the house look and smell good so you justified the expense to yourself when you made the purchase, but no one else ever seemed to gift them to you.

But Alastor? Not only did he give you flowers, but ones he had picked himself. He braved a thorny rosebush to select blooms for you. It was wrong, the way the action made your heart beat faster. All the flowers were was a token of his thanks for a dinner, nothing more. A societal act of propriety. Part of the typical song and dance of acquaintanceship with your husband.

He felt nothing more for you than that. If he did, it didn’t matter, anyway. You were married. There was no changing that. It was nothing but the fleeting daydream of a silly girl.

You walked carefully up the walk, trying hard not to shuffle. Laurence stalked behind you, a looming shadow of darkness and promise. The rattling of his keys in the door hurt your ears. Perhaps it was the sound of your pounding heart that was causing the pain as you stepped inside.

Terror ran through you as you stood in the bright hallway. It looked too welcoming for what you knew was coming. Dust floated through the air, kicked up by the movement of air and highlighted by the bright sunlight streaming through the windows.

After taking a deep breath, you turned to him in the entryway just in time to see the dark storm in his eyes as he latched the door shut and flipped the lock. The look he gave had you stepping back slowly, eyes on him as if backing away from a predator.

Your voice wavered as you said, “I should put these in some water.”

Before you had even made it two steps, Laurence’s hand was on your shoulder. All you could do was let out a gasp as he ripped the flowers from your hands. There was no time to mourn their loss as the back of the hand he held them in struck across your face while he threw the flowers you had been so touched to receive.

Petals fluttered through the air as the bundle of flowers struck the wall. They bounced back at you, a cruel joke as you fell to the floor.

It was one of those strange things your mind locks away, a memory replayed in the deepest of sleeps. Pretty deep red rose petals fluttering through the bright sunlight of your entry, dancing with the dust on their journey to the floor.

Piercing ringing shot through your head with a spike of pain hot on its heels. Your shoulder hit the ground as your neck screamed in pain. The floor was cold and hard under you. Ladies didn’t lay on the floor so you pushed yourself up as best you could, leaning against the wall for support.

“Did you suck his dick?” Laurence roars as his hand fists in your hair, ripping you back off the wall before you could find your feet.

“No!” you cried out, tears gathering in your eyes from the pain. The taste of blood filled your mouth, though you hadn’t actually noticed the pain of your lip splitting. “Laurence, I didn’t! I swear!”

His fist rammed into your side hard, knocking the air out of your lungs. If not for his hand in your hair, you would have doubled over from the pain of it.

“Wrap your pretty little lips around his knob like a dirty whore?!” Laurence shook you while he shouted in your face.

“I didn’t,” you pleaded as Laurence drug you deeper into the house. “I swear! I didn’t do anything!”

“Did you like the taste of his dirty black cock?”

You were stumbling, clinging to his hand wrapped around your hair. Tripping over your own feet, you tumbled to the floor. His pace didn’t slow as he dragged you along by your hair. You could do nothing but crawl, desperate to keep up as you tried and failed to get feet under you until he threw you against the stairs.

Reaching up with trembling hands, you wiped under your nose. Your fingers came back bloody. The split in your lip throbbed now and to top it off, his blows had your nose flowing freely once again.

“Stand up.” Laurence demanded, towering over you.

When you didn’t move fast enough, his strong hand wrapped around your arm in a bruising grip. Laurence yanked you to your feet, not bothering to steady you when your foot slipped off the stair.

“Useless whore,” balling his fist up, he slammed his knuckles into your side once, then twice. On the third strike, you thought could hear the crunch of ribs more than you could feel it.

Was that the sound of bones breaking?

You coughed, blood splattering from your lips in a fine mist. Laurence’s face scrunched up in disgust as he threw you away from him like you were little more than a piece of rubbish. Pain flailed in your pinky as it bent too far back when you hit the stairs again.

Rolling onto your side, you cradled the hand to your chest as gasping sobs tried to rip from your chest. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. You just wanted it over. If it was over, the pain would stop.

“Get up the stairs.” There was no room for argument in Laurence’s voice.

Turning onto your knees and hand, you pushed yourself to your feet. Staggering, hunched over and swaying, you took a few steps. Reaching out, your fingertips grazing the stairs ahead of you, you prepared to catch yourself should your balance fail.

“Hurry up,” His foot landed on your upper back as you just got a good pace going, upsetting your balance.

Curling your back, you did everything you could to keep your torso from hitting the stairs. In doing so, you sacrificed everything else. Your face came down hard on the edge of the stair, pain throbbing through your temple as you turned your head to protect your already bleeding nose. As you slid back down a step, your shins scraped against stairs and smeared blood droplets from your lip and nose.

Groaning, you forced yourself back up. You had to hurry. If you didn’t, he would be more angry. You had to hurry. Faster. Faster. Move faster or it’ll be worse.

You were going as fast as you could and had nearly made it to the top of the stairs before his hand grabbed your hair again. Tripping, you again supported your weight by your scalp in the absence of having your legs under you.

Your feet scraped against the floor as Laurance pulled you along. The door rattled in its frame as he slammed it open. His grip relented as he shoved you into your bedroom. Tears ran down your cheeks, mixing with blood to drip off your chin.

“Please,” you whimpered, voice muffled and nasally because of the clotting blood in your sinuses. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”

A strong slap across your face silenced you, sending you back. Instead of the hard floor, you landed on half on the edge of the bed and that was worse. Laurence’s hands were on your legs, shoving you where he wanted you.

Hands pulled at your dress, bunching the skirt of your dress up your thighs. You wanted to push him away. You wanted to kick. You wanted to scream. Instead, you focused on not choking on the blood clots as you took gasping breaths.

He ripped your underwear off you, not caring about the way the fabric burned against your skin. Pulling, yanking, shoving, his hands forced you to turn, chest against the bed and legs dangling over the edge, bent in half. The sound of his belt clinking was nearly lost to the ringing in your ears, yet still sent icy dread through your body.

His hands spread you as he kicked your legs apart. As he spat on you, you buried your head into the blankets. Then you felt it, the burning tip of him as he forced himself inside, not sparing a thought to how it felt like he ripped you in the process.

Would he make you bleed there tonight, too?

“You’re mine,” Laurence seethed as his hips met your flesh. “You belong to me.”

You wanted to bite the bedding to stifle your cries, but when you tried, you quickly found yourself unable to breathe. Tears blurred your vision as he moved above you, ripping you, violating you.

In your heart, you knew you were in this position because of Alastor and yet, when you closed your eyes, it was his face you saw. His smile comforted you as pain you well knew spread through you.

When your eyes opened, you were face down on the ugly green blankets, smears of red blood looking brown and dirty against the backdrop. With your eyes opened, your husband was taking his pleasure from your body while calling you names you dared not even think about.

But when you closed your eyes, you were back in the radio station listening to Alastor talk as he walked at your pace through the halls. His voice filled your ears.

Alastor wouldn’t treat a woman like this. Alastor wouldn’t rape a woman. You didn’t know how you knew it, but you did.

Laurence threw a nightgown at your unmoving form. You watched it flutter onto the bed, a ghost of silk and lace that would feel good against your skin, but you only twitched a fingertip.

You could feel the wetness running down your legs. Blood. Seed. You didn’t know which. Probably both. You needed to get up and clean it up, wipe your face and get changed.

How much time had you lost? You could tell from where the shadows sat and the warm light that the sun was setting. It was after dinner time. You were not hungry. If anything, you felt like vomiting, but that wasn’t what ladies did after seeing to their wifely duty.

An apple landed on the bed. You hadn’t seen Laurence leave, let alone return or throw it at you until it bounced in front of your face. With every blink of your eyes, you tried to fight back the fog and get your bearings.

“I’m going out,” was the only thing Laurence said before walking out the room once again.

You didn’t move as his heavy footsteps echoed down the stairs. He walked across the living room and you listened to the door open. It shut with a slam, then the car roared to life out front. The sound of the engine faded and your fingers twitched again.

You needed to get up. You needed to clean up. You were a mess.

And eventually you did because there was no other choice. Ladies didn’t fail to clean up the mess their husbands made.

You spent ten minutes trying to line the tincture bottle up with the stain on the counter as the fog set in. You’d taken three drops, more than you’d typically dare, but tonight, you needed it. Mechanically, you popped aspirin and wiped up the blood from your body, though it hardly felt like you that did it. Fingers trembled and knees knocked together.

You filled the glass kept on the counter with water and limped into the bedroom, not caring that you were naked. Cold air covered your damp skin in gooseflesh. Tears fell from your eyes, but you hardly noticed them. There were things you needed to take care of.

Your skin was red in places from how you scrubbed, but you couldn’t stomach the thought of running a bath. It would take too long. Tomorrow, you decided, you would wash away the feeling of his hands tomorrow. Tonight, the tincture would take the feeling away. It would take all the feelings away, all the pain away, at least for a little while.

After slipping the nightgown over your head, you shuffled to Laurence’s side of the bed with a small bag of crackers and a cup of water in hand. Laurence wasn’t neat about how he kept his drawer, but it was easy enough to find the pocket knife he kept inside.

Sitting on the bed, you slowly whittled the peel from the apple. You were not hungry, but you knew in time you would be. It was better to eat now when the fog was thickest than try to eat later, when your jaw would surely be screaming in pain.

It hurt to open your mouth, but you managed just wide enough to slip pieces of cracker between cracked lips. You poured a little water in and waited, letting the cracker become mush before working to swallow it. You followed it with small chunks of apple, swallowed whole.

Until the apple was gone, you repeated this process, sipping water between tiny bites to help wash them down.

Once finished, you stashed the wax paper the crackers had been wrapped in back inside your drawer to reuse later. You let the apple core fall from the window, trusting some wildlife would take it and the peel off. It was a slow hobble to the bathroom to wash the knife, dry it and toss it back into the drawer.

You didn’t have the energy to wrestle the blankets back. Instead, you collapsed onto them, hating the way the bed smelled like him, but knowing your body needed every bit of softness in its broken state.

Tomorrow you would clean the blood on the stairs. Tomorrow you would clean the bloody blanket.

Your dreams were filled with the same fog the tincture brought you while you were awake. Brown eyes floated in your mind. A warm chuckle surrounded you, wrapping around you like a blanket. The radio played as you cooked alongside a tall man with fluffy brown hair.

A blink. A shift. Fog blew in and then you were dancing. When was the last time you had danced? It felt like forever ago. It had to have been a lifetime ago. Your wedding day, perhaps?

“Nonsense,” his warm voice washed over you, answering your thoughts. “We dance every night. Have since we met.”

“You’re not my husband?”

“I’m not?” Kind brown eyes, so warm, widened with shock before he laughed. “But is he?”

Your mind swam in and out of sleep as night gave way to morning light. Birds sang their greeting to the day as you groaned. Death had not come for you in the night’s darkness, but part of you wished it had. That part of you whispered a little louder each morning after a bad light with Laurence.

You blinked one eye open, forcing it to focus. The other eye was little more than a slit. Blood flaked off your skin. In the night, the bleeding had resumed, but you were not sure from where yet.

Everything hurt. From your ankles that had twisted as you tumbled and fell to the scalp atop your head where your hair had supported the weight of your whole body.

You were no stranger to beatings, but this was by far one of the worst. Laurence had never been that angry with you before. Part of you was surprised he hadn’t killed you. Part of you wished he had.

Such thoughts were sinful. You needed to be thankful for the gift of life. It was a gift from God above. You struggled to care as your body screamed.

The house was silent. There was no sign of the man you called husband as you looked around. Moaning, gasping shallow breaths through broken lips, you forced yourself to your feet.

Morning sun and the absence of Laurence’s car in front of the house greeted you. People walked along the sidewalk as if it was any other day. For them, you guessed, it was. They did not know the horrors that hid within the pretty blue house halfway down the street.

That was just as well. You couldn’t pretend right now. Shuffling, stumbling, limping. There was no real word to describe your gait as you did all of those things at the same time while you made your way to the bathroom.

You spared the tub a glance but decided against it. There was no chance you’d be able to get out of the tub even if you managed to get in. It would be a while yet before you could wash away what was done to you.

You took a few more pills before picking up the tincture bottle. It sang to you, calling in a voice that promised sweet relief from the pain and the thoughts both. Instead of taking the top off, you painstakingly returned it to its place.

Pain was a useful tool. Pain would keep you from overdoing it. Pain would help you heal.

The mirror revealed a woman that looked nothing like you. Yet, you wondered if under your skin and fake smiles, this is what you had spent the last few years of your marriage looking like. Perhaps this was your face, hidden from the world and yourself. This was the face of the woman Laurence had made you.

Filling the sink basin with water, you grabbed a towel and set to work carefully mopping up blood. The water turned pink with each dip of the bloody rag. You avoided looking at your hand, your stiff little finger didn’t seem to work right and any attempt to use it shot pain up your arm.

That needed to be dealt with, but you didn’t know how to even go about it. That was a later problem. First, you needed to pull yourself together.

Looking away from the woman in the mirror and her broken, battered face, you began the shuffle down the hall. Your hand braced you against the wall. Every breath you took sent pain through your ribs. You wanted to not breathe at all anymore, but that wasn’t an option.

Gripping the railing, you carefully lowered yourself down the first step. Your hips and thighs screamed at you. It felt like rust had settled in your joints. The next step was just as painful. Your foot missed the third step, sending you crashing down.

The only thing that had saved you was your hand on the railing, slowing your fall before it slipped free, only to catch you again as it wrapped around a bannister. Pain exploded through your chest, radiating everywhere.

Vision faded to black as you struggled to pull a breath.

How long did you lay on the stairs?

When you opened your eyes, you saw the wooden steps. The railing rose out of your line of sight. On the steps were little red circles. Reaching out, you ran your fingertips over blood.

Not fresh. No, this was evidence of the prior night. Tears swam in your vision as you cried. Each painful sob felt like it could end your life and you hoped it would.

Sinning again. The Lord wouldn’t give you a burden you could not carry, you told yourself. Be stronger. Be enough and rise above.

Closing your eyes, you saw warm brown eyes. Maybe you’d cry yourself to sleep on the stairs and return to a dreamland where Laurence wasn’t the man your family had married you off to. Maybe sleep would claim you and take you to a world where you danced with Alastor instead.

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