#this /is/ the first time i've ever tried to be so active on this type of social media so i guess that explains it a little lol

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <3

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 22 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: A dark surprise is awaiting you - something that might change your entire life for better or worse, if it doesn't end before it could.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening (knife), mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy issues like nausea and puking, kidney failure, cockwarming, rough sex, penetration, oral sex, blood play, degradation kink, knife play, threats of torture and gore, rape (to a certain degree), the pregnancy is being threatened in a vile, graphic way, not beta-read! if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+! dark content ahead!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Author's note: I'm putting an extra note here, just to say: I think compared to the other chapters it gets kinda dark here, with real noncon vibes, so please be cautious of that before reading. Beware: Word count 12.278

When he came home, it always went the same way.

The door creaked open, then he closed it, set his briefcase aside and washed his hands.

Not a single time had he ever missed one of these steps. Washing his hands was like a sacred ritual. You did it, because you felt your hands vibrating the second you didn’t. Whenever you came in from wherever you were outside – and if only to check the mailbox – you had to immediately wash your hands or else you felt sick. It was a physical ache, your hands were reminding you that they needed to be cleaned.

You didn’t know if it was the same for him. Maybe there were other reasons, maybe he had the same kind of OCD. Whatever it was – he washed his hands. Every time.

And only then would he come and look for you, seek out where you were. Normally you’d either be in the kitchen or the living room. Sometimes you’d be typing mindlessly on the typewriter, lost in the cloud of your own imagination. It was much more fun than you expected and it reminded you not only of your father, but also the man you loved, with every letter. You loved the clicking sound and the hum every time a new phrase came to paper.

Other times, you’d be cooking. Ever since the first trimester nausea passed, you finally were able to eat again. Now you were craving things. Often savory food, but just as often it was some sweet nonsense. You tried to eat as healthy as possible, but often times you’d settle for some kind of cornflakes when he wasn’t home. It was alright though, so you told yourself. You had been through a lot and you deserved to calm down and relax a little.

There were those other days when you’d come up with the freakiest things. This gummy pudding, you had no idea what it was, but it was to be found in Korean convenience stores. He brought it home for you and it was disgusting, but you still finished it. Other times, you felt you were in dire need of spicy food – very unlike yourself. He still brought it home to you. One time was especially odd. You had just finished a giant portion of pasta (now that you could finally eat it again), but you couldn’t get one thing off your mind.

A McFlurry.

It was the one good thing you associated with your mother. Well, not her directly, but with your childhood.

Your mother had never been one to spoil you, but on some very rare occasions, when you were out in the city, which wasn’t quite often, she’d allow you some Fast Food. Like any other kid of course you were all for Nuggets and Fries, but the thing you loved most was the ice cream. The ice cream machine was broken more often than not, so it was quite the highlight when you got to eat it. You remembered one moment especially.

You sat on the worn-out red leather cushion, slurping on your ice cream, when you felt your mother’s intense gaze on you. You immediately straightened up, thinking you had done something wrong and she’d take the ice cream away for it.

“What is it?” You had asked in that quiet, unsure voice of a poor, insecure nine-year-old.

She kept looking at you for a long moment and there was something soft in her eyes, something she never let you see. Later that day, she’d send you to sleep in the wardrobe, because on the way home, you said something to piss her off, but then and there – she looked at you with kind eyes.

“Eat your ice cream, honey.”

To this day, the taste of it reminded you of that moment. That one time honey didn’t sound like a mocking curse, but something a mother would say to her daughter. Because she loved her.

Not, because she’d try to poison her a few years later.

So, many years later, you found yourself on the couch, picking at the last of your pasta, when you felt his gaze on you.

“What is it? Aren’t you feeling well?”

You looked up at him, your eyes soft. You didn’t want to mention your mother to him, but you did. You told him of the brief moment of kindness and the way you still loved that ice cream to that day.

And what did he do?

He got up and put his coat on.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “I’m getting ice cream.”

That made you smile, but softly. “But it’s almost midnight.”

He smirked in return, but his eyes were warm. God, it was so easy to lose yourself in them.

“Eat your pasta. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He kept his promise and only twenty minutes later you found yourself curled into his side, licking the sweetness off the plastic spoon. “You’re such an idiot.” You murmured and shot him a smirk. “I can’t believe you did that.”

He snorted as he played with your hair. “Yeah. That’s the weirdest thing I’ve done so far.”

You laughed in response and shoved a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. He grinned and took the spoon from you with ease. “I’m just saying.”

The next few weeks went on just as smoothly. It was almost like you were stuck in a dream. A part of you was constantly on edge, always expecting something horrible to happen. If it wasn’t your kidney to suddenly give up, it would surely be him. He’d do something – something horrible, something unforgivable, something to hurt either you or your baby…or you both.

But the more time passed, the clearer it became that he wouldn’t.

Every time you stared at him in silence, whenever you observed the way he nibbled on his pen while he filled out some paperwork, every time you watched him drive the car with a quiet hum on his lips, every time he did each of those things – the guilt was nearly suffocating you.

Of course you trusted him. You loved him, you adored him, he was the father of your child.

But he had also hurt you.

More than once. Repeatedly. Some of his ways more painful than others.

He looked so peaceful when he slept beside you or stirred something in a pot in the kitchen, while you watched him. He still brought you your fruit cocktail every morning, still seared your vegetables for you daily. And never did he complain once.

But it was inside of him. You knew it was there, buried under piles of kindness and love.

You saw it in the way his hand twitched, whenever you got into a minor argument. The way his eyes shone darkly and his lips pulled into a frown. The way he clenched his jaw over little things. Sometimes, he was trembling with barely suppressed rage.

One night, he almost lost control.

Almost.

It had started as a minor disagreement, you couldn’t even tell what it was about, but it escalated when it got to the point of you asking him why you still weren’t allowed to leave the house on your own. After all, you were carrying his child.

What would finally make him trust you?

But he nearly exploded. A few minutes into the argument you realized, it wasn’t him being paranoid and angry. It was him being concerned and possessive. His jealousy was easily triggered, even easier than your own and now that you had his child in your belly…

It didn’t make things easier.

“I would never leave you.” You muttered, shaking your head.

He let out an annoyed exhale. “I know that.”

“Then why?!”

“Because I said so.” He gritted out and shot you a dark glare. “And now shut up about it.”

“I won’t.” You had been feeling somewhat too confident that day. That was the thing with him. He made you feel so safe that you actually dared to speak up your mind and feel like you were someone. And when you did, it infuriated him. Not always…but whenever it went against his way of things. “I won’t, because this is ridiculous! I will not-“

“Shut up!” His fist shot out so fast that you hardly even recognized it as a movement. A sharp inhale later, you squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your damp fists, expecting him to break your jaw. But all that really happened was a sharp flinch that went through you, when you heard his fist bump into the wall only a few inches away from your head. You felt the air heat up with his proximity and for a long moment, you didn’t dare to open your eyes. When you eventually did, you immediately looked up at his face, but he wasn’t looking at you. He kept his gaze downcast, his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. He was taking quick breaths, his chest rising and falling in record speed. You didn’t dare open your mouth in case this was just the calm before the storm. But it didn’t seem to be. Instead, he seemed almost pained under the weight of his loss of control.

You tilted your head only enough to see his fist, still shaking against the wall. There was a faint crack in the plaster and you saw the hint of harsh red of his blood mixing with the soft apricot color of the wall.

It would have probably been the clever thing to let go. Lock yourself away until he calmed down. He’d apologize, probably and even if he didn’t – he hadn’t hurt you.

But instead of leaving him, you reached out a hand, still struggling to breathe yourself. Your fingers closed around his wrist and he yanked his hand back, attempting to pull away, but you only tightened your grip.

“Let me take a look!”

His arm was tense as was the rest of him and you were almost afraid to look at his face, but when you did, he was still avoiding your gaze. So, instead you focused back on his hand and the traces of blood, the broken skin, mixing with paint.

You swallowed and looked up at him again. “I’m going to clean this up, okay?”

He still didn’t answer. It was like tending to a wild animal, a bull even. His eyes were wide and unfocused, looking for a spot to fix upon. Just not you.

But when you guided him to sit on the couch, he didn’t resist. When you attempted to get up and get a clean cloth, his hand shot out again, fingers wrapping around your wrist like a vice. You winced, but quickly caught yourself again. You wrapped a gentle hand around his arm and whispered: “I’ll be right back.”

He swallowed and hesitated for another second, before he finally let go. You nearly broke both legs stumbling over a pair of shoes and a bag on your way to the bathroom. You gathered what you thought you needed, a wet cloth, some disinfectant and luckily you even found a clean bandage in the drawer. While you carried everything back to the living room, you caught yourself thinking, how is it even possible that I never needed this until now?

You crouched down beside him, taking a look at his hand. He was still far away with his eyes, but he seemed softer now. Less like a wounded lion and more like a man who drowned in guilt.

“I didn’t mean to-“ He cut himself off and clenched his jaw again.

It was hard for him. You could see that every time he held himself back for your sake. You didn’t know if it was because you were pregnant now or because he was slowly starting to understand that you indeed loved him and that you truly didn’t intend to leave him.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t easy on him. He was still two people at once, fighting internally, battling each other over minor things. Sometimes, he won. Other times, he punched the wall hard enough to crack.

But that was okay, you told yourself. He was trying. You could see that he was, despite his struggle. He would hurt you again, you were sure. You took a slow breath, silently praying to God for him never to lose control too bad. He would hurt you again. But fuck if you’d let him hurt your child.

“I know.” You murmured softly as you gently began to dab at his wounded knuckles. “Nothing happened. It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” He gritted out. “I could have-“ He closed his eyes and took a slow breath.

You waited patiently until he opened his eyes again and until he was finally ready to face you. This wasn’t like him, you suddenly realized. His dark side, his evil twin, it was unlike him to show signs of guilt. But to you he did. For you he did.

His eyes were still dark, but now there was something else as well. Something you had rarely ever seen in him. It was more than guilt, it was different than anger, it was…fear.

“I could have hurt you.”

You paused for a beat, before you could respond. “But you didn’t.”

“You don’t understand.” He lowered his head so he was eye level with you and you were forced to look into his eyes, to see the depth of what lay beyond them.

“I wanted to.”

There was a tight knot in your chest. What were you supposed to say to that? There was not much you could do. You knew what he was. He was trying. But was that enough?

“But you didn’t.” You eventually said again. Your voice was unwavering, more certain than the rest of you.

He frowned and pulled his head back, glancing down at his fist, still clenched in your hand.

“I don’t deserve this.” He murmured.

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, still staring down at your hands. “I don’t deserve you. What have I ever given you aside from pain?”

You felt as though he had punched you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to show the horror you felt inside. “You…”

“It’s true. You are good and kind and forgiving. You care about me in ways…” He clenched his jaw and averted his gaze entirely. “I don’t deserve this.”

Before you had time to think it through, you already reached out and grasped his chin between two fingers. You tilted his head, forcing him to look at you. With a stern expression, it was now you who shook your head.

“You love me.”

His eyes widened a fraction. “What does that have to do with anything?”

You smiled, with more conviction than you thought yourself capable of. “Everything.”

He didn’t comment on it any further and neither did you. You simply took care of his wounds and he let you. It was foreign to him – you could tell by the way he watched you in a mixture of confusion and wonder. A part of him was still tense, as though he expected you to strike. He wasn’t used to being vulnerable, but he was getting better at it.

That was the moment you decided you wouldn’t ask him again.

No matter how confused and desperate you felt, how angry it made you that he knew everything about you and you seemed to know nothing about him.

You didn’t know his name, nor what he did or where he came from – but you knew that he loved you. That he’d kill for you. And that you were his, as much as he was yours.

And so you decided to trust him with everything else as well.

Because he was trying.

Six weeks came and went. Time passed so quickly and life felt so easy, that you tended to forget about the bad things. The times when he ignored you, when he withdrew his love in order to punish you for things you might have done wrong in his eyes, were all but forgotten.

The days were short. You spent every possible moment together. Aside from when he went to work or to…well, to work on the man your mother had sent, you were together. Always.

Sometimes you were almost afraid that your constant presence would end up suffocating him.

Despite the way you got more and more confident in yourself, the dark thoughts lingered. Whenever he was gone for a few minutes too long, whenever you got into an argument, you couldn’t help but think yourself unlovable. One day he would wake up and he would realize the terrible mistake he had made.

But he had ways. Many different ways to ensure your thoughts were only that – thoughts.

Every time you thought you were being too clingy and decided to pull away, put at least a little distance between you – scoot over on the couch, roll over, pull yourself away from him – he caught you. Whether it was being a hand on your thigh, an arm around your shoulders or just his knee pressed a little tighter against yours. He was just as clingy, you realized. Of course you didn’t speak of it. But you saw it in the way he closed his eyes, when your fingers ran through his hair. The way he smirked to himself when he caught you staring at him when he came out of the shower – if he ever allowed you to take a shower alone. He needed your contact just as much as you did his and it only ever made you love him more.

What was it about the couples who needed space? What did that even mean?

Sure, you sometimes asked yourself if it would do your relationship any good if you spent some time apart. But no, God, no. The thought alone made your skin crawl in fear. Falling asleep without him by your side sounded like the most ridiculous and impossible thing. You needed him there, his warmth, his arms around you and his warm breath on your neck.

It wasn’t just you and him cramped up in the space of the apartment all the time. Things became…lighter.

Going outside became a trivial thing to you. It wasn’t only the regular appointments at the doctor’s office. You went out to eat, to take walks and he showed you Seoul. Of course you’d seen a few places there – guided by only your phone, because you were a ghost in your own life. But what he showed you weren’t only tourist spots. No, he showed you things you would have never even thought about on your own. Things only someone who had grown up there could show you.

Even his old house.

It was burnt down to the ground of course, no more than dead grass, some dirt and rusty metal. But the way he stared down at it, the place that had once been so much bigger than him, the place where all his nightmares found their origin…

It made you hold his hand just a little tighter.

He didn’t say a single word and he didn’t need to. His eyes said it all. His pain ran much deeper than you had ever assumed. Maybe even deeper than your own.

But pain is not something to be measured and compared, right?

You squeezed his hand – and he squeezed yours right back.

You never spoke of it. Not a single time. And you held onto your word, your thoughts, you had had just a few weeks ago. You didn’t pressure him and it seemed to pay off, because the tension in him that was always there seemed to ease just the tiniest bit.

You went to the movies – thank God there were days when they played in their original language – and to the theater. He showed you bridges, buildings, food, music, art.

All the things you had missed out on your entire life.

And while he was at it, he showed you love.

You felt it in the way his hand tightened on the small of your back, whenever you got into a group of people. The way he looked at you, that sheepish smile, whenever you caught him staring at you while you were doing something – be it the dishes or stargazing.

He showed you himself. All you needed to know was right there in the way he kissed you.

And he kissed you.

Of course there were moments when a quick peck had to be enough, but the nights? The nights.

There was not enough air to breathe and you didn’t care one bit.

All you needed was him. He made sure of it.

You couldn’t count the times he made you inhale sharply and claw at the sheets.

Every night, so far. Once your nausea and your sickening exhaustion had passed, you became a wild thing. It was hard to tame you, the second you felt his fingers run up your thigh, down your hip, up your back. You were sure you could have recognized his hands blindly in-between a thousand others.

When he rubbed the pads of his fingers over your tongue, down your stomach or when they slipped inside your panties. They were so skilled that it never took him long to have writhing and begging. It was so easy that it almost got boring.

And so, sometimes, he had his ways of making you suffer, just to spice it up.

The night before, he had done just that. Your jaw still hurt thinking back to it – and your panties grew wet just the same.

He had been sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper as he so often did. Sometimes you asked yourself if he really read it or if that was just some kind of front to keep up the illusion of composure. You had just come out of the shower and were on your way to maybe try and write something, when you saw him sitting there, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. The way he leaned back, one arm resting on the couch, the other one holding up the paper.

It didn’t need any words. Just one look.

He leaned back in that infuriatingly hot way, legs spread apart and lowering the paper just enough to look at you.

You had never seen such expressive eyes before. And the command was clear.

You let go of any idea of writing, the moment you approached him instead. You slid onto your knees almost automatically, but not before he shoved a pillow before you, for you to kneel on. You shifted slightly, spreading your legs apart involuntarily, but he shot you a warning look.

“I want to see your hands at all times.” He said lowly, before he glanced back down at the newspaper. “And now keep me warm.”

You nearly choked on your spit, your own arousal making your mind go hazy. But you obeyed. You always obeyed – until you didn’t. But that night, you did.

You freed him from his sweatpants, his hardness already apparent and ready for you to take care of. The need to run your tongue along his length and drive him to the brink of madness was almost suffocating, but the way he tightened his grip on the paper just slightly kept you from doing so. Instead you spat down on it just once and took him in your mouth. And then you stayed in place.

You felt the way he tensed, heard the way his breath hitched, but he didn’t do anything either.

“Good girl.” He murmured and ran his fingers through your hair with his free hand, keeping them there. You tried to swallow around him, but it only made you drool all over him. A small whimper died in the back of your throat as you forced your knees to press into the pillow firmly, not daring to move or touch yourself, when that was all you wanted to do. You were already so wet, just from kneeling like that, just from tasting him.

A soft sigh came over your lips and your tongue involuntarily moved, causing him to inhale through gritted teeth. You expected a scolding, but he just pushed your head down further onto him. You moaned and chocked back a gag.

“My good girl.” He murmured, as he kept playing with your hair. “Be a good girl for daddy, so he can finish reading this, okay?”

You didn’t respond and how would you have accomplished that? You just stayed in place, keeping your head still. Your fingers twitched to reach between your legs and do something against the burning ache there, but you didn’t. It would only cause him to torment you further, to withdraw your release or keep you on edge.

Minutes passed and the only sound was his ragged breathing and your own.

His grip on the newspaper was painfully tight – normally he had a better grip on his composure. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t had sex in two days. Maybe it was because he felt your legs shaking.

The evidence of your own arousal was slowly dripping down your thighs and you let your eyelids flutter shut. You choked back any sounds you wanted to make, your hands gripping the edge of the sofa tightly.

“Fuck this shit. Fine.” He sighed out, before he slammed the paper onto the couch. “Come, darling, make daddy feel good.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You always loved to pleasure him with your mouth, for many different reasons. The sounds he made, his grip on you…almost like his life depended on it. It was exhausting of course, but it was worth it. You almost came, just kneeling there, being at his mercy – and somehow, it was you in control nonetheless. Of course he’d guide your movements every now and then, force a gag over your lips, but other times, when he was in a softer mood, he’d just…

Admire you.

His mouth slightly agape, his brows furrowed, he stared down at you like a man starving and you were the water he desperately needed. His grip on the back of your head was firm, but not painful, just enough to allow him to massage his fingertips into your scalp.

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, just like that, baby. Just like…ah, fuck.”

His eyes fluttered shut and you used the opportunity to bring your hand between your legs, dying for any kind of friction. But he caught the movement and quickly caught your wrist.

“No, baby, no. I’m going to make you feel better than you ever have before, but you’re going to listen to me. Understand?”

You forced yourself to nod, though you almost felt tears of desperation sting your eyes. You hadn’t felt this needy in…

Probably not that long ago. He kept doing this to you. And as much as you hated it, as much did you love it, because in the end…

He always made up for it.

Before you had the chance to thrive on your determination to make him cum, he pulled your head back, causing you to whimper.

“Good girl.” He gritted out, his grip on your face bruising. “Such a good girl.”

He pulled you up onto the couch and pushed you back into the cushions.

“Are we above begging, huh?”

You shook your head in a way that could only be described as hysterical. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum, daddy.” You breathed out, your face flushed red.

He smirked in that devilish way, looming above you and making a face as if considering.

You whimpered again and his smirk widened into a full-blown grin. “Beg a little more, sweet girl.”

You licked your lips and bit down on them as you pressed yourself back into the couch, involuntarily arching into his touch. “Please. Please, I’m begging you, I…I’m so…Please…”

He hummed approvingly. “That’s a good girl, if I’ve ever seen one.”

His head dipped forward and his lips brushed over the side of your neck. He kissed a path from your neck to your earlobe, where he gently bit down on it. “Do you want me that bad, hm?”

Your eyes rolled back in your head and you nodded, sliding your hands over his bare back.

“I want to have a taste first.” He breathed in your ear, causing your body to tremble and your toes to curl. Your throat felt too dry to form a response, but that wasn’t necessary. He leaned down and parted your lips with his tongue, delving in for a kiss that was as messy as it was desperate.

You moaned and arched your hips up against his, feeling his slick hardness against your soaked panties.

He hissed in response and bit down on your lip. “God, you’re killing me.”

In no time, he kissed his way down your body. The way his hands smoothed your clothing out of the way made you shiver. You were a puddle in his hands, unable to move or breathe, all you could do was gasp and whimper.

He ran his fingertip over your slit, which caused you to inhale sharply.

“My God.” He murmured. “I don’t think I’ve ever had you this wet before.”

You whimpered in response, biting down on your tongue to keep any more pathetic sounds back.

He smirked and hooked his fingers under the material, pulling them off of you torturously slow.

“Fuck.” He all but growled, when he came back up. You felt his hot breath against your core and it was enough to make you cry.

“Please-“

“Patience.” He spoke calmly. How could he be so feral and suddenly so composed, all within a minute? Maybe he had more than just two personalities.

He ran his hands up from your ankles to your knees, before he swiftly hooked them around his shoulders.

“I want to hear you, okay?”

You swallowed and nodded. You were sure you had a fever by now.

And then he finally touched you.

The sound you made when his flat tongue ran over your slick folds was hardly even human, but you didn’t hold anything back. You just leaned back – and relaxed.

If one could call it that.

His gentle ministrations quickly turned into something else entirely, because soon he ran the tip of his tongue in circles around your sweet spot, before he attacked it with his pursed lips.

Your hand found his hair almost involuntarily. It had to hurt, the way you tugged at it, but you couldn’t help yourself. You guided his movements, practically using him to pleasure yourself.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God-“

He hummed and the vibrations it sent through your core alone were enough to make you arch your back.

“Oh, fuck!”

It didn’t take you a full minute to end up writhing and crying out, your body nearly floating from the sofa.

But he didn’t stop there.

It was almost painful, the way he kept working his mouth, kept lapping and licking, kissing as he would your mouth.

“Oh, oh, oh God…”

And soon, you felt yourself tip over the edge again, this time even more intensely than the first time.

“Please…can’t take…more…”

Your legs were shaking and so was the rest of you. You felt hot and cold at the same time and you kept feeling as feverish, until he finally decided to be merciful and pull away.

He slowly crawled back until he was hovering over you again, his lips curved into a devilish smirk.

“Oh, that was delicious.”

“I hate you.” You whispered breathlessly.

That made him laugh and he leaned down to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his lips and it made you moan.

“Too bad.” He murmured against your lips. “Because I love you.”

You sighed deeply and bit down on his lower lip. “I love you, too, you demon.”

His smirk widened into something more genuine. “And what does that make you, hm?”

You couldn’t help but smirk in response. “Oh, shut up.”

He gently cupped your cheek in his hand and looked at you for a moment, before he let his hand wander and gently pressed it against your stomach instead. The intensity of his feeling and the softness in his eyes made your breath catch in your throat.

“I love you both.” He whispered.

You swallowed thickly, your eyes wide in surprise and admiration.

“We love you, too.” You whispered back.

He smiled and didn’t say anything more. You bit your lip and gently pressed a hand against his chest. “And what about you?”

He cocked a brow. “What about me?”

You smirked and teasingly ran your thumb along the tip of his hardness. His eyes fluttered shut and he inhaled sharply. “Ah.”

“Mhm.” You tilted your head up to meet his lips in a gentle kiss. “You know what I want?”

He shook his head, pulling his head back to meet your gaze.

Your eyes darkened in a way you had only ever seen in him. It was him. He had that effect on you. He made this of you. This mess. This wicked, wanton, needy mess.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Now his own eyes darkened and he clenched his jaw. “Is that so, hm?”

You licked your lips and nodded. “I want you to fuck me, daddy.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, your words sending a shiver down his spine. When he opened them again, he looked feral again.

He immediately pushed your legs apart and pressed himself against your entrance. You, still wet like crazy and him glistening with precum, you forced yourself to keep your eyes open. You observed the way his brows furrowed and his breath stuttered as he slowly pushed himself inside you.

It didn’t matter how many times he did it. It was always enough to make your eyes roll back.

“Fuck.” He gritted his teeth and wrapped his fingers around your throat, but not squeezing. Only holding you, only showing you who was in control.

“Open that pretty mouth for me.”

You didn’t hesitate. And he didn’t hesitate to spit down in it.

When you closed your mouth and swallowed, you could swear, you felt him throb inside you.

He leaned in so his lips grazed your earlobe and whispered: “You’re taking me so well. Such a good girl. My beautiful, dirty girl.”

Your eyelids fluttered and you forced yourself to look up at him. He began to roll his hips against yours and you pressed yourself up against him, following his rhythm. You never thought it was possible to cum in this position, not as a woman, but he showed you that it was indeed possible.

His thumb found your sweet spot again, still heated and sensitive from his earlier attack, but that didn’t stop him.

“My good girl.”

“Ah, fuck…You’re my…My man.”

His eyes narrowed and his movements stuttered just slightly, before he caught himself and his movements only ever became more frantic. His mouth fell open and he drew in a sharp breath.

“Say that again.”

“My…” You licked your lips, your brows furrowed. “My man.”

He licked his lips as well and stared you down in a way that was deeper than any doting look he had ever given you.

“If I asked you to marry me, would you?”

You froze in your tracks and your eyes widened almost comically. “What?”

He nodded. “Would you?”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat and the way your chest tightened.

Marriage.

It wasn’t entirely ridiculous, right? After all, you were pregnant with his child. But you had never thought that far, never even dared to think of such a thing.

“What a dumb question.” You breathed out.

“Then answer it.” He whispered just as breathlessly.

Yes. Yes. For God’s sake, yes!

But you didn’t say that. Instead, your body reacted before your mind could, your lips curving into a dangerous, teasing smile. “You’ll have to be a man and risk asking me for real.”

He smirked, his eyes filling with a warmth that you didn’t expect. “You’re so goddamn sexy when you’re being a tease for me.”

He then closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “I will burn this fucking world for you. Just say the word.”

You bit your lip and slowly shook your head. Your chest still felt warm under the weight of his words.

“Just love me.”

And that he did. To bliss and back.

The next evening you found yourself lying in bed, thinking about your life. So many bad things and so much pain had led you to that point. If you could go back to change it, would you?

No.

Not if it meant the outcome would be different.

You lay on his mattress, wearing no more than a dark red negligee, a pair of panties and a wistful smile. He was everything you ever wanted, everything you ever wished for in a man.

The things he made you feel, both emotionally and physically…You never even thought that possible.

You always thought you were unlovable.

You always thought no one would ever love you.

But there you were. His.

Only his.

You took a slow breath and closed your eyes, remembering the night before. Involuntarily, you felt your hand wander down your body, to the gentle curve of your belly. It was so tiny, barely even noticeable, but you did notice. You saw it, when you wore a tight dress and you felt it, whenever you thought about it. A baby.

Your baby.

His.

This wasn’t exactly what you had expected to come out of your life. This wasn’t what you anticipated either. To be honest, you had never even thought you would make it that far. You had never been able to picture yourself that way. Married, pregnant…All these things sounded foreign to you. And yet, there you were.

Lying on the bed of the man you loved, his child inside your belly.

When you heard the door click open, your smile only grew.

No matter how much time you spent with him, you always missed him like crazy.

You considered getting up and approaching him at the door just to show him how much you had missed him. But then again, you were already settled under the blanket, warm and cozy…and the way you knew him, he’d be there within two minutes anyway.

But something felt off.

You heard the door creak open and you heard his steps. Slow and measured, hesitant even. Maybe he assumed you were asleep and so he tried to be careful about it.

But you couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was amiss.

And that was when you realized it.

He hadn’t washed his hands.

You wanted to believe that you were being paranoid, but a little voice inside your head told you that something wasn’t the way it should be.

There would be only one reason for him not to wash his hands after he came in: any kind of emergency. But if there was an emergency, if he was worried for you, wouldn’t he be running? Wouldn’t his steps be quick and relentless?

But there he was, sneaking in like a ballerina.

You sat up stiffly, careful not to make any sounds. Whatever the feeling you had was, it got worse with every minute.

Fuck.

As much as you didn’t want to think too much into it – you had to. Better safe than sorry, right?

The last time your brain went into rotting mode, you ended up being kidnapped. No matter if you wanted to call it that or not – it was a fact.

Before you knew it, you had already opened the closet, careful not to make any sounds. You crouched down and pressed your back against the back of the wardrobe, slowly pulling the door shut.

If it was him simply being careful and having forgotten, for whatever reason, to wash his hands, he’d probably panic if he came in and didn’t immediately find you. But you’d deal with that by the time it came to it. You stared through the tiny crack between the doors, holding your breath as you listened in.

The steps came closer, but they were too careful. Too slow.

And the realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

It wasn’t him.

You choked back the horror you felt and only ever leaned back against the wall. Your body felt hot and cold, your palms sweaty. Your breath was stuttering and stilling in your lungs.

Fuck.

Who on earth could that be? The police? He had killed that janitor, after all.

No, it wasn’t the police. It was only one person, you could tell. That was far worse.

You wanted to close your eyes and attempt to calm yourself, but there was no way. Your eyes stayed wide open, your breath caught in your throat. You tried not to breathe at all, to not make a single sound.

And then the door opened.

You pressed a hand against your mouth as your eyes followed the light that suddenly flooded the room before you. You saw the shoes before you saw anything else. It was still too dark and your view wasn’t exactly clear.

You held your breath.

“I know that you’re here.”

The familiarity of the voice nearly made you gasp or scream out in horror. The accent. You heard the fucking accent, because you spoke in the same way. His accent matched yours.

“You can’t hide forever, girl. Come out and maybe I’ll let you live.”

You pressed your hand tighter against your face, sucking in a sharp breath while you were at it.

Oh God. God. No. No, no, no, no, no.

But you didn’t even have the time to say a prayer in your head.

The wardrobe door was yanked open and you were immediately sure.

Your life was over.

Your lips parted in a silent scream, but all you were met with was something that was…hardly even human.

The sight of the man who had once stopped you and questioned you, who had once appeared in front of the door and who ended up on the floor in blood and shackles…

Well, that man was gone.

All that was there now was skin and bones, pale skin and probably broken bones. He bared his teeth in a crooked grin and you saw how he was missing a few of them. His bloodshot eyes were filled with darkness and terror, his lip bruised and bloody, his collarbones nearly jumping at you from the way he was so skinny.

You stumbled back against the wall, but he didn’t give you time to react.

His bony fingers wrapped around your arms and he yanked you to your feet. A part of you was almost confused at how he even managed to get anything done. Judging by the way he looked, he was barely even alive. Just a skull with hollow eyes and blood smeared all over him.

“Is he home, hm?”

You hadn’t even noticed the knife. You only ever realized his grip on it, after he pressed it against your jugular.

You gasped out loud and held your breath, your eyes wide and terrified. You wanted to speak. Wanted to scream. Wanted to fight, to run.

But then you felt it.

Slowly, at first. And then full-force.

You froze.

Your body, your mind. Yourself.

You froze. The same you always did whenever someone touched you.

The feeling was nearly foreign to you by now, because it hadn’t happened in so long. A part of you had almost assumed it wouldn’t ever happen again, because maybe, maybe he had managed to heal you. Maybe you were normal now. Maybe a touch couldn’t cause this reaction in you any longer.

Oh, how entirely mistaken you were.

“Look at that.” He smiled that unhealthy smile, a hoarse laugh rumbling in his chest. “Look at that. Aren’t you a convenient little slut?”

It wasn’t even necessary to restrain you. When he pushed you against the bed, you let him. You fell against the mattress, your limbs stiff and still. The only thing reminding you that you were still alive was your pulse. You were sure you heard it pumping in your ears, somewhere near your brain. But it felt as though you were seconds away from having a stroke.

“Please.” Your voice was hardly even audible, your lips barely moving. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, he paused, his expression almost contemplative. But then he pursed his lips and stretched out his arms, the notion almost lazy. “Good.” He purred. “Then it will hurt him all the more.”

He straddled you in a swift movement, ramming the knife into the mattress only a few inches from your head. You gasped and squeezed your eyes shut.

This was it.

Everything that had led you to this moment – Would you still take it? If this was how your life ended?

All the pain. All the misery. Only for your mother to get her last wish.

He leaned down and his breath hit your face, smelling of iron and blood. “You know…” He stretched out a finger and ran the tip of it down your cheek, then your neck. You whimpered and only ever squeezed your eyes shut tighter. That made him smirk. You heard his amusement clearly. “I was actually supposed to find you and bring you back. Rescue you, if you will.” He scoffed and shook his head, before he dug his fingers into your cheeks and forced a sharp gasp over your lips. “Isn’t that so fucking ironic? Rescue you. While you were here, getting fucked by this little piece of shit. Did you enjoy it? Huh? Did you enjoy spreading your legs for this bastard?”

You wanted to keep your eyes closed, to somehow escape this nightmare. But he didn’t let you. His hand cracked against your cheek with enough force to make you cry out aloud.

He had never hit you so hard.

Not even his goddamn punches had hurt that much.

You sobbed and tried to swallow back the saliva that threatened to make you choke. A hot feeling flared up in your chest – humiliation, anger, but mostly fear.

He would hurt you. He would genuinely hurt you.

“Please, I didn’t want any of this!”

“Shut the fuck up.” He slapped you again, this time even harder. Hard enough to make you go dizzy. “Will you keep that fucking, slutty mouth of yours shut or do I need to use other methods to make sure you obey?”

A soft rustling sound and then you felt it. The cold metal of the blade, pressed against the side of your neck. Your eyes shot open and you choked back a sob, trying to gasp for air, but there was none.

Were you already dead?

You shook your head, almost imperceptibly.

He nodded. “Good. But just to make sure…”

He tilted back the blade, running the tip of it over your neck. Your eyelids fluttered and all you saw was white, white, white light.

This was how dying felt.

Not being forced by your mother to sleep in a wardrobe, not having to drink water from a bowl on the floor, not event thinking you’d get raped at the metro station.

This was it.

The hardness in his eyes. The coldness. The numbness. The death.

There was nothing left of him. And soon, there wouldn’t be anything left of you either.

“P-p-please.”

But he only smirked. He only smirked and guided the tip of the blade lower and lower, until you felt it pressed against your abdomen.

You stiffened painfully much, digging your nails into your palms.

Your baby.

Your man.

Was he dead?

Oh God, had he killed him?

There was no safety in sight. No help. Nothing.

You were going to die tonight.

Never had you ever been particularly fond of life. And now that you finally were, now you were going to die.

But that didn’t hurt half as much, as did the blade against your stomach. The threat.

“I could cut that thing out of you and feed it to him.”

He wasn’t dead.

And still, his words made you shudder.

You had never even realized when you had started to cry. You simply suddenly realized your face was wet, your lashes sticky and your vision blurred.

“I’ll do whatever you want. But please-“ You sobbed out, but you stopped, when he pressed the blade harder against you.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut.” He spat.

You forced yourself to keep your eyes open and nodded frantically.

“Good.” He murmured. “Maybe you’re not entirely useless. What do we have here?”

He used the tip of the blade to cut the strap of your negligee, causing you to gasp.

“Look at that. How pretty. Like a pretty little slut.” His eyes darkened and his lip quivered in barely suppressed rage.

He leaned down and you felt his tongue run a path from your cheek to your ear. It made you shudder and tense, squeezing your eyes shut, but you forced yourself to stay still and not say a single thing. You just sobbed.

“You know what I’m going to do with you?” He smirked and ran a disgusting path with his tongue inside the shell of your ear. “I’m going to fuck your pretty little pussy. I’m going to fuck it again and again and again, until there’s nothing left of you. And only then will I cut you open.”

You were shaking and sobbing so hard that you felt nausea rise within you. Not only his words, but the intensity of your sobs was enough to make you want to puke.

“Or maybe…” He pressed the blade against your cheek and you held your breath. “Maybe I could cut your eyelids off first, hm? So I can be sure that you keep your eyes on me at all times. What do you think?”

The cold metal of the knife dragged over your face, until you felt it pressed right underneath your eye.

“Please.” Your words were slurred and choked out between sobs and gasps for air. “Please, I’m begging you. Please, I’m pregnant. He f-f…He forced me. He forced me. Please, he forced me, he dragged me here by force, He…he…made me…”

“Shh.” It was almost soothing, the way he shushed you. But the way the blade pressed into your cheek was anything but. The pain came slow, but it stung more than his slap ever could have.

“That’s why you’ve been waiting here, wearing this, hm? Because he forced you?”

You felt blood trickling down your cheek. It didn’t hurt half as much as his words did, though.

“Ah…”

“Mhm, mhm. Do you still want to defy me?"

You shook your head, trying to breathe in hysterically. But there was simply not enough air.

The cut went from your eye down to the corner of your mouth.

There went your vision from a pretty wedding dress, a sweet, young mother picking up her child from daycare. No, you were the Joker. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You wouldn’t make it to that part of your life.

If only he hadn’t stopped cutting you. Because the second he did, you felt the next blow, dark and low. His fingers traced a path down your chest, over your stomach and before you could protest, he pressed his thumb against your center. You squeezed your eyes shut and your lip quivered, a silent plea on your lips.

Not this, not him. Not someone who wasn’t your man. But he couldn’t have cared less, right?

The blade followed the path his fingers had drawn and soon enough you heard the material of your panties being cut open.

Your chest heaved rapidly, your nails biting bloody marks into your palms.

Maybe it would be over sooner than later.

Maybe he would violate you and then leave you to it. Maybe, he’d let you live at least.

Still, you couldn’t choke back the sob that threatened to drown you, when you felt the knife wander down further. The cold metal pressed against your core, sideways, and you forced yourself to stay still. You were sure, one wrong movement and you’d end up maimed for life.

For the little life you had left.

He kept the knife pressed against the bundle of nerves underneath him, while you felt two of his disgusting fingers press against your entrance.

“There, there. I thought that’s what little sluts like you want.”

He pressed forward and you cried out in horror and pain.

“Please, stop!”

You didn’t mean to speak, you knew what always happened whenever you opened your mouth, but your body reacted before the rest of you could.

He stopped for a moment, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re such a dumb fucking whore.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry for what he did to you! I didn’t ask him to, I didn’t want him to!” The words spilled from your mouth like wildfire. “What I said is true, he did force me here! But I fell in love with him and then you talked to me that day, and then you followed us home and I just- He just- He saw your gun and then he- And then he-“

“Shut up!” His free hand shot out and squeezed your face so tightly, it made you gasp. “Shut the hell up, will you? I’m not doing this, because you fell in love with him. Fuck! Do you think I care about his shit?!” He gritted his teeth and leaned down enough to be right in your face. “You wanna know what your motherfucking boyfriend did? Hm? You wanna know?” His lip quivered again and his eyes were hard enough to cut you open.

“He had my brother killed.”

That made you freeze. More than you already were.

His words sent a sharp pang through your chest and you opened and closed your mouth several times.

“What?”

“Ah, so he didn’t tell you. How fortunate.” He scoffed and exhaled through gritted teeth. “He kept asking me where your bitch of a mother is. And I told him, that I don’t know. Which I don’t. I haven’t seen her in months, right? And he kept asking me. Fuck. I told him that I don’t know. I told him! And what did he do? What did he do the next fucking day?!” The hand he used to hold your face was shaking and so was the rest of him. The crazed look in his eyes intensified to a degree where you were genuinely frightened – genuinely believed you would be dead soon.

“The next day, he showed me a picture on my own phone.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “My twin brother.” He briefly closed his eyes, before they shot open again.

“Someone had…Someone had shot him. Right in the face.” He swallowed and bit the inside of his cheek, scrunching up his nose. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he did it himself. But no, he was here, busy fucking you. Getting you pregnant. Fuck!”

He slammed the blade back into the mattress, pressing his fingers back against you, forcing your legs apart.

“I’ll fuck you ‘til you die.” He spat out.

“I didn’t know!” You sobbed out. “Please! I had no idea! Had I known-“

It was a soft sound, a gentle thud, somewhere in the apartment. And what started as a soft breath, quickly turned into running steps.

An emergency. An emergency indeed.

He had heard it, too. And the second he turned his head to look at the open door, you finally broke free from your haze.

He wanted to kill you. Your baby.

Your elbow shot out, hitting the side of his face hard enough for an ugly cracking sound to be heard. He gasped loudly and pulled back, just enough so that you could somehow scramble back from underneath him. He doubled over and pressed a hand against his temple.

The door flew open and there he was.

Oh God.

The fraction of a second. A single second.

His eyes were wide in horror, in disbelief, in surprise.

And then that was all gone. And all that was left was pure, unbridled, murderous fury.

He stormed forward and yanked the intruder off of you, leaving you finally able to breathe again.

You somehow stumbled over, getting on your knees, unable to tear your eyes off the scene.

He slammed him into the wall and began to throw punches left and right, but not in the way one might see in a movie. Not even in an underground fight. Maybe he didn’t even want to kill him. No, he wanted to cause as much damage as possible and watch him suffer.

He was shaking. Shaking in fury, shaking in rage. His fingers itching to murder. And his eyes were black.

“I found your little sister, Elliot.” He spat through gritted teeth.

The man, whose name seemed to be Elliot, slumped down against the wall, but his head perked up, his eyes immediately shooting open in alarm, despite the way his face was slowly swelling beyond recognition.

“What?” He coughed up blood. “No. I don’t have-“

“She lives in France. Clever move, Elliot, really. Thought I wouldn’t find your little French whore of a sister.”

He spun around and dragged the knife from the mattress, making you flinch. He crouched down beside him and tightened his grip on the knife.

“I wish you would live long enough to see what I have planned for her. You see, I’m a loyal man, so I won’t fuck her myself. But fuck, I’ll gather enough men to break that dumb little cocktail waitress. They’ll split her in two.”

Elliot’s eyes widened impossibly, shaking his head frantically. “No…no…no, please, she’s only twenty-six…Fuck, no, please, please, please, I’m sorry, I…”

Suddenly – his gaze met yours.

You flinched and stumbled back against the wall, inhaling sharply.

“Please, you can’t let him do that! Please!”

All you could do was stare at him.

But then his voice cut through the silence. “Get out.”

Your eyes snapped back to him, to the way his eyes were blazing with murderous intent.

“I- I-“

“Get out!”

He didn’t need to say it a third time.

You stumbled to your legs, shaking and nearly falling over, but you caught yourself in the last moment. Your legs somehow carried you outside and you ran and ran, until you reached the bathroom. You collapsed on the floor, gripping the edge of the toilet tightly. You retched and retched, aiming for the toilet and ending up puking all over yourself.

You were still shaking.

Still sobbing.

And with every pained gasp you heard from the bedroom, with every grunt, every plea for help – a little part of you died.

You had no idea how much time had passed. An hour? More? Less?

You lay curled up between the toilet and the wall, your stomach grumbling in unease. You had never felt so disgusting before, covered in blood, sweat, your own puke and the lingering touch of a dead man.

When you heard his footsteps approach, you couldn’t even lift your head.

He knelt down beside you, the movement frantic and concerned. His warm hands cupped your face, forcing you to look up at him despite your terror, despite your pain.

“No.” You heard him whisper, his fingers brushing softly over the cut on your cheek.

It sounded watery, like he was speaking through a tunnel. Everything was distant.

Was this how death felt?

He gathered you in his arms and your head lolled forward, resting against his chest. He held you like that for a long while, but you barely felt it. You were shaking like a leaf, but the sobs had died.

You had died.

“He- Wanted-“

“Did he hurt you?” He was trying to stay calm, trying for your sake. There was not much he could do to retaliate to a dead man, anyway.

“Is he dead?” You choked out.

“Don’t think about that now. Did he hurt you?”

You begrudgingly shook your head. “Not…enough to…”

You had no idea what you were even trying to say.

“I’ll take you to the hospital.” He said lowly as he attempted to get up. You caught his wrist before he could.

“He didn’t.” You choked out. “I’m not- He didn’t-“

Your gaze followed down his to your exposed body. His eyes were wide and fearful.

“Did he…”

“No! He didn’t…I mean he did try to…He…You came in.” You whispered weakly. “You came in, before he could.”

His eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment, before he pressed you against him, cradling your head against his chest. His heart was racing in his chest and his hand pressed your head into his embrace almost painfully tight.

“This is all my fault.” He whispered hoarsely. “I lost the chip and by the time I realized it, I…This is all my fault.”

Of all the things he had done wrong, you wouldn’t let him take the blame for that.

“No.” You whispered, slowly coming out of your haze. Everything was still blurry, but the shaking began to lessen ever so slightly. “It’s not your fault. It’s his.”

“If I didn’t-“

“We’re not discussing this.” You whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t want to overwhelm you any further, you could tell. And you were grateful for that.

“I’m going to take you to the hospital regardless. The stress-“

“Okay.” You whispered. “But please, I…Just let me…Give me…”

He pulled back enough to look at you, his expression pained. “I’ll take care of you. I promise, I will. And I will never leave you alone again. No one will ever touch you again.” He gritted out.

You didn’t protest when he sat you in the tub. He knelt beside it, gently washing everything off you. You just sat there, your chin resting on your knees. The warmth of the water felt good on your skin, it helped against the cruel cold in your bones. But it did little to comfort you. Nothing could ever erase the pain, the fear you felt as you lay there, entirely helpless and frozen.

You barely felt his hands as he gently cleaned you up. You closed your eyes when the warm water ran down your hair and face, but you didn’t flinch.

After a while you felt his hand gently cup your cheek. He made you look at him and you didn’t hesitate to.

“Can you ever forgive me?” He whispered barely audible.

You had never seen him like this. So…desperate.

You were sure, you would never forget the look in his eyes when he reached for the knife. The moment he saw what was going on.

You had been terrified then. And also incredibly relieved.

But you couldn’t help but ask yourself, since that was inside of him…would you always be safe? Would your child always be safe?

But then your expression softened. He looked genuinely terrified. Terrified of the possibility that he had lost your love, your trust. You.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” You whispered hoarsely. “I love you.”

He swallowed and averted his gaze, gently tightening his grip on you.

A few minutes later, you were still damp but covered in a big, fluffy bathrobe. He led you to the other bedroom and lay you down gently, pulling the covers up to your chin.

“I’ll get the doctor here instead.” He murmured. “I don’t want you to go anywhere right now.”

You didn’t protest. He sat by your side, squeezing your hand and staring down at it.

His guilt was eating him alive. And that was eating you.

You gently took his hand and pressed the softest kiss against his knuckles.

“I was just afraid. I’ll be okay.” You whispered.

But he didn’t look convinced. The pain in his eyes was so apparent, so real. You had never before seen him like that.

After a while, you slowly looked up at him. “Did you really have his brother killed?”

He stiffened slightly, but he didn’t avoid your gaze. “Yes.” He said quietly.

You were silent for a while. “Why?”

“He said things about you.” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Threatened you. I should have killed him back then already.”

Your guts churned and you averted your gaze.

“Your mother is in Korea.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Maybe you were indeed dead. And maybe it was better that way.

“What?” You breathed out.

You felt him nod. “She’s here. She’s in Seoul.”

He bit his lip and you kept your gaze glued to the ceiling.

“I know where she is.”

You closed your eyes and tried to sort out your thoughts. A list of pros and cons. And then you thought back to the baby in your belly. The tiny human, dependent on you. Tiny fingers and toes. Small teeth. A smile, covered in chocolate and ice cream.

Someone to love.

Someone to love unconditionally.

And then you thought back to how you how almost lost it. How your kidneys were giving up. How you had lost one, due to poisoning. You almost lost your baby because of her.

When you looked up at him, your eyes didn’t look like your own.

“I trust you.” Was all that you said.

He didn’t comment on it and he didn’t need to. His eyes said it all. He was a clever man.

He didn’t need words to understand you.

You averted your gaze again, staring up at the ceiling and gently running your thumb over the back of his hand. He loved it when you played with his hands.

He loved it when you leaned on him.

He loved it when you loved him.

He-

“Choi Seo-jin.”

You stopped in your tracks and kept your gaze focused on the ceiling. There was no confusion. You knew it. You knew what he was saying. You knew what it meant.

When you slowly tilted your head to meet his gaze, he was already looking at you. His eyes soft. Softer than ever before.

“My name. It’s Choi Seo-jin.”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. There was not much you could say.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke in a voice so soft and silky that it left you feeling breathless.

His name. His name.

“Sorry?” You breathed out.

He nodded. “For not telling you earlier. For not trusting you, when I should have. For…for all the things I have done to you. Everything.”

You stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Most of it, you had already forgiven him. Probably everything. Most likely everything.

Sure, you had told to the dead man that he kidnapped, that he forced you to be here and carry his child. But what else should you have said? You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want your baby to die. And so you lied.

It wasn’t really a lie, was it? Not a few months ago. But now you knew this was exactly where you belonged.

There was no more curtain, no uncertainty left. No guilt, no unease, no fear.

When you feared him, then you feared him as his partner. Not his victim.

“You don’t have to say that.” You said gently, but he cut you off with a sharp nod.

“Yes, I do.” He exhaled slowly and looked down at your combined hands. “I told you of my father, right? But I didn’t tell you everything.”

You held your breath and simply…let him be.

He smiled, but there was no mirth wheresoever. His eyes were cold, but not directed at you.

At the memory.

“I still hear my mother screaming, you know? Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’m sure I can hear her. When I wake up then and see you lying beside me…It’s the only thing to bring me back.”

He bit his lip and shook his head, still not looking at you.

“He told me that no one would ever be able to love me. That no one could ever love a weak little bastard like me. Called my mother a whore. Said she slept around. He wouldn’t even be sure whose or what I was. Bastard was his go-to name for me.” He sighed and shook his head, gently playing with your fingers. “He said no one could ever love me. And everyone who ever said they did would lie.”

That was when he finally looked up to meet your gaze.

“And I believed him.” He whispered. “I was sure that no one could ever love me. No one would ever trust me. No one would ever look at me and see their lover, their husband. Their protector. They’d see me for what I was. A bastard.” He shook his head again, his voice dropping low. “I thought if I tested you enough, if I hurt you enough, you’d run. I was sure. You were a tough girl. Tough as nails. I did the most vile things to you, but you? You never tried to run. I tried to kill you and what did you do? You told me you loved me.” He clenched his jaw as he spoke. “And I was…I was so fucking confused. Why would you love me? You had to be lying. But no matter what I did, you didn’t run.” His voice turned contemplative, his gentle grip on your hand never wavering.

“He came to my room, you know.” He swallowed against something in his throat and you were sure the sound of your heart breaking was audible.

“Every so often. He…” He closed his eyes. He couldn’t say it. And he didn’t need to. Instead, you gently squeezed his hand, just a little bit tighter than usual.

Your eyes filled with tears, but you bit them back. You wanted so bad to be strong for him, especially now. He slowly opened his eyes and met your gaze, a tiny, weak smile on his lips.

“I couldn’t control it.” He whispered and slowly shook his head. “No matter what I did. I was never in control. Everything just happened. And I could only let it happen.” He clenched his jaw tighter, his grip on your hand was shaking now. “And I told myself I would never, never feel that way again. Never. And I didn’t.”

He sighed deeply. “But I think I got a little ahead of myself. And now…And you…” His gaze raked over your face, over your damp cheeks and he smiled again.

“I gave you control. I know it wasn’t much. It’s not…easy. But I’m trying. I’m really trying.”

He reached out a hand, his palm against your cheek warm and gentle. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch.

“You never took advantage of it.” He murmured. “I saw it in your face, in your eyes. That one time you slapped me or whenever I let you be in control…It’s almost like it’s hurting you physically.”

His smile widened, just the tiniest bit. “I know it now. I know that my father was nothing but a liar. And you love me.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you nodded. It was all you could do.

“Good.” He whispered. “Because…”

He took a slow breath and brought your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against it.

“Because I intend to marry you and make this whole thing work. I’m going to be your husband and you will be my wife. And this…” He gently pressed his free hand against your stomach. “This is our baby. And no one will ever touch our baby. We’re going to love it. And I will kill anyone who ever tries to touch either of you again.”

His voice was so firm and convincing that you were sure. He meant every word.

You couldn’t even protest. You didn’t want to.

You would be his wife.

And your baby was going to get all the love the both of you had been missing.

And then?

And then he told you everything. Everything from who he was and where he came from. Every quirk, every ick, every pain, every wish, every fear. Everything. Until you were sure.

You were meant to be there.

You were meant to be his.

And had it been him who wrote the text, who uploaded it, who decided to share his thoughts with the world. Had it been him, not you.

You would have done the same.

After an eternity of just talking and letting go of everything that dragged down his soul into the strange abyss that was his misery, he finally looked at you.

“Did I miss anything?” He murmured, before he leaned down to press a kiss against your temple.

You swallowed and nodded. “You didn’t tell me where you work.”

He sighed deeply and leaned back. “You’ll love me regardless?”

You didn’t need to think about it. You simply nodded.

You would.

He nodded as well and leaned down, just enough so you felt his breath against your skin, like the gentle kiss of a sweet spring day after a long, bitter winter. His fingers gently played with your hair, the movement absentminded.

His eyes softened even more and he looked at you with nothing less than pure trust.

“Tell me, darling…Have you ever played the Squid Game before?”

_________________________________________

Tag list 1 :@mitsuki-dreamfree@kpopsmutty69@heroine-chique@vkeyy@mizuwki@blu-brrys@z0mbi345@yourpointbreak@ayieayee@freddyzeppsworld@lola11111111@indifitel6661@salesmanlover08@laurenbenoit70@lalalaa2210@lila-marshal@auspicious-lilana@0-aubrie0@lovelyaegyo@theredvelvetbitch@violentbluess@muriels-lover@dorayakissu@eviebuggg@muchwita@ririgy@strxlemon@obsessedwthdilfs@kiwilov3@misty-q @koigguki

Author's note 2: Sorry for traumatizing you, guys. I hope whatever I wrote made any sense...My brain is a mess, it's 2.30am and I'm going to sleep now. I loveeeee you! 🤍

[moldycheezeit]

Chapter 1

You were a good kid, great kid even. But no one ever really knew, well maybe your high school science teacher and Alfred, but they were the only ones.  

Someone out there is probably thinking ‘‘well what about your mom she would surely care?” Well to bad she wasn't there, well at first she was, during the pregnancy, but when it was time for you to come into the world all of a sudden she didn’t fit into said world. So death took her away from you minutes after you were born. 

For that and maybe because you look like her, they probably wouldn’t know because they barely look let alone talk to you, they neglected you and it hurt because these are the people who are supposed to love and care for you. But with the help of Alfred you learned to take care of yourself which leads you to this moment. Like right now where you are standing at this very moment. At the school's science fair because you, even if people don’t believe it because of how pretty you are, are really smart when it comes to science. You learned for your love of science by reading a book that your mom had written and left behind after she passed. She left behind many more things for you but this stood out among the rest. It was mostly filled with ideas on things to create and ways that could make it possible. So you tried the one that you found the most interesting and figured out a way to create it. Of course it took a bunch of trial and error but you made it work with what you had. Seeing as Bruce never gave you any money ,like an allowance, you had to find scraps to make your inventions work. Now let’s get back to that competition. 

You are currently standing next to the table with your invention ‘the gauntlet’ yea you didn’t know what to name it. What it can do is tell you any sickness or disease if you were to type in the symptoms of your patient. It takes the form of a bracelet but when activated it basically takes up the back of your hand and half of your forearm. It has two screens, one that you use to type and the other that gives off a hologram-like screen. Yea it’s clunky and doesn’t look right at the moment, but for your first model it’s great. 

While standing around waiting for the judges to come see your product you see a man. He looked to be in his 40’s and had short brown hair, a weird looking goatee, and was wearing… sunglasses? Indoors…welp at least he’s not wearing something stupid like a bat suit. He does look familiar but you can’t remember were from. You notice he’s looking around at the invitations and talking to the creators. And he seems to be heading in your direction like right now. He’s 5 tables away, 4, 3, 2– “Hey kid what’s this you got?” The man is smiling like he’s actually interested in what you have to say. That is not really normal. “This is a gauntlet I created to tell you of any sickness or disease if you were to type in the symptoms of your patient.” You had responded to the man’s question confidently. “Wow you really programmed it to do all that.” He questioned, interested in the gauntlet that sits in the display case. “Yes, it took me a while to do it though.” You had said, uttering the last part to yourself. “ I can imagine seeing as I've done a bunch of stuff just like it.” The uh.. Weirdo, yea lets go with that, had told you. Now that surprised you, But before you could ask any questions the weirdo ,as you've dubbed him, started walking away. “Alright see you later kid, hope you win with that invention you got.” you could hear his voice starting to fade a bit as he walked away. And all you could think was ‘ Man was a weirdo.’ 

It's been a while since the judges had come over to your table, because right now they were deciding on who the top 3 will be. You kinda hoped one of them would be the red haired kid who made that moving metal arm out of scraps. To you it was just really cool. You can't help but hope to get in the top 3 as well because the winners get cash. ‘ I need that money so I can create more inventions, yea using what I have on hand is good but there is a limit of how much I can do with it. Not like Bruce would give me any.’ you had rolled your eyes thinking about that last sentence. Hopefully with the creations your mom thought of they could help you get enough money to never rely on that man again.

Just as you ended that thought the speakers in the hall started projecting what the announcer was saying into the mic. “ Can all the contestants make their way to the stage, the judges have finally made their decisions.”  You and all the other contestants start making your way to the front where the judges are.  luckily it's not that far of a walk and when you get there you all stand in a crowd.  when you all get there the announcer starts speaking “ even though we had a lot of good intentions this year only about three of you can make the top.  so we'll start from 3rd to 1st place in order of who got which.” As the crowd stands there in anticipation  the announcer starts speaking again “ In third place is kidd with his metal arm that he has made to help people who are missing limbs, we hope to see more in the future for him.” as people clap you see the red-haired kid you saw earlier walking up to get onto the stage in the announcer hands him a third place medal and a check with money on it. “ Now for second place Elijah who has made a machine that can take packages of  food and can make them into full meals.” Just like before you had seen this kid Elijah start walking up to the stage and when he got on the stage he had received his second place medal in his check that he had won. “And finally for our first place we have a (y/n) Wayne who has shown us a gauntlet. That can help people in the medical field  identify diseases  if they have a hard time figuring out what they are or what the patient has.” You're surprised to hear that you knew you were smart but you didn't know you would win first place. As you walk up to the stage you have a rush of excitement in you. Finally, you can have money to help create your inventions, your mom's inventions. you can finally fulfill the dream she had that she wrote in her books from before you were born.But when you go on stage the announcer only handed you the first place medal you were surprised to not see a check that came with it then out of the corner of your eye you see the same weirdo man from earlier with a big check walking towards you. “ Hey kid you won just like expected, hopefully you can put this money to use and make more amazing creations like the one you made for today.” But you couldn't help but say “ you look familiar.”  and happily he answers your question saying “I'm Tony Stark kid.” Ah.so that's why he looked so familiar. 

If you watch one piece see what I did there. ٩(^ᗜ^ )و I thought it would be a funny thing to put in. Also sorry I keep posting at like 1am its really the only time I'm free

Taglist : @cxcilla @starslightzz @jackchanzzz @simpingpandas @galaxypurplerose @spqce-buns @peche4et3chocolat @ryuushou @moon0goddess @fanficloverlol

[shouts-into-the-void]

Montresor caring about Will didn't come out of nowhere, Lenore was just mad: a biased completely unbiased post

The thing we need to remember as a rule is that Montresor's default personality is rude and antagonistic even when he's not actively trying to be an aggressor, which means you have to look at what he means rather than necessarily the things he says. He's a clear victim of abuse, who reacts to feelings trapped, cornered, threatened, panicked, or humiliated by lashing out. From what I have gathered, it seems like his mother may have been the type of person who was nice one minute, then became abusive at the drop of a hat, and/or acted loving while claiming she "had to do this for his own good", and he was clearly raised in a very strict religious environment where he didnt have a lot of control/was punished for things he couldnt help. As a reaction, Montresor tries to force an aggressive response out of anyone he feels threatened by, because at least then it's predictable and he feels in control. Okay, great, Montresor analysis out of the way, moving on.

Our first real look at Will and Montresor as a unit is when the clusterfucks (side note: I've seen a lot of people calling them the acoleets now? Far less funny, absolutely not) are discussing their spectres. During this conversation, Montresor is actually hyping Will up, and even when he agrees with Ada that is sounds useless, he makes sure to assure him that it "looks really cool though."

We only really see Montresor become outright violent and dangerous once it's revealed that only one person can win a new life. We see him actively panic about it, and while we don't really get a lot more context for him yelling at Will in the moment, I think its relevant that this is the moment when he starts treating Will less nicely, because now it's a competition and everyone else is potentially out to get him. Hell, he even immediately begins joking around with Will after telling him to shut up, so it's clear that he's acting out of stress and fear immediately after the revelation.

The interaction that immediately follows this is the incident with Morella and Ada, and I find it notable that Montresor goes out of his way to include Will. (when he makes sure to let you get your turn humiliating a woman to prove her loyalty to the group #romantic 🤡)

Later, during the Spectre vs. Students lesson, when Berenice bites Will and he asks for help, Montresor immediately tells her to leave him alone. While he seems mildly annoyed with Will the whole time (kind of understandably, because Will keeps screwing up the plan) he only says anything particularly horrible after Berenice slashes him across the face with her knife, which clearly pisses him off in general. We see him letting Will nap on his shoulder afterwards, which isn't super important I just think it's cute.

Montresor clearly sees them as a unit, as he still involved Will with the plan despite Will messing up the previous night with Duke and stops Will from helping Annabel with Ada despite not having a real reason to do so by saying "We'll sit this one out." Like it should have gone without saying that if he's not doing it, Will isn't either. Then the next day, the fact that Montresor comes to get Will specifically so they can walk to breakfast together? Knows what his toothbrush looks like and goes out of his way to give it back? The little flick on the forehead when he calls him a churchmouse? That he picks up on Will's distress and immediately goes to collect Ada to save him? I see you, fake-ass idgafer.

Which brings me to my next point, which is that it is Lenore on her enraged, vengeful tirade who claims that Montresor hates Will. She claims it's due to his behavior towards Will when he came to get him, but I think its pretty clear she only says it to upset Will. And Will can't think of anything nice Montresor's ever done for him because he's stressed, thinks he's about to get shot, and his self-confidence is super low. He even addresses the fact later that Montresor goes out of his way to save him all the time.

I also think now is a good time to point out that Montresor only seems to physically hurt Will in any significant way when he's been having a flashback. His expression when he comes out of his death flashback to find himself attacking Will is shocked, and while he doesn't apologize, his response does come across as apologetic. He has a similar expression when he wakes up from Ada's vision choking Will, only he looks incredibly panicked that time because he'd done actual damage. The expression on his face when Lenore points out what he's done is pained. I think this runs back to Montresor telling Will not to touch him, I'm pretty sure part of his trauma revolves around physical touch and when he's having an episode of PTSD/not fully aware of his surroundings he lashes out instinctively at the person touching him, which unfortunately means Will, who is a very physically affectionate person (man has 13 siblings and it shows.) Which is unfortunate, because I think Montresor also seems to be a very tactile person, and he actually goes out of his way to be touching Will a lot.

Another interesting thing? Montresor only ever addresses Will by name, which is very significant with context. The nicknames Montresor gives people are meant to mock them, so by only using Will's name it subtlely signals that he holds him in higher respect (or at least in more genuine regard) than the others. In Will's flashback, Sally–someone who went to school with him and was in all the same classes–doesn't remember his name, only that he's one of many Wilson siblings. So for Montresor, who can't even remember his "ace in the hole" and current fling's name, to be constantly making it a point to say he knows who Will is, is a great indicator of his actual feelings. By contrast, Will calls Montresor "Monty" exclusively, the only nickname he receives that is genuinely affectionate and something he never attempts to make him stop calling him.

Which pretty much brings us back to the events of the current episodes, which I've already talked about the significance of in another post. I know this is probably insanely biased for multiple reasons and im sure theres a bunch of little tidbits I've forgotten , but do with it what you will.

[beyondbluess]

celebrating his birthday [headcanon]

author's note: hi!! hope you enjoyed :) this is probably the first piece of 'writing' that I've ever put out there. hopefully i can come out with full fledged fics soon! i have so many ideas.

warning(s): none! all just fluff here. maybe a bit ooc too?

୨୧ . . .  let’s be honest, dallas isn’t a birthday kinda guy. doesn’t matter how many times you try to convince him otherwise; the man wasn’t budging. doesn’t mean you weren’t going to take matters into your own hands though. considering that its his first birthday dating you, he had no idea what hes gotten himself into 

୨୧ . . . just a few weeks before his birthday, you had gathered the guys in hopes that you all could plan something for him– definitely something small, everyone knew dallas isn’t the one for big gestures.

୨୧ . . . you had decided that his party was going to be at the curtis’; it’s simple and very familiar. with this, you gave everyone assigned jobs: two-bit handled buying decorations, darry handled cooking, soda and steve decorated (terrible idea btw, lost a huge majority of the balloons because they decided to play ‘who could blow the biggest balloons’); you took care of the baking, while ponyboy and johnny had the biggest job of them all; distracting dallas.

୨୧ . . . which wasn’t easy, like at all. it was as if he could sense that something was up–especially with the lack of you around, definitely didn’t help that pony and johnny were trying to keep him away from the curtis’. its amazing how he didn’t find out sooner.

୨୧ . . . when he did see you, you tried to remain as nonchalant as possible–shifting the topics whenever he asked about your whereabouts; you felt bad. like, really bad–you hated keeping secrets, especially from him. but you knew this was all for a good cause.

୨୧ . . . at this point, he was pretty much tired of the whole thing, there were also a few times when you guys almost got caught, but luckily your plan turned out to be successful. by the time his birthday came around, you had some issues keeping your excitement contained–you almost spoiled the surprise right then and there.

୨୧ . . . you had told dallas to meet him at the curtis’ with no explanation whatsoever, just to ‘simply be there.’ not gonna lie, the poor boy was a bit concerned– due to the lack of activity outside and it appeared as if the lights were off inside as well. 

୨୧ . . . when he opened the door, everybody jumped out to surprise him–which, of course, scared the absolute shit out of him. (it was a bit funny to see if you were being honest) but it was his reaction after the fact that worried you. like, he wasn’t upset or anything– mainly just weirded out.

୨୧ . . . as the day went on, you could see that he started to ease down a bit–especially when you came out with his cake (you decided to save him the extra embarrassment and not sing him happy birthday)– there was just something with the way that he looked at you; his eyes were softened ever so slightly and he had a smirk on his face. It wasn’t noticeable, but it was still there. even without explicitly saying it, he knew this was your idea. 

୨୧ . . . eventually everything calmed down and you found yourself outside sitting on the porch–not even words could describe how exhausted you were. you heard the door open behind you and a presence took a seat beside you. you already knew who it was. you intended to apologize for springing everything on him, but the look on his face said otherwise. dallas isn’t the type to express himself through words, you knew that–but the way that he looked at you at that moment spoke more than words could ever express. you scooted a bit closer to him so that your knees were touching, taking a moment to gaze into his brown eyes. it was as if he could read your mind; just before you could make any moves, his lips met yours.

[meanbossart]

Okay but I would love to hear your thoughts on the other spawn

Twirling my hair shifty-eyeing to the side OKAAAYYYYY WELL IF YOU INSIST 🛀

(This is a continuation of this post where I go into some detail about my thoughts on Dalyria, Violet, and Leon ((or "Leonard" as I apparently dubbed him as by mistake))

Let me start with the one I love the most after my sweet well-meaning-child-murdering-doctor Dalyria: Pale Petras.

First of all, just look at this fucking guy. What a goober.

I pretty explicitly go off-canon when it comes to my theories about Petras. According to him, he has been with Cazador for a hundred years - I find that very, very difficult to believe. Whether I would scrap that line entirely or just tack it as hyperbole is irrelevant - though he does seem to have a knack for the dramatics, or at least he tries to.

Petras immediately strikes me as a newcomer in the group. He's the most lively out of the spawn we chat with and seems to still retain what is a pretty strong, bold personality. He's antagonizing towards Astarion and pretty much sides with Cazador up until his life is on the line - and, most interestingly to me, his immediate reaction after being freed if you instruct them to lead the spawn into the Underdark seems to be one of fear and reluctance, unlike Dalyria who almost immediately takes the responsibility upon herself and seems warm towards Astarion and the player for what they've done.

Abusive relationships don't start abusive. If you've ever been friends with someone who's hooked up with a known serial abuser, chances are that you have had to sit through their attempts at justifying their behavior as foretold by previous partners - "oh, they just weren't a good match", "they both enabled abuse towards each other", "his ex was just crazy, man." This honeymoon period can last anywhere from a few weeks, to several years - until said friend inevitably finds themselves in the exact same cycle that said ex escaped from.

That's Petras. Petras is fresh meat. He's compliant. He's gullible. As a human in a world where you're surrounded by races that live up to several hundreds of years, he's attributed power to longevity - he loves being a spawn. He loves knowing that he will never lose his youthful looks and that his newly-acquired "curse" makes him desirable in it's own, odd way. He thinks this gig is easy - go out, get laid, get fed, rinse and repeat. Sure, sometimes there's a misunderstanding and he gets his joints broken or nails ripped out, but whatever! They grow back! To a vampire with powers of regeneration, dismemberment and scalping might as well be equivalent to ten belt-smacks to the backside just like his father used to give him as a child. Plus, it's never really his fault - If Master knew the truth, he would never set his goons on him at all!

And Oh, he adores Cazador. Not as a friend, a lover, or even a family member - but an aspiration. He sincerely believes that through hard work and resilience he can one day also have his status and fortune. And it shouldn't even be hard to stand out among this angsty little crew - what are they so bent out of shape about, anyway If they spent less time moping and more time working, maybe they wouldn't have such a tough time. Especially -

Astarion.

While it is likely incidental, I find it very ironic that Petras was put in Astarion's early-access outfit. And much less accidental than that: his mannerism and word-choice are a blatant imitation of Astarion's behavior. The flair, the flirting, the flattering and the abrasiveness; I've heard it theorized that this must be how all of the spawn act - I disagree. Petras is the only one we see exhibit that type of demeanor. I think he actively models himself after Astarion because as thick as he might be, he did catch onto the fact that his master has a particular interest in the white-haired elf.

And, of course, Petras hates Astarion for it. He sees him as someone who could have had it all, but gave up on it in favor of being bitter, angry, and naively wistful over his lost life. He has the looks, he has the charm, he had his master's favor, they go out and Petras watches men and women alike swoon over him and laugh at his shitty jokes, to then return home with a long-faced, bratty little shit-head of a toddler-man who would never even understand what the paralyzing loom of mortality is like in the first place - an ungrateful, nepotistic bastard whose had it all handed over to him by daddy, who was loved and fed and given a well-paid job fresh off his teens - but now he has to put a little work in. Now he has to do things that he might find unpleasant. And all he fucking does is whine about it.

Astarion is the personification of everything Petras ever wanted to be before being turned into a spawn, and he accidentally wears it on his sleeve day in and day out. I have no doubt that Astarion is blatantly aware of that fact and it makes his skin crawl - but Dalyria tells him that Petras is too young. Too new. Cut him some slack.

And frankly, I don't think he's evil, either. He strikes me as naive and star-striken. I don't know how long he's been with the Szarrs for, but certainly the light in his eyes would eventually fade over time and he would have had all the zest beaten out of him, same as the others. But, for now - he just doesn't know his own luck.

Admittedly, I have much less to say about Yousen and Aurelia. We don't hear as much as a word out of Yousen, but I've chosen to read the silence of and about his character as indicative that, maybe, he was able to hold onto his sanity and honor the best out of all of them. He had to do what he had to do to survive, but he did it while attempting to withhold any standards allowed to him for his own peace of mind - I like to imagine he had a lot of sincere empathy for all of the spawn, and, while they were never close, him and Astarion exchanged sincere words about their situation a few times during their stay at the palace; just enough to remind the elf that he wasn't alone, but never so much that Yousen would intrude into his space, or add strain to his already fragile state of mind.

And Aurelia... She strikes me as so young and already so beaten. I'd wager that what was once a sweet tiefling girl is now a terrified animal who does absolutely whatever she can to avoid pain and punishment - the snitch of the group, the reluctant ass-kisser, the one who desperately clings to any relief in whatever form it may come - be her master's approval or the shoulder of a sibling she has damned to the kennel more than once out of fear for her own life. Everybody has been hurt, betrayed, and irritated by her - but she's just so god damn pitiful that they can't push her away forever. While she would live, I believe she would have the hardest time adapting to freedom after Violet - just completely dependent on others and burdened by what she's had to do.

[bluesunss]

The lovers Choi Su-bong (Thanos ) x F!Reader

summary: fate always has something far different in store for you than you expect. that is what you thought, quite literally, when that one-night stand never left your mind, no matter how hard you tried.

warnings: cursing, age-gap (reader is older, 34, while Su-bong is 28)

a/n: idk what to say haha. i've been sooo busy recently, i've proofread it quite a few times but probably not enough. also we've been handing essays in my mother tongue more so some sentences are probably my mind having a mandela effect and being convinced they exist in both languages.

Su-bong knew he shouldn’t have won. The guy at the bar had given him way too many glasses, and slid between his fingers two pills in exchange of a favor, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

The first time he saw you, was right after this victory. His opponent—JB The Great—was a bald retired rapper who came back on stage for that very battle. He’d heard of him a few times, quite popular among underground rappers trying to rise, a mentor for younger ones (Su-bong also knew that any new rapper that encountered him and had a bit of talent was sure to disappear by the next battle. Nobody knew how, nobody asked).

Su-bong hadn’t worked enough to have deserved his victory. At least, not like JB—who’d been overly active on his Instagram account, sharing pics writing lyrics whether it was in a shady studio, surrounded by grimy-looking socks and opened energy drink—and Su-bong would zoom in to catch a glimpse of the lyrics. Except that fucker would blur them out, and Su-bong knew it was ON PURPOSE to stress him out.

That’s why he cheated. He knew JB took something too—they mostly all did—except he managed to get something stronger, to cheat his way into that stupid victory against the horizontally challenged retired star (JB was huge, not big, not obese, literally huge, yet his stomach was flat. No clue how such thing was possible.)

For another reason, too. JB dated Su-bong’s ex. Su-bong had two exes (among many flings), and did not give enough of a fuck about them. But territoriality being an inherent flaw of man—Su-bong was not fond of JB and needed a way to get back at him. It was mutual (Su-bong did get the girl back for one night and made sure to send a ‘mistake’ pic to JB while she showered).

You were working behind the counter. Your makeup was smudged, your hair was disheveled, and your lips parted—the air of the club had gotten too heavy for you to breath through your nose only. The first thing he’d noticed about you, was the sweat dripping down your forehead, gluing your hair to your temple.

You were not his usual type. Under the dark-bluish light, Your hair appeared shinier—you wore long drop earrings, so thin and clear they looked like delicate glass teardrops, as if tiny rain drops floated above your shoulders on your bare nape.

However, they were the only jewels. No bracelets, no necklace, no loose hair. A low bun, or pony tail—he couldn’t tell from this distance. You seemed uninterested, with no desire to interact whatsoever, but you were concentrated on your task—nodding at orders with a far-away gaze, filling the glasses, making new drinks—so efficiently he believed you were a robot.

The bartender next to you would sometimes nudge your shoulder, whisper something, you would nod again, that mechanical movement he hadn’t realised could be so chilling, before grabbing a new glass, taking another order, repeating the movements infinitely. He found himself wondering—did you ever stop ? Even asking himself whether the club closed at night, forcing you to leave. It seemed obvious, at that instant, that your life was dedicated to this.

Maybe it was this, this instant, the realisation that you were quite like an automated doll—that he realised he wanted a try. To shake you, like your hands shook the drink, chest barely bouncing—that movement his eyes used to trace on other female bartenders. To disrupt your universe.

No, it was as if you were frozen, in another world.

Su-bong hadn’t realised that all this time, he was staring. Sitting on a far-away sofa, elbows propped on the table, eyes never straying away from your figure shadowed by the bar’s counter and human backs. His gaze followed your very movement, drink barely grazing his lips. He, who so usually focused on the liquid that scorched his throat, seemed not to realise the teeth that scraped the glass and the finger that gripped it so tightly, he would realise later his palm was marked red and cramping-up.

And then, you leaned down, disappeared for a moment, and he decided it was the right moment. He slammed the glass on the table and stood up, drunk-dazed. The pills were starting to wear out, he was definitely seeing clearer.

When you got up, towel in your hand starting to wipe the counter, Thanos rehearsed his signature smile.

“Hey, señorita.”

🌧

Such a nosy kid. You stared for a second, blinking in disbelief, as he ordered three shots in a row—setting them down abruptly and ordering more. You’d heard him sing—and his lyrics were kinda shit. You had no clue how people had bought it, The Great whatever initials had better flow, less obvious autotune in real life, better stature. The voice came out his vocal cords fluider.

But that Thanos guy—he had that thing—what was it called ? Charisma ? Swagger ? No, it was something else. A mix of both, a touch of something spicier. He had a great voice, you noticed the ‘sexy’ raspiness in it, as two younger girls sitting there a few minutes ago were whispering, but he had no control over it. He faltered, forgot a lyric (you knew when your younglings improvised—no matter how much they tried to hide it, it was as clear as day).

This guy needed voice training. And to chill on the pills Han-bin, your ‘colleague’ had given him, in exchange of a favor (it being the girl Han-bin wanted, you had no clue how two men had to get involved to pull one lady. They lacked romantic skills that much ?)

You’d also noticed that Thanos guy staring like a creep.

Whenever something like that happened, or any other suspicious behaviour from a random stranger stepping way too close to you, you’d blur your eyes and imagine a faceless thing, as not to get tricked by the face, should it be handsome, and only watch the comportment. Most of the times, it saved you.

And, definitely, that guy had an issue. He had watched your every movement, glass glued to his lips, like a cat awaiting the mouse. So, when he was saying whatever bullshit to you while swallowing in one go shots and shots and shots, you put aside the flirting and decided that your only interaction would be to give him what he ordered.

You needed the job, after getting fired from your studio for being too crictical over someone’s lack of progress in their nasal voice, even after giving them MANY detailed voice trainings to do at home. You knew they hadn't watched shit. But your boss disapproved. You lacked ‘tact’. They lacked talent.

You didn't make a big deal out of it, but you needed money, and you took this job, even if that meant dealing with an immature man in heat. It took more than that to trigger you. But that didn’t mean you weren’t annoyed. You couldn’t listen to other strangers because of his constant nagging—the drinks were starting to get to his brain, and he was uttering bullshit while grabbing your hand.

“M’ladyyy,” he mumbled. “More. Give me more.”

You usually didn’t care about strangers. At least, not enough to worry about their alcohol consumption while in an underground club. But, for a certain reason (your heart was definitely too soft), you felt slight pity along of the annoyance for the laid-out like a towel rapper on the counter.

“Nah. No more for you,” you finally responded.

That was all it took for him to rise, eyes-widened in hope.

“You talk!”

You bit your lip. You shouldn’t have said anything, now, he probably had his hopes up, which was not something you were willing to risk, at least not tonight.

“Calm down kid. You’re getting way too ahead of yourself, and I’m not dealing with a blackout tonight.”

He stared at you, dazed.

“Sexy voice,” he smirked.

You smacked the back of his hand.

“Sexy my ass.”

Grabbing the small glass in front of him, you put it under the counter to wash for later, before coming back in front of him and placing a hand on either side of his head that was buried in his arms, muttering some ‘Minsu Namsu’ bullshit.

“Hey, you should go home,” your voice came out a bit softer. “Do you have someone to call ?”

He didn’t respond, only slightly lifted his head mumbling.

“Girl do I look like I do,” he hiccuped. “Ain’t nobody want the legend over for the night.”

Against your better judgment, a smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Sleep and sober up. I’m coming back to throw you out if you’re not gone by 2,” you said.

But you knew you wouldn’t. He placed his head on his forearms, staring.

“Ok, pretty lady. Whatever you say.”

And then, he drifted into slumber.

🌧

It was at least half past two when you closed. You had to kick so many humans out, you weren’t sure if you could stand any more interactions. Hae-bin had ran off with a stranger, and although you were getting irritated by his behaviour, knowing it was mostly to run away from cleaning, you couldn’t afford to complain yet. At least, not until another job was secured. Hae-bin was the manager’s son.

Only one stranger was left. Oh, Thanos, sweet and dearest (if he wasn’t asleep, you would have definitely kicked his ass). Setting down the towel on a table, finally finished, you walked lazily to his stool, stopped right beside him and sat on top of one too.

Then, you paused. Observed him calmly. As you had turned off the multicolored lights, the soft white one allowed you a better look at his disheveled purple hair, or his rosy lips, or his soft cheeks. You could at least give that to the crowd : he had a beautiful face. Still rough, his eyebrows broke the gentleness of his delicate features—thick, arqued enough to give him a sterner look while being focused. His eyelashes rested against his cheeks, casting a shadow on his pale skin.

Your hand rose to brush away a purple strand from his eyes. Younger guys never attracted you. You’d had your fair-share of assholes, you weren’t interested in someone to babysit (anyone younger by a day was enough to be called a kid). He hadn’t even told you his age—you didn’t need it to guess. Late twenties, acting as if youth lasted forever, but an adult at heart.

Suddenly, fingers interlocked with yours, and your hand was brought to warm lips. Looking up, slightly flustered, you saw him staring at you with dark, intense eyes. He held your stare enough to cause you to look away, but his other hand tilted your chin.

“Nah,” he murmured. “Look at me.”

When he was drunk, he definitely acted like a kid. You hadn't expected his voice to come out so mature, so deep when sober. Those youngsters knew how to talk to girls. Shit.

Maybe you needed a break from work. Maybe you needed some attention. Maybe you needed to relax. But your eyes dropped to his lips, and that was enough for him to rise with a smirk. Shoulder to shoulder, his warmth seeped through your black uniform, forearms resting on the counter as his hand left yours to cast away a stray lock of your hair behind your ear.

His finger brushed down softly, following the thread of the earring hovering near your neck.

“They’re beautiful,” he said. 

Then, his eyes stared right into yours. The world stopped spinning. Your heart raced, and suddenly, you were drowning in his eyes. He lost himself in yours too, before, finally, dropping his gaze to your lips. Your eyes did the same. Up, down, up and down again.

Until they didn’t. Your arms snaked up to his neck and pulled him close in an instant. He responded eagerly in less than a second, and suddenly, your lips crashed against his with reckless hunger. He tasted like tequila, something bitter, something better, something absolutely addictive, and you only broke the kiss to get a better look at his face. You always needed to do that—to see whether the man was worth it.

And you found it. A man overcome by desire. Swollen lips from the kiss, flushed face, messy hair, heavy breathing, and desire written all over his face. So, in another movement, you smashed your mouth against his, and he let you, grabbed your hips roughly, lifted you onto the counter as something suddenly fell and shattered, but you were too gone to care, his hands roamed your hips, your thighs, your chest, until they reached your pants and stopped there.

He pulled away just for a second. Enough to take all of you—your low tied hair, your smudged mascara, your little beauty mark. And then, finally, he leaned in again, softer, calmer. “You’re beautiful, m'lady”, he murmured against your lips. You felt him smile against your mouth, before melting on your lips again. No apartment. No worries. No ties. That was the silent promise your skin etched onto the other’s.

🌧

You took a week off work after that night. Why ? You weren’t entirely sure. Bringing a friend along, you decided to travel to Busan and spend a touristic trip exploring a new city of your country. It was fun. Absolutely fun. Swimming, eating, flirting. You even went to the museum of contemporary art, which you hated, to change something. To feel something. But it was nearly impossible to get your mind off him. Off that night. Off what he made you feel. Your entire life, you had believed older men—or at least your age—knew better, knew women, were more mature. But fuck, this stranger, or at least ex-stranger, had shattered your entire beliefs. He knew how to take and give. Where, how, and that in many different ways. How long had it been since a night lasted so long yet so short ?

Staring at your palms, by the beach, you tried to understand something that didn’t make sense, that you couldn’t name. To see if anything had changed. But no, it was still same old-you. Just flustered. And lost.

Your friend screamed at you to get into the water, and you did, gladly so, the waves and the swaying water offered a little reprieve to your growing trouble—and you forgot for a moment about going back to Seoul and facing him—you hoped not—again tomorrow.

🌧

Except you didn’t. Face him. You had gotten ready, without realising it, quicker than usual, yet more meticulously. You weren’t usually excited to work, not that job, at least, but that night, you felt your heart beat erratically in your chest, as you gave the effortless woman-touch to your makeup, just enough to make your face remarkable, too less to strike as different. Because it was the impression you wanted to give : detached yet effortless. And you hated that a man was behind it.

But he didn’t come.

No, as Hae-bin handed you the glasses and you repeated the mechanical movement again and again and again, until you couldn’t anymore, until your fingers slipped and a glass shattered. Hae-bin sneered at you, the manager came and scolded you, but they let it slide. It didn’t happen again, you decided to focus. But the whole night went so slow, you felt as if each second lasted forever.

And it happened again. The next night. And the next. And the next. And the next week. And the next week.

Until you thought you had forgotten him. Almost a month had passed since. You were over it, and your brain was preoccupied with other stuff, your old boss had called you, telling you they needed substitute voice coaches (you knew she hoped to have you again, because her voice had a slight very distinguishable tremor in it—hesitation). Since nothing tied you to that club, you could pack up your things and leave. Hae-bin never liked you anyway, and the customers were merely strangers.

That is why, that Tuesday night, you were planning at the end of your shift to go to the backroom and talk to your manager about your choice to resign. You still had to work, and you decided to give it your best, even smiling at customers, so much so that Hae-bin checked on you with a fake-worried expression ‘are you ok weirdo.’

His hand was still on your forehead when you heard it. That voice.

“Ayyy heyy brooo,” he smacked his hand against Hae-bin's. “Yoo, how was the new stuff? It was my best batch. Want more ?” they chatted a few minutes, as you saw Hae-bin slide something to Thanos under the sleeve of his uniform. Thanos grabbed it, took a necklace out of his shirt, opened a cross and stacked the circular things in it with a low chuckle. “How’s Ha-na? She's a good one ain’t she?”

Hae-bin leaned in, approaching his face from Thanos’s ear and placed his hand around it, to whisper a secret. You heard glimpses of “chick” “top” “crazy” and decided it was too much. Almost throwing the glass to the customer next to them, you didn’t even glance backwards as you went to the bathroom, removing your gloves and throwing them in the garbage on your way. “Fuck this!” You thought. He hadn’t even glanced at you. Acted as if it didn’t matter.

Going inside a stall and locking it, you sat on the closed lid and buried your face in your palms. “Calm down,” you repeated to your mind. “Calm the fuck down. He’s a ONE-night stand. That’s literally why it’s called one night. Because it only lasts one night. No more. No less. Get over yourself. No man should make you feel this bad, and especially not a younger one like this.”

The voice in your head, more mature than you, managed to calm your nerves a little. Breathing a little easier, you decided to get through it, let the silent treatment do its trick. By tomorrow, you’d hopefully be gone, back at the studio. No more Thanos, no more purple-hair, and no more worry. You were looking forward to it.

Unlocking the stall, you opened the door, cursed because it was a pull-door (who even puts a pull door inside a public bathroom. Nobody wants to pull that shit closer), before letting out a scream.

“Thought you’d drowned,” he smirked.

Your brows furrowed immediately, you recollected your emotions. He was leaning cockily against the sink, back barely brushing it, arms crossed and head tilted with a sly smile—as if he could control you with just the way his mouth tugged. Your brain yelled he couldn’t, but your heart had a completely different idea of it, going buck wild in your chest. “I would’ve if I had known you were there,” you retorted. “Move, I need to wash my hands.”

“Nah. You haven't done anything in that stall, didn’t even flush the toilet. I’m not dumb.”

He uncrossed his arms, long cross dangling on his chest as he suddenly stepped closer to you, making you take a step back. “Move,” you repeated. “I don’t want to have to call security.”

He scoffed. “Security ? You ain’t calling no one, m'lady.”

“Don’t call me that.” “My lady.” He was infinitely closer now, your back pressed against a locked stall due to maintenance. ‘When would they fix it?’ You found your mind wandering, running away from this ridiculous situation.

“What do you want ?” You titled up your chin, taking him by surprise. You smiled, even though your lips were quivering. “Another kiss? Or maybe another night? Was one not enough for your greedy ass?”

Eyes slightly widened in surprise, he suddenly let out a soft laugh. “Oh señorita. You almost had me fooled there. But you’re the one needy for another night.”

He pinned you to the closed stall, hand sliding to your upper thigh, stroking the soft skin on the inner side. His mouth brushed against your ear. “See? Your legs are shaking, m'lady. Your body remembers me.” You bit your lip, tried to deny him, to push him away. But then, he stared at you with a sly smile. “Hm ?”

It was all it took. In one movement, your lips met his again, the familiar but oh-so-missed scent of him against your mouth, his breathing got heavier, needier, you weren’t even started that he muttered “Fuck” “missed you so fucking much”.

🌧

After that night, it happened again. And again. And again and again and again, until you lost count. Didn’t matter where, when, how, you don’t know—you hadn’t even quit your job—that he would find a way to get you back under him, against him, near him, so close it always felt earth-shattering.

Sometimes, he’d be giving a show to a loud crowd. You disliked his singing—he knew that—but you loved his raspy voice. And he’d tease you on purpose, singing lower, almost whispering in the mic, getting girls’ knees weak as he stared directly at you, always behind that cursed counter, wiping glasses and filling them repeatedly. He’d sing louder, win or lose battles, and you’d wait patiently for him to finish, to wipe his forehead, to disappear backstage before coming back, buying a drink—it had become a game—the specific drink meant a different meeting spot, should it be his car (Bloody Mary), the bathroom (soju), whiskey neat (backroom). And anytime, it would get messier, sloppier, worse.

Instead of feeling better, you felt worse. It drained you. You didn’t get back to your job, and when you called, they had hired a new girl. Then, Hae-bin noticed you mixing a wrong drink, and you almost gave a customer an allergy-attack by handing him the mango cocktail. Or the other night, when you gave a bottle to an underage kid. It was enough to get you fired. “I’m sorry I really like you girl (lie), but that’s not possible anymore.”

That is how you were (almost) on the street, your landlord hadn’t kicked you out (yet). Except you were too drunk. Drunk of him. You needed him—he became vital. You didn’t care about anything, your life had been passive because of the unnatural need you harboured for him. You’d spend nights at his studio, laying in his lap as he composed new lyrics, pinching your cheek when you corrected his vocal projection or the nasality his voice. “Let me do what I’m good at, and do yours, 'k baby ?” And his hand would be on the back of your head, holding your hair etc. etc.

Thanos didn’t ask many questions about you. Not that he didn’t care, you did see he was intrigued, by the way he sometimes stared a little longer while he smoked, absently looking at your face with gleaming while you talked with passion. Or that time, where you told him in a small voice that you were thirty-four while he was twenty-eight, but he barely shrugged, pulling your head back on his shoulder. Or the way he picked you up when you called, crying, the night you got fired, and brought you home, didn’t even suggest anything, bought you snacks and cuddled you to sleep. He still was nonchalant. Slept immediately after you'd done it, right after tucking your hair behind your ear, kissing your cheek.

It was when he was sleeping, eyelids shut, breathing softly, that you'd wonder what the heck you were doing. You’d remember the first night, ask yourself ‘what if I hadn’t touched his hair ? What if I hadn’t sat next to him?’, thinking about the life you could have had if he hadn’t ruined it, but then, he’d wake up, groggy, grab your waist and tuck you under the blanket with a kiss fierce enough to remind you that you belonged there.

That was enough, for as long as it lasted.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

It was draining. You barely slept, and when you'd wake up, almost living at his studio now, only to find it empty, smelling of smoke and dust. And when he’d come back, it would repeat and repeat and repeat.

It struck you one morning, while watching your favorite comfort show, one of them being the wife of a cheater. ‘I wait for hours in an empty home. I feel like a mistress while I should be a wife.’ And that struck home. Well, you weren’t delusional enough to believe he’d ever make you a wife—you didn’t even want a relationship this unstable with someone. But anything, not even a label, just a certainty that, when he’d come back home, it wouldn’t be by surprise, that you would know when he would go out or when he would come back, that he would text you more than randomly 'are you ok’ once during the day or even call you. You hoped for a bit of attention—a glance from a man so distant, starting to treat you like an old rag.

That was when the real distance began. The first gone were the texts. No more ‘what did you eat ?’ or ‘take-out tonight, choose fried chicken or tteoboki.’ Then, the kisses. No more ‘good morning’ stolen on your lips. No more ‘goodnight’. Not even the cheek 'sleep well’ after you'd done it. He’d take what he wanted, slowly, quietly, the passion was gone, just mechanical, until there was nothing left anymore, until he stopped looking at your clear drop earrings with admiration, telling you to wear them for the night, until he just stopped, and the distance became physical too. And one night, he’d just throw words with an annoyed undertone. “You did nothing again today?” or “Is that a wrinkle? Oh just a hair nevermind.” It seemed as though, he was working to annoy you on purpose. To get you to leave so he wouldn’t have to kick you out.

That is why you decided to leave, one morning, right when the door slammed. He was sweeter than usual, this morning. Smiled before brushing his teeth, said hi. And it was exactly why you wanted to leave. It was unbearable to realise, one day a month, you would get some acknowledgement, and even worse, it would make your heart beat again, get your hopes up, and make your forgive all his past mistakes on the spot.

You had already planned it, collecting the scattered make-up across the apartment. You hadn’t even put on a show as you usually did, cleaning the apartment or cooking out of boredom. No. It was strictly the silence and you, and the sunlight barely filtering through the closed shutters. You let out an annoyed sigh, walked to the window and abruptly opened them, almost ripping the handle off, as you swiftly raised the shutters. “This guy can’t even take care of himself,” you muttered to yourself.

And as the sun bathed the room, the clean air invaded the apartment, you suddenly got hit by a realisation. In this haunting silence, you felt it : the loneliness, the illusion, the perfect-bubble carefully crafted of a life that neither of you wanted. You were a roommate unannounced, and he was the kind stranger that took you in. Nothing more, nothing less. So, instead of breaking down, you walked to your makeup bag, put everything inside, zipped it shut, and took your few clothes, your toothbrush, and your dignity.

Maybe it was because none of you had dared to say it. You, because you were stubborn. He, because he was scared. Maybe those three words would have helped you hold on to something. But you were stuck between maybe and almost, and life was too short for uncertainty.

You hoped never to hear from Thanos ever again, so that your heart could take some time to heal. No note left, only leftovers in his fridge, and a clean parquet. You hoped he’d regret you for a bit, before moving on.

This was life. You were used to it.

🌧

Rebuilding your life was difficult. There was no way you’d beg Hae-bin for another chance, and your boss refused to hire you again. That is why, you decided to open an Instagram account to coach people hoping to get better at singing—or just taking control of their voice, mastering it. Getting views was difficult, and your content was very niche. Plus, it was embarrassing to just put a camera, stare at it, and then repeat AAH aaaah AAH aah to an imaginary audience, look at it to edit while physically cringing, posting it, and wallow in the waiting of the twelve likes that usually followed your posts, or that one regular commenter ‘so cool' (happy emoji) or the less regular ones ‘open your mouth wider’. It was quite embarrassing, and you made sure to block the rap star—mostly because you didn't want him to see you, and secondly, well, because he was so active, posting daily, or being spotted with a new star, that you wanted to shield your heart and your peace.

Except, one morning, you woke up to a hundreds new followers. Heart beating, you wondered whether you had posted something (…) by mistake, until you realised you that thgreatJB had reposted on his 12.4K page one of your videos, saying ‘check her out’.

Afterwards, it was a blur. The followers kept coming in, the DMs, the young teenagers wanting to become idols DM’ing you for advice, or even some older people with a reasonable amount of following asking for private coaching. You started to make money again, your life was getting better. You could go out again without feeling as if people were staring with judging eyes, you could smile without your heart feeling heavy. You started wearing makeup again, you went back to the salon, got your nails and your lashes done, and, slowly, you felt as if you were reviving.

Almost three months had passed, you were a new woman, reborn. People would flood your comments ‘you’re glowing recently girl!’ or ‘im not the only who sees it right’ and other people agreeing in the comments that you were quite beautiful, on top of a great voice. That was the boost you needed. You expanded your page, stopped replying to needy DMs who wanted advice but refused to pay a cent, that you used to take out of good will, opened a paid coaching service, your account gained more and more traction, your name got popular, agencies would call you, your boss even apologised for the way she treated you and asked you to come back. Life was treating you well. And you treated yourself well too.

But well.

It got boring, after a while. You were single and childless—no tuitions, hobbies to worry about paying, the bills were always settled, the rent paid in advance, you even started tipping. You didn’t buy much groceries.

You lived alone.

You were alone.

Your friends had gotten slightly opportunistic and you dropped them—you were at the age were bullshit was not needed. And there was, in your heart, this gap, unfulfilled. This small crevice that let everything pass through you like air. Like a gush of wind, so weak it barely shook you.

You missed him. Of all things that had happened in your life, of the hole he had dragged you down into, of the weird things he had made you try and the visions they made you see, a spark had been ignited, so ready to be alive. You had felt it. The way he made you feel there. Real. Out of your mechanical existence. It was so repetitive. So fake. You weren’t even alright with it, you didn’t like it.

And you hated feeling this way.

Opening the drawer near your bed, you found an old ring. Your ex-fiancé. He was a sweet guy. A bit worrying around the edges, and he had gotten slightly too lazy about life, expecting without giving, so you decided he wasn’t worth the headache. You did feel something when he propped down on one knee and opened the small black box, and you saw the gleaming ring. You said yes because you wanted to feel something. You let him slide the ring on your finger, let him kiss you. Even if you disliked silver. Because you wanted to feel something. To feel alive.

Absentmindedly, you slid it onto your ring finger, staring at your hand. You got lost in your thoughts, and before you could take it off, your phone dinged. Curious, you grabbed it, looked at the screen. A new DM asking for vocal training. Even the adrenaline of the popularity had worn-off. You slouched on your bed and accepted the DM. ‘700,000 won if you come tonight. Sorry if it’s too late, my audition is soon and I want to find someone quickly.’

Coming tonight? Well. That sounded intriguing. Routine-breaking. You told the stranger it was alright for you, he gave you an address and told you to wait outside the place. Even if that seemed slightly dangerous, you wanted some rush. You accepted.

Later that night, you changed your clothes, put light makeup. Your eyes fell on the white pair of earrings. Your fingers hovered above the desk, but you resigned last minute and went outside, carefully locking the door. You tipped the doorman—even if life had changed, you didn’t change your apartment, and felt the cool night air hit your face.

You walked quietly through the busy streets of Seoul. It was great. A start, at least. When your legs carried you between a sea of people and shoulders, you could forget for a minute. After half-an-hour, you saw the spot. He had said ‘under the lamppost’. You were worried it would be shady, but it was quite clean, and some people were chatting outside or smoking with lively voices. It seemed safe. You found the tallest lamppost ('with a deflated red balloon tied to it, nobody removed it since years', he had texted), and quietly leaned against it, scrolling absentmindedly as you waited.

You heard rustling, and suddenly, a familiar scent struck your face with such intensity, you suddenly spiraled back to that first night at the bar. Your heart beat erratically, you put a hand on your chest to calm it down, refusing to look up, hoping he was just a passerby.

Except his shadow stopped right before you. The familiar sneakers. A hand resting above your head, as he leaned in dangerously close. “Hey, señorita.”

🌧

“What brings you here?” You asked, staring at the brownish drink swirling between your palms. “Same as you. Vocal training. Except you’re the trainer, and I’m the student.” His voice was still as smooth. Still as silky. Still as deep. It struck exactly where it had all those months. All your body vibrated. “So you created a fake account.” “Nah we’re not putting this on me m’lady. You’re the one who left like a coward.”

You did not take a sip, tapping your fingers on the glass. His head was resting in his palm, slowly rotating his glass while staring at you. When you finally lifted your head to meet his eyes, his lips tugged into a half-smile. “Well hello there. Missed those eyes.” You bit your lip. “You still talk too much.” He shook his head. “Nah, you too little. For a vocal cord trainer, you’re an awfully silent expert.”

That brought a small smile to your lips. You finally took a sip. It burned your throat, and you stifled a cough. “Coach doesn’t play.”

He didn’t respond immediately, observed you intently, eyes piercing a hole through your skin. “Oh yeah?” Then, silently, his hand went to your cheek. You stopped playing with your drink, paused too. Lifted your gaze and met his. Way longer than you should. “Yeah,” you whispered. He kept watching you, nodded slightly, an instinct. “Coach was quite loud when I got her to be,” he suddenly said. Your face burnt red. “That’s the past.”

His cold eyes held yours an instant before looking at his glass again. His quietness was unsettling. As if he was putting an act. You felt like, he was ready to shatter the glass in his palms, knuckles white because of how hard he was gripping it. And his eyes, who used to be warm, well, not before you left, were cold. A different cold. A chilling cold. As if something way scarier was brewing under those distant eyes. Something terrifying.

“Oh I see,” he chuckled a low, far-away chuckle, pointing his cheek toward your naked ears, then your ring finger. You widened your eyes. “That…” “I don’t care, señorita.” He smiled without his eyes. Shit. Your heart froze. The smile was from another galaxy. This guy wasn’t with you right now. He despised you. A shiver ran through your spine. “I’m… I’ll go to the bathroom.” Getting up, you grabbed your purse, but his hand suddenly gripped your wrist so tightly, you felt his fingers mold your skin. “Did I say soju?” he said in an ironic tone.

You froze. “We’re not doing this.” “Fuck yes we are.” You were talking without looking at his face, your right side facing him. “No.” “I’m not playing with you girl.” “What do you want.” He got up, slammed his fist on the counter so hard, the drink spilled. A bartender said something, but Thanos glared so hard he ran away. “The fuck I want? Since when do you give a shit what I want, huh?!” His voice was rising. You clutched your purse unsteadily, noticing how dark the bar was, how it smelled so rotting, how hot it was. “Don’t fucking start this,” you said. “Look at me,” he ordered. “Let go of me.” “Look at me.” “No let go of-“ “LOOK AT ME, FOR FUCK’S SAKE! IS THAT TOO DIFFICULT?”

Immediately, you turned around, pressing your purse to his chest. “Calm down!” You said in a quiet tone. “Thanos this is not-“. He yanked the purse from your hand and grabbed your wrist, walking in long strides, before slamming the door to a backroom shut. “You ain't fucking leaving, coward,” he spat. The last word came like a knife, split your skin apart. “Don’t call me that,” you threatened. “I’m older than you.” “Older?! So fucking mature! Running away from your feelings is the only fucking thing adults are good at!”

You felt yourself stumble on something but caught yourself back on a messy desk. Realising what room you were in, you took it all in, the scattered papers, the opened cans, the dusty boxes, the ground littered with cardboard and unidentified objects, the dim flickering light. You could barely stand, let alone two people. “You’re an adult too! Don’t take this tone with me,” you muttered. “Oh I’m an adult now? You choose when I fucking am or not?” “I don’t choose shit! I reflect on your comportment. You wake up and tell me ‘one more wrinkle’ or ‘someone’s lazy today’, as if I’m your fucking wife that you forgot at home!”

In frustration, you grabbed a nearby pencil and pointed at him. “No, not even your wife, a mistress!” His eyes were quivering, irises surrounded by a black orbit. “Don’t give me this bullshit. You’re as faulty as me, if not worse. You come to my place, eat my damn food and what do I get in return? You fucking leaving without as much as a word goodbye. You do realise how I should be feeling, no? Don’t blame me for not hugging you and being fucking nice right now!” “Oh so having me was nothing? Sleeping with you every night was nothing? Even to a mistress, you wouldn’t say that!” your voice broke.

His eyes stayed hard, his anger dominating his emotions. “Stop this mistress bullshit! You weren’t my mistress!” “EXACTLY! It’s exactly that! I was NOTHING. Nothing to you!” You shouted back, pen still pointing toward him. He stepped toward you and flicked your palm, sending the pen flying. “You’re twisting the conversation! Stop fucking lying and face yourself!” “Face what! There’s nothing to face! Now let me OUT!” You pushed him away, hands pressing his chest and strode to the door. As you grabbed the handle, you kept insulting him. “You killed this! You stopped caring about me. We never gave this a name, so you don’t have the right to get mad at me.” The door wasn’t budging. You tried again, but it stayed frozen. “Fuck and now we’re stuck! Thanks to you! Perfect!” You threw your hands in a powerless motion. “Let us out!” He shook his head, still silent. “No.”

“What the heck is wrong with you. I don’t get it. You bring me here, only to fight with me. Is it an ego thing? Because I left? Get over it!” He rose his head, back against the messy desk and palms resting on the counter. “You don’t get shit, do you?!” “Not if you don’t explain!” “Aren’t you the most mature, you should fucking know!” That’s when you punched the drawer beside you. “Go to hell, Su-bong! You’re just an entitled piece of shit!”

His anger was so quiet, you felt your heart beat in anticipation of his next reaction. It was terrifying. “Am I?” His voice came in a whisper, a glimmer in his dark eyes that pierced yours. “When everybody at the Underground fucking know who you are, and I learn from a fucking noob that isn’t half my age that his coach is the woman I slept with for months, the only fucking woman I ever gave cared about, and who left me like a piece of shit without even a word goodbye? Who’s the entitled piece of shit?!” “This was bound to end!” You shouted. “I was rotting! I had nothing, nothing anymore, but your body when you gave it to me and a small part of your soul when you dared!”

A flicker of pain passed in his eyes, and his voice came harsh before he could stop it. “I was hurting too! The… the day I fucking saw you, the first time, you worked lifelessly, you were like a robot, and I thought I just… I wanted to see you alive. I don’t know why. I just did. And then…” his voice is shaky. “After some time, you looked at me the same. Empty. I would try to give you something, but your eyes stopped looking at me. You weren’t there! I was with a fucking robot!” “Then give it feelings!” You shouted back. “You treated me like shit!”

Against your volition, your eyes welled up with tears you were not able to stop. Rolling down your cheeks, the first tear came out silently, and you wiped it with the back of your hand. “I’m no saint, Su-bong,” you added. “I have feelings.” “Yeah, for someone else,” he spat. “I’m not falling for your bullshit when you’re… whatever the fuck that is.” Following his gaze, you yanked the ring from your finger. “Oh fuck you! I don’t care about this shit. Take it if you want!” You threw it at him, and he caught it mid-air. He stopped talking for a second.

You stayed in silence for a few minutes, chests heaving loudly. You wiped your tears, heart still aching. “Do you notice something?” Your voice came out more assured than you thought. “Notice what?” “The ring. Look at it.” He spun it in his palm. “No fucking shit. What do you want,” his voice sliced the air. “The ring. Look at it well.”

He paused. Stared at it better. “It’s silver,” he then said. “Tiny diamond. Around 10 grams-“ “I don’t give a fuck about that. Say the first sentence again.” “What?” “The first.” “It’s silver.” “Now think.” He stared, confused and annoyed. “I’m not doing this shit-“ Then, he looked at it again, as if struck by a realisation. “It’s silver. You…” he looked at your wet eyes. “You don’t like silver.”

You nodded. “Exactly.”

He looked at you, confused. “But… what…” “Su-bong, do you think at my big age, and my wrinkly face,” you said as he shamefully looked away, “I would marry a guy that doesn’t know what I like?”

Su-bong crushed the ring in his palm.

“There’s nobody else?” he stared at you with a surprised expression. You shook your head. “Never was. I’ve… I’ve tried forgetting you. I really have. But I can’t. I always came back to this,” you looked up. He was holding his breath, unable to respond. “You really hurt me,” you finally cracked. Your shoulders quaked, and you couldn’t stop the tears anymore. “That was so… so painful…”

Slowly, ever slowly, arms suddenly wrapped around your trembling body, pulling you close, chin resting on the top of your head. “Me too. I’m… I’m so sorry if I ever hurt you,” he finally said. He pulled away for a second, stared at your bright eyes. “Don’t pull this shit again. Don’t run away. I wanted you.” “You didn't make me feel like you did.”

Gently, his fingers left your shoulder, one by one, before he pulled away. “I’m sorry.” “It’s fine.” “It isn’t.” He nodded in promise. “It’ll be.” Then, he opened his palm again, stared at the gleaming ring.

“Can I destroy it?” “Please.” He threw it on the ground and stomped his foot on it. “To hell with that. I don’t fucking want anyone in the way of us anymore,” he declared, suddenly determined. His voice came out more confident than you thought. “Us?” “Yeah. I fucking wasted too much time on this shit. I’m so done fighting.” “What do you mean?”

He breathed heavily, as if you were stupid but he liked you. “What I mean,” he started, stepping closer, “is that I’m done with all this bullshit and this running away. I’m not ready to let someone else have you. I…”

“You don’t have to say it,” you whispered. Your hand rose to meet his, his fingers interlocked with yours. He stared at your eyes for so long, he felt as if the world had stopped spinning for an instant and the universe was on hold. He nodded quietly. He still wasn't ready, but he'd be. “I want to.”

This time, it was him who kissed you first. It used to be you, always. But your salty lips were met with his bitter ones, so sweet against yours, always being there to mold with the other’s, to complete them. “I…” His voice broke as he pulled away. “I really like you.”

It was as if a new world had unfolded before him. His eyes started glimmering again, his heart beat again, his walls came crashing down, and he suddenly let himself fall into the crook of your neck, humming your sweet scent. “Shit, I missed you so much, m'lady. So so much.”

He pulled away, breathless. “I like you so much. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life but this.”

“But why?” you cried softly into his palms, as his thumb worked to brush the teardrops away. “Because. It’s just like this. I can’t explain it.”

“Then why did you push me away?” In his face, you saw frustration, pent-up anger. “I felt things. I don’t like it. I’m not used to it.”

You stared at each other silently. Then, you nodded. “We have time.”

So he kissed you. Longer. Harder. Better.

Like he meant it. “I really like you too,” you murmured against his lips.

And it was enough. At that moment, it was enough, and your heart was whole for the first time since so many years. As long as you would have him, as long as he would have you, then you would be okay.

i hope you will enjoy this!

@breakmeoff

[pigeonqueen13]

Some NPMD HC/Ideas

I just let my brain run wild at 2 am for like an hour after scrolling HolyGhost Tumblr and watching NPMD and Abstinence Camp

Max isn't just lusting after Grace - He's in love/obsessed, you'd think it's because she's repressed or forbidden like he says, but its honestly probably just bc she's the first person to tell him no and he finds that insanely hot and attractive

He actually tries going at her pace, reads the bible, talks to her, builds up to carrying her books, then holding hands, then supervised dates, ect.

He says he's doing it all "for the bit" of getting with every hot girl at school, but deep down he knows the only way she'll get with him is if they get married - and he's gonna fucking get with her eventually

Grace is both the judgmental church mom (think Maude Flanders) and the insufferable head of the PTA

Their kid is the most fucked up kid imaginable, their dad is always enforcing the idea more fucking is more admirable (behind Grace's back) and their mother is hardcore repressing them

Despite that I think she's actually a good mom, bc her parents are good, (despite being preachy and overly prudy) and Max is a good dad, he has some trauma from his fucked up childhood, but she stops him from repeating those mistakes

Grace says Ruth is in hell bc she's bisexual, it's not the bi she has a problem with, it's the sexual, she's chill with lgbtq

Grace is convinced she and Steph are besties, she makes Steph her maid of honor, and Steph (shockingly) has her as a bridesmaid

The HolyGhost kids call them "Auntie Steph" and "Uncle Pete", idk about the lautski kids

All the HolyGhost kids (I'm imagining there's probably 3) are all named after biblical figures, at the insistence of Grace, Max made her choose more "normal" biblical names though, bc he doesn't want them to be bullied

Grace is the matriarch of the family, Max is the type of dad to say yes or "ask your mother" for everything

Max loves teaching his kids sports and "manly" skills he has, like building stuff, he loves football and fixing/making things around the house

Ruth also had a crush on Grace

I saw a few Alive!Max AUs where he's nice and some where he's mean - I would like to propose a happy medium of Max is still a fucking nightmare, except for those 5 nerds, those are his nerds and nobody fucks with them

In one universe Max and Grace do help each other unpack their fucked up trauma and become an actual healthy normal couple

Just one

In every other universe one or both of them are murderers and they have a very complicated relationship

Grace makes the first move bc really Max is waiting for her bc he has no clue when she'll think they're "ready" or "old enough"

In some timelines went to Abstinence Camp for her, in 90% of timelines where he did this - he was murdered

Max vs Gabe

"i've never wanted kids" by Ethan Jewell, a much chiller Max song for a good HolyGhost timeline

They're still totally toxic and evil/fucked up in every universe (except for the aforementioned one), I just like Max being so whipped for Grace they borderline healthy in this one area

Grace kills parents of kids who hurt her kids, or were bad influences

I loved the idea from someone who said that Max would be one of the corrupt cops - 100%

Ruth writes copious amounts of fanfics and smut, she actively sends them to Richie and Pete to proofread/read, it's awful

Grace invites the gang over to her house all the time, they all hate it but they go anyway

Her parents love everyone except for Steph and Max

Grace allows herself 1 guilty pleasure: murder novels, that's one of the reasons she knew what to do with Max's corpse, she secretly fantasizes about enacting her righteousness on everyone and murdering those who she deems unworthy - like at the end of npmd

Steph and Pete regularly bring flowers to Ruth and Richies graves

The first time Grace and Max had sex was on their wedding night, and it was the most awkward, weird, sex Max ever had bc Grace had no actual idea what she was doing, he still loved it though, and everytime following got more and more normal and good

It didn't occur to him that he "accomplished his goal" until a week after the honeymoon when Max met up with some friends and they congratulated him and tried to get him to hookup with some girls from the bar, he tried to cheat twice but gave up halfway through flirting both times

Max drinks a ton of beer, whisky if he's feeling fancy, shots if he's being wild, Grace thinks alcohol's a sin and only drinks non-alcoholic drinks and communion wine, if she did drink it's be white wine though

Ted gives Pete a ton of dating/sex advice, not long after getting with Steph, he realizes most of it's bullshit

Ruth has a pornhub and ao3 account

Richie has a deviantart account

Both have tumblr accounts

Grace thinks social media is a sin, but she uses her platforms to push her "causes" like cancelling homecoming

In the Max!Lives AU Max is horribly supportive of all of Richies art endeavors (I imagine he tries a lot of mediums: video, paint, digital, music, ect) and threatens the drama teacher to give Ruth a big part

Grace is so mad that her plan didn't work and now Max is closer to her than ever

I can see Grace either being an activist, a church secretary (or some other role in the church), or a stay at home mom

Steph does get pregnant at 19, with Pete, before she's married, Grace freaks the fuck out, Steph aborts the baby (with Pete's support ofc), undecided whether Grace would love her avoiding teen pregnancy or being prolife and thinking Steph's going to hell, I personally hope it's the former but with Grace it could be the latter

Pete becomes something really smart, like a mathematician or scientist, he definitely has his PhD, Steph loves to tease him and call him "Doctor"

Steph I could see being a teacher or guidance councilor, it would also be funny if she went into politics against her father

Richie and Ruth idk what they'll do, I could see Ruth being something technical in the theater world and dreaming of her break as talent, and Richie being a tech guy at a small firm/CCRP or maybe an filmmaker or something could be cool

Ruth either Ugly Ducklings and is a drop dead gorgeous adult or is the opposite and never gets more attractive (even after losing the headgear)

Max has so many pet names and nicknames for Grace, she calls him Max, occasionally Babe, or if they're in private and she's being especially affectionate, Maxie

Max and Richie are really good friends (in Max!Lives), he's definitely "Uncle Richie"

Also, Blue Tips Richie is canon

That's all I have for rn, these are just a string of random thoughts, idk if any of them are good lol, but tell me your guys' headcannons and ideas for AUs and other timelines and Max!Lives shit.

(To be clear on the difference: AU's are alternate universes, where something major is different, other timelines are the Hatchetfield world (bc we know theres already at least 4-5 timelines) where something happens different, Max!Lives is a specific timeline where he doesn't die)

[altocat]

FFVII FANDOM PSA

I've seen several of my mutuals being accosted by the same loser troll that's been stalking my inbox. They have a distinct way of typing and bizarre no-context fixations that make them very easy to distinguish. They will attack you over nothing. Sometimes they'll go after you over random posts you made weeks ago. And they are not afraid to get personal. I've had them literally stalk and document my active hours online so that they could make a low-effort comment about the kind of person I must be irl. They've commented on my home life, my pets, my tastes, my presumed relationships, everything. All without actually knowing me. All in an effort to be malicious. Just really weird, creepy behavior.

Anyway, I'm telling you all this because it's likely they will eventually show up in your inbox. And yeah, at first it's cute to flash a snarky comeback or two. I did that at first. But I can assure you that that's exactly what they want--attention. Your best course of action, regardless of what they say, is to IGNORE them. Don't engage. Don't acknowledge. They are liquid filth beneath your feet. They don't deserve your attention. They are a cowardly troll hiding behind the anon setting. They are not worth your time, energy, or talent.

I hate that it took me this long to figure that out. I hate even more that I have to post about this in an effort to bring attention to this issue, thus giving them their fifty seconds of fame. I TRIED to be diplomatic, wanting to settle the issue privately over DMs. They don't want to talk, nor are they genuine, even if they claim to be. They're a troll. That's all they are, and all they ever will be.

Please stay safe out there. Everyone deserves a safe, fun, and welcoming atmosphere here. You are all worth so much more than whatever pathetic insults they're able to squeeze together. Keep an eye out and take nothing they say to heart. They deserve nothing.

Love you guys. Stay awesome.

[atinystraynstay]

Cupid's Arrow - Choi San

Synopsis: You refused to spend another Valentine's Day alone. You have tried online dating, having friends set you up on spontaneous dates, and even made efforts to flirt in public. This year, you were settling for something a bit different - speed-dating.

Pairing: non-idol!Choi San x fem. reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, trying to find love in a major city

Warning: mentions alcohol consumption, slight vulgar language, suggestive sexual activity

Word Count: 3.8k

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

"This is.. West 4th-Washington Square. Please stand clear of the opening doors."

Your heart was racing, your body practically trembling as you stared forward. Was this actually going to happen?

Ding

Quickly but carefully, you pushed yourself out of the opening of the subway. You didn't want to get trampled by the crowds of people trying to get in. You've learned better to just move as quickly as possible if you want to make it to your destination on time.

You also learned how easily frustrated people get when they are behind someone who either doesn't know where they are going or is just walking slowly.

Last year, you took the leap of faith and moved to New York City. Like many others, you dreamed of moving to this extravagant place to make a name for yourself. You daydreamed of walking the busy streets and having a cute tiny apartment with a skyline view. You sacrificed that latter wish for an in-unit washer and dryer - a real jackpot find!

While you certainly have made friends in the city, you often find yourself frustrated with the dating department. You have been on several first dates, a few that turned into second and third dates. One or two turned into potential relationships.

Yet, it would quickly fizzle out.

At first, you thought that it was something with you. You tried changing how you approach first dates, how you dress for them - anything that you thought you could be doing wrong was thought over meticulously.

"The problem isn't you," your roommate vowed. Your racing mind was settled by the NYC Dating Queen herself. She has been through the wringer with guys throughout the whole city. "You're in your 20s in New York City," she laughed. "Most guys are thinking with their dick first then their brain. Ever notice how many guys are reaching back out, begging for another chance?"

You slowly nodded your head. "Yeah, which is so annoying because by the time they think straight, I've already moved on."

Maybe you were a bit old-fashioned when it came to love. No, you weren't in the market to settle down quite yet. You wanted to meet someone and take things slow, go on dates, and be exclusive before making that big of a commitment. Getting the conversation out of the dating apps was the first milestone you wanted to achieve.

"Good! Don't give them any type of satisfaction. All of these guys are dates from Tinder?" "Yep," you announced, making sure to pop the 'p' before taking a sip out of your wine glass. "So you're also getting the mix of tourist guys who are just horny and wanting to fuck while visiting the city."

You groaned at the realization, your head leaning back against the arm of the couch. How was she always right about this kind of stuff?

"You deserve to meet your prince charming in another way. Clearly, dating apps are not cutting it." "And going up to a guy at the bar scares me," you confessed before fixing your posture.

The two of you were sitting on the couch. It was a snowy night in the city which caused many of your evening plans to get canceled. The two of you were nestled on the couch, watching a movement on HBO Max with a chilled bottle of red wine. Your other roommate managed to escape the apartment to go on a date tonight. Lucky bitch.

"You know how our lovely roommate is out on a date?"

You nodded again as you looked over, an eyebrow raised. Wherew as this going?

"She only got together with him once she deleted the dating apps and tried something different." And the look on your other roommate's face told you she had something planned for you.

That was how you find your way navigating through the busy streets of Manhattan. You had no idea that speed-dating was so popular, or that it could be successful. Your roommate's current relationship gave you hope that meeting someone this authentically could be the solution to your problems.

Tonight, speed-dating was taking place at a bar in Greenwich Village. You've honestly been trying to come grab brunch here as you were drawn to the aesthetics shown off on social media.

It did bring a smile to your face to see the white-painted door surrounded by vines. Three brick steps led up to the front door. It was like a little escape room all the steel and concrete of the city.

Even though you were ecstatic to be going to this new place, it didn't help your nerves. You were the type of person who loved getting to know someone for sure, but something was intimidating about going on multiple "first dates." You had to put on a good impression for more than an hour.

“Hi, you also hear for the speed dating?” A voice called out from beside you.

You looked over to see the most gorgeous man. He was tall, dressed in a black button up which peaked from the grey winter coat he was wearing. His hair was sleeked back with a few strands framing his forehead. He also wore this soft smile which made your knees weak. He was definitely going to be hot commodity tonight.

You nodded slightly, offering also a gentle smile. “How could you tell?” “Let’s just say I’m hoping to get to know you better tonight,” he said, winking.

It took everything in you not to let your jaw drop. You never met someone who spoke so coolly. He was the total package.

“Come on, let’s get you out of the cold. You’re practically shivering.”

Maybe it was from the chilly evening hair. Or maybe it was your nerves overriding your system. Either way, you were not going to disclose the truth. Not when this gentleman had his hand placed on your lower back to help you inside.

“Already trying to win me over?” You asked teasingly. “How could you tell?” He asked, matching your tone from earlier.

The two of you shared soft laughter as you crossed the threshold into the cocktail bar. There were tables lined up with white linen, a candle in the middle, and a short bouquet of flowers. Frank Sinatra was playing overheard, both screaming New York and romance. The mystery man stood slightly behind you, his hand leaving your back which you already missed.

“Hi! Sorry, we are closed for a private event,” the hostess said. “Oh no, sorry! We are both here for the speed-dating event,” you explained.

The hostess blush lightly from her mistake before nodding her head. “My apologizes, I assumed you two were already a couple since you walked in together. Can I get your name, please?”

You couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter at the insinuation. Sure, you guys happened to cross paths with the handsome stranger. Possibilities were endless though!

“Y/f/n y/l/name” “Great! All checked in. Here is your number ticket that indicates your table. And here is two drink tickets for the evening.”

You nodded, saying a quick “thank you.” You took the tickets before putting your phone in your purse. It bought you enough time to overhear the stranger behind you and gain some pieces of his identity.

“And your name, sir?” “Choi San.”

You smiled to yourself once you got his name. Choi San.

Not wanting to linger anymore, you began making your way to the long row of tables. Each table had a heart laminated and taped to the table. They were numbered 1-16. Glancing down at your ticket, you saw you were placed at number 7, your own lucky number.

More people were beginning to file into the establishment. However, you were trying your best not to scope out too much. You wanted to go into this open-minded, wanting to take in the experience while remaining open to the potential of finding a new connection. It didn’t help that your mind was already infiltrated with a man named Choi San.

“Looks like I’ll have to wait a little bit to get to know you, pretty girl,” San said.

He winked at you as he passed by your table, heading towards Table 8. Looks like you’ll be ending your night on a high note if he would be your last encounter of the night. You watched him for a moment. He sat on the opposite side of you, giving an indicator that the men will either be transitioning or the females will.

Feeling your eyes on him, he looked over at you too quickly for your liking. It didn’t give you enough of a chance to glance away. Your cheeks were also a key indicator what you had been up to, which weren’t really concealed despite the dimmed lighting. He chuckled lightly underneath his breath before he got to work at shrugging off his jacket.

You couldn’t pull your eyes away when his jacket off did in fact confirm the black button up he was wearing. What kept your attention was the way his fingers got to work unbuttoning the top 2, revealing his golden chest underneath. You wanted to be respectful, but you couldn’t help but slightly gawk at the man adjacent from you.

“Keep your eyes on me, angel. I’ll be coming for you.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Welcome ladies and gentleman to our fifth annual Cupid's Speeding Dating! Here is how it's going to go. Men are going to move to the left, switching the seat to chat with a new woman. You will have five minutes to make your best first impression."

Your eyes shifted over towards San, seeing that he would be moving further away from you at first. However, that just means you get to be the last person he talks to tonight.

"You know, there are a lot of things I can do in 5 minutes." You were interrupted by your internal thoughts by the man across from you. Your nose scrunched up as you understand quickly what he was suggesting.

"Please do not exchange numbers or socials until the next of the event. We want to make sure you are investing more into your conversations."

The guy across from you smirked again, winking. Ugh! Does this guy really think he has a chance?

You leaned back into the seat, wanting to create distance from you and your first date of the evening. You weren't much of a person to fixate on appearances. I mean, the guy was quite attractive. Yet, the moment he opened his mouth, all possible attraction flew out the door. It honestly just made you yearn more for San.

Noticing movement out of his peripheral, San glanced over. He flashed you a smile before going to pay attention to his current date. Sure, he knew he was most excited to talk to you, but he also didn't want to be rude. He just couldn't help but glance over to make sure you were okay.

"You can begin!" The host said excitedly.

Soon, the cocktail bar was filled with chatter. You decided to take a sip of water to ease your nerves, but also try to come up with a conversation to have with this guy. You were forced to be sat at the same time for the next five minutes anyways.

"So, what's your favorite position?"

This might possibly be the longest five minutes of your life.

Luckily, the guy talked more about himself which helped time run out. He was leaning across the table, as if he was trying to look down the top of your dress which caused you to only lean back into the wooden back of the chair. You also were silently thankful when the waitress brought over your first drink of the evening.

Beep beep beep. Beep beep beep.

"Okay, gentleman, please move one to your left."

The guy across from you let out a groan before pushing himself up. "I'll catch you after tonight," the guy said, winking. "Maybe we can go home together. Or slip into the bathroom for a little fun." You didn't even catch his name nor did you want to.

"It was nice chatting with you," San said next to you. "Good luck this evening!" There is an example of a gentleman.

As he got up to head to the next table, he smiled once more at the girl he was first chatting to. He also took a moment to glance at you, smiling a bit brighter. You felt as if you were going to melt in your seat. You just had to wait 14 more rounds before you got to be alone with San.

The second quickly blended itself until the 10th round. Sure, you loved chatting with the guys, and you could see yourself potentially going on a real first date with one or two. However, the whole time, you kept glancing over at San.

It would cause a twitch in your heart when he laughed at another girl's joke. The further he separated from you, the less you noticed his eyes finding yours. The reality that he could be more interested in someone else was beginning to set in. He could very much land at your table, being the last date of the night, and be exhausted. He could already have his heart set on another which caused you to sigh softly.

"I see you have eyes for someone already."

Looking up, you were greeted by a wide smile. The gentleman in front of you took a seat in front of you, running his hands through his hair to push back his hair. He was wearing an all-black outfit - dress pants that had a white, thin strip running up the side; a black v-neck that showed the silver chain around his neck, and a slightly oversized black sport coat.

"Sorry," you laughed lightly, blushing a bit. You didn't want to give off the wrong impression, especially when this gentleman seemed kind.

"No need to be sorry. Should introduced myself since it sees that you're gawking at my best friend," he said proudly. "My name is Wooyoung, and you are?"

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a bit intrigued. "Y/n." You took a sip out of your cocktail before setting it down on the counter. "You are friends with San?" "Oh, I see you two are on a first-name basis now. When is the wedding?"

Your cheeks got hotter as you took another sip out of your drink, which caused the young man to laugh. "Don't worry, I've seen him checking you out as well." "Stop, you're just saying that," you laughed. "We only met literally 30 minutes ago. There is no way that he is checking me out and I haven't noticed."

Leaning back into his chair, a smug grin curled onto his lips. He had one hand on the table, and the other resting on the back of the chair.

"You have no reason to trust me since I'm a complete stranger. However, I know my best friend. And I can tell you right now that if you look to my right side, you would be able to see San. And I bet he's fuming that his best friend is chatting up the girl he's been eyeing all evening."

You raised an eyebrow at this man's analysis. He looked at you challengingly, egging you on to look over to his right.

Unable to resist, you looked over. Your eyes widened as you noticed San was glancing from his date over to your table. His fists were clenched slightly while he did his best to maintain his composure in front of the woman he was chatting to. Yet, it was as if steam was about to shoot out of his ears.

"See?" Wooyoung said triumphantly. "You've got San wrapped around your pretty little finger, y/n."

Seeing San make eye contact with you, his eyes widened before he quickly looked away. You couldn't help but smile a bit brighter, your confidence starting to rise again. Maybe Wooyoung was right after all.

Beep beep beep. Beep beep beep.

"I'll definitely be seeing you around, y/n. Have a good rest of your evening," Wooyoung announced. He pushed himself up from his seat, about to move to the next table.

One thing you learned about Wooyoung in your short encounter was that he was filled with evil schemes and plots. For example, calling out how you and San kept looking at each other as if nobody could notice. You learned that while San was his best friend, he also liked getting a rise out of him.

Before you could say anything back to him, Wooyoung moved closer to you. He leaned down to press a firm kiss to your cheek, one everyone at the speed-dating event could see. Your eyes widened at his action. What was he thinking?!

People seemed to notice which caused cheers from the guys in attendance while the other women gasped. "Please keep it moving, Romeo," the event host announced. "You'll have enough time to show affection later."

"You'll thank me later," he whispered to you before moving to the seat at the next table.

You felt a bit guilty for not remembering the four guys. They seemed very friendly, having personalities that made it easy to talk to. You guys couldn't describe what on Earth was even said, not when your mind was counting down until you finally got to talk to San.

"You're a great listener, y/n. Too early to ask for your number?" "The host said no exchanging until after."

You looked over to see San standing up straight. You didn't think he did so maliciously, but it was obvious he was annoyed by the guy still sitting down. The guy you just talked to glanced over at you before putting his hands up in surrender and getting up.

Just as quick as the guy stood up, San slid into the seat. He moved the chair in so he could lean slightly over the table. "Do you like knowing your a hot commodity, angel?" He asked softly, a drastic change from how he just spoke.

"I have no idea what you are referring to," you said innocently.

San's hand moved to rest close to yours, his fingertips ghosting over your own. It sent electric shocks throughout your body just be being in close proximity.

"So you don't want to admit that my best friend had you giggling? You couldn't have thought that Wooyoung was seriously that funny. He gets all his best jokes from me!"

You could see San was getting a bit worked up. His chest was puffed up, wanting to present himself as a better option against whoever stood in his way, even if it was his best friend. Little did San know he had no true competition when you've had your eyes on him all evening.

"Actually, I found it adorable how jealous you get. Wooyoung merely pointed out this fact," you said, smirking.

You noticed then San's shoulders slump over a bit. His cheeks were flushed as he stared at you for a moment before looking towards the end of the row where Wooyoung was. Wooyoung, who was watching you two this whole time and offered a wave over to you two.

Sensing that San was getting a bit flustered, you moved your hand to rest on his. This caused his attention to move back to you, a smile curling onto his lips. He glanced down at your hands, eyes flickering to yours. You were not sure what he was looking for, but it became clear once he slipped his fingers in between yours.

And he looks for consent before doing anything? What a jackpot.

"I'll have to admit though. I was also getting jealous. I didn't like seeing you laugh with other girls when it should've been me," you confessed. Sure, you were just as embarrassed owning up to your faults, but you also hoped an ounce of your truth made San feel better.

It seemed to do the trick as his body relaxed. His thumb gently caresses the side of your index finger. You noticed his eyes were not leaving yours whatsoever, unlike before when his eyes would wonder around.

"Well, darlin', we don't need to wait anymore. You've got me all to yourself."

You and San spent the next hour or so chatting. You talked about your childhood, how you both ended up in New York City, and all your favorite things. Every time you talked, San looked at you as if you were made out of gems. He just adored listening to you, finally being sat at the same table with you.

San has always wanted to come to the United States. At first, it was to practice his English. However, he quickly realized that he wanted to learn more about people. He was currently researching graduate programs to study Sociology.

So not only is he kind and physically attractive, but he also was outgoing and intelligent. He was just checking every one of your boxes!

But he also was falling hard for you. He was impressed with how you took a leap into moving to New York City by himself. He was lucky to have Wooyoung whoo made the whole transition easier, so he couldn't imagine taking on the city solo. He admired your courage.

He also wouldn't vocalize it quite yet but he almost felt as if you two were destined to be in the same city.

The two of you didn't even notice that the other participants had left. The guys you had talked to tried staying around to grab your number, fuming at how San seemed to have snatched all your attention. Being the great friend Wooyoung is, he ushered them out so you and San could be uninterrupted.

It was as if Wooyoung was your own Cupid, doing everything in his power to make sure the love connection worked.

"I'm sorry, love birds, but we need to close up for the night."

San and you looked around, not realizing that all the tables had been cleaned and cleared after the event. The room was silent except for the noise of movement in the kitchen.

Looking back at you, he bit his lip. The clogs were stirring in his mind as if he was trying to figure out what to do next. Of course, you two would leave the cocktail bar, but then what? He looked as if he was afraid to say goodbye, and so were you.

"Why don't we walk around the Village? I'm sure we could find a late-night diner that isn't too crowded." "That sounds perfect."

San helped you out of the table before lifting yup your winter coat. He held it out for you, assisting you in slipping your arms through the sleeves. You turned slightly to press a kiss to his cheek, which made San light up like a little kid on Christmas day.

He quickly slipped on his own jacket before going to rest his hand back on your lower back. He nodded his head, both apologizing for overstaying but thanking the host for putting together the event.

She smiled understandingly as she witnessed San escort you back outside. His free hand pushes the front door open for you.

Maybe love did exist in New York City after all.

[staybabblingbaby]

Project: Stack The Deck CH. 1 (a3d1)

-

Concept: Reader is a long-time trainee at JYP Entertainment, on the verge of being dropped completely due to her age. In her first stroke of luck in ages, she's presented with an opportunity: JYPE is producing a brand new type of audition show - 9 lucky trainees will be 'interning' with 6 of JYPE's active groups for a year in hopes of forming the first ever mixed gender AND mixed subgender group in k-pop. The catch? The trainees are only interning with their exact opposite groups, in an effort to appease ongoing protests.

Or - Babble gives in and writes Omegaverse. But this time, there's ~lore~

-

Word Count: 1,893

Notes: I started this instead of working on SG I'm so sorry ^^;; My brain just doesn't wanna take anything serious rn I've been having a Time lmao I have, perhaps, thought about an inordinate amount of lore for this ^^;; It's ok I just tried to apply logic to Omegaverse nbd. I never liked the 'inner wolf' rhetoric so this is my attempt to fix that while keeping the instinct drivel i adore lol. While also keeping a more human level of 'intinct'. Also this isn't very edited, so keep that in mind. Also also this is super slow-burn and focused on pack-bonds first, so while we may get to romance and maybe smut eventually, it won't be for a really very long time Heavily inspired by To The 9th Degree by azaluvx7 on Ao3.

Warnings: Mention of house-fire, discussion of medical misinformation that leads to protests (also mentioned)

-

Masterlist | Next Part

Sitting across from the director is always a nerve wracking experience, no matter how many times I’ve experienced it.

Kim Jae-Hwa was a severe omegan woman with dark hair and a fair complexion. As the director of Training and Development at JYPE she held the future of all of JYPE’s unrealized talent in her hands.

That did, of course, include my own.

Having been picked up and dropped from several line-ups over the years, none of those groups having come to fruition at all, she was someone I’d seen probably more than I’d have liked to. Seeing her face always filled me with a potent mixture of hope and dread, something she was uniquely positioned to tip the scales of.

Today we were, oddly enough, sat in the company’s cafeteria instead of the director’s office or the conference room she favored. Seeing as how the last time I'd been in one of those rooms it’d been to have a very honest and pragmatic conversation with several of the older trainees about our future within the company and our options outside of it, I couldn’t be mad at the change of scenery.

Several of my classes had become one-on-one tutoring sessions after that conversation.

So yeah, sitting in front of her was always more than enough to make you break out into a cold sweat and send my scent spiking along with my thundering heartbeat beneath carefully-applied scent blockers, no matter how nice she was.

And she was nice, pushing a steaming coffee across the table to me, warm smile gentling her features. She cared about the trainees here, truly. It’s why she organized meeting like the one that chased away a majority of your remaining friends in the first place. Always looking out for us, whether we liked it or not.

“I heard you’ve been skipping a few classes lately, that’s not like you.” She says after a moment, allowing me to sip the warm comfort of the familiar beverage before her interrogation.

“Ah,” I flinch a bit, curling into myself, “I had to get another job. My apartment burned down recently, so it’s just been a bit hard to make everything work out.”

She knows this already, of course. All of my trainers were aware, as well as the manager who oversaw the older trainees. Well, older trainee, now, really. Reports about the trainees crossed her desk regularly, and since I was the only one in my class right now there weren’t many for my details to get lost between.

As expected, she just nods along, tilting her head at me, not surprised in the least.

“Where are you staying now, may I ask?”

I shrink further into myself at her query, embarrassment flooding me. “Just a hotel right now, director.” I admit, head low, “The building wasn’t really salvageable, and I haven’t been able to find anything I can afford near enough to the company yet.”

Jae-Hwa just nods her elegant head, not rendering judgment. In fact, as I glance up at the older woman, there’s something almost calculating in her eyes.

“Why didn’t you apply for the trainee dorms? It sounds like you qualify for them.”

Squirming uncomfortably in my seat, I cast around for a reasonable answer. It wasn’t like I could tell her that I was intimidated by a bunch of teenagers. I mean, in turn they were also intimidated by my seniority and sway with the more sympathetic trainers, but, well. A few bad apples could spoil a bunch, and I’d always been an easy target for bullies.

Even if they couldn’t hurt me physically or professionally, words often had a way of getting under skin. Especially from people I’d rather be able to mentor and pamper.

“The kids get a bit uncomfortable with me already,” I settle on, letting my shoulders shrug sheepishly, body pulled along by the half-truth, “I don’t want to make it worse by intruding on their space.”

Jae-Hwa simply hums, considering me. She probably knew this too, honestly. The truth of it, even. There wasn’t much that went on in the practice rooms that she didn’t know about.

There also wasn’t much she could do if I didn’t stand up for myself, so I just offer her a strained smile, silently begging for this conversation to move forward.

Stars above, if this was a new way of gently encouraging me to pursue other career paths it might have been the most effective one yet. Fleeing the building sounded great right about now.

“Alright, I won’t push it, you know very well what resources we offer by now. Better than some of my staff even, I’d bet.” She says it in a lighthearted tone, clearly only meant to tease, but hot shame rips through me again anyways.

Seven years was a long time to train, and while it did come with some perks (like knowing the training program than some of the managers), it still meant that I hadn’t been good enough to debut. That despite the extra experience and training, I still wasn’t good enough.

“I actually had something of a proposal for you,” the director continues, unbothered by my bowed head, “You may not have heard since you’ve been out lately, but the board has proposed a project in hopes of appeasing those protests that have been happening.”

I grimace at the mention of the ongoing protests, the loud chanting of the crowd in front of the building ringing in my ears at just the mention of them.

“The ones about co-ed groups?” I clarify, as if there are any others.

She shares a tight-lipped commiserating smile with me and nods, “Yes, those protests,” she sighs.

Honestly, the whole movement was stupid, in your opinion. On the surface it was progressive, inclusive even. After all, encouraging more co-ed groups could lead to a great many positive changes for idols. Less scrutiny on interactions between male and female idols, or alphas and omegas. More leeway with the very intense media attention, a chance to be more care-free when hanging out with their friends.

Hell, it could even be good for society at large, showing progressive ideals in a very visible way. That is, if the goal of the movement had been so pure or noble.

No, the current rhetoric was an archaic bunch of bologna ripped from an out of context statistic from a very old and very biased study about Pack dynamics and their impact on one’s health.

To brush past the bullshit and flowery words of concern, they believed that a pack needed at least one person of every sub-gender present to keep a balance of hormones and instincts and remain healthy.

Never mind that the same study claimed that omegas needed to be locked up in their dens and nests like birds in a cage or that betas were only really good for filling in negative space despite their very intensively studied and very important roles in a pack.

Unfortunately, despite making about as much sense as a flat-earther, one viral post had made it into k-pop circles and triggered a cascade of hysterically ‘worried’ fans, who really just wanted a chance to join the packs of their favorite celebrities.

It was common knowledge that many idol groups ended up as pack, especially those that enjoyed success. JYPE as a company very specifically encouraged this, boasting an incredible matchmaking record with 10 out of 11 of groups they’d tried this with becoming pack, a further 3 of those packs even being romantic.

The issue was that, in direct contrast with this nonsensical ideal, most idol groups comprised themselves of only one primary and two sub genders, due to the marketability and fanservice of it all. An alpha group would only have alphas and betas, and vice versa for omega groups.

Hence the very loud protests outside the building, mostly comprised of delusional fans baying for a chance to meet their idols for said idol’s ‘health’.

Normally the company wouldn’t cave to something like this, simply issuing statements of good health or waiting for it to blow over, but even I had heard of the large-scale boycotts and blackouts among various fandoms. Loss of profit or image was something the company could not, unfortunately, ignore.

Still, I frown at the director.

“Is it really a good idea to give into them?” I ask, worried, “Won’t they just get bolder, then?”

The director grimaces in agreement, but shrugs her shoulders, “Your guess is as good as mine, kid. In the end, it’s up to the investors.”

I give my own grimace at this. Despite actively wanting and trying to participate in the industry, I was old enough for the rose-tinted glasses to have come off. I could be disgusted by how the industry operated while still wanting to be a part of it. I’m talented that way.

“Just hear me out about it before we start picking it apart,” Jae-Hwa gently pleads, “This could be a good opportunity for you.” something heavy and sorrowful clouds her eyes, her voice lowering as she admits, “This could be the last opportunity I can get for you.”

My heart lodges in my throat at her words, nausea swirling in my gut.

Jae-Hwa really did care for her trainees. A bit too much, even. Enough to be blunt with us about our chances to debut. It had been a few years since she’d looked at me with bright eyes and a cheerful, “This could be it! You’ve got the talent, kid, we’ve just gotta show it to the world!”

She might take the older trainees aside to gently break their hearts, but she never forced them out. I was just the last one stupid enough to stay.

“You’re 23 this year, y/n.” She says gently, grimly, softly taking my hands into hers across the table, “I can’t protect you forever. There’s no telling when we’ll get to put together another girl group. You’ve got the talent, kid, but this might be your last chance to show it.”

She’s right, of course. 23 is old for a trainee. Hell, younger idols should be hitting the peak of their careers at 23. Even if I left JYPE, there’s only a very infinitesimal chance I’d be picked up by another agency. There’s an even smaller chance that theoretical company could debut me.

I swallow uneasily and tighten my grip on the director’s hands. I give her a tiny nod to continue, fighting off the urge to cry.

“They’re putting together a reality show,” Jae-Hwa begins to explain, holding my gaze, “Where they’re going to have our top trainees ‘intern’” she releases one hand to air-quote the word, her eyes rolling despite herself. It makes me giggle, and by her small smile, that was her goal, “with one of our active groups for the duration of a comeback.”

I tilt my head questioningly at her, “What does that have to do with the protests?” I ask. So far it seemed like just an innovative audition show to me.

the director’s eyes reveal her unease, even as her face stays resolute. “The trainees will be put in a pool for the groups to choose from.” She continues to explain, seemingly ignoring my question, “But,” She hesitates, “They’re only going to allow the groups to choose completely opposite- gender trainees.

[digiflora]

SUMMER LOVIN' ◟⊹ 𖧧. ָ࣪ ◝. EPISODE⁰⁰

Ꮺ prev. masterlist. next. Ꮺ

INTRODUCING THE ISLANDERS ...

"i'm ayato, i'm 25 and from inazuma. i work as an accountant (wink). no no just joking don't keep that in-"

"(cough) i work as an accountant, i really love my life to be honest. the thing i love most on this earth is my car- it's a porsche, and the longest i've ever had a girlfriend for is about.... 2 weeks? so good luck to the next one haw haw haw-"

"my type? i like pretty women. let's hope there are some on the show haw haw haw"

"hello!! my name's tighnari, nari for short, i'm 22, and i'm currently studying biochemistry at the akademiya in sumeru"

"i really love being outdoors and nature, so my perfect first date would be a long hike in the woods, or just any physical activity. i think you can really tell a lot about a person when you're out in nature with them"

"so.... i guess that makes my ideal type someone who also loves the outdoors? i have a thing for more nerdy girls, too- it's something i've noticed. i just find it so cute when a girl has glasses"

".... an ick? if she litters, it's an instant no from me"

"i'm alhaitham, i'm 25, i'm from sumeru and i'm a court stenographer"

"to be completely honest, i'm here because i lost a bet with my friend. he thinks i need to try harder to find a girlfriend so i'll see how it goes on this show. it would be funny to see the look on his face if i do end up meeting a girl i like, i guess."

"a fun fact about myself? i can type 120 words per minute"

"i don't think i've really struggled with romance. there's been many girls who have tried to get with me, i'm just not really the type to get with someone for the sake of it. does that sound like i'm bragging? oh well."

"i don't think i have a type, either. i like who i like, simple as that."

"how's my hair looking? ok, good."

"i'm kaeya but you can call me handsome, im 24, and i live in mondstadt. i work in sales, so that definitely helps when i'm chatting up girls, heh."

"my go to pick up line? do you believe in love at first sight or do i have to walk past you again? (chuckle) nah, nah, i'm joking. i don't really use pickup lines, i'll just buy a girl a drink and we get talking and then... you know. it's a pretty good tactic. or maybe it's just me, heh."

"i like women who are confident in themselves. i don't want to have to spend all my time reassuring her, you know? and a girl who can keep me on my toes, someone who can beat me at my own game, you get me?"

"i have yet to meet a girl like that, i guess that's the reason why i've never had a proper girlfriend."

"my name's xiao, i'm 26, and i'm a tattoo artist from liyue"

"i get told that i look young for my age quite a lot- i guess it's to do with the height? it'll pay off when i'm 40 and still looking 20, at least"

"my type? ... to be really honest, i love girls with thick thighs and pretty smiles. there's nothing better than that"

"an ick? girls who go around saying if he's under 6 foot i don't want him- they're missing out on some good dick because they can't pull their heads out of their asses, that's for sure... oh shit, am i allowed to say that?"

gia's notes ㌐ ₀₀ and now the five guys! all the og islanders are now introduced 🥳🥳

[genshinluvr]

Burning Desire 4

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader (Al Haitham x Isekai'd!Reader)

Summary: Awaken from your slumber due to the burning pit in your stomach, you decide to take a shower early morning, hoping it will cool you off. After your shower, you leave your bedroom to see a shirtless Al Haitham reading a book at your desk. You weren't sure why Al Haitham is in your bedroom, but he has his reasons for visiting you.

Note: I've been busy dealing with some things outside of my fanfics, and I haven't been able to type as much as I would like. Therefore, Al Haitham's smut is a bit shorter than the previous routes in the Burning Desire smut series. Again, the smut routes aren't supposed to be as long as the first "chapter" of the series and Crave. It's pure smut and has no plot, so some smut will be shorter depending on how it flows. As previously stated in my previous smut-fics, I tried to keep the story as gender-neutral as possible. All of my smuts do lean towards female!reader/AFAB!reader with gender-neutral pronouns. As usual, minors DO NOT INTERACT! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Horribly written smut, as per usual ✨ slight masturbation/groping (?), orgasm denial, mating press, fingering, handjob, cervix fucking, slight choking, doggy style, slight overstimulation, slight voyeurism

Word Count: 4.1k

Burning Desire "chapters"/routes: [1], [2], [3], [4]

You tried to sleep, but the burning pit in your stomach was unbearable. You’re worn out from getting dicked down by Scaramouche and Tighnari, and you can use some sleep. Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t look like that’s going to be happening any time soon. You would fall asleep for a few hours but wake up to the unbearable throbbing between your legs. You need someone to drill their cock into you, or else you will go crazy. 

The first thing you did when you wake up for the umpteenth time in the middle of the night is to masturbate. It provided a small amount of relief, but the same feeling will come back. The same burning desire will hit you like a sumpter beast, causing you to writhe around on your bed despite having your fingers buried deep in your entrance and cumming multiple times. Okay, well, ���multiple times’ is a bit of an exaggeration— three times is the correct number.

Archons, you even went as far as taking a cold shower at four in the morning while everyone was still sleeping in their beds. You’re hoping the men who have a keen sense of hearing and smell don’t wake up to your activities. That would be even more embarrassing. The shower lasts almost two hours— your body’s really hot, and the cold water raining down on you feels so nice that it nearly makes you forget that you inhaled a large amount of aphrodisiac. 

You step out of your bathroom, hair still drenched from your shower. You stop in your tracks when you see the Scribe sitting at your desk, reading a book. You blink at Al Haitham and peek at the clock in your bedroom. It’s almost six in the morning, and yet the gray-haired man is in your bedroom, wearing nothing but gray silk pajama pants.

You rub your eyes and gingerly sit on your bed. “Al Haitham? What are you doing up around this time?” You ask, getting under your blanket.

You squeeze your eyes shut briefly when the ache between your legs spikes up when you press your thighs together. You’re hoping that Al Haitham either leaves your room soon or he buries his cock inside you until you wake up everyone in the abode. Your mind is constantly racing ever since you breathe in the aphrodisiac, and you can never get peace of mind. Al Haitham closes his book, turning to face you and spreading his legs wide open. You gulp and look away, running your hands through your damp hair to distract yourself from looking at the faint tent forming in his pajama pants. 

Al Haitham rests his arm on the armrest, staring at you intently in the darkness of your room. Light peeking through the blackout curtains of your room, illuminating your bedroom. You gulp and hug your knees to your chest, waiting for Al Haitham to say something. Al Haitham sighs and leans back in his seat; you can see his muscles ripple and flex whenever he moves. Archons, he is so handsome. 

“I wanted to check up on you. I didn’t think you’d be awake so early,” says Al Haitham, crossing his arms over his chest.

Archons. The way his biceps flexes when he crosses his arms over his chest. You gulp and lie down, not taking your eyes off the gray-haired Scribe. Why is Al Haitham acting so casual with you when he knows you’re having inner turmoil. You want to skin yourself alive for feeling this way. The intense need for someone to be buried balls deep inside your entrance until you’re crying and begging for them to give you a break.

You nod, trying to act casual. “My bedroom was hot, and I was sweating in my sleep. I didn’t want to lay in a puddle of sweat, so I went to take a shower,” you lie.

Al Haitham hums, nodding slowly. You curl up into a ball, waiting for Al Haitham to leave your room. Judging by the way he’s sitting on the chair near your desk, you don’t think he will be leaving your bedroom any time soon. Al Haitham suddenly stands up, stretching his arms in the air and yawning. You blink and quickly look at the tent in his pants before looking away before Al Haitham can catch you in the act. You pretend to look at the clock, gesturing to it.

“I think you should go to bed. It’s still early in the morning,” you say, pulling your blanket up to your chin and closing your eyes. 

Al Haitham raises his eyebrows at you. “Oh? You want me to leave already? I thought you would want me to help you with your problem,” Al Haitham says nonchalantly, walking toward your bed.

You crack an eye open and nearly jump out of your skin when you see how close he is to you. Al Haitham kneels on your bed and towers over you, caging you against your bed with his arms on both sides of your head while you look up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Al Haitham tilts his head, cocking an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to respond. 

You clear your throat, snuggling deep into your blanket to distract yourself from Al Haitham’s stare and the dampness pooling in your underwear. Al Haitham is so freaking breathless— the veins on his arms are driving you crazy. He’s so handsome, and he knows it. Al Haitham clears his throat, grabbing you by the chin to have you look into his eyes. 

“Are you going to answer my question or not?” Al Haitham asks.

You nod sheepishly, making Al Haitham look at you skeptically. 

“Is that a yes to the question I just asked or the previous question?”

You stare at Al Haitham and rub the back of your neck. “I do want you to help me, but it’s embarrassing, and it’s too early in the morning to be having sex,” you mutter.

Al Haitham clicks his tongue and releases your chin, now sitting at the edge of your bed. You sit up and rest your chin on your knees, staring at the gray-haired man before you. Al Haitham leans back and runs his fingers through his bedhead. Archons, his bedhead is too cute. For someone who’s aching to get railed, you act like a prude— despite having two men fucking a couple of orgasms from you.

Al Haitham strokes his chin. “You don’t have to worry about waking the others if you can keep your volume to a minimum,” Al Haitham comments, grabbing at his aching cock through his silk pajamas.

You gulp and watch Al Haitham stroke and squeeze his cock. Heat rushes to your cheeks when you realize Al Haitham is staring at you, waiting for you to respond. How are you going to keep your volume at a minimal volume when you have something thick or long pistoning into your entrance?

“But there are people in the abode that have a keen sense of hearing, Al Haitham,” you whine.

Al Haitham squeezes the base of his cock through his pajama pants, grunting quietly when you whine his name. You cover your face, trying to get the image of Al Haitham hovering over you out of your head. Al Haitham releases his dick and crawls over you, pinning you down on your bed.

“So? What are they going to do about it, hmm? I am helping you, aren’t I?” Al Haitham mutters, brushing the tip of his nose against your cheek before peppering kisses on your cheek.

Al Haitham is not wrong about that. The aphrodisiac is still in your system, and it doesn’t seem like it’s not going away any time soon. Plus, the aphrodisiac is just the same as it was when the symptoms kicked in. You don’t think you can handle the thought of Al Haitham plowing into you while the others are asleep and when Gorou and Tighnari can wake up to the littlest sounds coming from you.

You close your eyes, wrapping your arms around Al Haitham’s shoulders as he kisses down your neck, lightly nibbling and biting your neck. You shiver and dig your nails into his back as Al Haitham latches his lips into your collarbone, lightly sucking on it. 

Al Haitham murmurs against your neck, “If you want me to stop, let me know, and I’ll stop.”

You run your fingers through Al Haitham’s hair, tilting your head to the side to give him some room to suck on your neck.

You let out a shaky sigh when he sucks on your neck. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper, tugging on his hair.

Al Haitham smirks against your neck and stops sucking on your neck. Al Haitham grabs your blanket and rips it off your body, leaving you only in your oversized t-shirt. You hear a sharp intake of breath from Al Haitham when he sees that you’re not wearing anything underneath the large t-shirt.

“You naughty little thing,” Al Haitham whispers, shaking his head with a smirk.

You whine and hide your face with one hand while attempting to pull your shirt down to cover your exposed groin with the other. Al Haitham clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval. Al Haitham grabs you by your wrist and pins them over your head with one hand while lifting your shirt until your chest is exposed. 

Al Haitham spreads your legs with his knees before kneeling between your legs. Al Haitham releases your shirt and lifts your leg. Al Haitham swipes his index and middle finger up your wet entrance, making you jolt with surprise. You tremble beneath Al Haitham as he continues to coat his fingers in your slick, muttering about how wet you are for him. 

“Al Haitham, please…” You trail off, gazing at him through your lashes.

Al Haitham plunges his middle and ring finger into your entrance. You tense up and let out a choked gasp. You tried to cover your mouth to muffle your moans, but you couldn’t free yourself from Al Haitham’s iron grip. You wrap your legs around his waist as he pulls his fingers out from your entrance before slamming them back into your gummy walls, making you writhe and arch your back beneath him. 

Archons, you’re so wet that every time Al Haitham thrusts his fingers into your sopping-wet cavern, you and Al Haitham would hear squelching, and your juices would coat the inside of your thighs. Al Haitham groans, feeling how tight you are around his fingers. Your back arches every time Al Haitham’s long fingers jab a particular spot inside you, causing you to choke out a moan and clench around his fingers.

“Al Haitham…” You whimper, attempting to free yourself from his iron grip.

Al Haitham suddenly pulls his fingers out. You nearly whine at the feeling of emptiness. Al Haitham releases your wrists before grabbing your shirt collar with both hands, tearing your shirt in half. You watch Al Haitham toss your shirt to the side carelessly before taking his pajama pants, leaving him only in his black boxers. 

You can see his bulge clear as day— the tent in his boxers is bigger than it was before. Al Haitham cages you against your bed with his arms before pressing his lips against yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, pressing your bare entrance against Al Haitham’s pulsating cock. The only thing that is getting in the way of you feeling Al Haitham’s cock is his boxers.

Al Haitham breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against your shoulders, breathing heavily. Al Haitham begins grinding his clothed cock against your entrance. You panted, eyes rolling to the back of your head when his cock rubbed up against your swollen bundle of nerves. You clench around nothing, biting on your lips to muffle your gasps. Al Haitham blindly reaches down to his boxers and begins taking his underwear off and tossing them to the ground beside your bed. You sigh in relief when you feel his hot cock press against your entrance. You peek down to see Al Haitham’s cock— the bulbous tip is red with need, pre-cum beading at the tip. 

Al Haitham slowly ruts his cock against your entrance, coating the base of his cock in your essence. You reach down to grab his cock by the base, gently squeezing them. Al Haitham hisses and squeezes his eyes shut. You gently stroke his cock before rubbing the mushroom tip of his cock with your thumb, spreading his pre-cum around. 

“You’re incredibly sensitive, Al Haitham,” you murmur, giving his cock a light squeeze.

Al Haitham hisses again before burying his face into the crook of your neck, panting heavily against your neck as you continue to stroke his cock. You stoke his throbbing dick slowly, making sure to lightly squeeze the tip and rub the tip of your thumb over the mushroom tip. Al Haitham releases a guttural moan and bucks into your hands, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when you tighten your grip around his red cock. 

You continue pumping Al Haitham’s throbbing member until Al Haitham lets out a choked moan. Al Haitham grabs your wrist and forcibly removes your hand from his dick. Al Haitham gulps, pinning your hand to your side as he tries to catch his breath. 

You press your lips into a thin line. “I almost made Al Haitham cum.” You can’t help but feel proud of yourself for being able to (almost) have Al Haitham cum with just your hands.

Al Haitham looks at you and slowly stands, brushing his messy hair from his face. Al Haitham grabs you by the waist and pulls you down. You squeal and gasp when Al Haitham slaps your already aching entrance. Al Haitham grabs your engorged bundle of nerves and pinches them hard. You grit your teeth and curl your toes, legs shaking as Al Haitham rubs the nub at a fierce pace. 

You grab Al Haitham’s wrists, attempting to get him to stop before he makes you cum. “Stop, stop, stop, stop! I’m going to cum if you don’t stop!” You whine as you flail your legs around.

The tight knot forms at the bottom of your abdomen, getting incredibly tighter while Al Haitham continues to pinch, twist, and rub your swollen, aching nub. You shudder and tense up, preparing yourself for your impending orgasm. When the tight knot in your lower abdomen is about to snap and unleash the floodgates, Al Haitham releases your throbbing nub.

You look at Al Haitham, eyes wide and chest heaving with heavy breaths. “Al Haitham! Why’d you stop!?” you whine softly, grabbing his wrist and shaking his arm.

Al Haitham spreads your legs and slaps your sopping-wet entrance, making you involuntarily clench around nothing. You rest your head on your pillow and close your eyes, trying to catch your breath while Al Haitham coats the underside of his cock with your slick. You gasp softly when you feel Al Haitham’s hot cock rubs against your puffy entrance.

You’re not sure if you’re feeling extra needy because of the aphrodisiac or if it’s because Al Haitham denied you of your orgasm. Maybe it’s both. Al Haitham lifts your legs by the thighs, having your calves rest on his shoulders as he lines the tip of his cock at your entrance. Archons, this isn’t going to be the first time getting railed by your boyfriends, but for some reason, you can’t help but feel nervous about it. Sensing your anxiousness, Al Haitham kisses the back of your calves and gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze. You smile at Al Haitham and swallow your saliva. You grip Al Haitham’s thighs, gently digging your nails into his flesh. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and brace yourself. Al Haitham rubs the bulbous tip of his dick against your fluttery entrance before slowly entering your drenched hole. Your jaws drop, letting out a string of moans when Al Haitham’s mushroom tip breaches your entrance. You unintentionally clench your thighs around his waist, tensing below Al Haitham the more he sinks his cock into your gummy walls with a semi-loud moan.

You whimper when Al Haitham’s thick cock stretches you out. You squeeze your thighs around Al Haitham’s waist, causing him to stop halfway in your hot cavern. Al Haitham pants, balling his hands into fists beside your head. Al Haitham closes his eyes, relishing the feeling of your gummy walls clamping around his throbbing dick.

Al Haitham leans over you, his chest pressing against your face while he buries his face into your pillow. “Try to relax for me, baby. Please,” Al Haitham rasps, reaching down to grab your hand.

You whimper, holding Al Haitham’s hands and interlocking your fingers with his. “I-I’m trying,” you whisper, eyebrows furrowing while trying to relax and adjust to Al Haitham’s size.

Al Haitham nudges his nose against yours, his lips ghosting over yours. Al Haitham presses his lips against yours, swallowing your moans and whimpers when he sinks further into your heat. You wrap your legs around Al Haitham’s slim waist, heels digging into his ass cheeks. Al Haitham grunts into your mouth, balls deep inside your entrance. 

Al Haitham stretching your hole is painful— you could’ve sworn that if Al Haitham was any thicker than he already is, he’d stretch you out so much that your entrance would rip to shreds. You can literally feel the skin stretch to accommodate his girth. You wrap your arm around Al Haitham’s shoulders while squeezing Al Haitham’s hand with the other. 

Al Haitham gently thrusts forward to test the waters. You clench around Al Haitham’s cock, panting into his mouth. Al Haitham pulls away from the kiss and kisses your jawline while pressing his chest against yours, refusing to release your hand. Your thighs are shaking as you try your best to relax and not tense up each time Al Haitham thrusts lightly into you.

Al Haitham can feel you tremble while peppering kisses on your jaws and neck. He gently massages your inner thighs, closing his eyes while trying to adjust to the tightness of your entrance.

You unclench your legs around Al Haitham’s waist and signal him to start. Al Haitham pushes himself off you and kneels between your legs, lifting your legs up, and begins thrusting into your drenched entrance at a steady pace. You pant, eyes rolling to the back of your head every time Al Haitham thrusts in and out of your hole. The veiny base of Al Haitham’s cock rubs against the gummy walls of your warm, tight cavern, sending you to Celestia and back. 

“Fuck, Al Haitham,” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut each time Al Haitham buries his cock into you. 

Al Haitham chokes out a moan, hugging your legs to his chest while thrusting. Al Haitham lifts your legs up until your ass is hanging above the bed. Al Haitham leans forward, folding you in half until your feet are above your head. You grunt when you feel the muscles of your thighs strain under the pressure. Al Haitham kisses the back of your calves, pulling his cock out until only the tip remains.

Al Haitham plunges only the tip of his cock in and out of your entrance, making you wince and shudder at the strange feeling. If you could describe how it feels, it feels like Al Haitham is almost scooping your insides out. It’s hard for you to put your finger on it— it’s the best way you can describe it, and it feels strange. You don’t think anyone has ever fucked you with just the tip of their cock.

Al Haitham continues to plunge the tip of his dick into your entrance repeatedly. You tense up, whimper, and clamp your thighs together. Without warning, Al Haitham thrusts his cock all the way into your drooling hole. Al Haitham chokes a moan and collapses on top of you when your gummy walls clench around his member. 

Al Haitham props himself up on his forearms and begins pumping his cock in and out of your entrance. Your thigh muscles strain under Al Haitham’s weight, making you whimper and grunt at the feeling. Al Haitham hooks one leg over his shoulder while wrapping the other around his waist without stopping or slowing down. Al Haitham grabs your throat with one hand before aggressively pressing his lips against yours, quickening his pace.

You bite Al Haitham’s lips, making him growl and slam his dick into you so hard that you see stars dancing behind your vision. Al Haitham swallows your wails as you try to keep your voice down. Much to your dismay, a familiar feeling starts building up in your lower abdomen as Al Haitham continues to abuse your hole with his thick cock sooner than you thought.

You break the kiss, panting and squealing as Al Haitham drills his cock deep into you. “Al Haitham! I’m going to cum,” you whine, weakly punching his shoulders.

Al Haitham slides his hands down from your throat to your groin and slaps your puffy entrance, making sure to hit your bundle of nerves. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut, tightening your leg around Al Haitham’s waist. Al Haitham starts rubbing your engorged nub aggressively, making sure to piston his cock into your g-spot. 

Al Haitham leans down and bites your neck hard, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when your gummy walls squeeze his cock so tightly that thick ropes of hot cum spurt into you. You whimper cum around his cock, back arching, chest pressing against Al Haitham’s heaving chest, eyes rolling to the back of your head as stars spin and dance behind your eyelids. You go limp and lay beneath Al Haitham in a daze, trying to catch your breath as your groin continues to pulse.

Al Haitham pulls his cock out from your now-sullied entrance before getting off your bed. You peek at Al Haitham to see him standing at the foot of your bed. Al Haitham slicks his hair back before grabbing your ankles and pulling you toward the edge of your bed. You’re too tired to fight back. Instead, you let Al Haitham do as he pleases. Al Haitham spreads your legs, watching his and your mixed cum spill from your pulsing hole. Al Haitham flips you over on your stomach and bends you over with your ass in the air.

“Another round?” You mumble, rubbing your eyes.

Al Haitham grunts in response before slamming his cock back inside. You squeal and grip your bedsheets hard, burying your face into your mattress as Al Haitham pistons his cock into your entrance. Al Haitham spreads your cheeks, watching his and your cum coat his dick and spill onto your bedsheets. The only thing Al Haitham hears are the sounds of your moans and whimpers. Something in the corner of Al Haitham’s eyes distracts him for a moment. Al Haitham looks up to see your bedroom door cracked open and a shadow standing at the doorway. The shadowy figure watches Al Haitham pistons his cock in and out of your sulled, pulsating entrance. Al Haitham smirks at the person, grabs a handful of your hair, and pulls you back toward his chest. You groan and close your eyes, wrapping your arm around his neck while digging your nails into your thighs. Your gummy walls pulse around Al Haitham’s cock as you whimper and writhe in Al Haitham’s grasp. Al Haitham doesn’t take his eyes off the shadowy figure, making sure to give the unknown person a show.

Al Haitham hisses when you clench around his cock, taking his attention away from the unknown person at the door and down at you. You choke out a wail, cumming around Al Haitham’s cock for the second time before going limp while Al Haitham proceeds to pump and grind his cock into your entrance. 

‘I can do this all day,’ Al Haitham pants, filling your hole with cum.

Al Haitham pulls his cock out of your battered entrance, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Al Haitham glances at the door, only to see that the door is now shut. You curl up in a ball and groan when the mixture of your and Al Haitham’s cum spills out of you. 

You rub your eyes, muttering, “Now I know how creampuffs feel.”

Al Haitham snorts and lays beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you to his chest, and pulling a blanket over your body. Al Haitham kisses the side of your head and squeezes you lightly. You moan quietly when you feel cum leaking from your hole as the burning pit in your stomach remains ravenous. 

Note: I won't be posting next week because I decided that it would be a perfect time to take a break from writing and posting for this upcoming week. Not only have I been busy, but I haven't had the motivation to write/continue fanfics because of how exhausted I have been lately. But fear not, I will post the week after my break! I'm thinking about continuing Tragic Outcomes, but we'll have to wait and see about that 🤔 Anyway! Ready to vote for the next route in Burning Desire? Remember to vote for who you want to be in the next fic and read the instructions carefully— which should be simple enough, I hope. Vote for the next route [HERE]! Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

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[copperbadge]

I've been putting off asking this, because I didn't want to fuck with anyone's process, and I know it can be hard to talk about therapy or hard to do it if you've talked about it, but like...people who are in therapy and feel you're deriving benefit from it, what do you do in it? Not generic stuff like "work on my problems", specifically what do you say and do? What do they do? What is the benefit you feel you get?

The problem I'm having is that it feels like how Catholic friends have talked to me about going to confession as kids before they fully understood how it worked, making stuff up to confess because they hadn't done much to warrant confession. I keep trying to come up with things therapy could help with, stuff to bring to the meetings, and not finding much. My therapist is fine, it's not that she's unhelpful; she does the stuff a therapist is supposed to do, like validating or active listening, but I don't really need validation and I don't feel any benefit from just talking about stuff. I think my access to catharsis is very narrow if it's present at all.

I tried bringing therapy types of problems to her, interpersonal stuff, but most of those I don't really have a say in solving, and the ones that I can influence I generally have already worked on. It feels like roughly 99% of my problems could be solved with money (admittedly more money than I have or probably ever will) and the other 1% aren't...solvable. Like there isn't much a therapist can do about the AC being off for the next three weeks in my building.

But my only other experience of this is when I was a kid and didn't get a say in it, and that generally felt like an obscure form of punishment. And I know people do get something out of it! It's not me trying to take a passive aggressive swipe at therapy. I'm just perplexed as to what I'm meant to be doing to make it useful. I feel like I'm missing the point, but also like maybe I'm just not someone the point was meant for.

I'm not trying to call myself the picture of mental health or anything but like, you can't talk-therapy ADHD into submission, and the other issues aren't under my control. I tried floating the idea of improving my emotional regulation but I suspect this is as good as it gets, because there doesn't seem to be any kind of process or system for fixing that. I don't especially anticipate it or feel better or worse about things after, I just log off the call and get on with fixing dinner. It's a non event other than the copay and an hour spent on Zoom. Which I can spare, I don't mind the money or the time, it's just....why am I doing it?

So, what do you do? Because if I get answers about stuff I'm not doing then I can try that, and if I get answers about stuff I've tried, maybe this just isn't for me. Wouldn't be the first time and won't be the last that I'm not quite built for something that other people find valuable. Although admittedly usually it's a tv show or a video game and not mental health treatment.

[lolathelooptyloop]

us against the world, just me & you !!

summary: college! and early 2000s! jackieshauna thoughts. no crash! au

warnings: not proofread at all like at all, at all, very light/implied nsfw, short

a/n: okay i've spent enough time posting random shit, time to fulfill my true calling of making wlw headcanons. i just finished s3 (rip mari ibarra rest in pit 😔) and seeing jackie in her pink and green early '000s housewife fit made me wanna write something where they go to college and live happily ever after. again this is very much not proofread (i literally wrote it in like 20-30 minutes) but enjoy regardless and hopefully i'll post a real fic soon.

so obviously in this universe shauna never slept with jeff or got pregnant, but i think she still had early acceptance into brown university

this obviously caused some ...tension... between her and jackie the summer before college

shauna tried really hard to hide it at first but eventually at a joint family dinner her mom brought it up while jackie was sitting right across the table from her

jackie stayed calm but crashed out after dinner when she and shauna were in private

she wasn't even mad about the acceptance she was just mad shauna kept it from her

"why would you lie to me about that?? you do know i would've been proud of you... right?"

and then shauna starts apologizing but also lowkey bringing up stuff that jackie does that made her feel like she had to keep it a secret because

y'all know my girl loves to not communicate her feelings until it's too much

and jackie starts to realize how they've both been hurting each other and how she really, really doesn't want shauna to leave her and go to brown, which causes some big 90s-romcom-esque moment where she's like "i just don't want to lose you!!"

and in my mind this is where they have their first kiss

some tears, a lot of miscommunication remedy-ing, and one sexuality crisis on jackie's part later, they're a kind of-sort of-official couple

shauna ends up not going to brown anyway because it's so far away from home and all her people

and i feel like this girl is defs a homebody like you saw her being so reluctant to go to that party

when jackie finds out she basically jumps for joy and shauna teases her about it ENDLESSLY

them moving into a dorm together!!

shauna calls van over to paint the walls (#handylesbiansforthewin) and they end up coming out to tai and van first

who obviously are so excited (they knew before jackie and shauna knew)

i think they still would go for a pink and green theme, but jackie would ask shauna more about how she wanted to design the dorm because jackie is trying to ask her opinion more often and shauna is trying to voice her needs instead of exploding with no warning

they end up getting bunk beds, shauna on the top and jackie on the bottom

jackie loves to hang a pretty sheet from the top bunk and hangs fairy lights all over the bedframe

shauna's bed is always made and jackie's bed is always messy (it just makes sense to me that shauna would be the neater one)

usually jackie ends up dragging shauna down to her bunk so that they can cuddle, though.

shauna who takes several classes a day and majors in literature and jackie who can't decide what she wants to do so she does a double major

she also is super active in things like environmental cleanups and art clubs and other random hobbylike events

i think jackie might think about joining a sorority, but decides not to because she thinks the hazing rituals are mean

plus, she wants to keep living with shauna

shauna who is always reading some massive old book or other for her classes and jackie who will randomly get bored and pounce on her, knocking the book from her hand and tickling her

"jax, i gotta finish paradise lost by tomorrow or i'm gonna fail this class!!" "aww, but i wanna make out with you! :("

it usually ends with the book forgotten on the floor while the girls fuck each other on the bed

i definitely feel like jackie is the type to be a d1 math HATER who stopped taking it as soon as she could in high school

and it comes back to bite her in the ass when she ends up having to take more math classes in college

at least shauna is there to help her with her homework

poor jax ends up getting super stressed out when she doesn't grasp the concept and picks at her skin/bounces her leg out of anxiety

my undiagnosed autistic queen

shauna puts a reassuring hand on her knee and kisses her until she calms down

jackieshauna who go to reunion parties with the other yellowjackets!!

a few of them probably also went to rutgers (laura lee and taivan), but they still want to see the other girls from time to time

they usually drink beer and play a friendly game of soccer while they catch up

jackie and shauna would probably also go to a lot of regular college parties, mostly ones that jackie was invited to

shauna will sometimes get really uncomfortable at these parties, she never liked big crowds or loud music

one time jackie found her crying in a bathroom after jackie left her to hang out with some friends

she felt so so bad and did most definitely reassure her by making out with her right there in the random frat boy's bathtub

now they only go to parties if both of them feel up to it

shauna loves to watch jackie do her hair and makeup for the parties and when i tell you that girl FREAKS OUT when jackie puts on a cute little mini dress

literally bi panic the absolute MAX (i can't stop looking at her t-t-t-t-face)

jackie thinks it's super cute and gives her a teasing lil cheek kiss

speaking of kisses, these two become avid early 2000s rom-com watchers

they are SEATED when ten things i hate about you releases in 1999

jackie loves anything silly and lovey-dovey, but some of her favorites are pretty woman and amelie (she does try to learn french just because of the movie)

shauna enjoys them too, but she mostly just likes sitting on the couch with her arm around jackie's waist

jackie goes through a phase where she wants to straighten and dye her hair and shauna gets a nose piercing

they get matching tattoos!!!

jackie is really afraid of the needle but shauna convinces her it will be fine

they probably get something super corny like a moon and earth for "i love you to the moon and back"

jackie goes on to tell everyone that it didn't even hurt that bad (she totally cried)

they also get pets after a few years in college for sure

maybe in their junior or senior year, when they're both in their early 20s and financially stable enough to support animals

shauna gets an orange cat and jackie gets... you guessed it... a bunny

the cat was named "sherlock" by shauna after sherlock holmes (she loves mystery novels and no one can convince me otherwise)

the bunny is named "daisy princess shipman-taylor" by jackie

the two pets fight a lot at first but slowly grow to really love each other

the day the two end up cuddling up to sleep is considered a personal victory by the girls

"look babe it's us!!" -jackie

the two of them looove taking their pets out in those cheesy lil strollers to the mall and taking "family photos" together in crappy photo booths

the booths are really just an excuse to make out, but shauna still keeps all the photo strips tucked away safely in her nightstand.

well, that's all i've got for now! i hope you liked it, and if you did maybe drop a note to support a teenage author, if you please? it really does mean a lot. anyway, i'm so glad that this is the canon thing that happened in the show and no one died or got eaten, no one at all!! <333

[witchygagirlwrites]

Whose Shirt?

Gabby Dawson x Reader

You've been seeing Gabby for months. The problem? You're partners with Antonio and he has no idea.

“Gabby…love…sweetheart..Gabriela..DAMMIT DAWSON ANSWER YOUR PHONE” you growled, shaking your girlfriend. You swore she died when she slept at times and this morning was no different. She cracked one eye open at you “Who is it?” you fumbled for her phone and squinted at the too bright screen, a light laugh escaping you when you saw your partner’s name “It’s your brother..want me to answer?”

She snatched the phone from your hand with a grin. “Hello?” you halfway listened to her side of the conversation, letting your lips trail across her bare skin. You had to bite your lip to not laugh when she glared at you when you nipped at her neck. “You ok Gabby?” you heard Antonio ask over the phone and had to bury your face in her neck so he wouldn’t hear you laugh. “Yeah, just um just woke up”

Her fingers found your hair, teasing through the locks as she talked to him, from the sounds of it they were making plans to meet for breakfast over the weekend. When he finally hung up you cut your eyes up at her “I love Toni, I swear but sometimes he has shit timing”

She shook her head “Or maybe you both just have shit timing from years of being partners sweetheart” “Oh is that right baby?” you asked, letting one hand slip between her thighs, chuckling when she let her legs fall open “Looks like you like my timing just fine”

I love you you smiled at the text from Gabby and saw Antonio cut his eyes at you across the car. “What are you in such a good mood about?” you shrugged as you texted back I love you too “Maybe I just got a goodnight’s sleep”

He eyed your phone “And the goodnight’s sleep is texting you?” you laughed and slipped the phone into your jacket “Naw, my check just hit my account and I can swing that new tattoo I wanted” he shook his head with a laugh “You’re ridiculous at times I swear”

You grinned at him “And yet you wouldn’t have no one else as your partner” “Never in a million years” he agreed.

______________

You and Antonio had worked together before intelligence ever came into the picture, that was why Voight partnered you together. You knew each other like the back of your hand, could predict each other's movements. He was your best friend.

The issue was he had no idea that for the last eight months you'd been sharing his sister's bed. The first time was just a letting off steam situation, you and her both had come off bad breakups and weren't looking for anything. Then the second time happened then the third then you were together for months and you were in love with her before you realized it.

You both wanted to tell him but by this point it felt like you'd been hiding it from him and he would more than likely feel the same, especially since a daily occurrence was him teasing you about your “lack of love life”

A new game within the unit was trying to find your type. They knew you were bisexual and that meant the spectrum was broader but none of them knew the reason why they couldn't pin down your type was because it was your partner's sister.

“Earth to Y/N” Antonio whistled and you cut your eyes at him “What ya want Dawson?” He grinned “We're here” you had to talk to a suspect in a robbery, you just hoped the asshole didn't do anything stupid.

“I'm fine Antonio” you argued him but he shook his head “That asshole split your lip. If you won't go to med I'm dropping by fifty one and getting Gabby to look at it”

You tried to hide the panic in your eyes. ���I don't need Gabby to look at it. It's not the first time I've been hit. I'm a five foot something female cop in one of the most active units in the city. I can handle it”

He leveled you with a look “Please partner? For my peace of mind?” You sighed “ok” you pulled your phone out and sent her a text I'm fine Hopefully she'd get the meaning.

____________

When he parked his car outside the firehouse Kelly looked up when the two of you got out and let out a low whistle “Damn sweetheart. What happened?” “Some asshole decided to hit her. Don't worry he got a broken nose and an assault on a police officer added onto him” Antonio answered.

You smiled “My dear overprotective partner refuses to take my word that I'm fine so he wants a medic to look at me” Kelly nodded “Gabbys inside” you waved a hand at Antonio “Lead the way”

You walked in behind Antonio and saw Gabbys eyes widen the moment she spotted you “What the hell Antonio? You let people beat on your partner now?” She said it teasing but you saw the anger in her eyes as she led you to a chair.

“Not his fault. I bobbed when I should've weaved” you joked and she glared at you. Luckily Chief Boden walked in and called Antonio over so the two of you were left alone while she looked over your face “I'm fine. That's all you say then walk in bleeding?”

You shrugged, cutting your eyes at Antonio “Not like he gave me a choice but to get checked out. Baby I'm ok. It was a weak punch” she shook her head with a small laugh “I swear you and him being partners is going to give me high blood pressure from worrying”

“How's she looking?” Antonio asked, walking back over. Gabby winked at you “I did all I could. I think we're gonna lose her” you shook your head “You damn Dawsons better be glad you're pretty and good at your jobs because your sense of humor sucks”

She raised an eyebrow and you knew you'd catch hell later for saying Antonio was pretty so you grinned to let her know you welcomed it. “See you around” she told you then looked at Antonio “Watch your partners back better”

“Gabby! The alarm didn't go off” you shook her arm and she cursed, slapping the clock off the side table “We need to buy a new one”

She threw the blanket off and the two of you started to run around the room, trying to get dressed and gather everything you both needed for the day.

You stopped at the door and pulled her into a kiss “I love you. I'll see you tonight” she smiled “I love you too”

You headed towards your car to make your way to the district and she headed towards her to head to the firehouse.

____________________

Antonio cut his eyes up at the clock again. He was beginning to worry. You were never late.

“Where's she at?” Erin asked and he shrugged “I don't know” about that time the gate at the bottom of the stairs popped and he heard your boots coming up along with your voice “I am so sorry. My freaking alarm clock died, I have had no coffee…”

He watched you make it to the top of the stairs, taking your jacket off as you went. The shirt you wore looked strikingly familiar. In fact he was fairly certain…”is that my sister's shirt?”

You froze in your tracks and looked down at your shirt. You hadn't grabbed one of yours, you grabbed out of Gabbys. “Um”

Jay busted out laughing “Holy crap…Antonio your partner is sleeping with your sister” you shot him a glare then looked back at Antonio “um I can explain”

He grabbed your elbow “Lets talk” and pulled you towards the break room.

You walked in first and turned to face him. He ran a hand down his face “How long?” “Consistently?” You asked and he groaned “I guess”

“Eight months?” “EIGHT MONTHS?” you flinched for the simple fact you didn't argue with him, ever. “Antonio before you freak out, just know that I love her, she loves me. We're happy. We wanted to tell you we just never found a good time then it turned into a month then six months then well..”

He took a deep breath “Well I guess I know now why we couldn't guess your type. I'm ok with it, I love you both just you didn't have to hide it and you're coming with us to anything we plan from here on out ok?” You grinned “Ok”

He shook his head “My partner and my sister. Good lord”