#these kind of insane aus scratches an itch

[mari-lair]

Terukaneaoi murderers au! Heavily inspired by @pedi-bug's Camp AU

warning: ooc, murder, violence.

Set in 1991, in a world with no ghosts.

Teru is part of a mercenary family, if a Minamoto gets paid, they kill, and because of this upbringing, he doesn't value human life, with the exception of his family's lives. He longs for playtime with kids his age and attending parties but he doesn’t have the time, he tries his best to have fun on the job instead, developing sadistic tendencies over the years: if he can't laugh with someone, hearing them scream and beg for mercy will do just fine.

It's a bad habit of his, to torture his targets, the clan finds it a nuisance since a quick kill is far less risky and efficient, but Teru is good at taking people to isolated places and making others believe the death was caused by some wild animal, so his bosses reluctantly let him do as he pleases. It annoys them, and the clan knows Teru knows, but he get all his jobs done, they can't do much about it. 

He kills animals sometimes (except cats cause his family owns one and he doesn’t want to kill something that reminds him of his family) but doesn't make a habit out of it, aware his public image need to be trustworthy. He loves praises, so he is a little happy to have fans, he encourages attention and is so loved that no one ever suspects him.

Aoi's family is just her and her mom, she doesn't make any friends but she has been drowning in admirers from a young age. Aoi doesn't like violence (she doesn't like to get hurt) so when she is cornered by the kindergarten bullies and forced into dating the 'king of the playground', she holds hands, gets hugged, and follows the boy around, but she hates being a trophy, she wants to die, she wants to squash her 'boyfriend' like the bugs in her garden, like her mom had gotten rid of her dad.

She puts rat poison on her boyfriend's drink and says is a gift. He dies. She is in shock at first, she only wanted to make him sick, not kill him, but it feels oddly pleasant to go to the kid's funeral, as if she has some control of other people’s life, as if it proved a point that despite her frail body and lack of ambition, she really is above those people.

She wanted to kill someone again but mom said she got lucky she is too young to be suspected, she should stop. She promised her mom she wouldn't kill again but she goes back on her word pretty quickly, unhappy about her life. She didn’t want to get caught though, so she aimed to kill someone that is not perceived as related in any way to her.

Teru caught Aoi in the act when she is fourteen, he is intrigued, able to tell she isn’t trained. They occasionally ran into each other in the dead of the night.

Teru is infuriating to Aoi, she hates how easily he can find her, how incompetent he makes her look, she hates him. She had felt ashamed when she killed her first adult and couldn't get rid of every evidence fast enough, so Teru had to help her, saving her from being caught. Sometimes he gives her murder tips, happy he can talk with someone about his job, even if Aoi doesn’t share his passion for blood, preferring clean murders, usually poison based, her talks about flowers and the ways she occasionally relates gardening with murder (both give her the power to decide if a living being will flourish or die) makes him curious.

Their meetings are the closest thing to a game Teru has ever played, he loves to find who her next target is, and try to end them before her. It is frowned upon in his clan to kill without being financially compensated for it but 'playing' with Aoi left him happy enough to finish his kills quickly, no longer going out of his way to destroy all his targets.

One day they are sent to a summer camp and Aoi sets her eyes on the son of the owner, a friendly boy who helps everyone in need with a smile, so kind, so determined, so lovable, he is everything she wishes she could be, even his name, Akane Aoi, seemed to mock her. 

She wants him dead.

Akane is rarely alone, he is perceptive and smart, but Aoi wasn’t too worried at first, noticing he is a trusting fool and well aware people love to help a cute and delicate girl, it would be easy to pretend she is having trouble with something and isolate him where he could have a tragic accident.

Unfortunately for her, Akane gets wary of her and teru way more easily than anyone else, eager to help but keeping their interactions short from the get go.

It’s odd.

Aoi is frustrated, she never liked to work too hard, but at this point it would be a bruise to her ego if she gave up. She tried inviting him to paint her nails, having prepared toxic paint to do his nails back, but he picked the same nail polish color as hers so they matched, she tried to drug his drink but he always seemed to notice when it got spiked, throwing it away.

Teru is intrigued by the challange, he calls Akane to help build his tent and tries to lure him with manual jobs to separate him from the group, but his plans never quite work, Akane doesn't get tired no matter how much he works, he doesn't hesitate to call Teru out on task he should be able to complete on his own, and is too fast to fall in any traps. He also sees better than Teru in the dark, a very rare feat.

It's the first time a mutual target lasted more than a week, and the two talk about it a lot, even if Aoi refuses any of Teru's offers to team up, she does agree to share any information they get on him.

Akane is a half-blood vampire in an era where vampires are basically instinct. He can age, go in the sun, and eat human food, his retractable fangs helping him feel like a normal boy, but he still craves blood and his senses are inhuman, he cannot help but feel dazed and suspicious of Aoi and Teru. He thinks Aoi is really cute and sweet, so he drops his guard with her sometimes, being genuine and gentle with her, but his guard always comes back when he catches a hint of poison under her flowery scent.

Teru smells like blood, the mercenary has been so soaked in it since he was a child that it became a part of his scent, he cannot fool a vampire’s nose. He kills wild animals during camp sometimes, and Akane never catches him in the act but he can smell it, it drives him crazy, he wants to bite Teru so bad that he avoids him, his wariness mixed with hunger. Teru can feel his eyes on him, and he is as wary as he is intrigued by the attention Akane gives him, which is different from the strange switch between favoritism and distrust he has with Aoi.

Aoi is conflicted when Akane reprimands anyone who harasses her and shows genuine worry for her well being, yet refuses to have a hike alone with her, it bothers her to the point she finds herself fake smiling less to catch his attention every time she tries to poison him. Teru gets easily attached to Akane, cause the boy can fight well and he heals fast when Teru hurts him. Akane is willing to play even the most basic of games with him too, and many of his murder attempts get pushed aside so they can play hopscotch, a more violent version of tag, 'never have I ever', and many other games he had heard his peers play years ago.

He forces Akane to stay with him a lot, much to the vampire's displeasure, so Akane kills some animals to satiate his thirst, throwing their corpses in the lake so the drained bodies don't scare anyone.

Akane realizes they are only trying to kill him out of the whole camp, so he is convinced they know he is a half vampire, and feels a little anxious that they will out him. He also thinks Aoi and Teru are dating since they disappear together many times and come back without smelling of murder or poison, but he isn't sure, he is mostly confused by whatever their relationship is.

In two weeks Teru and Aoi are already attached to Akane, their murder attempts are more half-hearted.

They realize Akane has a big weakness when a hiking accident results in an ugly cut on a camper’s leg. Akane is very hesitant when bandaging the camper, hyperventilating at the sight of so much blood and clearly distracted, excusing himself later and claiming the sight of blood can make him sick.

Aoi doesn't like to get hurt, but Teru does not hesitate to cut himself while peeling an orange to test Akane's claim, amazed by the way Akane got even more dazed and anxious with him than with the injured camper, to the point others got worried, and Lemon decided to be the one to bandage Teru so his friend could calm down.

The two are hit with a golden way to kill Akane, but they procrastinate it, deciding to kill their friend on the last day of camp. Is not like they'll see him again after camp even if he stays alive after all.

[duchessonfire]

ONE YEAR OF CEGAN

On this day last year (December 20th, 2023), I posted the first chapter of Nothing Left to Save, the second part of my Savior!Carl AU series. I had completed the first part all the way back in 2021, after binge-watching The Walking Dead again during lockdown, and I hadn't touched it for over two years. Every once in a while, I would re-read part 1 and look at all the wonderful comments that people left on it and tell myself that one day I'd write part 2. For almost three years, I would add little plot lines to the word document in my files. Then, in November 2023, I was finally done with my PhD and on top of absolute relief, I also felt the need to be creative again. I'd written almost exclusively Marvel for the past two years and I felt that my well for that fandom had run a bit dry. So, out of curiosity, I played the first episode of The Walking Dead on Netflix and I opened my Word document for part 2.

I could never imagine that this would lead to my most creative year ever on AO3. Between December 20, 2023 and today, I wrote almost 400k!! That is mind-blowing to me, especially considering that my total wordcount on AO3 since I opened my account in 2018 is almost 700k. In one year, I wrote more than half of that total wordcount. And all of it was for the Cegan fandom, which is especially insane when I think about how it all started.

More on this under the cut:

One thing that stands out to me most of all is that all these numbers happened in the Cegan fandom, which is a very small community. Back when I was posting part 1 of my Savior Carl!AU in 2021, the engagement was very small and sparse. I think I would get maybe 5 or 10 kudos between updates and two or three comments on each chapter. Back then, I was writing mainly for myself and every update was a labor of frustration as much as love. I had fallen into Cegan hard during my TWD re-watch on Netflix and I had tentatively tried to dip my toe into the Cegan fandom on Tumblr.

(Funny thing: I hadn't created a Tumblr account yet and decided to look at the Cegan tag to see if I could find a community there. What I found instead was harassment and hate spewed by antis all over the tag. It scared me so much that I closed Tumblr and didn't start an account until I got into Marvel. Honestly, I'm probably downplaying how utterly traumatic this first experience was, and I'm so thankful that I kept going anyway and posted my fic on AO3, where, for the first time in my life, I clicked on the 'enable comment moderation' button, because I was so scared that some anti and hater would find my fic and decide to go off in the comment box.)

As I said, I posted part 1 of the Savior!Carl AU in 2021 and by then... Cegan was already pretty much a dead ship already. This might be my skewed memory playing tricks on me, but I remember this being a very small and not really active fandom on AO3. The tag was updated very rarely, mainly by the same people keeping the ship afloat through sheer tenacity. Which makes sense considering season 8 finished airing in 2018, so by 2021, Carl had already been dead for over two years. And yet, in spite of this, I kept writing because I had this very clear idea of the kind of fic I wanted to read and I couldn't find it even after browsing pretty much all of the Cegan tag on AO3 (btw, did you know the first Cegan fic was posted in May 2016, right after the end of season 6 and the first part of the line-up episode? Insane). I knew I wanted a fic that delved into the slow build-up of Carl and Negan's relationship, one set in the apocalypse and which didn't shy away from the fact that Negan was a villain. Two things were most important to me: a slow-build (many fics in the tag where about a love at first sight type of encounter, and it didn't scratch the very specific itch I had back then) and a focus on power dynamics (mostly how unbalanced those dynamics would be when Negan was basically a tank crushing everything and anyone in his path). So, because I couldn't find the fic I wanted, I decided to write it myself.

This is how No Savior to be Found came to life. 45k. 4 chapters (which were supposed to be 3, but even back then I had no self-control over my chapter count...). And, because I was chicken shit about smut back then and because I was still afraid of antis, a Teen and up rating and a Carl & Negan platonic tag. I already knew this was going to be a series, a first introduction into a fully romantic and more sexual relationship between Carl and Negan but I didn't have the courage to write it then so I created the series on AO3 and told myself that one day I'd be ready for the follow-up. I told myself the series would only be 2 parts. A before and an after of Carl and Negan's relationship. If anyone was interested in reading it, cool, but most of my satisfaction would have to be derived from writing it.

This was a very dark and psychologically heavy fic, which I hadn't ever really written before (not in English at least). It was also the first time I tried my hand at flashbacks and a non-linear timeline. Part 1, especially the first chapter, is mainly made up of little vignettes because I wasn't very confident in my ability to write a long fic in English (I had only written one-shots back then, and one Teen Wolf fic which I never finished). It was experimental in so many ways and came with many challenges, first and foremost Negan's voice. As a non-English speaker, Negan's way of speaking was SO DIFFICULT to capture. I remember obsessively re-watching every single episode he was in in S6-8 of TWD to try and get used to the cadence of his words, to his constant delve into the vulgar and obscene. It was a nightmare. Every time I had to write a dialogue with him, I was basically pulling out my hair trying to make it realistic. It was also the first time in my life I ended a fic on a cliff-hanger, but it felt right because this wasn't for shock value or to spike viewer's engagement (what engagement lmao). If you've read part 1, you know the ending I'm talking about and it truly felt like a satisfying wrap on Carl's journey in the Savior AU, from child to man, from blunt weapon to active participant, from survivor to Savior. Honestly, I am still in awe of the courage I had to write an ending like that considering how self-conscious I was about my writing skills in English and what little audience I had. 2021 Duchess, you were a badass.

After I finished part 1, I pretty much lost interest in TWD. I was still incredibly proud of finishing it but I had no desire to get started on part 2 anytime soon. My PhD was taking up more and more of my time, I fell into Marvel hard, I created a Tumblr account to interact with the Stucky fandom, I got a Discord, I participated in Marvel events, I met wonderful Stucky people, and all around had a fantastic time in the Marvel fandom. Every once in a while, I'd get a comment on part 1 of Savior!Carl and... they were all so nice? I remember being actualy shocked by how sweet and how detailed those comments were, dropping in my inbox every few months, telling me how much they loved the fic and how they screamed at the ending. Whenever I received a comment, I would check the fic and get stunned at seeing the stats rise, more and more people engaging with it over the years. With every comment, my belief that I would one day go back to the Savior!AU series and write part 2 became stronger. I knew it would happen some day, it was just a matter of when.

And then, November 2023 rolled around. I defended my PhD and started a new job. Winter had come to Paris, and everything was dark and wet, and my new job had insanely long hours which left me very antsy when I came home. I knew I wanted to write something to distract me and be creative, but I had only written Marvel for two years and yet neither Stucky nor Stony called out to me. I knew I was craving something angsty and violent so I thought, you know what? Let's re-watch TWD on Netflix and see what happens. And lo and behold, I spiralled right back into my Savior!AU. A month later, I was posting the first chapter of part 2.

Honestly, I didn't expect anyone to still be interested in this fic 3 years later. I answered every single comment on part 1 and told each commenter that I had posted the first chapter of part 2 in the hope that someone would be curious enough to check it out. Marvel ships like Stucky and Stony were very active back then so I'd gotten used to a certain amount of stats on my fics, but I knew Cegan was a very rarepair in comparison and so I steeled myself for a return to very low engagement. And you know what? I couldn't have been more wrong. In terms of numbers, sure, it was barely a fraction of what I was used to. But in terms of comments? Of people interacting with the fic and telling me what they thought of it? Cegan was miles ahead of Marvel. To this day, some of the most consistent, most thoughtful comments I've ever received have been in the Cegan fandom. And it's not even a question of length either. I have people who have been commenting nothing but heart emojis on every chapter of my Cegan fics for the past year and I love them to death.

There is no word that can encompass how grateful I am for the Cegan community. I remember how scared I was back in 2021, terrified of antis and people criticizing the ship over, frankly, dumb matters (it's all fiction, enough said). 2021 Duchess could never imagine what today Duchess knows: that I have found so many loving and encouraging people to share my stories with. In one year of writing Cegan, I have met new friends, new readers, new writers, and all around incredible people. This is what fandom is about and I can only say thank you to everyone who has commented on my fics and reached out to me on Tumblr to talk to me about Cegan. This is worth more to me than any stat or number ever could.

2024 has been a fantastically productive year and I don't know if I'll write as much in 2025 but I know it doesn't matter, because more than a wordcount, this year has been about community. Thank you again to everyone who has been with me on this journey, from the bottom of my heart thank you. I couldn't have done any of this without you.

Love,

Duchess

PS: thank you so much @louferignojr for the tag. I'm tagging other people who might want to fill out the AO3 wrap card by Spicedrobot on Tumblr with the blank card at the bottom if they want to :)

@sparkagrace @confusedhockeyslut @lovelythunderstorm @ryisbread @ex0rin

@livefasteattrashh @honestlydarkprincess and anyone who wants to join in!!

[codename-adler]

AftG AUs I NEED : An Open Invitation to All Writers

sharing ideas i’ve toyed with for so long but i’m beginning to accept i prolly won’t ever write, thus i’m taking a chance some of these will bewitch someone out there body and soul, and i’ll be able to scratch the itch a little… the more the merrier after all !

The Last of Us : either a romantic version of Joel & Ellie’s dynamic (obv. with the ages adjusted) /OR/ episode 3 AU 🥲 [any ship] {EDIT: i KNOW it’s been done already once, twice, but i *need* more! not just with Andreil! let’s be explorers of possibilities, cmon!!}

Detroit: Become Human : this one i’m really only thinking of Andreil, with either as android and the other as human… i don’t necessarily see them conforming to a specific plot line from the game, i think the android/human dynamic is interesting enough and fits them perfectly, but go off i guess !

Brokeback Mountain : i don’t really need to explain this one do i? happy ending vs. canon character death, that is the true question… [any ship]

Titanic : it’s got so many options and tropes, it’s like a buffet for fic writers ! could be used as setting only, or follow Jack & Rose’s tragic (or not!) love story. [any ship]

The Haunting of Bly Manor : Jamie & Dani haunt me still. great opportunity for Renison, Lailalvarez or Kathea, or perhaps a gender swap on mlm ship? or not, leave them boys as is. haunt me, it’s all i ask. [any ship]

BBC Johnlock : don’t shoot the messenger alright? sorry for the ptsd flashbacks btw. i just think their dynamic and crime/detective AU are great opportunities. i’m personally partial to Jeanaaron for this one, as they were my og idea bc the similarities are??? amazing??? Sherlock!Jean & Watson!Aaron, and the Reichenbach Fall??? so neat. but really, [any ship]

The Maze Runner : Thominewt // Kandreil !?!?!? it’s right there! [any ship] tho.

SKAM : ofc Robbe & Sander from WtFock are physically the perfect Andreil which leads to a great adaptation opportunity here, but Élu from SkamFr are also a great blueprint for a Kevaaron story. honestly any S3 Skam + [any ship]

Dune : listen, i don’t have all the answers. idk how that would even work. but surely you can figure smth out ! [any ship]

Inception : i love the movie. i love hans zimmer. i love Arthur x Eames. NORA SAKAVIC LOVES ARTHUR x EAMES. they’ve got such Andreil vibes, but so do Jerejean, even Renison. and the Foxes as dream crew??? so perf it’s insane. give me and Miss Sakavic what we really want. [any ship]

The Fault in Our Stars : 🥲 [any ship]

CA: The Winter Soldier / Civil War : so it’s kind of like an amnesia AU, but more angsty bc Stucky dynamic. Andreil’s the perfect fit, but who knows who else… [any ship]

Jujutsu Kaisen : 🥲🥲 [any ship.s]

Attack on Titan : 🥲🥲🥲 endless, endless paths… to pain ! [any ship.s]

How I Live Now : is that too niche? or too boring? 🤷‍♀️ (also let’s leave out the cousin thingy…) [any ship]

Red, White & Royal Blue : duh. (but not so duh, apparently, since i’ve yet to read it !!!) [any ship]

The Old Guard : oh the possibilities… Yusuf & Niccolo my loves… nobody be doing it like them, nobody. absolutely one of the most movie ever… top 10 of mine for sure. ugh, gosh ! foxes as Immortals?? the action, the mystery, the soulmates?? please i’m begging. [any ship]

that's what i'm letting go of for now... if anything inspires you, please tag me in your works so i can indulge in and appreciate what you've come up with!!

Love, Adler xx

[sleptwithinthesun]

a personal (and very extremely late) fill for the🤞and 🥰 prompts on the spring prompts list, written for t/im d/rake from d/c c/omics. yes, i'm aware it's summer. however, i started this fic over two years ago and it needs to be done.

2K words, next part of the t/imber college au. hope you like it!!

"Look at me for a second?" Bernard asks, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against his notebook a couple of times, just to ensure that he has Tim's attention. It lands just to the right of his half-finished sketch of his roommate, who's typing a lab report up on his laptop on the other side of the library table. 

Tim complies, glancing up and making brief eye contact to show Bernard the slowly-emerging freckles scattered over his cheeks and the ever-present, bruise-like bags under his eyes. They've been getting worse lately, probably due to the arrival of the spring season and its various allergens, even though Tim started taking Benadryl towards the beginning of March. They're now a week into April, with allergy season in full swing.

Bernard's gaze sweeps over Tim's face, and then he squints down at his drawing. After a moment of deliberation, he goes back over Tim's lash line and carefully shades a touch lower and darker than he was previously. "Thanks." 

"No problem," Tim replies, coughing quietly into a fist a second later. It sounds chesty, same as it has been for the past few weeks, and Tim just keeps going, like someone's scratching at his lungs. Which, to be fair, is probably how he feels about the whole thing. He's been getting worse at night recently, waking both himself and Bernard up at early hours in the morning with coughing fits. 

There's not much either of them can do about it, though, and Bernard's not been sleeping well, anyway. Not to any fault of Tim; he's just been… wondering. About some things. Regarding Tim, sure, but not because of him. Nevertheless, he's been staying up with him until his roommate manages to fall back asleep congested snores emanating from his side of the dorm. 

Not for the first time since they'd arrived at the library, Tim suddenly drops his chin towards his chest, eyes pinching shut tightly before his shoulders give a minuscule jerk forwards. He barely manages a shallow inhale before the motion repeats twice more, and then blinks a few times, sniffling quietly into his sweatshirt sleeve. Also not for the first time, Bernard murmurs, "Bless you."

"Ugh, sorry, I don't think I'm dohh—" He cuts himself off with another silent double, and then a third pair for good measure. "Oh, fuck me," Tim mutters, a bit breathless. 

"Christ, bless you times... how many even was that, seven total? They're so quiet; it's hard to tell." Tim nods to confirm the number, his eyes bleary from sneezing as he rubs a knuckle against the side of his nose to quell the remaining itch instead of responding verbally. "Bless you times seven. Why do you sneeze like that, anyway?" 

Tim blinks at him, clearly confused. "Like what?"

"Like… you're completely stifling to the point where they're silent." Bernard fumbles to explain, trying to find the right words without sounding insane. "I don't know anyone who can do that without using their hands or something. It's kind of... uh, impressive, to be honest, but can I ask, why do you sneeze that way? Is there a reason, or is it just...?"

"I don't know," Tim says, then shrugs. "I never really thought about it. It's polite, I guess, to make them quieter. Doesn't bother anyone else."

And Bernard-of-several-months-ago would have simply been content to have even gotten an answer out of Tim in the first place, would have accepted his word without a second thought. But Bernard-of-now can see the little flicker in Tim's eye, the one that means he's lying to him, which makes no sense, because what does Tim have to lie about?

It's a sneeze. There's no backstory to it, as far as Bernard is aware of. It's simple, it's thoughtless, it's inherent. Sure, he knows that people can hold back their sneezes if needed, but at it's base, it's a reaction, and one that's hard to control. The level to which Tim can manipulate his own, though, speaks to something far more complicated than Bernard can even begin to form connotations to.

For now, he has to let it go. Everything about Tim is a mystery, and the code to deciphering him is written between the lines of Dick's offering of his and Jason's phone numbers. So, unless Bernard texts one of them to ask why Tim sneezes weirdly, which is quite possibly the most bizarre question he could even raise, he's on his own.

Don't let it be said that Bernard Dowd doesn't love a challenge.

-

Over the remainder of the week, Bernard keeps an eye on Tim as if he's a sentry assigned to stand guard over him. He does feel weird about it—almost stalkerish, which, honestly and a bit embarrassingly, isn't exactly new to him—but it's not like Bernard's trying to learn anything he didn't already know about Tim's personal life. He lives in the same room as Tim, for crying out loud. Objectively, he's not doing anything wrong. At least, that's how Bernard justifies it to himself.

He's aware that he's being all Bernard about it, looking too deeply into it when, in reality, it's probably nothing more than Tim preferring not to draw attention to himself. At the same time, Bernard can't help but feel as if there's something more to it. After all, Tim decided to hide the fact that he was missing a whole-ass organ for a semester; he truly wouldn't put it past Tim to somehow have a buried trauma about sneezing. It would only make sense for him.

To be perfectly honest, though, Tim is boring.

Bernard didn't notice it in their fall semester, when Tim was being avoidant for the most part and didn't trust Bernard enough to reveal anything about his personal life. Apparently, he wasn't missing out. Tim studies more than anything, and even when he's not studying, he's doing homework or reading or something equally uninteresting. It makes his observation of his roommate very dry.

Until the moment where he invites Tim to sit outside.

They're moving through the quad together, Tim having just attended his linguistics class and heading into a free period while Bernard's done with classes for the day. The April weather is gorgeous, with a nice breeze cutting through the heat of the day. It's so nice, in fact, that Bernard asks—

"Want to stay outside for a bit?"

Tim's steps pause for a moment, hesitating. "Why?"

Bernard can barely stop himself from staring in shock at him. Sure, he grew up in the city, but he spent every moment that he could in the park. "it's... nice?" he ventures. "Plus, you could use more sun."

"First, rude. Second, if you insist." Tim sighs, glancing around for a place to sit. "As long as we're not directly in the sunlight."

Bernard rolls his eyes. "Sure, whatever. Vampire."

Tim scoffs at him, following Bernard as they move to take a seat in the shade underneath a tree. He only seems vaguely annoyed, meaning that he does actually care, at least a little bit. They're not at the point yet where Tim's comfortable being jokingly annoyed or mad with Bernard, since Bernard did it to Tim once and ended up sending Tim into a spiral for the next day over whether he was actually upset.

So. His annoyance here is at least vaguely interesting.

"hn'x! ngt! hnk'tt!"

"Bless you," Bernard murmurs. Tim shakes his head and immediately goes to sneeze again, sitting up with his head tipped back slightly, eyes half-shut, mouth partly open as his breath hitches quietly.

"hh...hi'h? hHhh—" He's trying to hold it back and is failing miserably. "—hk't! hxxt! hn'gt! h'hHn'gt-sh!"

"Bless you."

"Why'd you want to be out here?" Tim asks, voice nasal. His head immediately bobs down toward his chest again, nose pressed into the crook between his thumb and pointer finger to at least give himself a semblance of modesty. This set is even more numerous than the first, each sneeze coming in rapid succession.

Bernard sits up straighter in alarm. "Uh... exactly how allergic are you to pollen?"

Tim's response is another rapid set of sneezes.

"You need to get better at putting your foot down," exclaims Bernard, grabbing Tim by his free wrist and hauling him upward as Tim sneezes again and again, each perfectly stifled and barely making any sound. The only reason, Bernard reflects, that he can hear them is because Tim's sneezing too much to fully have control.

"You're—gxt'sh!—telling me," Tim gasps out. Mockingly, he attempts to add, "You could use more su'h'nxt! hxt'ch!"

"Okay, Sneezy, let's get back to the very climate-controlled indoors," says Bernard, hastily dragging him toward the building.

-

Tim's lying down on his bed when Bernard walks into their dorm, three days after the incident, absently staring up at the ceiling. There's nothing taped up there—Bernard checked.

"You okay?"

"Fine," replies Tim. "Just... thinking."

Bernard sets his backpack down next to his bed, placing the binder in his hands down on top of his comforter to ensure he doesn't forget about the homework in it. "Anything in particular?"

Tim shrugs, which is his way of saying Yes, but I don't want to talk about it. Bernard had given up on trying to interpret all of Tim's nonverbal signals on his own and reached out to Dick the day after Tim's allergy attack; Dick had informed him that reading Tim was like learning a new language. He wasn't very communicative at best, even with members of his own family, and it took Dick years to figure everything out. Jason is still struggling, apparently, which Dick attributes to Jason being in college while Tim was adjusting to living with the Waynes. He's gradually been passing tips onto Bernard, trying to make his living experience a tad easier.

Uncertainly, he walks over to Tim's side of the room, stopping just short of sitting on the bed with his roommate. Looming over him feels like an equally terrible option, and Bernard just stands there for an awkward moment.

"This is a little creepy."

"You're one to talk," Bernard says before having the chance to properly filter himself. He's trying to get Tim to open up, here.

Tim huffs out a laugh, then sniffles quietly. "Just sit down."

Bernard does. Neither of them say anything for a long minute, with the silence frequently broken by Tim's soft sniffles as he continues fighting off the pollen in the air.

"You know you can sneeze, right?" he blurts out. Tim doesn't blink. "Like, around me. I don't mind, I promise."

When Tim doesn't respond, Bernard keeps rambling. "It's just that, every single time I've seen you sneeze you're stifling. No matter what. Even if you're alone in the room, you don't make any noise, and, like, it's worrying me. It's not, um, normal. Not that you're not normal, obviously, but—"

"Bernard."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Bernard rolls his head to look at Tim. His roommate is still looking at the ceiling instead of at him, but he's talking.

"I was..." He pauses, starts over. "My parents very much believed in the adage of children being seen and not heard. To them, my silence wasn't an expectation, it was a strict necessity for me."

"Tim..."

"For whatever reason, they included normal bodily functions in that." Tim scoffs, but it's devoid of any feeling, as if he's making the noise only because he's expected to show disapproval toward his parents. "Coughing, sneezing, anything like that was taboo. So, I learned to keep quiet."

"You know that's not okay, right?"

"I've heard that nearly a thousand times from Dick and Jason." Now, he turns to face Bernard. "I'm aware."

Bernard sighs. "Do you believe it?"

A moment of silence. Three different emotions pass over Tim's face, too quickly for Bernard to parse through them all, but something sad is certainly there. "I'm working on that," he says eventually.

"That's good," replies Bernard, and they fall back into silence before Tim sneezes adorably, much like a baby kitten.

"hk'sh'iew!"

"Oh my God."

"Shut up!"

[mythicamagic]

May I ask why you like Sukuna so much? Don't get me wrong, I love him too, he reminds me of Yang from Piofiore, but I thought you would be more attracted to Gojo or Geto? 🤭

Thank you for the excuse to yap, anon! Talking about my biases is one of my favourite things to do.

I guess my answer can be summed up with three points:

Sukuna is hot - I like his tattoos and his true form satisfies my monster romance cravings

Sukuna is charismatic

Intelligent villains make brain go brrr.

To elaborate, when JJK first came out I did simp a bit for Gojo because of his eyes and white hair. It wasn't really anything other than shallow - hey, he's pretty.

(I've never been a Geto girlie, I respect those who are, but I haven't felt anything toward him other than sympathy for his breakdown or apathy toward him becoming a cult leader type. He's aight.)

When Sukuna was first revealed I found him entertaining but wrote him off as purely insane. Fun to watch but nothing interesting. This changed in episode 4.

That episode showed his charisma tbh. An insane villain is only fun to watch passively, that or they become annoying. A truly personable villain is one that lives comfortably by enjoying what they want to do but also demonstrating intelligence and cunning. Guys like Sukuna and Yang are my favourite type of villain because they're so incredibly selfish they seek to assuage their boredom via entertainment. They thrive in violence that isn't targeted or hateful, just pure enjoyment. Putting aside the murder part- as someone who is incredibly meek and anxious irl, those characters appeal to me because they thrive unapologetically. Their ugliness is embraced and celebrated.

From a purely simping standpoint- Someone like Nanami is the greenest flag you've ever seen. That man would take care of you and love you. 10/10 you should marry, he's perfect. However, for someone like me, that perfection would make my imperfections feel worse.

Characters like Sukuna basically remove that because they're reveling in their own fun. I think to really enjoy them is to remove your own ego from the equation in a way- because these men will not cater to you emotionally. Yang is there for pleasure, Sukuna is there for entertainment, ect.

However in this way - you can kind of find vindication through them too. Liliana grew into herself more by becoming Yangs woman. She lost her freedom but gained it in other ways by experiencing sexual liberation and the darker aspects of the world- living in it and adapting. I figure life with Sukuna would be like that too in some AU where he wouldn’t automatically kill you.

I find Sukuna the most interesting character in JJK because he's centered and intelligent even as he revels in chaotic destruction. He's well read and has a history that gives him a tangible presence. He's strong but playful, cruel but absent of hatred for his opponents in a way that feels almost respectful even as they're fighting to the death (with the exception of Itadori).

A lot of what he is ticks my boxes. I expect Scar from Wuthering Waves will also scratch my itch for this type of villain too once we know more about him.

Er so yeah...take your pick anon haha. Simple answer: Sukuna is a cool villain, and I like to watch him have fun (not excusing anything he does but I trust your media literacy enough to understand that)

Complicated answer for simping: something, something, female empowerment fantasy through being allowed to be the worst version of yourself with a villain, thus achieving liberation from societal constraints.

[formula-fun]

ohhhh my gosh I have so many thoughtssss

why is charles an enigma??👀👀👀

and charles doesn't start piloting along with max???

(charles in a lab,,, charles in a labcoat,,, charles in lab glasses,,, mmmmm,, very concept)

ohh my goddd the languages and the neural link from that experimental drifty thing with mattiaaaaa

jsjdhsjsj the daniel thing lmaooo I can only imagine the vibes,, just charles bewildered face and daniel being rlly forward and overly friendly despite not actually knowing him

and the kids seeing charles and max being dumbasses lollll

pls don't feel like you have to answer if you don't want to give out spoilers,,, I've just not come across a pacrim au that's scratched so many itches before <3

charles in a lab coat and glasses.....secretly buff nerd charles leclerc with an office job and a tension headache. you understand the vision

charles was one of the posterboys of the jaeger program when he first became a ranger because he was so YOUNG and CHARISMATIC and he was one of the first academy graduates to actually get a jaeger of his own! he did so many press tours and appearances and everyone loved him!! and then one day he just disappeared due to Reasons and nobody knew where he went, and then a month later he showed up in some secret lab and the boss of the lab announced he would be helping run things because he knows a ton about secret lab things. the whole situation is very mysterious to the lab techs let alone the cadets who are just there to test out the robot parts. i cant even think of a metaphor for this. it would be like showing up to your first day of work in the CIA and learning your supervisors are Daft Punk or something. like its just fuckin weird

Charles and max don't start out as partners! they're actually stationed pretty far apart for most of the early years and dont see each other much. max becomes a ranger before charles does, so charles gets to angrily watch him do interviews and game shows and shit like that while he and everyone else are still stuck at the academy

the vibe with daniel is kind of insane. i wont get into it but theres a lot going on there. like he's fascinated by charles but he's also really protective of max so it's....intense

[cutthroatcarnifex-ooc]

lumis, jamjar, aestus, gallay, finley, calfuray, miyers, and likyly 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23; 24, 25

For future reference please dont send me so many at once I really get overwhelmed

What memory would your OC rather just forget? Lumiss: Killing Bawurz Jamjar: IDK Aestus: IDK Gallay: IDK Finley: IDK Miyers: Anytime Somati brings up dying Likyly: IDK

What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them? Lumiss: She hates killing people Jamjar: She can curse Aestus: She's actually really respectful of her friends boundaries Gallay: He's genuinely a nice person and tries not to be casteist Finley: Angry little shit Miyers: IDK he seems pretty easy to read Likyly: IDK

What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw? Lumiss: Already answered Jamjar: IDK Aestus: Refuses to improve herself, stuck in a pity party Gallay: Heavily manufactures his personality to be appealing Finley: Naive and unaware of how vulnerable he is Miyers: resorts to violence first Likyly: Naive?

When scared, does your OC fight, flee, freeze or fawn? Lumiss: Freeze Jamjar: Freeze Aestus: Fight Gallay: Freeze Finley: Fight Miyers: Fight Likyly: Flee

How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want? Lumiss: not far at all Jamjar: normal amount Aestus: gives up instantly Gallay: manipulates pretty far Finley: screaming fit far Miyers: kills Likyly: normal amount

How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass? Lumiss: no Jamjar: easy Aestus: hard Gallay: easy Finley: hard Miyers: has none Likyly: hard

What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them? Lumiss: Girl now, she's getting an overhaul soon to her storyline Jamjar: nothing, too new Aestus: design different Gallay: nothing, too new Finley: nothing, too new Miyers: capable of feeling emotions actually Likyly: nothing i can think of

Would your OC ostensibly be able to get away with murder? Lumiss: yes Jamjar: no Aestus: no Gallay: yes Finley: no Miyers: yes and does frequently Likyly: no

Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC? I don't want to do this one.

What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC? Ancestor versions basically scratch this itch for me

What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it? I'm just gonna give you their strife specibus if they have one Lumiss: Kamakind Jamjar: Spadekind Aestus: would like psionics, isnt able to use them Gallay: Coinkind Finley: don't know yet Miyers: Improvkind/Ducttapekind Likyly: don't know yet

Is your OC self-destructive? In what ways? Lumiss: put everything into her moirail and lost her sense of self because of this Jamjar: no Aestus: doesnt take care of herself Gallay: vapes Finley: no Miyers: self-harm straight up Likyly: no

If you met your OC, would the two of you get along? Lumiss: yes Jamjar: yes Aestus: no Gallay: yes Finley: yes Miyers: no Likyly: yes

How does your OC want to be seen by other characters? Lumiss: competent Jamjar: not as a mutant Aestus: lovable Gallay: kind, chill and accepting Finley: scary Miyers: doesnt care Likyly: nice, friendly

Does your OC have a faceclaim? If so, who? No

What is your OC's pain tolerance like? Normal for all but Miyers, and Likyly and Finley who have high pain tolerance

What is the worst thing you have put your OC through story-wise? Lumiss: Murdering Bawurz Miyers: Everything with Blood Echo!Somati. Haunted by a doom-magic alter of your presumably dead boyfriend because you broke a promise Gallay: On beforus he is stuck with a cullee he loves but the cullee is constantly starving and he needs to constantly feed him bigger and bigger things . He's going insane from guilt and stress.

Is your OC more cold and detached or up close and personal? Personal for all but Miyers

How does your OC behave when enraged? Lumiss: screams and cries Jamjar: screams Aestus: throws things Gallay: idk yet Finley: screams and hits Miyers: quiet and emotionless Likyly: pouty and angry tears

Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest? Lumiss: no Jamjar: yes, manifests as being grumpy Aestus: yeah, shes a hater Gallay: no Finley: yeah, grumpy like jam Miyers: kind of idk Likyly: not really

Does your OC have any illnesses or disorders? How do they handle it? Lumiss: no Jamjar: no Aestus: chronic migraines, she doesn't handle them Gallay: no Finley: albinism? Miyers: enuncliation of eye, he got used to his lack of depth perception Likyly: albinism?

What character alignment would you consider your OC to be? Lumiss: neutral good Jamjar: neutral good Aestus: chaotic neutral Gallay: lawful good Finley: chaotic neutral Miyers: true neutral Likyly: neutral good

What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express? Lumiss: already answered Jamjar: idk, concern Aestus: self-hatred, self-hatred Gallay: idk, admitting when he needs help/humility Finley: idk, fear Miyers: grief, grief Likyly: fear, none

What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions? See answer to the AU question

What is your favorite thing about your OC? Lumiss: idk Jamjar: cute Aestus: i liek her personality Gallay: i love gallay so much i like his personality and appearence Finley: idk Miyers: little weirdo love him Likyly: one of my babies love her

[lollytea]

I originally started following after the first trolls movie.

You haven't posted trolls in the while and maybe you don't keep up with the media at all.

but if you do, it would scratch an itch in my brain.

What do you think of Guy Diamond's son, Tiny Diamond? Like Jade vs Tiny Diamond is kind of a whiplash huh?

What do you think of branch's brothers????? I'm just so curious b/c ur headcanon content is very tasty to me.

Haha! All of my trolls brainrot has been effectively purged. The kind of things that I'm interested in have varied so far elsewhere that I really can't sink my teeth into this franchise the way I did when I was 19. Its a universe that doesn't really take itself all that seriously and functions on saccharine surrealism, which is fun to watch for an hour and a half, but I can't really get invested in it. Its just not what I vibe with anymore. And if I'm just not interested in staying long in the world the characters inhabit, I'm just not gonna think about it much.

But! I do watch the new trolls movies when they come out, mostly cuz I love Poppy and Branch and its always nice to see them again. I appreciate that they've remained three-dimensional characters throughout all three films, and their wide range of emotions are taken seriously, in spite of the overall goofy tone of the movies. And as I said, the world itself can be fun to sit in for an hour and a half.

Nobody needs to know my overall thoughts on trolls 3. But the short version is that I didn't really like it and will probably never watch it again. But there was a lot of talented designers, writers, animators etc. involved and I like to appreciate the bits of magic they brought to it.

Tiny Diamond is....certainly a bit. His character is just. Being a bit. It's not a bit I find all that funny (baby with a grown man voice), so I really don't feel anything about it. Except for Guy Diamond giving birth out of his head, like the King of the Gods, producing his noble daughter Athena. I feel a lot of indescribable emotions about that.

Diversity win! The trolls franchise has mpreg!

Anyway, point is, Tiny Diamond was the first of MANY characters that the sequel films fired at us. It's made it all feel....a bit crowded. There's just a lot of bitches to keep track of. And they dump all of them out in front of you in the span of one film that it's hard to get particularly attached to any of them.

I don't even have anything to say about Jade, except I was transparently more into the characters than the world when I was 18/19. Jade was an OC that existed (almost) solely in the Human AU. I didn't give a shit about troll Jade obviously. I didn't develop him all that well and have no real emotional attachment to him anymore, so I don't really feel anything about Tiny Diamond becoming his Canon counterpart. Tbh I think it gave me an interesting glance in the mirror. With Jade, I had strayed very very far from the trolls' goofy ridiculous vibe. The introduction of Tiny Diamond was a humbling experience agsbdjnk.

I quite like Branch's brothers! It's the kind of info that makes me wish they revealed Branch had brothers seven years ago when I was going absolutely insane about trolls. I love sibling relationships. I would have had so much fun with it. Like throwing new toys into a baby's playpen.

But unfortunately the info has dropped in 2023 and I am 25. Sad face.

But still, Branch's brothers are neat. I like that their designs are all distinct but they still have the family resemblance you'd expect of brothers. I like that John and Bruce are fat. I like that Clay is all gangly and peaky looking. I like that they're all well meaning but kinda unintentionally dickish for refusing to acknowledge Branch as anything but a baby. I like that Floyd was a very sweet nurturing big brother and Branch still has a soft spot for him twenty years later. I like that Floyd is a twink. Yippee.

I think Bruce is my favourite, mostly cuz I had the most fun during his segment of the film. I love the puppet land. I love his big puppet wife and puppet children.

To be honest, as soon as I finished watching the movie, I began losing memories of it at a rapid rate. This is just what I remember. Okay byeeee <33

[wifiwuxians]

sent here by aoxue lol

Songxue + spy x family au?

HELLO i was literally just typing this up under her post so it's great you came to me! i've added xxc to it too i hope that's ok? also, for anyone reading this and wanting some kind of spy/assassin-esque story...

please read fairy fish by pomegranites (SO SORRY I KNOW YOU HAVE A TUMBLR BUT I CAN'T REMEMBER THE URL RIGHT NOW </3), it is songxiao but they're assassins and AQ and XY are there too being SUPER cute, we had the privilege of getting it for SL Love Week! it might scratch the itch!

but now...

keep in mind i am riffing here. I have not consumed this media!! but it's a good premise!!! SL and XY get paired together for their cover story, with SL being the cool and handsome spy tasked with observing his tricky target and XY being his, um, wife. more on that in a moment. their perfect angel child sent from heaven (A-Qing) is a mischievous little squirt with a sharp wit and the power to read minds, but she keeps it very well hidden. she fears rejection and abandonment (reader do you sense a theme in my AUs) if they were to find out. it makes her a good judge of character, though. she often bites XY when he gets too close to her.

SL didn't really want to fall into the spy business. it's antithetical to the just and righteous morals he grew up believing in, but personal tragedy and an increasing lack of faith in the justice system and heads of government led him down that path. he tells himself he's doing it for the sake of his country and the good of all people and leaves it at that. he tries to be genuinely affectionate to A-Qing, because he thinks she's fantastic even though she's trouble, and he tries to keep her on the right path. thing is, affection isn't really his forte. fortunately for him, A-Qing knows how he feels about her.

XY is in it for the possibility of bloodshed. he's been told he has license to kill if things go sour for whatever reason, so while he is strongly encouraged to ensure things do not, in fact, go sour, he's sort of always hoping they do. like SL, personal tragedy has set him down this path in life, only he acts purely out of need for catharsis as opposed for any love for his nation. as a result, A-Qing thinks he's scary, even though she's conflicted because he does genuinely like her, biting aside (he sort of finds it funny, actually).

XY is not at all keen on playing the role of doting wife and mother, and SL respects that, and doesn't demand any of that at home. XY does what he has to in public, but at home is his authentic self; a man. (hits you with transgender beam). the arrangement suits him just fine, since SL is not affectionate and is actually rather detached, and he can just horse around with A-Qing without the added pressure of responsibility, completely neglecting the thought that she might want an actual family.

XXC enters the scene as A-Qing's dazzling, sweet, gentle, enthusiastic homeroom teacher. he is everything A-Qing wants in her life and she knows he has a soft spot for her specifically. SL is smitten with him the moment he meets him, tripping over his words in the most unprofessional way possible and adopting a sort of softness towards him in future encounters that resembles how he behaves with his daughter. XY is baffled and honestly? pretty damn hurt. he didn't mind detached cold SL because he figured he was like that with everyone except the squirt, and now here he is falling for some goody two shoes glorified babysitter when he's meant to have a wife? PLEASE! his thoughts get scary for a stint and A-Qing kicks him in the shins repeatedly, and that clues him into the fact that she has powers, though he doesn't ask for fear of sounding insane. SL is very confused at the home dynamic that develops from this, and everything hangs in the balance. XY finds that XXC is disarming, and hates himself for not being able to commit to hating him fully (and less as time goes on). SL has to battle with this newfound attraction and the fact he is a married man, even if it's all for show; especially because he's started to develop a soft spot for his spouse.

[wolfiemcwolferson]

I though to myself “what kind of insane or wholesome thing should I ask for?” And landed on something up your alley: werewolf Dan going grrrrr on some people who try hurt human Max (could be a non driver au!). Bonus for some werewolf Pierre and human Charles being friends and coming to help? Idk, memories of teen wolf are banging around in my head like a DVD logo on screen. Dan being possessive in a healthy way! Max loving it! Piarles love! Idk, love them werewolves!!! (please tell me if this is too much)

Vicsy, my friend. I'm sorry this took me so long. I had a long think.

This actually is going to be a little scene pre - and it's coming closer. Just for you. So have a drabble from werewolf Pierre fic. It's a bit different, but I hope it scratches the itch.

Also, I guess Spoilers for my own damn fic.

Max could protect himself. Daniel was intimately familiar with all of the ways Max could protect himself.

He had a scar on his ribcage from...one of those enthusiastic protections.

It's just that...Max is making him wait for something and Daniel is like...fine with that. Something to do with their pack and the whole reason Max is here and blah blah blah. Danny knows it's important.

But right now. right now. Max is wearing one of those open shirts and he's dancing underneath the lights and it's touching all of his skin in the places that Danny is only allowed to look at and never touch.

Not yet.

Not until whatever Max is waiting on happens.

Danny trusts him and he trusts Pierre and he can be a very very patient man - he has been - but the thing that's cracking that patience tonight is that Daniel is under the impression that Max still knows that he is his.

Max might not be Danny's right now, might not be in his bed, but he's not in anyone else's.

Danny certainly isn't in anyone else's.

"Hey," Pierre bumps their shoulders together. "I knew bringing you two out this close was stupid, but get it together, yeah? You can't go wolfie in here."

"That guy is touching him." Danny grits out. "He's got his fucking -"

"Daniel." Pierre bites, pointing outside, but Daniel is already going, shoving through people to get out the back door, abandoning Pierre when he should be protecting him.

His breathing is hard and Pierre was right. He has no business being in this bar - not when it smells like sex and desire and Max. Everywhere smelling like Max. People smelling like they want Max.

The metal door slams shut behind him and Daniel gulps in the air - feeling the moon pressing down on him.

This was supposed to be fun. It was supposed to be a way to keep them all in check - let them burn off some of that energy that makes them a bit crazy this close to the moon - and Danny has ruined it by being two seconds away from -

Danny is leaning against the dumpster and it smells so awful and overwhelming, but it's clearing his head of Max. Or that's what he tells himself when he hears the backdoor open and he spins.

"Danny," Max is saying his name before he's even out the door, but he doesn't look mad - just soft. Sweat still dripping off his body and Danny can definitely smell all of that - can smell everything and it's really not helping with the moon and the -

Until he catches a whiff of that other guy - his scent all over Max so Danny puts up a hand, can't stand to have him this close.

"You are being very silly," Max says with a raised eyebrow. "You know I don't -"

"No, Max." Danny bites out, anger and frustration bleeding through. "I don't know because all I know is that I have to wait and -"

Max steps right into his space, hands on his face and it all melts away because all Danny can see is blue and all he can smell is Max and all he can feel is want.

It's not often that Max gets close enough to him for Danny to feel the bond between them, but he feels it now and it's like every other time - like the moon no longer has any say over Danny. Only Max. Only ever Max.

The bond between them flickers and it's enough that Danny can feel it - can feel how Max was dancing with that man and thinking about Danny's hands on him. How he only wanted Danny there. How he waits on Danny everyday. How he consults the gods for -

"Someone is coming," Danny whispers eyes wide. "Someone -"

"For Pierre." Max smiles before tipping his head forward to rest on Danny's collarbone. "After he comes." Max whispers. "That's what you're waiting on. When he comes, you and I get to -"

Danny wraps his arms around Max, tucking his face into his hair. "You don't have to tell me more. I know how it works."

Max breathes him in deeply and another flicker of something comes through - desire and trust. The feeling of being protected.

Danny can wait.

Danny can be patient.

"Soon," Max kisses Danny's jaw as he pulls away. "Thank you for wanting to protect my honor from that very ridiculous man, but you can go and run it off now. I promise, the only man I'm going home with is Lando and he won't try anything with me."

"He's too afraid you'll turn him into a toad." Danny laughs, trying to pin Max's quick fingers before they can pinch him in retaliation.

"I am not that kind of witch, Daniel." Max huffs and Danny releases him.

"Soon." Danny confirms.

Max raises a shaky hand to Danny's cheek. Love. It's love that comes through. "Soon."

[silvernyxa]

Ooooooh I read through the Luv on TV posts and I am HOOKED. Have you written a fic or anything anywhere? It's soooooo good and I'd like to see more!!

unfortunately theres no fic! doing a full fic for this AU would like actually take me forever to write, but i might end up doing little snippets here and there!

in the meantime, tho, here's some of my initial notes 👍

Patrick and Joe still meet in Borders, but all talk of starting a new pop punk band is just that. All talk. Fall Out Boy, before it’s even called Fall Out Boy, dies right then and there. Patrick doesn’t end up sharing his demos, doesn’t meet Pete Wentz, isn’t cajoled into becoming a singer. 

Without a band to focus on, Patrick goes on with his life. He graduates, goes off to college, graduates again, and he finds himself back in Chicago living in a shitty apartment working a shitty retail job because it turns out, there’s kind of nothing to do with an English degree. 

It gets to the point where the only conversations Patrick’s really having is small talk with customers and clipped reassurances to his mother that he’s fine, yes he’s eating his vegetables, he’ll come see her next weekend maybe and yeah he kind of does need help paying rent. 

Maybe some of the wires in Patrick’s brain are a little crossed, or his morals are a bit looser than the average person’s, or perhaps he’s just gone crazy from standing at a register all day- whatever the reason, Patrick makes the very logical conclusion that to solve his social problem, he needs to steal a dead body. 

Patrick’s the kind of guy who just knows weird shit because his mind is constantly searching for something to scratch that itch for knowledge and the depths of the internet is a wonderful place for that sort of thing.

Patrick is also the kind of guy (or, he likes to think of himself as the kind of guy) who can learn anything he sets his mind out to. Drums, trumpet, foreign languages, coding, how to break into a morgue, how to get bloodstains out of your carpet before your landlord sees, you name it. There’s a plethora of online forums that Patrick has to make sure to clear from his search history or better yet he ought to just destroy his whole laptop. 

His robot’s kind of a weird guy. Patrick doesn’t know if it could even be considered a robot. He’s just…weird. He’s not got the best control over his body. He seems to be insanely freaked out by small moving creatures, so Patrick has to keep scaring off the feral alley cats that gather on his fire escape. He doesn’t sleep and sometimes just sits there staring at Patrick, quietly watching, his screen flickering in the dark of the night, both alive and dead at the same time.

But Patrick likes him anyways. There’s nobody else in the world who can keep up with him, match for match, when it comes to quoting 80s movies (it definitely helps that he’s, like, basically a walking talking computer) He doesn’t get annoyed in the way other people tend to do when Patrick goes off on a ramble, and even seems actually interested to hear what he’s got to say. He treats Patrick’s shitty GarageBand tunes like they’ve been composed by fucking Mozart and the impressions don’t piss him off, either, and he doesn’t leave. He stays and he lights up when Patrick gets home from work and asks how his day was and it’s fucking nice, so yeah, Patrick likes him.

[unvoluntaryauthor]

Alright, so this has been in my head since forever—like, all the way back when My Hero Academia first started. Now that it’s over, I think it’s finally time to bring this idea to life. I’m calling this AU "The Ruins of Society Gather Together" (or just "Ruins" for short). Imagine a world where the villains actually win... but not in the way you might expect.

Let me be honest: I stopped watching MHA at some point, so most of this is based on my own headcanons and ideas, plus bits and pieces I’ve picked up from TikTok and fandom posts about the War Arc. This AU is more like my own dive into what I think is going on in the villains' minds. Like, they’re amazing characters, don’t get me wrong, but I think there's so much that was left unexplored with them, you know?

We all know why the League of Villains became who they are. We know their backstories, their goals, and their pain. But sometimes I feel like they could’ve taken a different path—a way that stayed true to their motives but hit even harder. I’m not saying I can "improve" on the League of Villains or rewrite them "better" than the creator, because that would be ridiculous and honestly disrespectful. It’s more like... I just want to see a different version, a version that digs even deeper into the kind of twisted, complex world they inhabit.

So, yeah! That’s the vibe. This AU is purely for fun, just my take on things. Let’s dive in and see where Ruins takes us.

…..

Alright, so hear me out—I feel like it makes zero sense for All For One to just let Shigaraki sit around gaming all the time. Like, that doesn’t fit his whole “evil mastermind” vibe. Maybe he’d let him play, sure, but only if Shigaraki was using those skills for something bigger. Imagine if, instead of just gaming, Shigaraki was this intense, high-level hacker. He’d have all this insane computer knowledge and be able to dig up every little scrap of info that the heroes try to keep hidden online. That way, any classified files, strategies, or secrets would be totally at his mercy. The heroes would think their files were safe, but Shigaraki would have it all at his fingertips, twisting their own data against them.

Shigaraki himself? He wouldn’t be that different personality-wise. He’d still be the edgy, chaotic gamer we saw in season one and two. But now, he’s *smarter—not in a social or emotional way, but in terms of raw intelligence. He’d still see his battles as a game, just like someone playing League of Legends. Only now, while the heroes are playing chess, he’s out there dominating at checkers, using his skills to stay a step ahead. The heroes would be strategizing, thinking they’re so clever, and meanwhile, Shigaraki’s wrecking them at his own game. I think he had so much more potential to be this kind of scary-smart threat early on, but he didn’t get a chance to show it because All For One just let him drift along, and that doesn’t feel like something All For One would actually allow.

Like, remember how petty and manipulative All For One is? He didn’t just let Shigaraki be his own person. He took his quirk at birth, gave him a new one, and basically turned him into a weapon. The guy manipulated Shigaraki’s entire life, even making him accidentally destroy his family to mold him into the Shigaraki we know. That’s not someone who’d just sit back and let Shigaraki do whatever he wanted.

I don’t think Shigaraki would be overpowered, either—not in the traditional sense. He’d still struggle with hand-to-hand combat, and he’d still be that skinny, frail guy he was in the first seasons. But I’d add some side effects to his quirk that’d make things a bit more real for him. First off, his skin would be super dry, which explains why he’s always scratching himself. He’d need some special cream to soothe the itch, but he’d still be irritated and uncomfortable most of the time. And then, he’d have trouble maintaining body fat, which is why he’s all skin and bones when we first meet him. This would also mean he’d always be freezing, hence the long sleeves and sweaters he wears even when he’s inside. It makes him feel a little more human, a little more vulnerable—like, he’s powerful but not invincible.

[inu-mxki]

it’s nice to have a friend / tomura shigaraki x fem!reader

a/n: i just wanted to write for shiggy. that’s all ♡

warnings: college au, slight suggestive content in one part (if you look real hard), mentions of bullying

word count: 2056

There wasn’t an exact moment in time that he could pinpoint when it began. It just kind of appeared one day, this warm, fluttering feeling, then it made a home in his chest and never left. From then on, he felt it every time he was in the same room as you, like it was so powerful everyone else could sense it too. He couldn’t explain it, people either avoided him or picked on him for his skin condition, chose to make him feel gross and alienated over anything else. He steered clear of the common areas, didn’t take up any extra activities and lived in his dorm room when class wasn’t on. Tomura Shigaraki was strange, a weirdo, they said, and no one wanted to get too close to him.

But you did.

Pretty. That was the first thing he thought when he saw you, smiling at him with your books to your chest, asking if the seat beside him was free. He nodded, silently, in awe that someone as beautiful as you wanted to be next to him. Had he seen you before? Surely he’d have noticed you out of a crowd, he’d never seen someone like you before, and your perfume, it was so sweet that his palms started to sweat and his voice locked in his throat. You’d asked him for a pencil, and he momentarily froze when you leaned closer to him to whisper it, the itching on his neck becoming so intense he had no choice but to scratch.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, shakily getting the pencil from his bag, and handing it you. Then you smiled again, taking it from him so gently with a soft ‘thank you, Tomura.’

You knew his name? How? He wasn’t even sure you went to this university. Just who were you, had he finally gone insane and started imagining things? But still, you turned up, sitting next to him, making small talk about the subject, and laughing at his attempts to make a joke. And it was genuine, a genuine sound of happiness that left you, and his heart began to swell at the sound of it, and soon enough those lessons were his favourite.

He found out a lot about you, how you really were a student at this university, and that you were the same age as him, and the reason you’d wandered into his life some time back was because you’d change one of your extra-curricular classes. You’d tell him things so casually, things that someone would say to a best friend maybe, things he didn’t quite know how to answer but loved all the same.

“Do you like this colour on my nails? I was unsure about it, but I think it’s growing on me. What do you think?”

“I-it’s nice.”

Small things, like how you just started walking with him to class each morning, running up to him and going on about your night, asking him about his, what he likes to do in his spare time and if he had any hobbies.

“I like gaming,” he muttered to you one day, “I have a lot of games.”

“Oh, really? You’ll have to show me one day.”

Tomura thought that if he was going to wake up, it was going to be in that moment.

Then one Saturday night you were coming over, to his dorm, which he’d cleaned so thoroughly he spent the entire day doing so. He got snacks, but one of each flavour because he didn’t know what you liked and was scared in case you’d leave if it wasn’t right. You turned up at the door, beaming at him with a bag of more goodies, letting yourself in like you’d been there a hundred times over.

“I got two of each flavour,” you said, “in case you didn’t like one of them.”

He’s dreaming. It’s just a really, really, long dream.

He’d set out the games for you to see, nervously telling you about each one and then saying immediately afterwards “but it’s fine if you don’t want to play that one.” You were just happy he was sharing something with you. Tomura had caught your eye a long time ago, but you didn’t want to approach him out of the blue, so took your chance when you were transferred to his class. He just seemed so sweet, misunderstood, and you were aching to get to know who he really was on the inside. Tomura was cute, and the crush you had on him was astronomical.

“I like the sound of that one,” you told him, pointing one out, “let’s play it.”

When he didn’t answer for a moment, and just stared directly at you, you feared it was perhaps the wrong choice until his little, raspy voice spoke up.

“That’s my favourite.”

Turns out Tomura really likes take out pizza, and chocolate milkshake, and has a mini fridge full of fizzy drinks. He likes video games and anime and has a picture of his family by the bed. Tomura Shigaraki like’s it when you come over to play games with him, he likes it when you laugh so hard you lean on his shoulder, he likes it when you talk, when you tap your pen on the desk, when you offer him the last Oreo and when you say his name.

“Tomura.” It’s all he hears now, it’s all he wants to hear now, but he’s so afraid that you’ll run at the first sign of his feelings. He has a friend, someone who chooses to spend time with him, he can’t ruin it because he’s fallen in love with you. And good Lord, does Tomura Shigaraki love you. He’s memorised the way your eyes crease when you smile, how you like your tea, your toast, what menu items you pick out for lunch, the way you nibble at your lip in concentration, the way you wear his favourite colour on your nails.

One night it got so late, it wasn’t good for you to walk back. He offered you to stay, as you were snuggled against his arm and concentrating on the game before you, not really registering that you were so close to him. You said yes, you’d like that, and his face burned a furious red, and then you giggled, and his palms were sweaty again, and his neck was itching so bad he had to satisfy it. Not once had you mentioned his skin, or called his hobbies weird, not once did you shun him, move away from his touch, from his company. Even when you paused the game and looked up at him to accept his offer, you smiled at him and then nuzzled more into his arm. His chest was on fire, the controller almost slipping out of his hands when you threw yours down the bed and wrapped your arms around his.

“I like being with you, Tomu.”

“You do?” he said, his voice that usual soft tone, but now it was shaking a little.

“Yeah, dummy,” you chuckle, and he felt it against him, “I like being with you. I like doing things with you. I just, like you, Tomu.”

His finger slipped and pressed a button he didn’t want to, and the game was over, and you were still hugging him and nuzzling your cheek against his shoulder. He cleared his throat, throwing the controller down to meet yours. He was quiet for a long moment.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered, scratching at his hands, “don’t you think I’m, you know, weird? O-or gross, or something.”

You moved away from him a little, shuffling to face him directly, and your eyes were full of sadness suddenly, and then your hand was on his, stopping the aggressive scratching.

“Is that what you think? That you’re weird, and gross? Tomura, that’s... that’s so wrong.”

You had such a nice voice, so soft and gentle towards him, thumb lightly rubbing his knuckles, not flinching because of the dryness. He swallowed thickly, not knowing how to answer that when you shuffled even closer to him, pulling his hand into your lap.

“No, I don’t think you’re weird, and I certainly don’t think you’re gross,” you told him, “actually, I think you’re rather kind, and passionate, and sweet,” you paused before you finished, a clear thought hanging around your head, “and I think you’re really pretty, Tomura.”

“Pretty,” he rasped, and your mouth curled into a smile.

“Yeah,” you whispered, moving even closer, so close that your body was pressed against him. Your hand untangled from his, and gently, you moved his powdery blue hair from his face.

“But my skin,” he murmured, eyes searching yours for some kind of answer, “it’s-”

“Just needs some love and attention,” you tell him softly, being as gentle as possible when your fingers graze his face for the first time, “it’s part of you, Tomu, and I like all of you. Even the bits you don’t.”

This is dream. This is not real, any moment now I’m going to wake up.

“I like you,” you repeat, “very much, actually.”

You’re so close now, so close he could kiss you, like, for real kiss you. He can’t do that though; his lips aren’t soft and plump like yours. Surely, you hadn’t been thinking about kissing his lips the way he’s been thinking about kissing yours. They just look so soft, so supple, and he thinks about it, all the damn time, and now you’re drawing nearer, rubbing your nose against his, closing your eyes at the contact. Relax, he needs to relax, he wants this, he wants you, don’t ruin it, don’t overthink.

So, as calmly as possible, he pulls you a little closer, almost into his lap when you finish the job for him. He’s aching down there, you knew that immediately, but that’s okay because you like him. You really, really like this guy. Your hands find his hair, carefully carding through and lightly scratching at his scalp, and he sighs, melting into it, melting against you, body going limp with relaxation. His arms wrap around you, bringing you closer, if possible, and now you’re cuddling, straddling him, brushing your lips against his, tracing his jaw with your fingertips and lovingly nuzzling your nose into his cheek.

“I like you too,” he manages to say, but it’s not enough to explain how he feels, it’s just all he can get out right now, hugging you tighter, thanking the Lord for sending you to him, scared that if he lets go, you’ll disappear. “A lot,” he finds himself saying. Then your lips are on his, but it’s only a light peck, almost a question, when it’s over in a second. His cheeks burn that bright red colour again, and he feels the giggle you make, and his chest is warming and tingling and squeezing all at the same time.

“Is that okay?” you ask him, and all he can do is nod, and bump his nose into yours to silently ask for another, and you comply, pressing a little harder this time when he kisses back.

And then you kiss him again, and again, until your mouths are moulding together and he’s breaking away for air just to reattach once more, hands snaking under your hoodie to hold your hips. Your hands are in his hair, and you don’t move away when his rough fingertips gently pull at your shirt to feel your skin, light touches that send a shiver down your spine, his other hand balling your shirt into his fist.

“D’you want to sleep in my bed with me?” he asks you, panting from the lack of air, and he looks so pretty with kiss-swollen lips and messy hair.

“As long as we can cuddle,” you say to him, getting comfy against his chest and placing your head just under his chin. His chest is aching but in such a nice way, and he wraps his arms around your shoulders and rests his cheek against your head.

If this is a dream, he never wants to wake up. Ever.

“Will you still be here when I wake up?” he asks timidly, and you squeeze him harder.

“I’m not going anywhere, Tomu,” you mumble into his chest, “I’ll still be here. Promise.”

disclaimer: I do not own My Hero Academia or any characters/storyline associated with it

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Misty, chapter viii

chapter i | chapter ii | chapter iii | chapter iv | chapter v | chapter vi | chapter vii | chapter viii | chapter ix | chapter x

Read on Ao3

Rating: Explicit (whole thing)

Fandom: Prospect

Pairing: Snowman!Ezra x f!reader (monsterfucker au)

Tags: it’s basically monster fucking but with a snowman which could technically be classified as a monster i guess?, gothic horror kind of, sorrow, dementia, anxiety, dog murder, masturbation, Frankie thirst, pet murder, racism mention, huge age gap, implied possible sexual abuse of minor, spookiness, PiV sex with an actual snowman, possible hallucinations, hypothermia, Frankie yearning, the spookiness continues, More dog murder and implied sexual abuse of a minor, implied illegal abortion, adulterous kissing, lots of crying.

Chapter warnings in addition to the above mentioned: Further mention of implied predatory behaviour.

Summary: Escaping your empty apartment after having been dumped by your fiancé, you rent a cottage at Oakgrove House over Christmas to nurse your wounds. But strange things seem to happen at the estate, where an old woman wanders around in search of old friends long gone, and snowmen appear as if by themselves on the lawn…

Chapter word count: 3,021

Tagging: @harriedandharassedsed @paulalikestuff @pazizz @lovesbiggerthanpride (let me know if you want in)

Keep falling. I'll find you.

His whisper settles around your skin like a prayer. His lips are cold against yours. His one arm is around you as he leads you out on the ledge. A feral glint in his eyes, a conceited smirk on his ruggedly handsome face, a little nudge - and you fall.

You jerk awake, nauseous the minute you leave the heavy, sick sleep you had fallen into after your breakdown on the couch. Your body is aching, itching, sweaty and shivering at the same time, and your head feels like someone has transplanted a cast iron cauldron inside the bone. You blink sluggishly against the bright embers that remain of the fire, then see how they reflect in the water on the floor.

Damn it.

Exhaustion is making your limbs heavy, and you have no idea how you'll be able to get up and wipe the floor dry from your little tantrum. Not to mention what the upstairs must look like.

You shiver and close your eyes to fight the nausea. You have no idea what happened last night, but you must have dreamed it all. The other explanation is too wild, too much like a dark fairy tale to be true. There simply is no way that a possessed snowman came up those stairs and fucked you. It must have been some insane dream, one that made you sleepwalk and open the window to let in the falling snow. The melted snow on the stairs was from Frankie's boots.

Frankie. How will you be able to look him in the eye again? Maybe you don't even have to: you're leaving tomorrow. You can just hide in the cottage until then. You groan as the shame makes bile rise in your throat, and you manage to heave yourself up from the couch and stagger to the bathroom. Bent over the porcelain bowl, you give in to the cramps of a stomach expelling its contents, but nothing comes up, and you sink down on the cold tile floor.

You want to make sense of the things Olga told you this morning, but you're afraid to go there. It's too sad, too upsetting, to think of that 16-year-old girl, enthralled by a dashing stranger twice her age, getting into the only kind of trouble that sort of relationship could lead to, then having to kill her beloved dog for him to even deign to help her deal with it. It's sickening.

Does her family even know? Not that it's your business to tell them, no, you would never talk about this to anyone, but it would be horrible if the old woman had gone all her life without ever telling anyone. And why would she tell you of all people?

The scratching on the inside of your ribcage is driving you mad, the pressure on your sternum is making it hard to breathe. Somehow, you realize that you're spiraling towards a panic attack, and that you have to ward it off, so you get off the floor, take deep breaths, and walk into the kitchen. Your hands need something to do, your brain needs a distraction. Strong, sweet tea seems to be the way of Oakgrove House, so you put the kettle on and fish out a bag of Earl Grey from the jar on the counter. There is no honey, but you find a bag of sugar. Sitting by the kitchen table, you sip your tea and gradually calm down as the beverage seems to spread warmth and sweetness not only in your belly but also in your veins. You look at the clock on the kitchen wall and discover that it is late afternoon. A glance through the window tells you that it has finally stopped snowing, and the short December day has already ended. It's not dark, however: the moon is casting its silvery light on the snow-covered world. It's almost as light as the daytime and seems even lighter, since there is no snowfall to cloud the view. You see warm yellow lights in the distance, telling you which windows are lit in the main house.

The snowman on the lawn is still gone. You wonder if it was ever there.

The tea revived you strangely, so you get up and start to clean the floor. Going methodically, you soon have the living-room floor dried off. Taking one step at a time, you work your way to the second floor, and the bedroom.

You stop when you see the bed. The sheets are still damp, and there are bits of wet branches and frozen garden on your pillow. Brown straws and moist moss that smell of forests in the fall are spread over the tangled sheets, bringing the ghost of Ezra's popsicle kisses to your lips. You pick up some of the remains, touch them to your lips, smell them, before throwing them back onto the sheet and gathering it up. Opening the window, you let the sheet out of it, and beat it forcefully several times, before taking it back in and closing the window. The sheets are now damp only. You strip the bed, wipe the floor, and leave the laundry in the basket in the bathroom, as instructed by Denise when you signed the rental contract.

Your phone is on the bedside table. It's low on battery, so you connect it to the charger, and look over the text messages you've received. Most of them are from your parents, the rest have been sent by friends. They all say the same: are you okay, what are you doing, where are you, please respond, Merry Christmas! You reply to them all with the same I'm fine. Been out walking and then sleeping before ignoring the missed calls from your mother. You let the phone stay silent, even turn off the data, and leave it on the nightstand. You have no interest in talking to anyone or seeing any more messages.

Beginning to feel more like a functional adult, you prepare a simple meal for yourself, relight the fire in the fireplace, and eat while watching the flames consume the logs, plate balanced on your thighs.

"Well, merry Christmas," you tell yourself, wishing in the same moment that you had just kept your mouth shut. The quiet little greeting to yourself sounds lonely in the empty room, perhaps even more so with the fire crackling cozily.

Your eyes start to wander over the spines of the books in the little bookcase next to the couch. The classics are all there, well-thumbed paperback copies from decades ago, along with some newer bestsellers, probably left by earlier tenants. A few field guides to North American wildflowers, fishes, and birds. One thick, older tome of birds, no doubt with drawings instead of photographs. Putting the dinner plate to the side, you stand up and pick out the older bird book. You never were that good at identifying birds, and living in a city, you mostly just saw pigeons, ducks in the park, and various corvids picking at the trash on the streets. Opening the book, you browse through it, admiring the beautifully painted drawings of small birds as well as bigger ones, read little snippets of information about the robin, grackle, and common shelduck. Turning the page, you find the Turdus merula, or common blackbird, and with it, an envelope.

Albeit unremarkable and unmarked, the envelope is not empty or sealed. Hesitating for a moment, you eventually decide to take out the once-folded paper inside.

It is a letter, and it is dated in September but lacks a year.

Dear E,

I will expect you at Christmas. Thank you. Your Blackbird.

After that simple message follows a poem, and you realize that it's the same one you heard in your strange summertime dream, the one in which you could see Olga as a young girl read for Ezra. Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall...

It's heart-breaking, this little note from a young girl to her first love. You wonder if Ezra ever even got it. And if he did, why did he leave it behind? Where did he go, and what promises did he make about returning?

Your imagination is running wild. Ezra, a feral predator smelling fresh blood, seduces the rich, protected daughter of the house, gets her pregnant, forces her to have an abortion and to drown her own dog to make sure she'll never talk, then leaves her with false promises of returning for Christmas. You yourself were a love-struck teenager once, yearning for the big romantic love story that you had been assured by media and society would soon befall upon you, and you can just imagine what the torture of waiting.

"Where the fuck did you go, you asshole?" you mutter to yourself, closing the book but keeping the letter. "What did you do?"

Putting the papers back into the envelope, you fan your face with it as your anger rises.

"Men are such shit jerks," you say out loud, remembering Sandra Bullock's inability to call out her incompetent coworkers in some action comedy. "Just shit jerks. Shit jerk dick fucker assholers."

Suddenly filled with holy rage, you leave the letter on the coffee table, pull on your outerwear, and go out in the garden.

"Where are you?" you call out into the night. "Where are you when I actually need you?"

There is no trace of the snowman, but you feel the change in the temperature, and when you grab a handful of snow, it forms easily into a ball. With an almost manic sense of purpose, you start to roll a body from the snow in the front garden of the cottage. Fueled by anger, you quickly proceed to the second ball and, eventually, the third. There is no longer any chance of digging up anything from the lawn that would serve to model your snowman's face, but you form ears and a nose for it, and make indentations to suggest eye sockets.

It is a poor substitute, but it is something you can punch as you start screaming at it.

"Why? You fucking child molester, why?" You kick at the soft mass of white where the crotch would be, finding grim satisfaction in the total annihilation of the area, before hitting the face until the head falls off. You proceed to kicking at it in the snow before stomping on it until pressed into the ground.

"What on earth are you doing?"

You turn around and see Olga standing in the wet snow, rubber boots on her feet but no coat. Catching your breath, you lean towards what is left of the snowman. The old woman's blank face tells you that she is once again trapped in some past that you so unwillingly have been granted glints of, and you don't know whether or not it's a good thing.

"Olga..."

"He came to you last night, did he not?" she accuses, her voice filled with envy and sadness. "He came to you but not to me."

"I didn't want him to," you defend yourself. "I don't want anything to do with him!"

"I told him not to come back, it was too dangerous for him here. Every Christmas I waited for a sign, and he built me a snowman so that I would know he had been here..." Olga's voice trails off as she moves closer. Reaching the beheaded snowman, she caresses her bare hand over what would be its shoulders.

"Poor Ezra... dear, poor Ezra..."

"There's nothing poor about him," you object weakly. "He was a terribly person."

You might as well be speaking to the dead balls of snow between you two, because Olga does not react to you at all. She keeps patting what remains of the snowman, mumbling to it. You just watch in exasperation while you fight the urge to grab her by the shoulders and just shake her out of this misplaced grief, shake some anger into her instead.

You snap out of it when you realize that she's not wearing a coat.

"Olga," you say, now with a gentle voice, "why don't we go back in?"

There is no reaction, so you try again. "Olga?"

Her head snaps up and she stares at you, fear and shame shining in her eyes, like she has been caught doing something bad. You try to present a friendly smile to settle her, but she regards you with such suspicion that it almost makes you feel guilty for something you have not done.

"I don't want to go back to him," she pleads. "Don't make me go back there."

"You never have to go back to him," you promise, taking a tentative step towards her. "He can't hurt you anymore."

"Mother and father didn't know. I couldn't tell them." A tear runs down her wrinkled face, and your heart aches for her.

"I know," you nod. "Olga, it's okay. You're safe, but you need to go back inside."

"That's where he is!" she yells, agitated and retreating when you try to get closer. Not wanting to scare her, you stand back, a little lost as to what to do. Your phone is upstairs so you can't call Denise without leaving Olga. You have a feeling that if you turn your back at her, she'll be gone, just like the ghosts that haunt her mind.

"Olga," you try, "what would you like to do?"

She frowns, as if trying to remember, and you choose your following words carefully:

"Would you... like me to help you with something?"

Olga hesitates for a moment, before nodding.

"Yes."

"What can I help you with?"

She blinks and looks around her, as if looking for the right words in the snow around her.

"Find... find him. Find Ezra. Tell him to come back and take me away from here."

"Mom!"

Denise comes running from the main house, another woman in tow. You guess it's one of the sisters. Olga seems disoriented and frightened, but you close the small distance between the two of you, and take her hand.

"It's going to be alright, Olga," you tell her just as Denise and her sister reach you.

"Oh my God, thank you!" Denise pants, taking off her coat and putting it over Olga's hunched shoulders. You mumble a reply and nod at the sister, but both she and Denise are too busy fussing over their mother to do any introductions. It suits you well, and as soon as the trio are on their way back home, you return inside the cottage and head straight for the fireplace to rekindle the embers and load more wood into it. When the crackling flames are licking the sticks and logs, you stand up, at a loss for what to do. Turning around, you regard the bookcase for a moment before stepping up to it.

Something about what Olga said has sown a seed a suspicion and doubt in you. That disoriented sadness of hers in combination with her words; it just did not add up. Something was telling you that there was more to this than you initially thought. You still had no idea what had happened last night, but it had felt real and moreover: you had not been afraid. You had been calm, aroused, curious. You had enjoyed it, whether or not it really happened or was only the queerest of wet dreams. The snowman that you had come to call Ezra was not a threat. Ezra was not a threat.

Methodically, you start to pull out the books and check each and every one of them for more letters, notes, cards, any little thing that would tell you more, tell you that Ezra got what he deserved, that Olga had a happy, healthy life until dementia decided to throw her right back into her adolescence and the abuse that she was subject to.

An atlas of North America finally yields something: a card drops out, and another one is pressed between the old pages. You pick up the card and retire to the couch with it and the atlas. The card shows the rather boring-looking main street of a small town in Arkansas. Frowning, you turn the card but find that it is empty, save for Olga's name and address, scribbled by a hand that knows how to write elegantly, but lacks the time. You put the card to the side and pull out the next one. Another dime a dozen small town postcard, this time from Nevada. Nothing written on it except the same name and address, in the same hand. You browse through the atlas and find three more cards, all of the similar kind. Looking at the pages where you found them, you see that each page corresponds to the place the card was sent from: Arkansas, Nevada, Montana, North Carolina, California...

You get up and fetch your phone from the bedroom and turn on the data. Googling the names of the towns, you soon realize that they all have one thing in common: they are, or have been, mining communities. Each one has a gemstone mine of some kind.

You chew your lower lip in contemplation. There is nothing that suggests that these cards are from Ezra, but the post stamps are from the 1950's, which would correspond with Olga's age, and you just have a feeling. You are not exactly Miss Marple, nor did you ever aspire to be, but you know you are onto something here. These cards are from Ezra, and they are his way of signing to Olga of his whereabouts. Her parents did not approve, Olga had said the other day. Had Ezra written a single word of greeting on these cards, they would have been intercepted by her stuck-up parents.

But why are the cards here? And are there more?

You realize that have seen a hatch in the ceiling above the second-floor landing. The cottage has an attic, and the attic is where old secrets go to die.

[mingtinys]

. RECS

ateez .

pirate ! ateez au by @blossom-hwa

one of my first and favorite ateez fics i found . such amazing writing , i found myself reading all night for the members who weren't even my biases . heart breaking and beautiful . (yeosang's is my personal favorite) .

headcannons , all members , completed , angst , pirate!au , fluff

“sword and shield” by @blossom-hwa

such a compelling , interconnected , and flowing story line . the world building and characterizations of the ‘teezers is astounding . every single part is a must read no matter who you bias ! 

8 part series , all members , completed , angst , fluff , hurt/comfort , rebel!au

“lights out.” by @ateezmakemeweep

a sweet and wholesome fic for a sweet and wholesome boy . organic and refreshing dialog and interactions between reader , yunho , and the boys . i stayed up all night just to finish this , highly reccomend .

one shot , yunho x reader , angst , fluff , mutual pining , neighbors!au

mafia ! mingi au by @wordstro

absolutely painful and heart breaking , had me actually on the verge of tears . but also reader is written so well and realistically . this will seriously shatter your heart , so i 100% recommend .

two parter , mingi x reader , completed , heavy angst , minor fluff , mafia!au

"in this place, full of lies" by @wordstro

my current obsession . world building is out of this realm and reader , again , is written wonderfully and is total badass ! i've become a complete sucker for san since part 1 . also little shit wooyoung is my absolute favorite . the emotions ive gone through in this series is insane . definitely one go reread !!

20 part series , san x reader , finished , angst , apocalypse!au , exes!au

"some kind of disaster" by @daybreakx

my favorite seonghwa fic i've found so far ! the story telling is amazing and the interactions between seonghwa and the reader are just the right amount of angst . the analogy between the book and the overall story is woven is extremely well . plus jealous seonghwa !!

series , seonghwa x reader , completed , angst , hurt / comfort , exes!au , road trip!au

"cradle" by @lemonietrinket

ohhhh my god this story is so wholesome and fluffy !! the very first mingi fic i found and one i continuously go back to reread . this fic can make my day better in an instant , and the writing / vocabulary is addicting !

one-shot , mingi x reader , fluff , fluff , and more fluff

"figure it out" by @lokai-fi

i've been searching for a boxer!mingi au so long and this one scratches such an itch in my brain . amazing diction and lovely imagery all around . has a great mix of fun moments and angst . i keep going back to reread this one !

one-shot , mingi x reader , angst , hurt / comfort , boxer!au , friends to lovers

"jenga" by @bobateastay

this is one of these most wholesome and adorable fics ever , i can already tell i'll be reading this one over and over . drunk mingi is just too sweet . it's beautifully written and wonderful to read !!

one-shot , drunk!mingi x reader , fluff , friends to lovers

[chanluster]

10/10 | {m} ; {c} ; {f}

oneshot | friends with benefits! au | 18.7k words

“Because what you feel for your best friend cannot be described in words, but in numbers.”

s u m m a r y > > you and bang chan had no secrets between one other. each detail of your life would be discussed with your best friend of forever, no matter how insignificant it may be, through a little system you both had concocted — through a small rating. a number out of ten. a simple concept, used from being a child and rating your cookie a solid eight out of ten to your later years in high school, giving your first kiss a measly five. however, when you confess an average rating of your sex life in one hazy evening, chan decides this dilemma cannot be solved with buying you consolation cookies. he must simply raise that rating, all by himself.

w a r n i n g s > > friends to lovers! au, college! au, music! major chan, music! major reader, you both are literally soulmates, came out the womb holding hands, so much teasing, sexual! tension! chan has a massive fucking cock (i mean isn’t it obvious already), shit loads of making out, aggression, fingering, oral (f. and m. receiving), unprotected sex (stay safe homies!!!), kinda hate sex, orgasming left and right, ex! hyunjin, who’s also really bad at sex lmfaoaoao sorry king, chan is hella soft dom at the start but goes !!! hella hard later!!!! (i mean idk but) shit ton of fluff, friend! jisung which chan gets soooo jealous of, reader is so fucking annoyin, teensy weensy bit of angst, and yeh basically me venting out my love for chan once again

p l a y l i s t > > here!

a u t h o r ’ s n o t e > > this is dedicated to my dear friend chloe, boo i love u so much and thank you for that insane prompt :( also help this feels so rushed to me at the end but i hope y’all do enjoy <3

t a g l i s t > > @hanflix @thatonepieceofpineapple @kimkailover @decembermoonskz @smilesohwas @missskzbiased @illicit-roses @embroideredstarz @freckledquokka @moonluvbunny @aliceu @coupscarat @maedesculpaeusoubi @baby-wolf @multi-fandom-kpop-stan​ @minaamhh @leescrt

back to masterlist

“I’M SORRY, BUT I DON’T THINK I CAN DO THIS ANYMORE.”

Hyunjin’s face faltered completely at your words. It was expected, really. The poor boy was not anticipating this news.

“Wh-what?” he asked, a little too loudly, catching the stares of a few others in the coffee shop. You immediately glared at him, and he retracted back into his seat, but still had a befuddled expression on his face. 

You sighed a little. “Look,” you started, swirling your latte with a thin, wooden stirrer. “I’m going to be completely honest with you. I just think we’re much better off as friends.”

“Friends?” the boy flinched at the term, and even you had to hide your self-distaste. God, ____, at least try to be a little nicer! “Damn it, we’ve been dating for nearly three months, and you think we’d automatically become friends?!” he leaned in, knitting his eyebrows in growing desperation. “What the hell happened?”

You fought hard to not scratch the back of your neck. And possibly run away from the shop. Taking a long sip, you tried to feign the most sympathetic expression you could muster. “Hyunjin, please…”

“B-but, babe—” he started, and his eyes widened, trying to grab onto your hands which cupped the latte. “I don’t understand, we were so happy!” He huffed a smile, trying to convince you of your oh-so heavenly times spent with him. “Why are you thinking like this?”

You tried not to retract your hand from his — not only because it was hard to console him, but because they were embarrassingly sweaty. “Don’t think I have just done this on a whim. I have thought long about this decision.”

Finally, something out of your mouth which wasn’t a blatant lie. You had been thinking of breaking up with this goon — had the notion in your mind for half the time you dated him.

“____,” he said, and the melancholy you heard in his voice had you silencing your tongue. “What’s happened?” He began to caress your hand with his fingers. “Have I...have I done something wrong?”

Oh no. There it was. The reaction you dreaded.

Well, kind of. But still. Not the reaction you imagined in the perfect situation. 

Reluctantly, you put a hand over his fingers, hoping that your face was a painting of sympathy. 

“Hyunjin.”

Don’t say it, girl! Don’t you dare!

“It’s...it’s not you.”

You put your hand on your heart. 

“It’s me.”

Oh, Jesus.

Your eyes raised to his own, wide and glistening. 

Now, you knew Hwang Hyunjin was not the brightest kid on campus. The boy, who once asked you what the purpose of a spork was, may not have possessed the most intelligence, but you were scared that he may be smart enough to figure out that what you just said was complete, utter bullshit. 

Face it, ____. You’re done for.

A few tears spilled from his eyes, and a pang of guilt shot through you. “I-I see.” 

He did not let go of your hands. “We can still be...friends, right?” he sniffled, blinking at you rather irritatingly. “Like, we can still hang out together?”

You raised a brow, but reigned in a sarcastic reply. The boy would probably not even understand. “Of course,” you replied, a saccharine smile on your face. “But I think it’s best if we had some space from each other, okay?”

That was not the answer he seemed to be looking for, but he nodded, a little sadly. “Okay.” He still refused to take his hand away. “Does that mean I can’t rock up at yours midnight anymore if the junior needs a little taking care of?” 

Your brows could not help furrow in absolute exasperation. “Yes, Hyunjin,” you monotoned, unable to believe that you put up with this man for three months. “Now can you let go of my hand?” 

Realising his clammy hold on you, he flushed, looking away from your directory gaze. “I...should go, then.”

“No, no,” you insisted, getting up from your seat as you grabbed onto your drink. “I shall leave. I’m the one who dumped this news on you.” 

You debated leaving without paying for the latte — you knew the boy was still infatuated enough to cover your expenses. Sadly, shame coursed through your veins, and you cursed yourself for feeling a little sympathy for your now ex. “Here,” you offered, fishing out a little cash from your jacket. “For the drink.”

When you nearly stepped past him, you stopped, looking down at him as he tilted his head upwards. Your hand itched to put upon his shoulder, but you knew better. Hyunjin would only take that as a hopeful sign.

“I’m sorry,” was the last thing you said before you left the coffee shop.

Upon falling into a leisurely step onto the street, you let out a harsh breath, an endless amount of relief washing over you.

You were almost delighted to let Hwang Hyunjin go.

Now, it was not like he was a monster who had caged you into his two-feet-squared, dingy flat. In fact, the boy was, in almost every way, a decent boyfriend, whose stupid personality earned him a few laughs. 

Although extremely corny, the problem was not truly all him.

It was partly you as well.

Hearing your phone vibrate, you brought it out from your jeans pocket, already having an inkling on who the sender was, spamming you with messages.

CHRIS THE PISS :

bitch have you done it?

CHRIS THE PISS :

helloooooo??

CHRIS THE PISS :

hoe answer the phone i’m dying!! 

CHRIS THE PISS :

or prolly hyunjin at this moment lmaooo

You could not help the eyeroll which escaped from his words, and you decided to ignore him until you arrived at your destination. 

Which, evident from the persistent vibrations still, you figured you could not do.

CHRIS THE PISS :

i KNOW ur reading my messages DAMN just tell me!!

CHRIS THE PISS :

unless this is hyunjin and u killed her FUCK

CHRIS THE PISS :

haha dude whats poppin!! best man for ____ by far don't know why she was breaking up w u 

YOU :

chan i will kill u :)

CHRIS THE PISS :

hyunjin i promise i didn't mean it when i said u looked like a cheese string w ur new hair

CHRIS THE PISS :

that was ur girl putting words in my mouth 

YOU:

omfg chan STFUUU i’m coming

CHRIS THE PISS :

PLS HYUNJIN I SWEAR UR SEXC

Letting the man panic, you turned a left into student residence, buildings lined down the street, providing accommodation for hundreds of people like you in need of a place to sleep, eat, party, and contemplate the inevitability of death under.

Smiling at a few acquaintances, you entered the designated building, finding yourself with dozens of doors of the same, dead colour. Walking along the hallway, you stopped right at the very last one, bringing out your keys.

With a single twist you unlocked the door, but before you wrapped your hand around the knob the door swung open, catching you completely off guard.

“Funny, Hyunjin, how did you manage to transform into a little bitch so quickly?”

You cursed at the man who welcomed you.

“Damn it, Chan,” you said, hand on your chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sad it didn’t kill you off, then.”

You heard him splutter into laughter at your sad attempts to pinch his shoulder, glaring daggers into his crescent eyes. The bumbling idiot was Bang Chan, the one man you managed to keep for your entire life. That too is purely because none of you could manage a stable, healthy relationship — which was a shame, of course, when your best friend, with his fluffy, raven curls, black-oversized hoodie and sweatpants, was admired by so many. You often wondered how you had not fallen at his feet when he smiled at you, but then he’d open his mouth and all would be understood, as your anger would flare up, and rush to hit him as hard as possible. 

He gave you such a smile then, fingers gripping the doorframe. “How is Rapunzel, then? Sent him back to the tower?”

Wrenching his hand off the frame, which nearly had him falling onto the floor, you side-stepped past his stumbling figure, peeling off your jacket. “Rapunzel is never stepping in our lands again.”

After regaining his step, he muttered a cursed endearment your way and sat himself down on the couch, instantly settling his laptop upon his legs. “Oh, God. How badly did you break his heart, ____?”

Smiling, you dumped the jacket on the side table as you entered the living room, settling on the other end of his sofa. Propping your legs upon his, you pondered over the answer, and said, “At least a good seven.”

Chan let out a little whistle. “Oh, he’s definitely causing a shitshow on the groupchat tonight.” A huffed laugh was his answer. “Want Chinese or Indian tonight?”

“Surprise me,” you said as he brought out his phone. He dialled a number, and then you added, “Actually, can we please get Chinese?”

“No, we’re getting Indian.”

You raised a brow. “Didn’t you cry the last time you had their special curry?” 

The man stared at you for a minute before sighing, putting the phone to his ear. “I’d like your least spiciest dish please.”

He groaned as you pushed his legs off the couch, laughing at his pathetic tolerance towards spice. As he carried on with his order, you grabbed the TV remote, surfing through the channels. 

Even after all these years, you still found it endearing how Chan understood the depth of the numbers you tell him. The system between you two had been created during kindergarten, when, on the last day, you both had received such delicious cookies that words could not express the joy you felt when having the first bite. It was a mere joke at first, rating random classmates despicably low in middle school to even more serious situations, when you moaned to your best friend of your mundane kiss, expecting fireworks and butterflies yet were only met with an over-enthusiastic tongue. 

Chan himself used this system  — it was the reason you knew of his distaste towards spicy food, and certain girls he had dated in the past. Even now, when the two of you had started college together, working on the same projects and going to the same parties, this concoction had not been shelved in your memories. Although this may be something which others might deem insignificant, the concept had become a pillar of your friendship with this absolute loser.

The food arrived within the hour, and you both continued your box set as the plastic containers were cracked open, the pungent smell of curries and biryanis filling the room. Chan provided the plates and cutlery while you poured him the sufficient amount, and you rebuked his whining as you added the spicier dishes onto his plate.

“I refuse to let you eat only korma, Crispy,” you scolded. “Prick, careful! Don’t spill it on your laptop!”

“Bitch!” he yelped as a bit of the residue nearly stained his sweats, but was saved by his hands. “Just ruin everything I wear, why don’t you? Now I got curry on my fingers!”

You propped your legs over his again, eyes upon the screen once more, and the action occurring. “Just lick it off?”

“How about you do it for me?” the boy then simpered out, and you nearly tossed your entire dish on his head. 

“Let’s just focus on Tommy and his cocaine problem,” you dismissed him, but returned his impish smile as you elbowed him, nearly causing his food to stain his hoodie.

The two of you seemed to settle down after a bit and watched the show, commenting on the terrible choices the characters were making, and then boasted of how you and him could easily be the better leader from the protagonist. Soon, you had finished your takeout, and after Chan followed, he got up, hurrying into the kitchen situated behind the doorway in the lounge. He then came back, you delighted to find his hands occupied with two tubs of Ben & Jerrys’.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme!” you sang, snatching one of the tubs from him and pulling open the cover, digging straight in. “I didn’t know you brought ice cream!”

“Thought it’d help with the breakup,” he confessed, settling back into the sofa, shuffling closer to you. “But it doesn’t look like you need it.”

“Oh, I can’t believe Hyunjin broke my heart like this!”

Chan shook his head at your melodrama. “You may fool the looney princess, but you’re not fooling me.”

“You know me too well,” you said, which he agreed to with an absent-minded hum, eating his dessert.

There was a short pause, a comfortable silence reigning upon you both for a little before your best friend broke it, gulping down his ice cream.

“____?” 

“No, you’re not having any of mine.”

Chan prodded you lightly with his foot. “No, I don’t mean that. I was just wondering something.”

“Shoot.”

“You’re not...upset, right?” He took a bite of his ice cream. “Like, I know you always complained about him, but breakups can be difficult.”

You looked at him, and saw genuine concern painted on his face — along with a little vanilla stain on the corner of his lips. “You don’t have to pretend to be happy if you’re not, okay?” he continued. “Especially with me.”

Your heart melted slightly. “Of course, Chan, don’t worry. I wouldn’t ever lie to you.” 

Turning to the TV screen, you sighed as you thought of your recent relationship. “There were good moments for sure. He was still a sweet guy, you know?” You then stabbed the creamy plains inside the tub. “It was just so...dull.”

The man beside you took in another bite, if a bit slow. “What do you mean?”

Following him, you relished the chocolate goodness, swallowing. “Dates were kind of boring. I carried most of the conversations because he’s too thick to talk about anything.”

Chan let out a soft snort. “I remember you telling me about it. I can certainly believe it.”

“Well, you won’t believe what I’m about to tell you next.” You focused on your ice cream, a sarcastic smile plastered upon your face. “Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin was terrible at sex.”

You did not need to see your best friend to sense his shock. “What?”

A small chuckle escaped you. “First time he fucked me, I think I cried. Not because it was so good, no, but because it was so bad.”

“No way,” Chan said, brows furrowed. “Didn’t you say he had a big dick or something?”

“That’s the downside, bud,” you countered, halfway through your tub. “Because he had a massive cock he thought that was enough for me to enjoy. But it’s not. He just did not know what to do with it!” 

The man had been silenced. He took another bite of his ice cream, in disbelief. “So you were...deprived of pleasure?”

“Deprived?” You scoffed. “Chan, I thirsted for a crumb of pleasure. God, can you believe I’ve faked nearly all my orgasms with him?”

This time, your friend glanced at you in horror. Carrying on, you said, “The only real orgasm I had was not even because of him. God, I was thinking about Lee Donghyuck singing between my legs.”

A soft growl entered your ears. “Oh Christ.”

“Bastard was so proud when I came all over him,” you crowed, trying to sweeten your bitterness with the dessert. “If only I told him I undid myself for an idol I’m never going to meet.”

Your friend did not say anything. The episode finished, and when you noticed his further silence, you used it to your advantage, starting a romantic comedy before he could even complain.

Even with the movie on for about twenty minutes, and the romance you thoroughly enjoyed, the man stayed quiet, idly stirring his melted ice cream in the tub. You ignored his rather odd behaviour, assuming he was either thinking of his assignment or had gotten a brain freeze. Either way, it let you watch your movie in peace, swooning outwardly at the man’s teasing to the girl.

One hour in, and you asked if Chan was okay. “Yeah...yeah, I’m good,” was his answer, sending you a second-long smile before going back to his brain freeze. You raised a confused brow, but went back to the chick flick, gasping when the boy went back for his love.

This was it. The fireworks, the passion which exuded from the mere actions of lips enveloping lips, hands holding onto waists or necks or locks and refusing to let go. You craved for your heart to drop down in lust as you let yourself fall, be wrapped up in another as you undid yourself. Where was this? Where was this for you?

Did you not deserve your desires to be fulfilled? Did you not deserve to have your entire world turned upside down in pure exhilaration?

Before you knew it, the credits rolled, and you let out a long, laboured sigh, leaning into the cushions. “Maybe it’s time I find myself a millionaire who’d pay me to have sex with me.”

The man was still looking at the now black screen. “Do you mean a prostitute?”

“Well, yes, but—” you groaned. “You know what? Maybe I’m meant to stay forever displeased.”

It was after a long time your best friend spoke. “Or…” he cleared his throat. “You find yourself someone who would pleasure you.”

You turned to him. “Wowie, thank you for a perfect solution! I really wouldn’t know what I’d do without you.”

Then, you saw his eyes darken. “____.” He propped the tub upon the coffee table. “Why search for other alternatives when you have options right here?”

Confusion marred your mind, not just from his words, but his entire change of character. “Chan, what are you on about?”

“____,” he said, and his hand inched closer to yours. “ I’m saying you should have a friends with benefits.”

The silence was suddenly heard. You did not realise the sheer weight of this man’s gaze till his very stare gravitated you to him. The lights were dimmed, and all you could see from the laptop’s light was his face — his beautiful face. 

What was all this? Why was your best friend looking at you like that? Why were you being affected by his gaze?

“I…” You could barely get the words out. “I never thought about that before.”

Chan had no such problem. “Well, maybe you should. There are many who would gladly be that person for you.”

You gave him a look. “And who would they be?”

A slight cock of his head. “____, who is your best friend, in the same class as you, share the same interests and would help you out in any way whatsoever?”

The question rather befuddled you. Why couldn’t the man just say the answer already? You thought of the few viable options, tossing, turning the names. 

Then it occurred to you. Your friend’s face sparked a little in what could only have been hope.

“I know!” you exclaimed, holding onto his arm. “I should ask Jisung!”

The little sliver of hope in his eyes morphed into annoyance. “What the fuck?”

Raising your brow, you asked, “Is that not the right answer?” You listed out the evidence. “He’s basically my best friend, is in music with us, we like similar things and would be willing to help me in any situation. I think.”

When you were done, you found yourself more confused when Chan closed his eyes, shaking his head. “What?” you demanded.

“Oh my God.”

His fingers caressed yours, and you gasped to find your skin prickling at the touch. You raised your eyes to his, and found yourself lost for words.

“You dumb bitch, I should be your friends-with-benefits.”

Your mouth dropped.

Perhaps you would have said something, but then his thumb began stroking your skin, and you figured it was better to relish that instead. Thus, you looked at him, gobsmacked, not entirely sure what to say to his declaration. 

It seemed Chan was a little nervous too. “Look, I can tell you’re surprised…” he paused, a little lost for words as well. “Fuck, I guess I shouldn’t have suggested so early into the breakup, but you just…”

He pinned you with his gaze. “I couldn’t have my best friend miss out on the pleasure she deserves. And if that means giving you the pleasure myself, then I will do it.”

Bang Chan. Not just the best friend you’ve ever had, but the man who proposed benefits to this certain friendship.

“Well,” you got out, after what seemed like eternity. “Well damn.”

“We don’t have to do anything right now. Or even anytime soon.” He let go off your hands, and you did not know why the touch was missed so greatly. “Just...think about it for me, will you?”

You didn’t really have it in you to refuse. “Of course,” you said, feeling the need to touch something. Your eyes fell upon the remote, and figured you should distract yourself by watching the next episode of the series you previously watched. 

You needed a clear distraction, or else Chan would not need to wait long for his answer.

The episode began, and you watched, clamping your lips together as you felt the man shuffle closer to you, one hand sprawled on the top of the couch with his other hand idly surfing on his laptop. You rooted your eyes to the screen, finding yourself engulfed in 1920s England, trying to forget that your best friend left no space between you two.

Managing to somehow distract yourself from the lack of distance, you even began to relax, swooning softly of the gangster’s mannerisms towards his love interests, their intimate dancing in her bedroom. It was touching, and you even let yourself lean into your friend, who, too, glanced every now and then, a little smile upon his face.

Everything was fine and dandy until the characters started to kiss.

Now, there was nothing wrong with kissing. You were a hopeless romantic, and adored to see the actions of love on screen, the final breaking of barriers between two characters.

The problem was, the kissing did not seem to end there. The bigger problem was that this lust on screen made you all the more aware of your best friend beside you.

You froze, watching with no small amount of confused shock as the characters increased their desires, unbuttoning their clothes, discarding them as their lips moved against each other’s. Your eyes widened at the nudity, once never a bother but suddenly extremely embarrassing, as they collided, bare chest to bare chest.

The matters did not help at all when you sensed the increased beating of Chan’s heart, almost as loud as the instruments harmonising in the background. His searching on his laptop had ceased, as frozen as you were as his eyes refused to look away to the man and woman making love.  

It was too much. You had seen much worse scenes in your life before, but never had one made you so hot and bothered. Of course you knew why, though. Of course you knew, when the man you laid your head upon was breathing harder than you do when you walk up a flight of stairs. 

You did not waste a minute longer as you pointed the remote to the TV, and switched the screen off. Completely black, void of further lust radiating through the glass. 

A shuddered breath escaped Chan. “Well...double damn.”

You did not answer back. Only distanced yourself on the sofa, his fingers on the couch brushing against the back of your head. His touch may have been the last thing you needed then.

But that was not true. Seeing that sex scene, all glorified and affectionate, had you craving his touch. Your eyes could not bear to meet him, but his presence was suffocating enough. God, if you did not leave that couch now, you would dare to do something quite unimaginable.

Chan did not seem to move either. Your presence, too, had him nearly choking out a pained sob. Anymore time spent, and he would have another problem erecting soon.

At last, when a few minutes seemed like hours, you felt your friend stir. You were surprised to be devastated at the prospect of him leaving.

You were further shocked when, as Chan mustered all the strength in himself to get off the couch, he was stopped by your hand encircling his wrist. 

Whirling his head at your direction, his eyes widened. He was met with your own aghast ones, as your hand tugged him back to the couch.

You did not let go of his wrist as you whispered the words you never thought would have left your mouth that night.

“Let’s do it, Chan.”

His hand went limp in your hold.

For a second you thought he died under your grasp, but the way he parted his mouth went against your judgement. Perhaps you had sent his living soul flying out of his body, but you could not blame him — you did not feel at all like yourself just then.

“I wanna do it,” you murmured, refusing to let go. 

Chan’s eyes darted to the tight hold upon his wrist, and then to you once more. He opened his mouth, closing it straight after as he glanced away.

With a heavy sigh, he looked to you once more, an abundance of emotions swirling in his usually mischievous, soft eyes.

“Are you sure, ____?” He leaned a little closer, causing your heart to malfunction for a second. “You don’t have to think about it now—”

“Well, it’s all I can think about,” you cut him off, eyes never leaving him, despite the reddening of your cheeks. “And I want to do it.

“Like I said, Chan.” You shuffled a little closer, and your knees brushed against his. “I am deprived of pleasure.”

The man blinked once, twice, taking your declaration all in. He had to tell himself that this was not a dream, but a very much a fortunate reality, and that you were asking him of something he had been wanting to give you for a very long time.

There it was. Something he wasn’t quite ready to admit. You wanting your desires met by him was so much more than enough.

Dreaming still, he slithered one hand around your waist, almost like second nature as the other found refuge upon your face. His fingers were tender, softly caressing your cheeks as his eyes beheld you in a way he had never before..

This change of sight had you unable to look away from him.

“If you feel uncomfortable with all this…” he swept away a stray curl. “I will stop. That’ll be the end of it.”

You nodded, finding solace within his eyes. “I know.”

But there was no discomfort. Rather an impatient welcome, a growing urge for your needs met. Promises fulfilled. 

When you sensed him lean closer, so shy and yet so determined, hands still holding you, those vows were sure to be carried out.

You found out in the best way possible — the second when Chan brushed his lips against yours. 

His touch had you flying out your skin; well, not really, but it sure felt as such, when his mouth moulded with yours, a confirmation that he was strangely perfect for your own two lips, that he was meant to embed himself upon your mouth. 

You closed your eyes, heart climbing up your chest as your hands skimmed around his neck. Chan began his movements, and you were so unaccustomed to the actions that you could not help but be led by his kiss. The man had a way of making you listen to his every order, vocalised or not. 

The kiss was so...unreal. It was all that rang in your mind, over and over as the man took his time; he carried out a sensual rhythm upon your lips, not only to avoid overwhelming you, but to fully take in his situation — that he was kissing you, and no other girl who he had never dreamed of. 

He had all the time in the world for this.

The hand upon your waist gripped onto you a little harder, nails skirting around the hem of your shirt. His tongue teased you now, running along for entrance, to delve inside and drink in your every essence. Your mouth practically begged the man to prowl inside, opening up to him completely, a signal of full trust. 

You wanted this as much as he did. 

His elated rush was expressed through his tongue, when it slithered inside your mouth. Butterflies erupted in your body at the way he swirled it along with yours, almost playing with your tongue as if you both did. Of course, this is slightly different, because your gimmicks with Chan never had you salivating at the mouth. Nor feeling like you’re about to leak into your clothes from his touches.

Which really was the situation you ended up in; Chan, his hand now skimming under your shirt, revelling the skin of your abdomen, warming beneath his touch. The hand, once upon your face, had latched upon your locks, while you ran your fingers through his own velvety hair, nearly undoing yourself over the soft feel. 

Just when you thought he was going in for more, he broke away, hands still upon you — your breathing was ragged, the man in front of you panting slightly as well. His eyes, with no small amount of surprise, seemed a little feverish, whether that be from a random cold he contracted during the minutes he kissed you, or…

Or, as you found yourself biting your lip, he took an intoxicated toll over you, and how exquisite it was to drive his tongue in your mouth.

“Better than Rapunzel?” He whispered, so close his breath fanned your lips, spit-slick thanks to him. 

You made sure he was aware of your fingers threading in his locks, eliciting a low murmur. “Rapunzel better not leave the tower again.”

Chuckling, he wasted no time before he was upon you again, an invisible leash on him threatening to snap. He drove the shirt higher, skirting up your sides until he broke away from you for a mere second before peeling the shirt off of you and tossing it beside him.

Heaving, the sight of you in a bra was making the leash all the more tight, hands never leaving your sides as he latched onto your neck. Leaving open-mouthed kisses, down and down until his lips trailed past your collarbone, you let the moans leave your mouth, heightened and quick and unexpected. Suddenly he descended on you, kneeeling on the floor with hands following suit. 

Pleasure. You were oozing with pleasure as you hurried for the hems of his black hoodie, needing to have it off and run your hands on the expanse of his chest. Chan, a little preoccupied, did not realise your demands until you whined out your request.

“Chan—!” you gasped out as his lips left your belly, fingers upon the buttons of your trousers. “Hoodie, I need it off!”

The man only continued with his task, taking the zip down. “Up,” he rushed out, gesturing with his hand.

Dazed, you replied with a confused murmur, only understanding the need to take his stupid hoodie off.

He looked up from his endeavours, and the sight of him hovering between your legs nearly undid you. “I mean your hips, baby, put them up.” He grabbed onto the sides of your jeans. “I wanna take this off.”

Gulping, you raised your hips, giving Chan ease to pull your jeans, all the way down until your legs were bare, save for the soiled underwear which he instantly landed his eyes on. 

His mouth slipped out an uneasy fuck, which was just the right way to have you leaking even further. “Chan, come on,” you hurried, seething at the throbbing. 

His hands pushed you back on the couch, travelling down until they caressed the back of your knees. Pulling you closer from there, he leaned in until he was a few inches away from your moistened cunt, hurting more the longer he made you wait.

It wasn’t his fault, really. He still felt as if he’s living a dream he did not deserve. 

Fingers drumming against the back of your knees, the man blew a little upon your folds, and you let out a strained hiss at the soft breeze. This hypersensitivity was going to be your undoing, but even the smallest of actions brought you such thrill.

“I’m about to spoil you good, ____,” he whispered, and before you could reply, he descended.

The first kitty lick along the surface had you in shock.

Tendrils of pleasure gushed inside you, lurking all over your body as Chan swiped his tongue along the outside of your cunt, teasing, shying away, awaiting your reaction. You answered him with an indecipherable noise, a sound which had never escaped you before.

Maybe because no one had ever played with your cunt like this.

You truly had wasted your time with Hyunjin — this man, tasting your arousal, let out a satisfied hum, and when he dug deeper with his tongue, spreading your legs further, the moans you let escape were, for the first time, absolutely real. No acting, no bullshit.

Just like your best friend promised.

“Chan—!” You stuttered out, when he began circling your clit. “God, just like that!” You encouraged further, hips shaking at the way he made a mess of you. 

In response his hands left your legs, pressing them upon your hips. To your horror he paused his actions, peering up from your legs. 

The slick shining upon his lips could well have made you cum on his face right then and there. “I need you to stay still, baby,” he said, his hands on your hips keeping you in place, as his eyes did the same. “So I can do this properly.

“I don’t want you getting half-assed pleasure, okay?”

His soft demands, his calm explanations brought you in a further state of frenzy. You could not nod faster, chuckling emitting from him as his hands travelled down once more. 

“Good girl.”

And his mouth was upon your cunt again, this time the leash finally snapping as his tongue hardened against the seams. Your moans could have been heard in the hallways, but you didn’t particularly care when Chan, in the midst of his ravenous lapping, introduced the prospect of his fingers, caressing your dripping folds, swiping them over around the edges.

You didn’t know what to do — your hands scrambled to fist the fabric of the couch, laying back against the pillows. The hold grew tighter when your best friend slid his middle finger inside of you.

The journey may have been slow, but that was what made it all the more delightful. Feeling it go deeper and deeper had a particularly loud groan flying out of you, but the rhythm he adopted, pulling it out, but then diving it back again without leaving your cunt, had you delirious. 

A once foreign, unimaginable feeling you never thought you’d experience, was back inside — the heavy sensation deep within your gut, like a dull ache which grew more known the harder Chan worked between your legs. The feeling you had only ever experienced when you imagined Donghyuck instead of your ex-boyfriend in this similar situation. 

Fuck, there it is, you thought. The feeling of your incoming orgasm.

And it was not going to go if this man worked harder than the devil tonight.

“Chan—fuck—” you got cut off when he increased the speed of his finger inside of you. “I-I’m close.”

Never ceasing his finger, he looked up at you, hooded eyes welcoming you despite the tenderness on his face. “You’re doing so good, ____. So fucking good for me,” he cooed, melting your heart despite the situation. 

This time, he accompanied his fingering with a second digit, stretching out your walls and working harmoniously together in making you submit to him. Already you felt as if he’d filled you up, and the actions of his digits practically scissoring inside of you had every muscle in your body readying for release.

He dove back in, merciless to your clit, and all this work, everything at once, was so much that when you cried out, your release had to follow through. You couldn’t control yourself as you let your cum escape, staining the couch and the floor — most importantly, how most of it landed in Chan’s mouth. 

Breathing unevenly, and louder than you ever thought possible, you closed your eyes, slumping further into the couch. You sensed an emptiness inside you, and figured Chan had taken out his fingers. Opening your eyes, you saw him close your legs together, propping his head upon your lap, hands supporting his chin. He looked up at you, licking his lips free of your residue.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

The man smiled at you. “Satisfied?” he asked, fingers caressing your skin. 

Oh, of course you were. Damn it, you were more than satisfied — you were positively elated. If he had managed to make you cum with his fingers and tongue alone, imagine what he could have done with his dick.

You blinked. 

Imagine what he could have done with his dick.

“____?”

Perking up, you looked to the man kneeling before you still, anticipation brimming in his stature. “Please tell me you didn’t fake it.”

Embarrassment engulfed your body at the idea. “Chan, if you really think I faked all of that then I deserve an Oscar.”

Pride washed over his features. “Good.”

You then watched him slowly get up, climbing over you, hands skirting up your figure till he captured your face in his hands and pressed his lips against yours. You had enough strength to kiss him back, but failed to exceed him when he began nibbling upon the swell of your lip, making you revert to stage one of your growing need all over again.

Breaking away, you glanced up at him, holding onto his hoodie. “I want...more.”

The man stilled his actions, hands going limp upon your skin. You had about three seconds of panicking as you tugged on his clothes, whispering, “Wait, Chan, it’s okay if—”

But suddenly, his hands left your face, and the panic increased with you being lifted into the air, his hold under your knees and back as he brought you close to his chest. 

His eyes upon you were a hazard to your well-being. “God, ____, you could really ruin me.”

Your flustered nature was interrupted by Chan rushing to his bedroom, kicking the door open with his feet and pressing quick kisses upon your mouth, your cheeks, all over your face as you giggled out in reaction, arms locked around him.

His room was the same as his attire, black on black on even more black, save for a few gold corners and grey instruments settled in the far end of the space. His bed, however, was vast and comfortable, a place you have slept in many a time when late night recording sessions turned into sleepovers.

Gently, he laid you down on his bed, feeling the cool sting of the night air on your cunt, making you shiver. Your bra was useless in keeping you warm, but when Chan began to take off his hoodie, shirt dragging out along with it, you suddenly began to feel a lot hotter.

Discarding the clothes, you were rewarded with the image of shirtless Chan, slightly disheveled due to his endeavours between your legs. His smile revealed a hint of arrogance as he acknowledged your blatant staring, slowly taking off his sweatpants. 

“Careful, baby, or you’ll cum right there,” he mused, noticing the way your legs shivered in ecstasy. He dumped his clothes along with the others, catching sight of his Calvins barely containing his erection.

You felt the mattress press down as he prowled to you upon the bed, the more chaos erupting in your gut the further he came closer. You could barely contain yourself when he hovered over you, lips mere inches from yours. A powerful force within you halted your very breath — you knew, though, that at this particular moment, your entire soul rested in the hands of this man, looking at you through long lashes. 

He enveloped your lips, grinding his clothed erection against your cunt, drinking in your whines, your silent pleas of replacing it with the real deal. He smirked against your mouth, opening the seams as his one hand grabbed onto yours, leading it to the waistband of your boxers. 

Your fingers fumbled to take peel down the fabric, Chan parting from your lips to take it off entirely. His cock sprang free, and you let out a god-awful, shrill-like noise at the way it stood, red and angry and so very fucking big. 

“Fuck me,” you slipped out in a breath, earning a chuckle from him. 

“I very much plan to,” he had the nerve to reply, you wanting very much to slap his shit-eating grin off of him. Or perhaps kiss it till your breath was lost. 

Embarrassed, you tried to look away, but his fingers gripped your chin, leading your eyes to his. Other hand holding onto your hip, he gently positioned himself between your legs, precum already staining your folds. Breathing stunted, your stare reflected subservience, a request to bury his dick inside you already.

He read your every plea. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, he let out a shuddered breath before beginning the final descent.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Chan slid his cock inside — your mouth parted from the transition, at the tightening sensation as he kept going, burying those inches until your eyes were as wide as saucers, unable to look away from him. You dared not move, fear of snapping more a reality in your head than some far-fetched delusion.

Dragging his stare from your slit to your face, he caressed your cheek, offering you a small smile.

“Don’t be quiet, okay?” he asked, hand on your hip like iron. 

Nodding, it was all the signal he needed.

Just as gradually, he began to slide out, and, with his words in mind, you let yourself be shameless. The rhythm of his hips, the pain-stakingly tempered movement, made you whine profusely, and when the man slithered inside once more, moaning lewdly was your only reaction. It was all your brain could think of, when his cock was the sole deity which mattered in this moment.

His pace began to fasten, though, grunting erratically as his grip on you tightened. Your cunt was taking a toll, your second orgasm of the night a great possibility as you felt it inside you, as tangible as the dick being pushed and pulled out into you. 

“F-faster!” you wailed out, and God bless Chan, for he obliged you completely, increasing his rhythm, practically abusing your slit with the way he fucked into you. Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, and you let them fall, for there was no hiding your emotions with this man.

Your best friend could see right through you anyway. 

Chan’s strength seemed unhuman as he thrusted his cock into you faster and faster, and you knew if he did not stop then you would cum all over for the second time. The very image had you on the edge of your sanity.

When his cock hit your g-spot you really believed yourself hitting seventh heaven of delight. White spots blurred your vision, tears now your beloved companion as they trailed down your cheeks. “I’m c-close, fuck—” you tried to voice, but were cut off when slid out once more, tip never leaving your folds. 

His hair stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat peppered on his face as he crushed you with his lips, relishing your whines. His tongue befriended yours, and the swirling of your muscles with each other had brought a new form of high bubbling within you. 

You moaned his name onto his lips, hands sliding around his neck, pulling you as close as physically possible. This was it. You could not wait any longer. You wanted your undoing, and you wanted it now, in these sheets, within his arms, within his hypnotic presence. 

It was incredibly fortunate that Bang Chan could read you like the back of his hand.  

Parting from your mouth, he kissed a sloppy trail all the way to your ear, lips grazing against the lobe. 

“Go on, then,” he purred, leaving a small kiss to your skin. “Cum for me.”

His words were all you needed before you let yourself go, crying out as release poured from the tight spaces your cunt offered, and onto the sheets below. You wheezed in a few breaths, tired gasps gripping your body.

Chan, within the second, pulled out, just in time for him to let out a pained growl as he came onto his bedsheets. Some of the fluids sullied your legs, but seemed the perfect time as he collapsed right beside you, breathing as heavily as you were. 

You and Chan were the only noise in the room — however, if one could translate emotions into sound, that would be an entirely different matter. 

At least for you. You could barely contain your elation.

An emptiness may be present inside of you, but it was now replaced with a full heart. Fuck, you could not believe you had finally been given pleasure, such unadulterated satisfaction that you wondered whether it truly occurred, or was just another fantasy — this time with Chan’s face plastered rather than your infatuation of the month.

Sensing the said-man move, you turned to your side, smiling to see his stare fixated on you. Shifting closer, he curled a stray lock from your face behind your ear. “How’re you feeling?” he asked gently, hand on your face still.

You laid your head against your arm. “I am so pissed I didn’t break up with Hyunjin sooner.”

Laughing, his fingers trailed downward, sketching onto your collarbone. “You…” he paused, biting his lip with what you saw, surprisingly, as apprehension. “You really liked it?” 

Your eyes darted to the surroundings, smirk spreading across your lips. “I mean, I am an insanely good actress...”

His shock horror had you spluttering into laughter. When he tried to turn his back to you and sulk, you held onto his arm, keeping him in place. “Oh, stop! You know I’m joking, you big oaf.”

Pouting, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “You better be,” he muttered, earning further giggles from his truly. The laughter was replaced with your yawning, which Chan instantly picked up on. “Hey, ____, you should sleep.” He began stroking your hair. “You’re really tired.”

You tried to object, but your intended groans become more deep yawns, proving his point. He passed his fingers over your eyelids, fluttering them close. “I’m not hearing anything else!”

Stinging out your tongue in what you hoped was at his direction, you grudgingly obliged. “Fine.”

You felt him sigh upon your face. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight, Hyuck.” 

“Nevermind, I hope you have a terrible sleep.”

With your last round of exhausted laughter, you let yourself fall into oblivion, safe in your best friend’s arms. 

YOU WOKE UP WITH CHAN ALREADY GONE.

It was not such a huge disappointment. The man had warned you before that he had to leave early to meet up with his supervisor. In all honesty, maybe it was good he was not there, next to you in his sheets. 

Your hands gripped those very sheets, raising them right under your chin as you looked up to the ceiling, watching the dried swirls of black paint overlapping each other.

“Oh my God.”

Indeed. Here you were, in your best friend’s bed, basking in his scent, in his world. Of course, you always seemed to smell of him, considering you both never seemed to let go of each other, but last night was different.

Obviously, because Bang Chan had never rocked your shit before. 

Your legs began to tingle at the thought. Even the mere memory had you feeling a mysterious sensation all over your body, reminders of the places Chan had looked, touched, tasted. God, you did not think, did not let yourself think further or you’d be calling that man this second.

You knew you had to get up at some point — you had some recording to do today, and more assignments to hand in. You had tasks, obligations to take care of. Unfortunately, the warmth of your best friend’s bed was much too enticing for you to submit to the requests of reality, and so you let yourself lay there for moments longer, in hope you can recreate the scene in your head once more.

There was no lie about this. Bang Chan knew how to fuck you into another dimension. 

Just when you were about to dream into last night, your phone vibrated harshly against the bedside table. Curious, you stretched out your hand, grabbing the object and checking who so rudely disturbed your shameless manifesting.

CHRIS THE PISS: 

just stopped by the medical room,,, want me to get a wheelchair?

CHRIS THE PISS:

cause im sure asf u can’t walk rn 

You rolled your eyes until it hurt. Stupid prick.

YOU:

i haven’t gotten out of bed actually 

CHRIS THE PISS:

oh damn

CHRIS THE PISS:

i PARALYSED u??

CHRIS THE PISS:

why am i so powerful 

“This asshole,” you muttered. 

YOU:

STFUU COCKY MF

CHRIS THE PISS: 

It’s ok you’ll cute in a wheelchair

YOU:

?!?!?!?!!?!

CHRIS THE PISS:

but tell me 

CHRIS THE PISS:

how good was it

This had you pausing. 

CHRIS THE PISS:

outta ten

Now here was a rating you couldn’t bring yourself to confess.

All you wanted to do was give him a solid ten — the man finally offered you a better view of sex and how it can be appreciated, and the way he guided you through it was more than just adequate.

But the thing was, you and Chan hadn’t ever given each other 10/10s.

A perfect score was a rarity in your dynamic; possibly a rating never revealed before because you and Chan had promised each other never to exaggerate on this system. The only time you had ever used the solid ten was when he made you his first ever song at the tender age of nine. At the time, it was a terrible tune, with beats all over the damn place with no form of rhythm, but because he made it especially for you, you voiced your true opinion and rated him the perfect score.

Again, the situation here was different.

So, instead of the truth, you resorted to irritation. 

YOU:

2/10 :)

You waited for his text.

However, you did not receive it.

Only the shrill ringtone of your phone, snapping you further into consciousness. 

Groaning, you swiped right onto the screen, pressing the speaker button.

“Now I know you’re lying!”

Laughing, you propped the phone beside you on the bed, upon the place where Chan would have been. “You got a big ego there, hun.”

“That may be true, but my cock is bigger, so I still win.”

You were glad he was not here — the man would have sensed your embarrassment in an instant. 

It was worse because he was not lying. “Now tell me, Pinocchio,” he continued, voice interrupting as the noise of the students around him came through the receiver. “Out of ten.”

“I already messaged it to you, buddy,” you said impassively, or at least you tried. “A solid two would suffice.”

God, you could almost feel your nose growing.

Perhaps he felt it too, for he answered, with no small amount of pride, “I’m gonna pretend I fucked you so good you forgot how to think properly.”

You could not help gulping, raising the sheets over you. It wasn’t exactly hard on boning, but even so...you really thought for a second you’d lose all feeling in your legs last night.

“Shut up, Chan.”

“Shut up, Chan,” he parroted, which had you threatening to hang up. “Don’t think I’ve let you go on this subject.”

“Try me, buddy,” you jeered.

“And for Christ’s sake, stop calling me ‘buddy’,” he demanded. “Or else I’m pulling a Hyunjin.”

“A Hyunjin?”

“Yeah, a Hyunjin.” You heard the sound of horns blaring at the end of his call. “Ruining your sex life.”

That nearly made you freak. “Damn, I won’t say it again, Christopher Bang, musical name Bang Chan, nicknamed Chris the Piss—”

You heard his chuckling through the phone. “All that for my dick. I must have changed your life, ____.”

Heating up from his stupid comments, you grabbed the phone from the table. “I’ll see you in the studios, asshole.”

His smugness ran rich in his voice. “Buh-bye, baby.”

The minute the call ended, you sighed heavily, clutching the phone to your chest.

He did change your life.

Not necessarily your entire life, but certainly a huge aspect of it. A small part of you was horrified at how easily he shifted your daily balance, making you ponder over him more often, with much more intensity than before. Were you a sex maniac? Were you so deprived of being touched that one night of fun had you begging like a woman starved?

“Whatever,” you groaned, swinging your legs to the side of the bed, and upon the carpet. “Fuck Chan.”

Hopefully tonight.

FUCKING AROUND WITH CHAN MIGHT HONESTLY BE THE BEST DECISION YOU HAVE EVER MADE IN A LONG, LONG TIME.

And you weren’t the one to make good decisions. You get up an hour before the afternoons, drink Pepsi Max to compensate for your lack of water drinkage, and worst of all, you would gladly sell your body for Colin Firth, especially if he dressed himself up as Mr. Darcy at his age. Whatever setbacks you possessed, you knew that this, at least, was a step in the right direction.

Bang Chan may have been as big a loser as you were, but the man made you feel like a powerful entity. Hell, in all the state, with the way he made you act.

Never before had you become so daring — libraries, which were once your place of study, became a rendezvous for his slender fingers inside your cunt. The living room had become a breeding ground, and even your shower was stained of your promiscuity. There was no place left where you and Chan hadn’t done something scandalous, and you wondered, with no small amount of excitement, on how this new side of your friendship with him would progress. 

These thoughts accompanied you as you walked to your destination. It was not far off as you entered campus, and smiled at the few students who passed by.

Soon, you found yourself in the music department, and walked through the familiar halls, littered with posters of different artists and singers in their peak careers. A few trophies were boasted of behind a glass screen, but the surroundings all became irrelevant when you approached your designated music rooms.

Expecting Chan to be inside, headphones adorned, you did not bother knocking, strolling straight into the room. However, you stopped completely when a giant, hoodie-clothed back did not greet you.

Instead, it was a tinier hoodie-clothed back, faded yellow over the trademark black. Although not your best friend, you instantly recognised the alternative, and smiled.

“Jisung!”

The boy did not seem to hear, for he kept bobbing his head, no doubt trying out beats. 

You tiptoed slpwly until you stood right behind him. Then, in a flash, you snapped your hands upon his shoulders.

“Boo!”

A shrill, terrified yell erupted, chair being swivelled suddenly as the back hit against the controls. You took a step back out of shock too, a choked giggle escaping when you beheld the face of Han Probably-shit-his-pants-Jisung. 

“Oh my fucking God,” he rasped out, hand on his chest. He then locked eyes with you, and suddenly his quivering mouth melted into a smile of relief. “Ah, ____!”

“The one and only.” You sat down on the neighbouring chair. “Sorry if I made you shit your pants. It was fully attended.”

“Stop,” he insisted, taking off his headphones and scooting a little closer to you. “These are new jeans as well.”

“Not my fault if you’re a pussy,” you chanted, picking up the headphones, settling them upon your ears. “Can I listen?”

“Of course!” Jisung pressed a few keys on his laptop, and the music began. 

Your eyes widened in surprise to hear pleasant, almost lo-fi background before his voice flooded in, comforting you with his soft lilt and meaningful lyrics. On instinct your head bobbed along to the rhythm of the beat, smiling at the wordplay and the rising vocals.

“Jisung, this is really good!” you exclaimed. The boy waved off the compliment, but you instantly saw his face reddening. “Oh, stop it, you know that you’re one of the best out here.”

If you thought he couldn’t get more flustered, he proved you incredibly wrong. “Don’t say that,” he shrilled, propping his feet up on the chair and hugging his legs tightly. When he saw the look on your face, though, he smiled, teeth and all. “Thank you, ____. It means a lot coming from you.”

“Oh, I’m no musical genius,” you said, pressing the play button to hear his music. “Just a motherfucker who can appreciate a song of the year when she hears one.”

Jisung nearly passed out from your compliment, but you did not take it much into account as you focused all your attention on the piece. It was an undoubted fact that Han Jisung was an extremely talented dude. You already knew you could never compete with him, but he was certainly up to Chan’s level of musical expertise. With all this talent brimming around you, you made a mental note never to make more gifted friends in the future. 

Once the song ended, you took off the headphones, propping them gently upon the table. “I think you’ve inspired me to do some actual work.” 

The boy was still smiling as he reached his hand out, planting it upon your own on the table. “Well, I’m honoured to be your inspiration.” His eyes reached yours, and you were engulfed with his warmth. “The feeling is more than mutual.”

You offered him a grin, and were about to say something when the door opened.

Turning, you were welcomed by Chan’s dark figure at the studio entrance, holding two cups of coffee. Despite his black attire, you found yourself admiring a little too brazenly the bare face he never exposed in public, the beanie hiding his curls, and the tick in his jaw, which heightened further when he took in the scene.

The actions were quick — the darting of his eyes as they started on you, then travelled to your hand, engulfed with another’s. He raised them to the man guilty of the touch, and found himself staring at Jisung, beaming not only from you anymore, but at the arrival of his friend.

The joy was not returned. 

“Chan!” Jisung greeted, letting go of your hand innocently as he ushered your best friend over. 

He nodded in return, gaze back to you as he walked, a little too slowly, to the two of you. He put the two beverages upon the table next to the keyboards. “I didn’t know you were in as well,” he said. After a pause, he added, “I would have gotten another coffee.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” he assured him, even though it did not look like he needed any reassurances. 

Catching onto Chan’s attitude, you slid your coffee to the boy beside you. “I don’t want any right now. You take it.”

You took note of the pursed lips, and ignored it as Jisung widened his eyes. “No, no, it’s okay—”

“Ji, I insist,” you pestered him, driving the cup within his grasp. “You look so tired.”

He offered you a lovely smile before taking the beverage. “Thank you.”

Chan, watching this little conversation, had him clamping his lips together, possibly to not say something stupid. It was a little habit of his, thankfully in action. He slid the other cup to you. “You can have mine.”

You looked up at him. “I’m good, buddy.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Share.”

You rolled your own, taking a sip of the coffee, and thanked yourself for not being petty enough to refuse him. “Fine.” 

Jisung swivelled his chair so he faced Chan, fingers upon his laptop. “Do you wanna listen to the demo?” He grabbed the headphones, holding it out to him. “I’m nearly done with it.”

“You can send it to me later,” was his curt answer, as he took the cup from you and drank. 

You looked at him in exasperation, but the boy nodded in satisfaction, picking his bag off the floor. “That’s chill!” he said, heaving off the chair. “I got all the time, so don’t worry too much about it.”

He then turned to the two of you as he strolled to the door. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you both something.”

“Spit it out, then,” Chan jeered, which had you glaring at him. What the fuck was his problem?

Jisung did not catch on, continuing. “So, later this week, Changbin and I are throwing a party, and I was hoping you both would like to come.”

You perked up at that piece of information. “That’s something I like to hear!” Snatching the coffee cup from your friend, you purposefully took a huge gulp. “Any specific date?”

“I was hoping Friday night.” A small sip of his drink. “We just wanted to have some fun after a difficult week, dissertations and all.” His gaze never faltered from yours. “You in?”

Chan, noticing, settled in the space previously taken, and raised a hand in objection. “Sorry, Ji. ____ and I always do something Friday night. Gotta uphold the tradition.” 

You turned to face him, a brow raised. He wasn’t wrong, in all honesty. But why did he mention it now?

Jisung, too, was a little curious. “Oh?” He fixed the strap of his bag. “I won’t get in the way, then.”

He turned, and you made to open your mouth only to have Chan press a finger to your lips. His brows were furrowed, which you matched until he left the finger as the boy looked back once more. 

“I’ll see you around, guys!” he exclaimed, eyes sliding to you before opening the door, and leaving the studio.

After a few seconds of silence, you faced your friend, who had the audacity to sigh in relief. “What the fuck was that?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do!” you finished the last of the coffee, throwing the empty cup in the bin nearby. “Why were you being such a dick to Jisung?”

“No I wasn’t,” he only said. “I was being the perfect gentleman.”

“Stop it, man!” You couldn’t believe his stupidity in the situation. “He was being so lovely, asking for your opinion on his music, inviting us to his party and shit. Why were you being so mean?” 

Chan only shook his head, turning away from you as he made to put his headphones on. You, on the other hand, were not going to be satisfied with silence, and grabbed his arm, wrenching him toward you. “Chan?!”

He turned to look at you, and you hitched in a breath — you had never really pondered over your friend’s angered face, nor really drank in his heightened features before. However, in this moment in time, with his eyes darkened, bare face twisted, frizzy morning curls all over the place, you had to stop yourself from the butterflies fluttering downwards. You’re supposed to be mad, not horny.

Your hand upon his arm — his tensed bicep, specifically — seemed almost feeble now. Still, you were glad it was on there, if only to feel his muscle bulge.

Chan studied you and your dazing, and made you jump when he guttered. “What?”

Instantly getting back to the situation, you cursed yourself silently for letting your desires try to take the reins. “I said,” you continued, trying your hardest not to be fazed by his eyes, “Why are you being such a massive prick to Ji?”

He cocked his head slightly, and if he leaned any further his lips would brush against yours. “I’m being a massive prick, ____, because he really fucking likes you.”

You felt hands upon your waist, tugging you off your seat. With a yelp you found yourself upon the man’s lap, hands encircling you fully.

Even though you looked down at him, his stare had you shaking. “And that really fucking pisses me off.”

You couldn’t suppress a shudder, an action which had not gone unnoticed. A smile ghosting his face, he craned his neck upwards, catching your lips and rendering you completely at his mercy. Your fingers went straight in his morning curls, carding through the locks as he captured your bottom lip in his, sucking on it to the point a whine escaped you, helpless and shameful. 

He left a trail of heated kisses down your throat, fingers skirting underneath your cardigan, your shirt, and savouring the skin. His mouth landed on a particular part, grazing his teeth against it as he softly nipped at the skin. Your breath quivered at each flushed kiss he branded upon you, but when his free hand began undoing the top buttons of your shirt, you finally called out his name.

“Chan!” you gasped out, shivering at the lovebites stinging your throat. It did not seem like the man would stop, unbuttoning your shirt just so he could glimpse the sliver of your lacy bra, humming with satisfaction. “Chan, w-wait!”

He paused his actions, tilting his head upwards in irritation. “Do you mind?” he asked, pouting too cutely for his words.

“Yes, I do,” you answered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Why are you so mad, buddy?”

A harsh scoff was your reply. “Well, first of all, because you never stop calling me that.” 

You pinched the back of his neck, but when he pursed his lips, you leaned in, pressing your forehead against his. “Chan, you’re overreacting. He’s just a motherfucker trying to gain your approval.”

“I think it’s more your approval,” he countered, nuzzling his head against your shoulder. “With the way the asshole can’t keep his name out of your mouth. God! And the way he held your hand? Like you were his one and only?!”

“Jealousy isn’t a cute look on you, hun,” you mused, but in reality, you were lying through your teeth. His jealousy was like fuel to your turned on fire.

“Permission to punch him in the face?” 

“You might have to put a hold to that.” 

“Fuck.”

Raising his head, his agitation grew in his eyes as you beheld him. “He just...goddammit, he just makes me so angry at times.”

You played with his curls. “How angry?”

He held onto you tighter. “9/10.”

That certainly made you do a double take. 

9/10. A rare rating, you noticed with quite some surprise. It did reflect the fury which Jisung unintentionally ignited, but you did not realise how much it truly affected him. The two had always been friends, as far as you were concerned, but you had to admit that Chan never really felt as easy with him as he did with you.

Of course, because you were his closest friend.

“I know,” he said then, snapping you out of your thoughts. “It’s...unreasonable...but I don’t care. I really don’t give a shit.”

Clamping your lips together, you watched him look away, swaying you back and forth upon his lap. Well, you couldn’t have a dear friend sulking away when you knew Jisung meant nothing and less to you.

Suddenly, a very pleasing idea came to mind. 

“Chan,” you murmured, fingernails grazing against his neck.

 Sensing goosebumps form there, you were met with his undecipherable gaze. “Yeah?”

You brushed a chaste kiss to his forehead. “How about,” you began, trailing down to his nose, “I help…” you carried on, another kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Soothe your irritation?”

Although completely compliant to your touches, he grumbled, “The only way you can do that if you consent to me giving Jisung a broken nose.”

“Hmmm…well...” you peppered another kiss, and felt his hands wander lazily once again. “This is a very close second.”

Catching the implications dwelling in your gaze, you could have sworn the man’s breathing halted. His tongue swept along his teeth, and you had a dire wish to replicate that action with your own tongue.

“Come here, then,” he guttered.

The lower octave had you nearly squealing as you pressed your lips fully onto his, giggling when he responded with twice more ardency, the desperation lurking beneath his physique. He pried your mouth open with his tongue, swirling it along with yours as he pressed your body completely against his, refusing to let you go. 

On instinct you grinded against him, sensing the outline of his boner beneath you with no small amount of excitement. He groaned into your mouth at the friction, digging his fingers into your skin.

It was a dire shame you had to break away from the kiss, catching his disappointment. “Tease,” you heard him mumble, which had you pecking his lips quickly before sliding your own down his neck, leaving his skin altogether.

Slumping downward, you kneeled before Chan as he spread his legs before you, struggling down his black trousers till he revealed the angry outline of his erection underneath his dark boxers. You noticed, with pride, how the top of the fabric was stained with arousal. 

“I think your dick is angrier than you around Jisung right now,” you said, failing to contain your amusement. 

Chan’s eyes promised murder. “I’m so glad my cock will shut your stupid mouth up,” he jeered. 

Thank God you were kneeling, cause that comment alone would have made you fall.

Shuffling closer, you raised your hand to his boxers, feeling his clothed length between your fingers. The touch had your friend growling much too loud, a reaction you enjoyed thoroughly. 

“How about a little less teasing,” he seethed, gripping onto the arms of his chair, “And a little more sucking, baby?” 

Baby. You didn’t know why now, of all times, it struck a deep chord within you. His command had you reaching for the waistband, pulling his boxers down until his cock sprang free. 

The image had you remembering your Lord and Saviour. 

You don’t know why you kept forgetting how insanely big Chan’s cock really was. Its length was inside of you on almost a daily basis, so maybe all this foolery had finally gotten to your head. Observing it now, hard and veiny as it curved against his stomach, the only reaction you could offer was your mouth breaking its seams. 

“Staring at it won’t be enough, ____.”

Gulping, you planted one hand upon his leg, the other wrapping around the shaft. Even the slightest contact had the man hissing, making you smirk at his helplessness. Slightly gurgling, you spat on the head, lubing his member with your fingers, and then you began.

A string of groans escaped him as you commenced, a slow rhythm of pumping his cock as your hand moved up and down. The repetition was constant, neverending as Chan’s grip on his chair threatened to snap the plastic, but you dared not slow down. You knew this was not how he gained his satisfaction — he needed a perfect graduality, a refined art-like stroke or else he’d lose his high. Fortunate for him, though, you never let him down.

You increased your pumping, sensing him containing his moans. You could feel him holding back, but that didn’t stop you at all. In fact, that only had you progressing to the next step, an action that would have him screaming your name.

Shifting even closer, you spread his legs further, Chan’s eyes rooted to you as you directed the tip to your mouth. Letting your tongue free, you swept it along the shaft, and sure enough, an obscenely loud moan emitted from his truly. Chuckling, you carried on, trailing all the way up to the head and ending your journey with an ironically chaste kiss. Staring up at him, you smugly observed his lust-struck face, mouth releasing irregular breaths already. You couldn’t wait to have him curse at you.

Eyes back on the task at hand, you grabbed the base of his cock, opening your mouth. Slowly, aggravatingly slow, you sunk down, taking in inch by inch — Chan pushed his hips forward, and you nearly gagged at the impact of his head hitting the back of your throat. 

“Shi-shit baby,” he sputtered, watching you in awe at your work. “You better tell me if you don’t want your throat fucked.”

You answered him with your progression, slowly releasing his cock from your lips, tongue licking his slit before descending back on him again. You tried to be slow — you didn’t want to go straight to deepthroating, but the way Chan choked out his curses was sweet encouragement. Holding his dick still, you began bobbing your head and down, shallow at first, testing the waters.

When the man instinctively began bucking his hips, pushing his cock into your mouth further, you opened your jaw wider, taking in the remaining inches. The gag reflex kicked in like a bitch, but you refused to cease your labour as you increased your pace. Chan leaned in a little, caressing your cheeks as he rutted against your mouth.

“God, you’re fucking perfect, baby,” he cooed breathlessly. “So good for taking my cock like that.”

Unable to smile, you answered him with your hands, now playing with his balls, slapping them slightly to make him groan out in pleasure, head laid back against the chair. “I’m close, ____,” he warned, never stopping his own thrusts. You hoped he never would, when his end was so near.

Taking all of him in, you pressed your hands on his legs, urging you to look at him. With one final home run, you hollowed in your cheeks, surrounding his entire cock in your mouth as you imprisoned him with your hooded gaze.

The image of you, a beautiful ruination, was his undoing. 

Chan let out a vicious string of curses as he released, ropes of cum spilling inside your mouth. He slumped into the chair, breathing in the entire county’s worth of oxygen as all energy left him. This time, to add to his lust-driven shock, you swallowed his release, thanking your lucky stars that your friend finally listened and ate some fruit. His cum, at last, tasted more than bearable. 

After a few silent moments, the man finally raised himself from the dead, sighing as he beheld you kneeling still. “I think I can’t live without you.”

Chuckling, you heaved yourself up, legs unsteady. “That’s just your inner horny speaking,” you said, nearly falling over on your own feet. Quickly, Chan brought you back onto his lap again, creating an iron grip around you.

“Think what you like,” he began, peppering small kisses on your neck. “But your head game is stronger than my will to punch Jisung, that’s for sure.”

You hummed as he plunged his teeth upon a certain spot, pressing your legs together. “It better be.”

Finding your lips, he lazily kissed you, hands skirting higher as you move your mouth against his, never tired from his touches. 

“Have we christened the studio yet?” The man asked in between kisses, pushing his chair forward till your back hit the table. 

You shook your head no, already sensing his unbearable grin. You could not help returning his enthusiasm.

And as you both continued in your shameless arrangements, there was one thought that lingered in your head. 

There was absolutely no way you were going to that party. 

OF COURSE YOU WERE GOING TO THAT PARTY.

You looked to the building, the whole ground floor alight with different, ever-changing lights, and a dim pandemonium welcoming your ears. Your phone pinged with messages, but you dutifully ignored them, taking a deep breath as you took a step inside.

Greeted with a half-full hallway, it was not hard to find the party house, greeting awkwardly to a few drunk acquaintances before entering Jisung’s dorm. You were instantly hit by the smell of sweat and alcohol as the noise of popular music made your ears ring in discomfort. An abundance of students were cramped as they danced along to the tunes, screaming and laughing and simply enjoying themselves. 

While observing the scene, a small part of you wished your best friend was with you, an arm slung around you as he makes a comment on the specific people dancing rather terribly in the centre. You could already imagine him in his Friday attire, midnight-kissed with gold chains dangling off his belt, rings adorning his fingers and a little makeup to elevate his already exquisite features. Maybe, if you had insisted, he would have let you paint his nails, something which you adored on him. 

Fuck, you thought, searching through the crowd for a place to get a drink. Maybe you shouldn’t have come. 

You shook your head, though, beginning to squeeze through the partygoers. No. You can’t let Chan win in this.

And so you found your way to the kitchen, cans of beer, vodka and tequila stacked in broken pyramids to drink away. Just as you made to grab the Smirnoff your hand brushed against another’s. You turned to the direction, and beamed to see Jisung holding out the can for you.

“____!” he exclaimed, barely heard from the commotion yet could feel his joy radiating from him. “Don’t you have a thing with Chan on Fridays?”

“Well, that can happen every Friday, Ji, but your party was only today,” you answered him, and he was more than satisfied. 

He grabbed the same drink as yours, cracking it open as he looked at you, stare lingering upon your black dress. “I’m really glad you came, love.”

You blinked at the sudden endearment, but before you could say anything Changbin had interrupted the both of you, threatening to bring the roof down with his whining.

“Pleeease Ji, get me away from her!” he begged, holding onto Jisung’s arm and rocking it back and forth. “She keeps tryna drag me into the bedrooms and I can’t do it with her, bro!”

The boy adorned hints of irritancy, but he let himself be led by his friend, glazing at you. “Wait for me,” he requested.

His answer was a little wave, which he returned dutifully as he began to berate his friend for tearing him away from you. Raising your eyebrow, you turned back to the alcohol, finding some soda water and pouring it into the empty cups along with the Smirnoff. You would have drank the vodka straight from the bottle but you decided against drinking your tits off tonight. You didn’t really have a great desire for intoxication. 

You cursed at a few passersby as they bumped against you, nearly knocking the drink off your hands. Fixing your dress, you took the first sip, relishing the strong taste. The songs kept changing, the dancing getting wilder, and at this rate you knew someone was going to get handsy soon. 

Drinking away, you snapped the cup on the table beside you, waiting for Jisung to come back. 

Why did you even come here? 

You instantly soured at the thought.

Still, you could not help pondering further.

You should have stayed home. With him.

You groaned out loud.

It was ridiculous how you were unable to have any idea which didn’t centre around that prick. If he did not want to join you that was on him. 

Then were you feeling miserable?

Great. You poured yourself some more diluted vodka. Now you’re a full-time simp.

That helped you down the drink some more. At least this time, in fortunate circumstances, you were not a lightweight, and so were still completely aware of your surroundings. 

Aware enough to see a more tousled Jisung stagger toward you, giggling like a little child. 

You watched him lunge towards the tequila cans and crack one open, downing half the thing in one go. “Careful, Ji, or you’ll fall to your death!” you warned him, laughing as he exhaled with great exaggeration. 

He staggered to where you were standing, slumping against the wall and taking another can. “I’m so sorry!” he simpered, much too loudly for your sober ears. 

You raised a brow, about to ask him for what but he was already answering your question. “I made you wait so looong!” he dragged, drinking some more. “Look at you! Leaving you all alone.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly, crossing your arms, drink still in hand. “Just say I have zero friends.” 

“Hey, don’t say that!” You were taken aback by Jisung grabbing onto your arm, pulling him to you. He looked you dead in the eyes, wide and alive. “You do not have zero friends!” he declared, louder than before. “I’m your friend.”

Your poor ears hurt like a bitch, but you smiled at his words. “Yes, indeed you are,” you said in earnest. “Thank you, Jisung.”

It was then he blinked slowly, parting his lips as his fingers upon your arm began to wander. “But I wish you didn’t think like that.”

His touch did not go unnoticed at all. You looked at him, raising a brow, but that action went unnoticed. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, you’re a smart girl,” he slurred, voice still soft and innocent as his hand travelled to your shoulder. “You know exactly what I mean.” 

Freezing up, you felt the pads of his fingers caress your face. When he tilted his head, you finally saw what he had been trying to show you since the start of the year, the emotions he was too drunk to hide any longer. 

Lust. Pure lust swirling in his eyes. 

It was like a lightbulb had finally switched on in your grape-sized brain.

“Oh my God!”

Instantly, you pressed your hands to Jisung’s chest, pushing him completely off. He nearly fell flat on his ass, but grabbed the table just in time to stagger back to balance. He glanced upwards, and you saw his eyes widen.

“____?” he got out, but you raised a finger, which he was still intelligent enough to figure out to shut up.

“Ji, what the fuck?” You slapped your drink down on the table, making him jump. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he exclaimed, taking another can. “But it’s the truth, damn it, and I’m tired of having to pretend all the time about it!”

Fuck, you suddenly thought, realising that you needed to get out of this crammed residence. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Jisung, look—” you started, but he groaned out loud, waving off your answer.

“No, no, I know what you’re gonna say.” He then did a terrible impression of you, simpering, “Oh, Ji, I can’t go out with you because I’m soooo in love with my best friend in the whole wide world!”

You snapped your head to his direction. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me clearly!” He finished off his nth can. “Okay, maybe it isn’t a Romeo and Juliet shit going on, but I know something is going on between you two!”

A laugh huffed out of you, but the boy was not convinced. “We’re just friends. Good friends, that’s all.”

Your answer was a hysterical bout of laughter, confusing you even further. “Come on, ____. I’m stupid, but not completely braindead.”

He took a step closer to you, careful of your hands still. “I know Chan practically adores you.”

This little statement made your shit freeze. “Stop it,” you murmured.

“Why?” he demanded. “Because I’m saying something the both of you refuse to listen to?” 

“It’s none of your business,” you snapped. “Don’t get mad because I don’t wanna go out with you.”

“I’m not mad because of that.” With one last tequila can, he grabbed it, turning on his heel. “I’m mad because the both of you keep lying to yourselves.” 

Before you could counter back, the boy stumbled away from you, hollering to the crowd to leave some space on the dance floor for him. You wondered for a second how he’d handle dancing when he could barely walk properly, but then your thoughts drifted back to the more dire subject at hand.

“Fuck,” you cursed out loud this time. 

There it was. The question you should have addressed ever since you started this arrangement with Chan.

Were you really just friends? 

You knew the question to that yourself. Both you and him had transcended past that point now, and in a horrifying realisation, you didn’t mind it that much. After experiencing his touch, his whispers, you doubt that you could ever see him as a friend again. 

But...to be more?

Fuck indeed. You had a lot to think about tonight.

“But first,” you muttered, “To be out of this stupid party.” 

Quickly, after taking two Smirnoff cans, you squeezed past the million drunkards, making your way to the exit. When you were out of the residence, you breathed in the cool night air, a rarity in these sweaty dorm rooms. 

You had a small hope, as you walked down the lanes, that Chan would be there, right at the entrance as you left, but he was not there. He had a little habit of going wherever you were supposed to be if you were not home at the expected time, worried sick if you had drank or done something more stupid than usual. 

But he was not here today. Maybe going to Jisung’s party made him extremely pissed.

There was a reason he rated it 9/10.

Soon, you were at your building, entering inside and finding your door at the very end of the hallway. Fishing out the keys, you slid them into the lock, careful of the cans, hearing the click! of the unlocking.

Your hand rested upon the doorknob. Eyes staring at the lifeless colour of the door, you closed your eyes, letting out a deep breath.

Stop worrying. Chan is your best friend.

You turned the knob.

Your best friend.

Pushed the door open. Stepped inside.

Right?

“Back so soon?” 

Your body shivered at the words. Quickly walking inside the living room, you found the back of the sofa greeting you as per usual, with Chan’s head peering on top as he watched the TV. Walking further, you noticed yours and his favourite show playing on the screen.

“Yeah, it was quite boring, but the real question is,” you began, irritation marring your features, “Why are you watching this without me?” 

He didn’t even glance back at you, nor pause the TV. “Oh, I don’t know, ____, maybe because it’s Friday night, and it’s our thing to do this every time? Do tell me if I’m wrong!”

“Shut up, Chan,” you seethed, dumping the Smirnoff on the coffee tables in front of him. “This is the one time I missed this, so stop being such a baby.”

“Oh, so you tell me to shut up,” he jeered, snapping the remote on the table, making you jump slightly. “Fine, I’ll shut up. You won’t hear a word from me again.”

You took a glimpse of his face, and caught this cold fury simmering beneath his skin. Oh no. Had you going to Jisung’s party made him this angry? It was beyond nonsensical now. Bang Chan was the most reasonable man you ever befriended.

Taking in the emotions inhabiting on his face, however, proved otherwise.

I know Chan practically adores you.

The memory brought chills all over you again. 

Making your way into the kitchen, you figured to make yourself a midnight snack, hearing the crack! of a can opening behind you. Asshole, you refused to voice out loud, but opened the fridge, taking out leftovers and heating it up in the microwave.

“Anything interesting happened, then?” you heard the dry question travel to you. 

Scoffing, you turned, taking out your food. “Oh, I thought I wasn’t hearing a word from you again.”

Your best friend’s smile was anything but sweet. “Well, I figured if you weren’t going to tell me things, I had to ask you myself.”

That snatched any faux amusement you might have harboured. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“You know what the fuck that means!” he snapped, getting up from the couch, pausing the screen. “I can’t believe you’re not telling me.”

“How about a little less attitude and a little more truth, you prick,” you rebuked, putting the cartons on the kitchen counter. 

“Fine, I’ll tell you the truth that you’re too much of a pussy to say yourself!” He thundered into the kitchen, Smirnoff still in hand. 

You backed up against the counter when he caged you with his glare. “Since when did you start going out with Jisung?”

Instantly your brows furrowed. “Who the fuck told you that?” 

“Shit, I knew that bastard wanted to get in your pants,” he roared. “And you let him use you!”

“Woah, woah, buddy, slow down there!” You raised your hands in objection. “I’m not dating Jisung!”

“What?” He took a gulp of the vodka, confusion mixing with his fury. “You’re not?”

“Of course not, the fuck?! Who told you this?”

“He—” but then the cogs turned in Chan’s head, and suddenly it made sense to him. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

“What happened?” you asked, but he was drinking some more, cursing himself for even believing such nonsense. “Chan?”

“That son of a bitch called me before you came,” he started, swirling his drink in the can. “And I don’t know why he did, but he kept telling me to back off from you.”

You let out a low curse, but your friend was not finished. “I told him to get some sleep, cause clearly he wasn’t right in the head, but then...he said some words which literally shut me up.”

Then, you saw him hitch in an uncertain breath. “____, he bragged that he asked you out and...and you said yes.” 

His reaction had you widening your eyes, mouth parting just a little. “And, damn it, I thought that this is why she’s so nice to this little fucker, giving him my coffee, or missing Friday night for his stupid party. Hell, even suggesting him first to be her friends-with-benefits.

“Because maybe she liked Jisung all along.”

You watched in horror as he finished his drink, crumbling the can and throwing it in the bin beside you. A shuddered breath escaped you at the explanation, but you sucked it in once more when you blinked back the sheer intensity of this man’s stare. 

“So...yeah.” He ruffled his hair, breaking the stare as he looked away, face flushing with colour. “That’s why I just...yeah.”

A small part of you melted at his words, and his now embarrassment after expressing his desperate worry for you and your potential relationship.

Still, you had some problems that needed solving. “Chan, then why were you so angry at me?!”

You crossed your arms. “You didn’t even wait to hear what I had to say on the matter.”

“I don’t know, okay?!” he exclaimed, propping his hands to his sides. “I heard Jisung saying all that bullshit, and at the time I was so pissed that…”

“I can’t believe you’d think I’d go out with him, you dumbass!”

“Well, I don’t know, he’s just such a nice guy like you keep saying, and all that flowery poetry for him just went straight into my head!” 

The situation almost seemed comical now. “Oh my God, did you really think I liked him?!

“Of course” he cried out, slapping his hands on the counter top next to you, unable to let you escape. As if you even wanted to. “Of course I thought that or else I wouldn’t be shitting my pants all night!”

“Then you’re the dumbest fucking prick I’ve ever met!” you screamed, as you grabbed hold of his hoodie, pulling him closer to you. “Because I don’t like him!

“I like you!”

“Well, I like you too, you stupid bitch!” 

The confession had you both stopping, preventing the two of you going deaf from your shouting. The whole fight was completely ridiculous, but when you looked at each other, drinking in the words that just left your lips, the realisation finally dawned on you. 

I like you too.

Well, shit. There it was.

The one thing you’d been hiding ever since you decided to fool around with him. 

Maybe this was the last way you wanted to tell him, shouting out your declaration to prove his suspicions wrong. It was almost like something out of an unfunny American sitcom — this weird, comic deflation, but at least it was out in the open now.

You had finally told him of your feelings. 

A pinch of that anger brewing within his features settled a little, hands still fisted on your sides. His eyes darted on every point of your face, as if he’s trying to memorise every inch, every detail etched upon your skin. 

Although his blatant awe made you flustered, the aching inside spoke for you. “Are you going to keep staring all night or just kiss me already?” 

God, you were such a bitch.

Chan seemed to think so too. “Nevermind, I fucking hate you,” he snarled, capturing your lips with his in an instant. You smiled against his mouth as you kissed him back with the same intensity, the same need which spread like wildfire in your body.

Kissing him should have become a routine with the amount of times you did it, but every locking of your lips with his sent you in a frenzy, lust-driven emotions spiralling out of control. You welcomed his tongue inside your mouth, the strong taste of tequila and desperation enlivening your inner workings, heightening your need for him, him, and only him.

His hands had no restrictions — the pads of his fingers had their very own needs, their own desire to feel every crevice of your body, your every curve and corner till you have no secret stored in your figure which they did not know of. You welcomed their ravaging, embraced their interrogation as they tried to uncover everything you held dear. 

Once these hands found a weakness in the form of your dress altogether, they cleverly found an opening, reaching for the end of your dress lined at your thighs. His fingers hitched the hem upwards, skirting it higher until it bunched at your waist, revealing a red, silken thong, embroidered with black thread. You relished in Chan practically salivating all over the image, but his lust slapped him out of his dazing, and hurried to get it off, hands slipping it down your legs until it was discarded on the kitchen floor. 

In an instant the man thrust two fingers inside of you, stretching your walls and creating a hypnotic rhythm of removing and inserting them back again. Your moans could bring down the whole residence, but none of you cared when Chan was scissoring you with his digits on the kitchen counter, desire radiating off his stature, and a determination to completely ruin you stark on his face. 

“M-more!” You begged, knowing you could take it, and you were rewarded with a third finger, filling you up as you cried out in pleasure. His mouth quietened you, sucking on your lower lip and then taking all of you, had you delirious, but this insanity only progressed as the thrust of his fingers hit lighting speed. 

The three digits had quickened your potential release, right on the tip of your cunt if he did not stop. “I’m g-gonna—fuck—!” 

You were interrupted as Chan’s lips left yours, trailing down to your neck, collarbone, brushing his teeth between your chest as he fell to his knees. Pulling you forward, on the edge of the countertop, he spread your legs apart, cock twitching at the drenched cunt which awaited him, like a feast displayed for a starved, wild animal. 

Looking up at you, he growled, “Cum when I say so, understand?”

Your hurried nods was all he needed as he dove right in, tongue sliding up your slit, lapping up your arousal as if it was an eternal cure. He fastened his stroke as he welcomed in his sight your clit, swiping his tongue along the bud. 

You moaned out his name like a cry for help, and he answered at first ring when his fingers still laboured, faster and faster, along with his heavenly tongue licking your clit like ice cream on a summer's day. 

“Chan, please—!” You choked out, one hand carding through the man’s hair, driving his face deeper into your cunt. “Please, I need to cum!”

Completely ignoring you, he carried on his ravishing, making you shake your legs to a point your body was beyond your control — you were at his mercy when his head was between your legs, when he prodded at your core as if it was no one else’s but his. 

When Chan brushed against your g-spot, it took every muscle in your body not to cum on his face then and there. He was being cruel; this was punishment for going to that party, justice for choosing Jisung’s company over his.

You did not know punishment felt so pain-stakingly amazing. 

Calling out his name for the last time, you knew that if the man carried on, you would go against his wishes and free yourself of the burden pushing down on your gut. Gripping onto his hair hard enough to rip right off, Chan spared a single glance at you from above, licking his lips off your mess.

“Cum for me, baby.”

That was the first time you came that night. Shaking as you freed your juices unto him, he gladly accepting the release. It was like you possessed a vessel of your release, the way you kept it inside for so long. He could never refuse though, when he knew he was responsible for driving you down that road of vulnerability. 

However, even with all of that, you still wanted more. 

And as Chan ascended on his feet, yanking his fingers out of you, he saw it in your eyes. The uncontainable passion. The unadulterated desire. 

All for him. All. For him.

Your best friend’s smile was positively wicked.

“I will completely ruin you, ____.”

He was upon you like a beast, no mercy upon your lips as he bruised them with his teeth, your pleas drowned out by his mouth as he lifted you in his arms. His kisses never ceased as he led you in his bedroom, nearly ripping the hinges at the sheer intensity of slamming his door shut. 

Throwing you on the bed, your breath whooshed out of you at the free fall, heart running miles as you witnessed Chan take his shirt off, his entire chest glistening with sweat, no doubt from the work he put in mere minutes ago. 

Upon you in seconds, his mouth robbed you of any more oxygen, prying it open as he attempted to unzip your dress from the back. Then, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, he tried to loosen the zipping, but the damned thing got stuck in it’s trail, unable to satisfy. 

Letting out an angry growl, he damned the dress when, using his hands at the front, he ripped the fabric in half, completely down to the hem. 

“My dress!” You gasped out, watching him discard the torn fabric as if it were a minor inconvenience in his path.

You were cut off by his mouth, scorching you down to the bone. “I’ll buy you ten more, baby,” he muttered, skimming his hands down your bare sides.

You had the audacity to roll your eyes at his words. “Why do you keep forgetting you’re a college student?”

It seemed Chan did not take kindly to your comment. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped, resulting in you leaking right onto his sheets. 

That kept you wilfully obedient, and rightfully so, when he unclipped your bra, tossing it to the side, and settled upon your breasts. Grinding his clothed cock upon your bare slit, he licked your right nipple, making you whimper out at him. His reply was swirling his finger on your left nipple, toying with your body as if it was his plaything. You would have had a right mind to shout at him if he didn’t bring such euphoria along with it. 

“Chan,” you whispered, gripping onto the sheets as he continued sucking your breasts. “Chan, I...I need you to fuck me already.”

He paused his assault on your bud, raising a groomed brow. “What do you say to that?” He asked, too calmly in a crazy situation like this. 

Of course, he wanted to make you beg. Considering you did not care the least for your self respect, or lack thereof, you completely obliged him, rutting your bare cunt upon his trousers. 

“Please, Chan. Please.”

Hearing the little pleases had him kissing you insane as he urged you to take his pants off. You willingly obeyed, tossing the clothing along with his Calvins, and when his cock sprung me you felt the inside of your mouth water at the sight. 

The man hovered just above you as he positioned his dick right at the entrance, poking between the folds. “Say the magic word, now, baby,” he commanded quietly, and just for the last time, you had to be the most annoying person in the world. 

“Donghyuck!”

The second that damned name slipped out of your mouth, you completely regretted it as instead of making sweet, slow love to you, Bang Chan thrusted his cock so hard into you your whole body flinched with the impact. You couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped, tears settling in your eyes, but alas, your best friend had little sympathy for you. 

“Bitch,” he seethed, pulling out, widening your eyes only to have him slam his cock back into you, sending you into another universe entirely. 

You envied his strength — you could barely hold onto his arms while his grip on you could probably compete with the Earth’s gravity, stable and safe and inescapable. He imprisoned you in his hold as he pulled out slowly, and then drove back inside, but you wanted to be in this cage, to never leave his midnight eyes that offered something other than rage and lust and humour. You dared not wonder what it might be, but when you closed your eyes, your mind began to ponder, float amongst the stars of ideas and questions which defined your relationship.

As Chan began to fasten his pace, thrusts more erratic, you held onto his dark curls, mouth never refraining every moan and whine which he fucked out of you. There he was, the man who deemed you worthy of being pleasured, despite risking your decade old friendship to see you have the same advantages as any old person who was sexually frustrated.

But this man did not just give you any old advantages — he offered the whole world in his hands to you, knelt before you, fulfilled your every waking desire, held onto you before you could ever slip away into the chaos of your mind. Even now, with you getting lost into the galaxies of his eyes, it was solely his hands which were the anchor to reality, a reality he made better by his offer. 

Bang Chan, your very best friend. 

When he caught the tenderness radiating on your face, he could not help stealing a little for himself, moulding his lips upon yours as he pistoned you in the bed. It was perhaps this small warmth, along with his perfect rhythm of his cock that had you crying out, barely able to contain your second release.

You broke away from the kiss, and uttered his name like a prayer. “Chan,” you whimpered, not needing to say anything for him to realise that you were so very near.

He pressed his forehead against yours, unable to keep away from you. “Fine then,” he grumbled. “I’ll go easy on you.

“Cum for me, ____.”

The words weren’t fully out when you stained Chan’s bed with your release, pushing through the tiny spaces in your walls. He, too, let out an aggravated cry as he spilled into you, most mingling along with your cum upon the sheets. 

A heavy silence fell upon the both of you, both of your breathing harmonising with each other in the cold midnight. Chan toppled on the side of the bed next to you, closing his eyes as he breathed from his mouth, chest rising unevenly.

For minutes none of you said anything to each other, simply basking in each other’s peace. You felt the eyes of your best friend, and locked them with yours.

You decided to break the silence first. 

“I’m sorry for saying his name.”

Brilliant. Why would you mention that stupid idol once again? 

Chan, surprisingly, burst into laughter. You were caught completely off guard, but seeing his smile lighten up his face had you reflecting his happiness. 

“You are,” he rasped out, holding onto his stomach, “The most annoying bitch I’ve ever met.”

“Hey!” You exclaimed, smacking him on his arm, which he responded with threats of pushing you off the bed. “You wouldn’t dare!”

His hands were upon you in seconds, steering you at the edge of the mattress. He cackled at your shocked yelping, and you glared at him as he pushed you away from the edge, and into his arms. “Asshole,” you murmured, burying your face in his chest, which he gladly welcomed as he stroked your hair softly with his fingers. 

You both found solace in each other’s embrace for a little while before Chan let go of you. “Hey, I completely forgot, but...I got you something while you were out.”

Your eyes perked up at the idea of a gift, which the man tutted when he noticed. “Greedy whore,” he crowed, getting out of the bed as he strolled to his desk, grabbing a brown paper bag. His marble-cut ass was out for you to see, and you took full advantage, watching it with no small amount of admiration. 

“Enjoyed the view?” He asked innocently as he slithered right back into bed again, offering you the paper bag. Sticking your tongue out at him, you took the offer, opening it up to see what was so special inside.

Catching sight of the gift had you bursting into a smile.

“Chan!”

You whipped the goods out of the bag, hand on your mouth.

The man bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too wide. “You like it?”

“You like it?” You parroted, already digging in. “Where did you even find these?”

“Oh, I visited my mom earlier in the day, and she got the cookies from the old shop,” he explained, taking one of the sweets for himself. “I instantly thought of you as she gave them to me, so I saved them for you.”

You widened your eyes in affection. These sweets may have been normal, bakery cookies, but they held a significance for the both of you: these cookies were what started the whole trend of you and Chan rating certain objects or situations for each other, and whenever you were on an academic break, you made sure to drag your friend back to our hometown, where you could always grab a dozen of your favourite snack.

“Thank you for these, bud,” you said, eating away the first cookie. “I think they’ve become better than an eight now.”

Chan hummed in agreement, finishing off his one too. Licking the crumbs off his fingers, he then turned to you, a question riddled all over his face. “Hey, ____?”

“Yeah?”

When he didn’t say anything, you focused your attention on him, propping your head on your elbow. You saw with slight surprise that his cheeks were reddening by the second.

“Chan?”

“It’s just…” he raised his hand, holding your own. “I’ve been thinking about…all of this.”

You raised your brows, refusing to reveal the dread rising in your gut. “Us?”

“Yeah, us,” he confirmed, stroking his thumb across your fingers. “Now, remember that you’ll always be my best friend, okay, like I don’t want you thinking that this would be the end of us or something—”

“Get to the point, buddy,” you hurried along, earning a glare from him.

Then, he licked his lips in anxiety, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Hand never leaving yours, he pinned you with a stare, making you even more nervous.

He parted his mouth. 

“____, would you like to go on a date with me?”

You blinked. 

Your delayed reaction had Chan groaning. “Fuck, nevermind, just forget I said anything!” He swiped his hand away from yours, holding his head in shame. “I should have kept my big mouth shut, your bad habits are really growing on me—”

“Yes.”

Your best friend paused. 

Turned, ever so slowly, towards you. 

“What?”

You could not contain your smile as you took his hand once more. “I’ll go on a date with you, you big oaf.”

For a second you truly believed you had killed off Chan with that declaration. Then, his face exploded into pure joy, and he tackled you in a massive hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Oh my fucking God!” he cursed, “Don’t do that to me again!”

You laughed heartily as you put him at arms’ length. “You were the one doing mental gymnastics!” 

Refusing still to let go of you, he played with your hair as he clamped on his lips. “One more thing.”

“Shoot.”

“How good was I?” He looked at you, a vulnerable expression etched onto his beautiful features. “You know...with all of this.”

You stared at him, drinking in his face, his every detail, as if you had all the time in the world. Firstly, you had a right mind to pull his leg one more time, but you feared that if you made fun of him again, he might die of a heart attack.

And you still had many more years of tormenting your best friend.

So you brought him towards you, pressing your lips onto his. He seemed very much obliged to go deeper, but you pulled away just as quickly, offering him a ghost of a smile.

“I think you were a 10/10,” you whispered. “From start till finish.”

Hearing the score, and sensing your sincerity along with it, had him in near tears. He enveloped your mouth with his, backing you against the divan as he expressed his affection within the rhythm of his lips. 

When he pulled away, still mere inches from you, he said the words he’d been meaning to say since the day he first laid eyes on you — since the day you two contacted this system, since the day he knew your rating as if he knew his own name.

“Well, baby, you’ve always been a 10/10 for me.”