#some people think better in color and space than topics or genres or the fucking english alphabet. MANY people even.

[essektheylyss]

Debating if I should go harder on the classification snob shaming. I think I will let my rant sit in drafts overnight. Make better decisions in the morning lmao.

#know that if you have an LIS degree and you're snobbish about color organization i have it out for you personally #like oh I'm sorry. i thought we were all sporting anti-dewey pins and stickers now. or was that just for the vibes. #some people think better in color and space than topics or genres or the fucking english alphabet. MANY people even. #wonder why that might be! can't imagine. gee. lets all think about it real hard. #also my genre system is so fucking imperfect i sometimes think my spouse would have no difference in use if i switched to color #I am increasingly a genre anarchist frankly. i am getting FED UP #yes i am having a lot of fun in KO in particular and i am making it everyone's problem.

[utilitycaster]

Re: CW tags, I’m not sure if you’re in their Discord, but there’s a lot of people praising their CWs and I can’t help but feel that the mods and folks are hearing too much from a more…. Innocent? Younger? Naive to the point of a vice? voices — literally folks posting in the Dirty Laundry channel about how uncomfortable drinking/drunk people make them.

I'm in the Discord but literally only use it for alerts. I've heard though that the Neverafter/d20 channels had people saying "hey, these warnings are weird and not terribly useful."

I think this ask will be all I have left to say about content warnings - I get that this is a tough topic but also I know for a fact I'm really not the right person to facilitate a good discussion about this. But yeah, I do think that there is a shift among a subset younger people from "hey, it would be good if we flagged certain commonly upsetting topics so that people could make informed choices on whether to engage" to "This makes me uncomfortable and it's important everyone around me know that and I expect others to accomodate me at all times without having to take responsibility." On some level it's like...look, I do like casual drinking, but I respect if you don't and there are plenty of reasons not to want to engage with media where people are drinking, but also, like...I used to live in an apartment building that had a bar next door. The fastest way to my old apartment from my train stop was past a brewpub that during the pandemic put in extensive outdoor seating. The goal of content warnings should be to let people know if they need to avoid a work or at least come into it prepared, but any reasonable therapy for PTSD includes how to cope with common things that most people wouldn't consider triggering (like casual drinking) if you encounter it in the world, because you will.

I'm also though on the cynical side here, which is tough because it makes me sound like some kind of conservative and I am most assuredly not that, but like...about a year and a half ago I posted about how I find a lot of safety tools in TTRPGs are really limited and I would personally rather just...talk with my players, and make it clear that you can just say "stop", and I got some unhinged responses from people who could not fucking comprehend that this worked better for me than some elaborate colored card system, and were either very self-absorbed, or deeply unpleasant and insulting about it. I think a lot of the loudest voices when it comes to things like content warnings and ensuring people are unfortunately some of the least empathetic or thoughtful voices, even though there are many empathetic and thoughtful people around.

I guess I'll leave on this note, which is that I was in a club in college and we often said it was a safe space, and finally, one of my closest friends, who had joined a year later having first come with her then-partner, who broke up with her shortly after but remained a member as well, fucking snapped and said something to the effect of "I like it here, but my ex is always here too, so this is, inherently, not a space where I always feel comfortable and it's obnoxious and alienating to insist it is or that it should be." And it was really eye-opening, and it's something I've always kept in mind. If you try to guarantee a safe space you are doomed to fail and your efforts might make it worse. If you try to make a space where you are open about what can be expected, what shouldn't be expected, and hold room for dialogue, respectful dissent, and permit people to leave, that is far kinder and more effective. Which in the context of content warnings does mean calling out common triggers, perhaps offering, if you can, open, separate places for people to ask specific questions that pertain to them, but also assuming a certain degree of genre awareness.

#answered #Anonymous #ngl though i do get that some people are uncomfortable with drinking but like...I have beer out on my counter rn #like you cannot avoid alcohol as a concept in most modern western societies #you can certainly ask it not be brought to your own spaces! you can seek out non-alcoholic spaces! #but like. drinking responsibly is very fun for many people

[missyasf]

Game Of Hearts

| 1 |

↳ Summary: Your life is in monotonous tones of grey, day in, day out. Nothing matters besides your sister, the only thing you remember is seeing fireworks before waking up to Tokyo abandoned . Soon enough you are properly introduced to the deadly Borderlands where you must fight for your life in Games to survive. When things can’t possibly get worse soon division arises and rivalries are made. No matter what though, you are constantly plagued by a blonde who, no matter how hard you try, just can’t seem to go too far without.

↳ Pairing: Chishiya/Reader

↳ Genre: Angst, smut, thriller

Word Count: 11k

___| Next

Trigger Warning: ⚠️ much like the manga/Netflix adaptation this will be a dark fic which includes mentions of prostitution, attempted murder, child ab*se, sexual harassment, heavy grief and attempted suic*de among other things. Additional warnings will be added for chapters when triggers are brought up. Please read with caution if these are triggers for you or just skip all together! 

Side mention: This could be considered a prequel to the current Alice In Borderland. I’m writing based off the Manga bc I was a glutton and couldn’t wait no spoilers will be present as of...

Escapism

noun

the tendency to seek distraction and relief from unpleasant realities, especially by seeking entertainment or engaging in fantasy ♡ 

You had known all about this during your short lifespan, as a child you’d often play pretend with your sister that you were movie stars living in a five star hotel rather than the shitty busted up apartment on the wrong side of town. Escapism came in, many forms. It was often a way for people to cope psychologically, simply because sometimes, facing the reality of your situation can be too much for one person to handle mentally. 

Or at least, that was the topic of your lecture today in class. The human mind always fascinated you. Even at the young tender age when your mom died and you watched your once cozy little family fall apart piece by piece until nothing was left in its wake. 

It was your fascination that drove you now for most things, why? Why, why, why? You always wondered what the motive was behind someone’s actions, not only thing but you wanted to  understand them better, to try and sympathize. You were already fairly intuitive in nature. It wasn’t difficult to read people. In fact your line of work made it easy, you’d watch a man who would be excited to be with you reach for his left finger as if used to touching something. A wedding band perhaps? 

The lowlife cheater was fairly common in a whore house after all. Or the man who had been pissy this morning behind you in line because you had decided to try something new on the menu and you weren’t fast enough, obviously because he was tardy and woke up late, his shirt unbeknownst to him was button the wrong way and his tie loose and even the way his hair fell were all signs of being late to work. 

It was the little things you noticed in people’s facial expressions, the way they moved and spoke. You could read people like a book, and sure sometimes it was useful. But you often wished you weren’t so perceptive. It drove you mad knowing when a potential love interest was no longer interested through a simple text or a friend not wanting to talk by their tone. Sometimes you wished you could just blot it all out, still, you lived like this day in and day out, you were used to this kind of thing and honestly. Friends? Love? Your gaze dropped a little to your feet, the pumps you were wearing a jet black and the heel too high for any respectable woman to ever wear. 

...It wasn’t like you ever had any of those in your life and you had struggled to come to terms with the fact that you could survive without that kind of support. Still...it made you envious, the couple happily holding hands on the sidewalk. The group of friends all laughing at a table while they studied. Oftentimes these feelings are muted, but when you’re faced with something you’ve always craved, those muted feelings suddenly become hyperactive in your mind. 

It’s pathetic, honestly. 

“How dare you! You disgusting slut!” 

In this moment however, you were brought back to reality at just what was happening, you squeaked loudly as you dodged the shoe the woman had thrown at you. This was all a regular occurrence, you had a lot of regulars who weren’t the most amazing people but hey, money was money. But along with them they also left a trail which their wives and girlfriends always followed. And then they always blamed you instead of their partner for leaving them for a prostitute despite you never having agreed to anything such as that.

It really wasn’t your fault, you were just trying to make a living while juggling with keeping up your own education, paying your fathers debts, rent and still somehow getting food on the table. What part time college job could provide that?

Prostitution wasn’t a job you would’ve gone into willingly but given the past and your trauma that was already laced in it you had been learning that sometimes because of the trauma we experience, sometimes people go back to that same trauma and actively participate in it as a way of feeling like they’re in control. 

That whatever happened before, would never happen again if you were in control. You weren’t sure if you qualified under this category, trauma came in many forms but the one most used as an example in your class was that a study showed that women who were assaulted often develop a kink for consensual non consent as a way of coping with what happened, except this time, it’s in a controlled environment where it can end the moment they want it too. 

Again, you weren’t sure you fell into this category, but you often wondered if your line of work was intertwined with your earlier memories when you were younger, if anything it brought comfort to you. Much of it, blotted out now simply because your mind couldn’t take it. Trauma expressed through amnesia was also much more common than many thought, and it’s so small, so easy to miss. After all how can you be aware of something if you have no memory of it anymore?

“Security!” Your manager screeched, two of the bodyguards were already between you and the feral woman who was ready to gut you clean as she screamed hysterically, her husband...your regular....at her side trying to get her to calm down only for her to come to her senses and slap him clean across the face. You didn’t condone violence, but he did have it coming...

You weren’t about to justify cheaters, you couldn’t imagine the hurt someone had to feel that not only did their partner cheat on them, but it was with someone...like you...You had been trying not to put down your job occupation, sex workers were just as valid as anyone else...you knew you would’ve thought this way if it was anyone but you in this position. 

You sighed as you ran your hands through your hair, watching the couple get dragged out of the tight space of the brothel, “Jesus christ....didn’t you say you stopped using perfume because of this?” Miki, your manager sighed as she crossed her arms. You didn’t want to say your manager was your friend but she was the closest you had as you’d often complain to her about most of your problems. Sex work often attracted broken people, it wasn’t something she wasn’t used to. 

“Yeah, but apparently he never got around to washing his clothes…” You wiped your mouth on the back of your hand, “Lipstick stain,” You glanced down at the ruby pink color that stained your skin now, “Fuck...that did hurt.” You rubbed your sore cheek that was still throbbing from where she had first slapped it when she ripped the door open of the room where she got to see with her own eyes you riding her husband. 

It had happened so many times now you weren’t even embarrassed about someone walking in let alone a partner. Miki gave you a lopsided smile as she patted your shoulder, “Guess that just pays for being one of the best here. Did you at least get paid.” 

You nodded, “Yeah, I always make them pay in advanced but I was hoping to get a tip afterwards...He was a lawyer so you know he had good money.” You sighed, crossing your arms, you were well aware of his partner because a lot of the time he didn’t even come in for sex anymore. It was funny how humans work. 

He often felt his wife was overbearing and you had suspected some sort of verbal abuse by the way he talked about her constant screaming. Truthfully, you don’t think he ever intended on cheating with her. He just wanted someone to talk to without being judged, you could relate with sympathy to that, but he unfortunately chose to walk into a brothel instead of a therapy clinic and this truly was the only inevitable outcome. Still, you hope if for anyone’s sake, he gets that divorce for himself. 

 “Hey I think I’m gonna call it a day. I need to get back to Nanami, she was wanting to talk to me about college applications.” You sighed as you rubbed your neck, ever since she had graduated high school she had been chomping at the bit to start applying for college, maybe to just get out of the house and into a dorm. You couldn’t blame her and if she did that it would lighten your load a little. 

Guilt washed over you at the thought as Miki chuckled, “They grow up pretty fast huh? My brother was the same way, except the moment he found out I was a sex worker was the moment he called me a whore and we haven’t talked since. That was probably about five years ago,” She crossed her arms as she sighed, “Crazy how the things we do for the ones we love, never appreciate our effort...I’ll see you tomorrow then?” 

“If I’m not bruising.” You offered a weak smile as you nodded at her before going back to your room to get changed. Truthfully, you much like anyone else, often wished you could go to a world where reality wasn’t a concept any longer. Where you could lay out in the sun for the whole day and just soak up it’s rays with no worries or trepidations. 

But sooner then later everyone had to face their fears. Even you, you supposed. But no matter how hard you fought your demons, they always came back tenfold. Again, you supposed your story was no different from tens of thousands, and yet you all live on regardless. Maybe it’s you who should be the one seeking therapy. Pulling on your jeans and the cropped top over your head before pulling the jacket over your arms and grabbing your bag. 

The walk home was as quiet as ever, your hood over your head and earbuds any unwanted attention, it wasn’t too late at night, only eleven PM and your work had just been getting started but that had ruined the night for you and besides, you had already failed a test today, you could use the sleep tonight. 

Occasionally you’d hear the sirens of  a cop car passing by or a bystander shout, nothing out of the ordinary in this neighborhood. Walking up to the apartment complex you pulled the key from your bag as you unlocked the door. Quietly stepping insides as you shut the door before locking it once more. Your nose wrinkled at the smell of stale air mixed with rotten...something…

If anything, you were always lacking in something, you had been so busy most of the day that you never had time to clean anything leaving the house in a horrible state. Not that you thought this was much of a house. 

Walking down the narrow hallway you opened the rickety door with a missing lock as you gave a brief smile to the small clump of bedsheets. Your sister was curled up and on her phone, eyes darting to the door with a hint of fear before she jumped up, “Y/n! You’re home earlier from night shift already!?” 

You offered a smile as you set down your bag and nodded, sitting down on the mattress that laid on the floor as you replied, “Yeah, a coworker needed the extra hours so I let them cover for me tonight. Besides, you wanted to talk about college applications?” Your sister was under the impression your late night job was bartending at some hole in the wall downtown, where in all actuality you just went there to drink a few days and talk to the loud and sometimes obnoxious, but good hearted bartender who loved talking about his nerdy underaged friends that couldn’t do anything beside stay and drink soda. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t think your sister would accept you, if she knew what you were actually doing. Fear, most times came in many different forms and this was one of them. You simply didn’t want to be judged, even by her. So nobody in your life truly knew who you were, and therefore, how could you hold the expectation for people to accept you into society if you were already self sabotaging yourself? 

All philosophy aside, you were simply a lost soul, looking for your way in the cruel reality called life. 

“Yes!” Nanami was chipper as always as she squealed, clapping her hands, “I…! I was thinking about applying to the university you attend! Maybe I'll get a grant and move into the dorms there? I already applied for several jobs, I’m just waiting on a callback!” 

You offered a small smile as you hugged your knees to your chest, “I think you’d like it there, there’s lots to do around campus. But what will you go in for? The only advice I can offer is be sure it’s what you want to do.” 

Nanami’s face faltered a little as she hummed, “Well...I thought maybe working with animals? I’d love to be an assistant surgeon in veterinarian? I know it’s a pretty...sad job but...I really like the idea of being able to heal such innocent things.” Your smile tugged into a gentle one at your sister. She was too tender for this world.

It had been your goal sense the day your mother died that you took care of your sister, it didn’t matter what happened to you. You could rot for all you cared at the end of the day, all you wanted was to look up and see your sister's smile and her happiness in life blossom. She more than anyone deserved it. 

“I think you’ll be great at it.” You encouraged as you rested your chin on your hand, always happy to see her bounce in excitement as you yawned, your body was used to your demanding schedule but it was always more than happy to welcome a few extra hours of sleep.”

Hearing the door loudly slam close caused you both to jump, Nanami hurriedly crawled back in bed, pretending to be asleep as you frowned. Your dad must’ve come back home from wherever he was. 

“Y/n! Just stay here! Can’t you talk to him later?” Nanami looked scared, she always did when he was around. But you weren’t about to stand down to the bastard any day of the week, you offered a weak smile as you replied. 

“It’s fine Nami, I’ll be just a few minutes.” You replied, you knew that she knew, that was probably a lie. But you’d try your best, for her sake at least. But somebody had to put this guy in his place occasionally and it was always you. It results in a lot of screaming sometimes, other times he’d break down in tears or on a bad occasion you’d get shoved to the ground, a few times hit. Nothing major. 

Walking out of the room you leaned against the wall of the entrance of the hallway watching your father stumble around in the living room, “Did you finally talk to the loan company?” You called out as you asked, not in a forgiving mood tonight. He had said he’d do this for two weeks in a row. The company that sank your whole family into the ground. The reason your mother couldn’t take it anymore and put a blade to her wrist. 

Your father stood up, looking a little wobbly, obviously drunk, “Now listen here little girl I don’t have shit to own to you or anyone else.” You sighed as you tucked your tongue into your cheek, annoyance flowing inside you as you straightened up. You weren’t going to be bullied into being scared of this guy. 

“Actually you do,” Your smile twisted into something more sharp, more bitter and sinister as you walked forward, “See, if you hadn’t of gotten involved in something shady like loan sharks we wouldn’t be drowning in debt and mom wouldn’t have killed herself because of you and both your daughters wouldn’t hate you. I know you drink away all our money in some pathetic attempt to escape from the cold reality that you fucked up your whole life and watched your family slip from your fingers while not even trying to do anything other then put us in further shit,” You closed your eyes as you tilted your head, “But the least you could do, is admit that. You owe us at least that for being a total fuck up.” 

You opened your eyes to find pure rage brewing in your fathers eyes as you smiled once more, this time a false sense of sickly sweet tone to it as you shrugged, “Or you could live in denial, at this point, there really isn’t anything you can do to get anyone back ♡ ” 

You had turned around, planning to tell Nanami that maybe she should go sleep over at a friends house today but you never got the chance, suddenly being slammed into the wall and flecks of spit hitting your face, “I am your fucking father! I deserve respect from you and your worthless sister! Do you know how much I provide for you both?” 

Anger splintered through your veins as you grabbed onto his wrists, his fingers digging into your neck as you squirmed, “Like fucking what!? A shitty broken down apartment that your vacant from because you’re too fucking ashamed of yourself to even look at us sober!?” 

Much like years in the past you weren’t surprised to hear Nanami cry as she rushed out of the room at the sound of you both screaming, “Stop!” She cried out, trying to break you both up, “Stop! Don’t fight! Why…! Why can’t we all just get along!” She sobbed only for your dad to shove her down making her curl up in defeat. 

Alarm bells were triggered in your head at the sight of Nanami on the ground, she had never actually gotten hurt while in your sight and it was triggering something deep inside you as you watched him stalk up to her. Your hands shaking and rage boiling in your mind as you grabbed the closet thing you could find. An empty beer bottle on the table. 

Your vision blurred and you don’t quite remember what happened other than glass shattering over his head and the brute force of you shoving something before blood was stained on your hands. 

How did you end up sitting against the wall? Why was there….blood on your hands…? Your fingers trembled at the metallic sticky substance. All you could hear were Nanami’s sobs and cries as she frantically pushed herself away from the body slumped on the ground. 

“You…! He…!” Nanami’s eyes brimmed with tears as you heard a loud boom making you jump, your eyes darting to the open window where….fireworks, big and bold crashed and crackled before you felt like you were sucked into a vortex making your whole vision black out. 

Your head felt fuzzy and there was ringing in your ears as you groaned, curling up into yourself as the darkness beckoned you closer before you forcibly opened your eyes. You were laying against the hardwood floor. Beams of light streaked through the window and you could see dust particles in the air against the shower of sunshine that streamed in. 

...Wait...Light? The thought had perplexed your head enough to make you push up from the ground, memories pulling into your mind as your breath became shallow, suddenly looking to the side where...you slumped against the wall. It must’ve just been a bad dream….your eyes flickered to Nanami’s curled up figure...a really vivid dream…? Something wrenched in your gut as you rubbed your eyes. What happened? “Nami…!” You whispered, forcing your muscles to move despite their protest as she whined. 

After another moment she reluctantly opened her eyes, flickering around before she suddenly scrambled up, taking a deep breath as if realizing what had happened before, looking towards where your dad once was she frowned, “...I...What…” She seemed just as perplexed as you and if her face was anything to go by, last night had obviously happened, “Is dad…” She looked at the absent place of the floor. 

Leaning against the wall your eyes darted around the room, “I guess so…” You silently felt relief at knowing your dad was still very much alive as you leaned back as you closed your eyes, trying to remember what had happened before everything went dark...oh..! The fireworks...had it been a celebration last night? Your brows pinched together, something felt...off...getting up you opened the door to the apartment walking out. 

“Y/n? Y/n! Hey! Where are you going!” Nanami called out, quickly chasing after you as you frowned, cars were parked odd and there was no one out on the street...as in...at all...Something was very wrong and you couldn’t figure out what. 

“Wow...it..must be a slow day…” Nanami felt a sense of discomfort at the lack of life as you both walked down the side walk, it didn’t just feel like a slow day it felt, apocalyptic. As if humanity just left on it’s own leaving nothing but an empty city behind. Cars were parked on the curb and a few even left in the street.

“No, it’s like everyone vanished...This is really weird.” You wrapped your arms around yourself as you frowned, looking around as you came closer to where typically it would be a booming part of the downtown but it was empty, just as everything before. 

“Well, maybe it’s a national holiday?” Nanami rubbed her head, trying to make sense of the situation just as much as you, surely everyone wasn’t...gone...right? She looked around as she bit her lip, second guessing herself at all the cars that were vacant, “Hey Y/n.” 

You paused as you looked at your sister, curving an eyebrow as she offered a weak smile, “What if everyone got raptured away like they talk about in christanity?” Your expression flattened as she giggled, obviously getting a rise out of you as you crossed your arms. 

Raptured? Where? To heaven? “Wouldn’t it be fire and brimstone then if that was the case?” Nanami pouted at your words as you shrugged, snickering yourself at her expression, the tables now turned as you sighed, “I don’t think there’s anyone left in Tokyo...I mean, it feels like...we’d have seen someone by now...right?” 

“Well…” Nanami frowned once more, a little disturbed at your words as she spoke, “There’s no way everyone could be gone I mean, where would they go? And how could we miss something like that...Maybe the police found us and now we’re under some weird simulation.” 

Chills spilled down your spine as you shoved her making her whine, “Don’t say that! That makes me feel all weird…! I didn’t…!” You cut yourself off, you didn’t what? Murder your own dad in cold blood...you looked down at your hands, they were free of any blood but it still felt like something like sin lingered. Like no matter where you went, it would always be stuck to you.

You didn’t like this, not one bit. Briefly you felt the urge to go hunt down your dad, he was a deadbeat but you would never...you’d never kill him....Right?

“Well…” Nanami hummed her eyes scanning ahead before they jumped to the mall that was up ahead, “Hey…! If nobody is here...maybe we could make use of it! Come on! Let's go!” You yelped at her grabbing your arm before dragging you ahead. Cars were all parked and yet not a single person exited through the mall's entrance. Something just felt off! You wrapped your arms around yourself as you warily looked around the empty mall, “Nanami I really don’t like this!” You looked around, concern bubbling inside you as she ran ahead into the store, digging through the section of clothes as she giggled. 

“Relax! I doubt any of this is real and even so…! Who’s going to stop us!?” She shrugged as she bounced in excitement, “Oh my god! I had dreamed of something like this happening! Now we can do whatever we want! Go wherever we want! Y/n!” She gasped with a smile, “Now we don’t even have to worry about money!” 

“We don’t even know if this is permanent.” You looked around warily, not partaking as she began plucking off the racks, “Regardless of what this is, I don’t like it. I want to go back home, our home. This just doesn’t…” You shook your head, “This just doesn’t feel right.” 

“Well you can feel that way!” Nanami clacked her tongue as she gave a childish smile, “But I’m gonna go through this whole store and get a new wardrobe so feel free to sit on the bench and tell me what you think looks good!” 

Looking away you sighed, unable to pinch the anxious feeling you had away as you sat down reluctantly as Nanami went into the changing room. Well...at least she was smiling and she was happy...With each outfit Nanami tried out and giggled, you giggled with her and maybe things weren’t so bad after all…

“What a perfect day.” Nanami hugged you close as she sighed, yawning as you looked up at the sky in awe, you had seen a single star while living in Tokyo before, but now it was filled with constellations and millions of stars that stretched for miles. You could stare at it for days and days. The sun had just set a little over half an hour ago and you were ready to retire and find something to eat at the apartment. 

You and Nanami had tried going to the food court but much to your dismay everything had been...rotten...soiled and ruined, meaning there was no point in trying to find anything there and you were getting really hungry despite devouring bags of chips you had both got at the convenient store, another thing that stood out to you was that there was no electricity...at all..

Looking back up to the sidewalk something caught your eyes...was that…! Light!? “Hey! Nanami look!” You shook her making her squeak as she looked up ahead, “It’s the hospital! They have electricity there which means there’s other people! Of course! Why didn’t we think to check essential areas!? Come on! Lets go! I wanna figure out what happened.” 

“Alright! It sucks that this is already over but at least I can finally charge my phone, the battery is pretty low.” Nanami nodded in agreement as you both made your way up the road. 

The walk wasn’t too far and you felt excitement fill you at the sight of the hospital all lit up as you walked into the entrance, a frown slowly setting on your lips once more as you walked past the receptionist desk and…! Oh there’s other people! 

You felt relief wash over your as you ran up, there were at least seven other other people here at least! “Hey! Guys oh my god. I thought everyone was gone! What’s going on?” You asked, smiling bright in relief that you and Nanami weren’t the only ones left behind. Was this some kind of evac point or…?

Silence ensued and you slowly began to frown as you felt everyone stare at you as if you were insane, “Um…” You wrapped a hand around your arm, suddenly feeling as if everyone knew something you didn’t, “What’s going on…?” You furrowed your brows as you tilted your head, unsure of why everyone was looking at you like this. 

Somebody looked like they were going to talk to you, a guy relatively around your age but a woman stopped him- his girlfriend maybe? “Stop, the less that know the better chance we have.” She said quietly though you still heard just enough. Fear twisted inside you as you took a cautious step back...The...the less you knew? 

“Wow, you guys are assholes,” A girl suddenly whistled out, she was sitting in a waiting chair, a cowboy hat on her head paired with distressed jeans and...a bikini top? Strange but you’d roll with it if it meant getting answers. She stood up as she offered a smile, “Akari, nice to meet ya’. You folk must be new to the Borderlands huh?” She jutted her bottom lip a little as you frowned. 

“Um I’m Y/n and this is my sister Nanami...?” You introduced yourself despite feeling confused as you raised a brow, “Borderlands…?” You echoed, what was that supposed to be? Other than Tokyo?

Akari gave a nod as she let out a brief chuckle, as if amused by your confusion but you sensed she had no real ill will unlike....your eyes checked to the couple that stood off in the corner on their own, “That’s what they call it here,” She nodded in affirmation as your eyes darted back to her in confusion, “To be frank with ya’, I don’t have a damn clue what's going on. Nobody does. But ever since you crossed the threshold there’s no going back, so I’ll be brief. We’re all considered outsiders here and we participate in games at venues such as this to extend our stay.”

Nanami and you looked at one another confused as Akari waved you over to the table in front of a TV, “Here, you’ll wanna put these on, it’s for the game.” She explained as you carefully picked up the metal bracelet, something about it felt ominous as you reluctantly put it on, jumping at the way it latched together and there was no getting it off now, “Word of advice, just don’t panic and you probably won’t die.” 

“What?!” You screeched as Akari smacked your back, panic evident in your voice as you turned around to face her making her laugh again, this girl was insane! She had to be! “You’re…! You’re joking!” 

Akari wrinkled her nose as she tilted her head, “Ah shit, I wish I was- Oh…! There’s the last player!” Just on que everyone turned to look at who had arrived, someone heaving breaths with their hands on their knees as if they had sprinted. You were mildly worried at why he seemed so scared but you had a feeling that was the least of your problems right now.

“Y/n what’s going on…?” Nanami frightened grabbed your arm as she hid a little behind you due to all these immensing strangers that looked like they were ready to feed you to the sharks, literally. 

The guy walked past you both as he put on his bracelet, your eyes sharp as you watched it latch together automatically, your gaze jumping to everyone's wrists to notice you were all now wearing one. The TV suddenly lit up. 

Game 

You squinted your eyes a little at the sight of the screen, just what were you about to unwillingly participate in…?

Difficulty: 5♣

“The game you will be participating in is, Monster under the bed.”

A playing card? Monster under the bed? Your brows furrowed as you looked at Nanami who shrugged a little despite her concerned expression, looking just as confused as you. You could’ve made a joke out of this, surely it would’ve been easier. Maybe everyone would bust out laughing and you’d be at the end of a poor joke but...somehow you felt that wasn’t the case. Thus paying very close attention to whatever was on this screen, 

“Everyone will be sectioned off into pairs by the number chosen on your bracelet, when the doors to the ward open you will have three rounds ten minutes each to figure out who is the monster under the bed that must be returned to its own, once the ten minutes is up you must hide before you are found. If the selected pair that is the monster is chosen correctly it’s a Game Clear.  If the monster is not found by the end of the third round or if the pair fails to hide it’s a Game Over.” 

Rules: 

Once the doors are open you and your partner must find a hiding spot by the time limit

Both partners must be hidden. If one is exposed to the monster it’s a Game Over for both partners

There will be an X marked on the ground to place the monster of your guess onto. 

You will have three rounds of ten minutes each to find the monster.

Any attempt to remove bracelets results in a Game Over

If the monster is not found by the third round a Game Over.

The only Game Clear condition required is for the monster to be returned by the third round.

What…

What!? 

“Now the game will commence, you have five minutes to figure out who you have been paired up with before the doors open.”

Your mind was blanking as you watched everyone look down at their bracelet, hurriedly you lifted your arm as your mind blanked 2 looking back at Nanami her lips were already quivering as she sniffled lifting her arm in defeat as your lips dropped open, 5.

“Hey! Guess you’re my partner!” Akari grinned as she wrapped an arm around Nanami who sniffled, “Oh…” She looked between you both, “Oh! Oh don’t worry! We’re not the monster so I’ll make sure your sister lives! You should go find your partner.” 

Your hands trembled unsure of what to do before you went to hug Nanami, “Whatever happens just stay calm okay! I need to go find my partner now!” You whispered, kissing her cheek as she sniffled while nodding. 

Everybody was shuffling around looking for their partner now, you passed by a few people, 4, 1, 3...did you even have a partner…? You scanned around, your throat tightening a little in panic, there had to be a mistake! There were only 8 people surrounding you- you yelped at the tight grip that suddenly held your arm forcing you to turn around to be met with a white hooded figure, a lollipop handle hanging and earbuds in before sighing, “So it appears I’m stuck with someone useless.” The man concluded as he stood up making you back away a little as your lips parted somewhat indignantly. 

How...how rude! You looked up, unable to fully make out his face but you could tell you didn’t like him one bit, “I’ll…! First of all I’m not useless! I’m just trying to understand what's going on! This is insane! We aren’t actually going to die from this, are we!?” Pushing his hood down you were immediately met with a snide gaze and cat eyes that leered at you like you were nothing more then dirt beneath his feet, long blonde hair pushed behind his shoulders and his bangs hanging low, suddenly a viscous side smile appeared on his lips, “Apparently so, otherwise I wouldn’t have watched half my last game get their brains blown out and the other half hung.” 

You reeled a little away from the blonde, your face dropped in semi horror, unsure if this was just a sick joke or he was serious. You searched his face a thousand times over, but for the first time in your life, you couldn’t figure out what his goal was. You couldn’t figure out anything about him, except he was exceptionally cold, “Well I don’t suppose I have much choice to doubt you,” He said with an annoying sing song tone as he rattled his wrist that showed the bracelet with a matching 2 on it, “My name is Chishiya, just stay out of my way and we’ll both live.” 

How arrogant! You scoffed as he walked past you, not the least bit bothered at your offense as you whipped around, glaring at his back. How come out of everyone you got stuck with the most…! Pompous! Arrogant! Ugh! You crossed your arms as you followed behind him, stilling secretly sending daggers into his back with your eyes as everyone shuffled into the ward. 

Hospital beds were scattered around the room, a few closets and one large vent at the bottom right corner of the room ahead. 

“Wait, what is this?” The first person to speak was a fair thin older gentleman, he appeared friendly as he observed the room around him, everyone looked around in confusion as you noticed what he meant. 

Any possible hiding spot was covered by either sheets of metal or locked tight...How were any of you supposed to hide if…!? The rules mentioned nothing about solving puzzles to gain access to a hiding spot!

“Forget that,” Another man said with a sneer he was broad and a bit older, well into his late twenties at least, perhaps a gym coach? Or maybe a wrestler of some sort? He looked like he could break you and nearly every other person in this room like a twig, “We need to figure out who’s the monster. “ He cracked his knuckles as you leered a little away and nobody spoke for a second. 

Of course, who would out themselves as the monster, more importantly, how does one even know they’re the monster? You could immediately feel tension rise as the previous, more patient man spoke, a little more collected, “How about we just check one another's’ watches! If anywhere it would show us on that! One pair should work on solving these puzzles here so everyone has a place to hide” 

“Unless the monster is among us and it sabotages us so we all die by the time limit.” The girlfriend crossed her arms as she darted her eyes around. Truthfully you didn’t know what to believe, the wording on the soundbox was rather confusing as to just what were you looking for. Was the monster supposed to be in the group or it’s own entity?

“If that were the case it would’ve showed up on our watches, which it didn’t. So that won’t work.” Chishiya spoke matter of fact, his tone cool as his eyes gazed across the room before he walked away from the group inspecting various hiding spots granted you didn’t think he was about to help anyone but himself, if anything you were at least lucky that him securing a hiding spot meant it was one for you as well. 

You looked at everyone in confusion, some arguing while others scattered to look for a hiding spot as the clock ticked down. You breathed in relief at the sight of Nanami and Akari both going for a bed to hide under. Your gaze finally found Chishiya’s form before following him, unsure of what you were supposed to do, if anything outside trying to figure out just what the monster even was. 

You glanced up at the digital clock that stood above the entrance you had just come in from, it was already a minute in before you searched the floor where you found a red X in the center of the room, that must’ve been the...what? Offering spot? You cringed a little at the idea. Looking forward you peered behind Chishiya’s shoulder deciding to not think about that, it seemed the metal sheet that had wrapped around the bed and was sealed to the ground was locked by some sort of metal device…? Contraption? Lock?

“Isn’t hiding under a bed a bit obvious…?” You frowned as you crossed your arms, unsure as you looked behind your shoulder once more to where accusations were already being thrown in the group. 

“The vent is a decoy to make you waste time, I already checked,” Chishiya replied, his fingers nimble as they rattled the metal, “And even if someone were to accomplish it in the time limit it’s the most obvious spot the monster would first check. Next would be the closet given it’s at eye level and the first thing one is drawn too when they walk into a room.” 

Your lips parted a little in surprise at his assessment...obviously he wasn’t just overconfident, “And why this spot?” If he had really thought about all this in less than a minute then...did he have a reason for this spot? You now found yourself, slightly less annoyed and a little more curious as to what was going on in his mind. 

“If the monster were to check a bed it would be after his eyes are drawn to the closet. Next in that line of sight would be the vent directly across it, which would be his next place to look if not his first and vice versa. The beds are all staggered throughout the room making them less conspicuous compared to the other hiding places, the bed on the far end of the room would be no good.” 

Your brows furrowed in curiosity at his assessment as you watched Chishiya blow a piece of hair from his face, wiggling out one piece of the knotted metal, “It’s too far from the entrance where as the one in the middle is by average the one most people would start with, where as the first? It’s almost too soon in the start to look there thus making it the safest.” 

“It’s them! They’re over there conspiring!” You both twisted around to watch the broad man point an accusing finger at you both as your eyes darted from him to the clock on the wall, which read at six minutes. A few other pairs, relievingly so was your sister had started working on a hiding spot while a few others stood around and argued. 

Your face coiled a little as you replied, not appreciating the accusation to such a baseless accusation, did they not realize the longer they argued the less time they had to secure a hiding spot? “Someone who’s terrible at playing the minority would often be the first to point fingers. There’s only six minutes left before the first round is over and we need to hide. But if you want to talk about this then sure,” 

You stepped closer as you crossed your arms, scanning over him before continuing, “Let’s talk about the chances of you being the monster, ever since you first came in you’ve been all twitchy and acting like something is wrong. Even when we first got paired up, you seemed a little panicked. Anyways,” You turned around as you spoke, “How do we know one pair is a monster and not one single person?” 

“Eh,” Akari sat on the bed that her and Nanami chose as Nanami fumbled to work out the puzzle, she had always been good at those! You felt assured as your heart beat frantically at the idea of them not being able to get a hiding spot in time, “Let’s all calm down,” She gave an awkward laugh, “This isn’t a hearts game, we shouldn’t divide our trust. This is a team building after all which means this game should be making us work together, the last thing we need to do is throw that away on our own accord.” 

“...Team building?” You frowned as you murmured having not been aware that this was some sort of game category...Hearts? Clubs? The memory of the playing card flashing on the screen appeared in your mind again, right...was that to stand for some kind of game genre? If Clubs stood for team building then...there should be no reason that the monster is any of you. Why would they even suggest that to begin with?

Then...what was the monster? 

“One minute remaining.”

The lights suddenly began flickering, “Got it.” Chishiya yanked the last piece of metal undone as he pulled the sheet of metal off, everyone was now scrambling and the few who had not done their puzzle were now panicking. Getting down you crawled under the bed, your back flat to the ground as you inhaled sharply as you noticed the lights beginning to dim, “This is...uncomfortable.” You mumbled, trying to ignore being pressed shoulder to shoulder with a man you didn’t even know besides him having a god complex, “We should’ve went with the vent.” 

“By all means, if you want to try and get yourself killed already. Go for it.” You turned to look at him, dark endless cat eyes meeting you as you harshly glared at him, why was he so condescending!? 

You were about to snap back something before you realized it was completely dark and the door slammed open causing you to jump. Was your heart always this loud? You could see the heavy boots step against the ground making you unsteadily inhale, swallowing as you closed your eyes. You could only place your trust that Chishiya hadn’t picked a horrible spot. 

More importantly your mind was plagued with worry for your sister, you had been so caught up you hadn’t even tried to help her yet...did she even…! You heard a sudden loud scream from two people causing you to stiffen as you looked up at the bed frame lined with wooden planks. You could only cower back down at blood suddenly painting the floor.

Your stomach suddenly churned as you covered your mouth. So he wasn’t lying. Chishiya however looked just as nonpulsed as he did when he first told you himself, his eyes blankly staring up at the bed frame as if this was just a regular game of hide and seek as people screamed as they were torn apart. 

Or that’s at least what you assumed it was. 

After an agonizing few minutes the doors finally closed and the lights flickered back on making you breath in relief as you waited a moment, could you even bear to face what was waiting on the floor? You winced a little before something caught your eye. What was with all this extra wood stuck in the frame? 

Chishiya had already gotten out from under the bed and before you suddenly heard a few girls scream, your sister among them making you puff and breath as you scrambled from beneath the bed.

Standing up your mouth agape at the horrid sight of the female and the broad male that had been too focused on accusing others, they didn’t have...enough time...it looked like they had been completely mutilated, blood pouring on the floor and the smell made you want to gag as you looked away. 

“Well, now what do we do.” Akari scratched her head, also not looking phased that two people had just been brutally killed. Your eyes stayed placed on the bodies before they slowly trailed to your hands, the memory of blood staining them still fresh in your mind. 

“Well we have to figure out where the monster is?” The girlfriend of the couple spoke up, she looked around somewhat suspiciously, “But I’m not sure where we could find it? Maybe it has to do with the bracelets? Maybe there’s a clue hidden.” 

“Oh what about in the cabinets?” The collected man from before offered as he went to search the cabinets, your frown furthered as you glanced around. Everyone was now getting along, still on edge but along at least. 

Chishiya only leaned against the wall, his hands in his pocket as he rolled the lollipop in his mouth, his gaze the same steely one it was before as if he had done his job in securing his temporary salvation and was now done. 

Or maybe he just didn’t know what to do? It was obvious his strength didn’t lie in teamwork, clearly. But then again, you weren’t sure what was going on, you couldn’t get a read on him. Crossing your arms you stayed beside him, your eyes briefly washing over your sister who was working Akari to dig through a desk together. 

“Cabinets and drawers are too obvious.” 

Chishiya’s eyes flickered to your figure, his expression just as cold if not...a little smug maybe? He said nothing in return as you continued, “If we’re looking for a monster, it’s obvious it’s a metaphor for something. Inanimate most likely,” Your eyes flickered around the room, inhaling sharply, why did it feel like the answer was right in front of you? 

Think…! You glanced at the clock, only six minutes left. The rounds were really short…! “It’d be something small and inconspicuous, something that’s in plain sight….but easy to miss...and the game said it was a pair which means there’s more than likely two.” 

“Three,” You glanced at Chishiya as he spoke, pulling the lollipop from his mouth, that permanent smug look on his face as he answered, “Two is what they want you to think and if you spend a round searching for each like they hope it’s game over by three.” 

You rubbed your neck as you frowned, “It’s already the second round and we haven’t even found one…” You glanced around before you suddenly perked up, “Wait…!” Getting back down on the floor you laid on your back as you pushed yourself under the bed, “Chishiya! Help me get this thing out!” 

Within a moment the blonde appeared as well, his eye sharp and keen as they noticed straight away what you were tugging at, “You think this is the monster?” 

You looked at him as you raised a brow, “We have less than four minutes left on our second round, you have a better idea?” Chishiya said no more but helped regardless, successfully with the both of you maneuvering it around from beneath the wooden boards you managed to get it out. 

Holding it up you looked at it, “It’s a poppet doll.” You turned to face him as you smiled in accomplishment, “They’re typically used as curses to place upon people in folklore. If anything is a monster, this would be it.” 

Excited at your first victory you pulled out from beneath the bed as you waved it up, “Hey guys! We need to start looking for something similar to this! If not a replica.” Everyone huddled around you examining the doll before the microphone sounded, “One minute remaining.”

Everyone had immediately scrambled back to their hiding place as you ran to the red X, placing the poppet on it, that's the reason that had to be there right!? You’d just have to see, hurriedly you ran back to your spot under the bed. Making it just in time as the lights flickered off. 

The door slamming open once more as you slowly inhaled, it had to work right? If not...then you were at a loss for what to search for and you were utterly screwed. 

The boots stomped against the floor past the bed as you closed your eyes, unable to calm yourself. After a moment you heard a screech and something rip open before screams followed making you jump. Chishiya’s eyes were on the feet that stood by the closet that had been obviously ripped open. 

You heard the sound of something wet and a gurgle before a body slumped to the floor and you could hear begging before something got snapped in half causing you to close your eyes once more...Did you make it angry!? Was that not it? Fuck. You had never felt this stressed before as it roamed around, passing in front of your bed as you tensed.

Was this your last moment alive? Truly? 

Much to your relief, the door closed once more before the lights followed, flickering on, relaxing a little you sighed as you reluctantly got out from underneath the bed with Chishiya to see what had happened. Much to your horror it was the man who had been so kind this whole game and his partner. 

The monster didn’t check anywhere in the first round, yet he did this round? You tried to block out the bodies slumped in the corner as you glanced at the red X, the poppet doll gone. 

“Why- why were they killed!” Nanami’s eyes began to water as she grabbed her head, “This makes no sense!” 

“If it accepts the doll that means we only need two more. What happened to them is irrelevant.” Chishiya stuffed his hands back into his pocket as you glared at him sideways, not appreciating his careless tone. You could deal with it, but you didn’t want your sister dragged into it. 

Grabbing your chin you thought about it for a moment, “Well...the game said to return the monster to its own and…” You glance down at the X, was there some kind of unsaid rule that if you didn’t get all three of them on the first try that it would start hunting down players? “How would a mother feel if they only returned one of its children?” 

“This thing doesn’t have feelings,” The girlfriend of the partners replied coldly, her eyes like steel of her own as she clung to her boyfriend, “It’s as he said,” She waved to Chishiya, “It doesn’t matter, we’ll be like them if we don’t figure this out.” 

You glanced around the room, “Tell me this, if it doesn’t matter, then why did they give us all these different hiding spots?” Everyone was silent, all eyes on you as if your question didn’t make any sense, your eyes flickered to the clock that was nearing eight minutes, you didn’t have time to monologue, “No think about it. The monster never intended to look for us- that was never stated in the rules. So why did they give us all of these choices if we only needed one per pair? My point being, if we found one poppet in our hiding spot then...You get where I’m going with this? Chishiya.” 

He glanced up at you acknowledgement as you curved a brow, your lips threatening to tug into a smile as you tilted your head, “How confident are you in solving that vent?” 

He glanced back down and for the first time, you watch a cocky wide smirk twist onto his lips, “You’re lucky to have someone as smart as me here to be able to open it.” You tucked your tongue into your cheek as in annoyance as he sauntered over to the vent already getting to work, “As for everyone else, we need to open up as many of these as possible to find the other two.” 

Everyone immediately scrambled to get to work, with only seven minutes on the clock this was...going to be difficult. First Nanami and Akari searched all the opened spots as you worked on another bed. Rubbing your head as muttered, “Shit...I never was good with puzzles.” You awkwardly hung your head in defeat temporarily, briefly letting your eyes shift to Chishiya who was fiddling with several locks, his gaze sharp and you couldn’t even imagine all the calculations going on in his mind. You were somewhat envious of what it would be like to be that perceptive to anything adhering to logic and solution. 

“Aha! Found one!” Akari yanked the poppet from the top of the closest as Nanami covered her mouth, looking like she was gonna throw up being so close to so many dead bodies. You ignored the grisly sight at the second victory of the poppet doll. Akari quickly placed it on the X as you began to work on the puzzle once more, looking up at the clock. Oh no...Oh no there was only three minutes left!

“Chishiya! Hows that puzzle coming along.” You called out, trying not to sound alarmed but you could see the clear cut annoyance on his face as he continued working through the locks, “If you’d like to help while struggling on a novice lock feel free.” He replied condescendingly, not appreciating the pressure. 

You rolled your eyes with huff as you finally managed to get it undone, feeling triumphant as you searched under the bed but there was no luck, “There’s nothing here!”

“Or here!” 

Several people called out as well as you rubbed your head, standing up, “If the only other place that hasn’t been searched is the vent then maybe there’s only two? It did say a pair.” You felt a lump of anxiety well in your chest at the sight of the clock ticking close to a minute and half. 

“Should we really take the risk?” The boyfriend asked as he rubbed his neck, concern on his face as he looked around, “If we’re wrong then we’ll all…” 

You hadn’t even thought of that…

“...! Hey.” You turned to Chishiya who seemed to be trying to get your attention making you immediately come over, if he was asking for you it’d have to be for something important given there was nearly less then two minute on the clock, “Hold this right here.” He immediately pushed your hand onto the lock right where he wanted it, “This is a two handle mechanism meaning that there needs to be two people unlocking it. Push down and out at the same time.”

“Hide! Everyone needs to hide now!”

The lights were beginning to flicker as everyone scrambled to hide, stress evidently put on your shoulders now more than ever. You could only hope he was right with your life on the line, “Now!” You pushed down on your side, the lock sliding as you pulled out, pulling a piece of metal holding up the lock directly out as Chishiya did the same with his side. 

The lock fell off as well as the metal of the gate of the vent, you immediately with no hesitation leaned inside it was dark and hard to make it out anything besides the steep drop off. So he was right, this was a waste of time for a hiding place. 

Looking down you caught sight of wood before laughing in relief, “It’s here! Wait shit! Chishiya! It’s too far down in the vent, you’re gonna have to lower me down to reach it. Time?” 

“Forty five seconds.” You felt unfamiliar hands on your hips lifting you up as you were lowered down, “We have time.” 

You squinted trying to see as you reached down, “Lower me further! I’m not quite in reach,” Your muscles began to ache in your shoulder as you reached harder, growling in frustration, “Time!?” You were lowered a little further, the wooden poppet brushing against your fingers. 

“Thirty seconds! Could you go a little faster?” 

“Could you lower me a little quicker- Ah! Hey did you almost let go!?” You snarled back, grabbing the poppet doll, giving a good yank as it lodged in between the crevice it was in, “Get me back up! I got it. Time!” 

“Twenty seconds.” Chishiya called back, pulling you up as you gasped, pain from the metal jabbing into your stomach evident as you were met with a darkening room. Setting your feet firmly on the floor your eyes flew to the flock fifteen seconds and your spot was all the way across the room….! 

“Where are we supposed to hide!? We can’t get all the way there in time!” You hissed out running to the X as you dropped the poppet down. The lights shut off as the final five seconds counted down and before you could do anything you were shoved to the floor as you squeaked. Your body throbbing in pain and your mouth immediately covered as you were met with the coverage of a bed but neither one of you were bold enough to try and scramble beneath it as the doors slammed open. 

Fuck.

Your whole body was tense as your eyes squeezed shut, you were just a little ahead of the X here, if this is all the poppet dolls...they’d have no reason to go further into the room...unless...Your hand squeezed tight around the wrist of the hand that covered your mouth as you tried to calm yourself at the loud thudded footsteps. 

It was quiet for a moment before you heard more walking before the doors closed. 

“Game Cleared”

The lights turned on as you fell limp against the side of the bed, Chishiya’s hand removed from mouth as you pushed your hair from your face, closing your eyes as you breathed in relief, “Holy shit.” Was all you could mutter to yourself, you had never been more grateful to breathe air in your whole life. 

“I guess you weren’t that useless after all huh.” Chishiya clacked his tongue as you turned your head to look at him, raising your brows as your face contorted into something between insult and amusement. 

You’ve only known this man for a half an hour and yet...something about his words, if you dug down deep past that smug expression of his, was this a compliment? Looking away you pressed your tongue into your cheek, trying to keep from smiling, “Yeah, and you’re still conceited and arrogant but, I guess you have a good reason to be.” You glanced back at him again but you could hardly hold his gaze, something in that brief moment was electrified between you both as you laughed somewhat sheepishly, closing your eyes as you looked away once more. 

What the fuck was even wrong with you? If this was back before today you would’ve totally kicked this guy in the balls and went about your day.

“Y/n!” You straightened up at the sound of Nanami’s voice, your expression brightening as you stood up, quickly running to her as you hugged her tight, “I can’t believe that just happened…” She whispered to you as she pressed her face into your neck. You couldn’t either but, you were thankful you had survived this game. Whatever it was. 

“Come on, let's get out of this room.” You tugged on her arm, no longer wanting to be in this death room despite knowing it was all over. Pulling her out you paused at the sight of the TV and a...register…? You bracelet unlocked as you took it off, tossing it on the table as you tilted your head. 

“Congratulations Game ''Clear ``.''

“...Now issuing visas to those who survived the game…?” You furrowed your brows as you glanced at Nanami who rubbed her head in confusion. You grabbed the receipt as you looked it over with a frown before picking up the 5 of clubs playing card along with it. Odd. 

“It’s how many days you’re allowed to stay now! Almost a whole week, that's a good score for a first game!” Akari called out as she patted your back making you jump a little. 

Almost a whole week…”Until we have to play again to...continue our stay?” You raised a brow, deciding not to ask what happens if you refused. While you had many questions, you had a feeling you knew the answer to that one. 

A part of you couldn’t even believe this had happened, or was it all still a dream. 

“Hey…! Sorry for all of that in there,” You turned to see...oh…! It was the boyfriend of the partner, the gifrlfriend stayed behind looking brooding, “I’m Ryu and that’s my girlfriend Hiroko I was...ah…” He faltered a little, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze flittered to his girlfriend who was glaring him down, “You should stop by the Beach- I...I think you guys would make good additions! Bye!” He hurried not even finishing his original sentence before scurrying off making you furrow your brows at what he even meant. 

“The hell?” Akari raised a brow as she watched the guy run off, “Seems to me he wanted to chat more…guess we know who's really pulling balls in that relationship.” 

Nanami suddenly snickered, covering her mouth as she giggled, “Hey Akari! Why don’t we stay together! We did really well in the game together!” 

“Awh shit, if you guys really want me too!” Akari offered a quirky smile as you laughed, you had no problems with someone staying behind with you. Looking past Akari your smile faded a little at the sight of a white hoodie exiting the entrance. 

“Hey- I’ll be right back!” You pushed past the both of them who paid you no mind as you pushed out of the exit and down the stone steps, not sure why your feet were making you chase after such an egotistical man but…!

“Chishiya!” You called out, making the man pause, he turned around, pulling the earbuds out as he glanced up from his hoodie, raising his brows in acknowledgement, “Um…” Why did you even chase after him…? You stepped down the last step as you wrapped your arms around yourself. 

It was silent for a moment as you berated yourself internally for why you seemed so speechless all of a sudden. Chishiya however didn’t seem to mind, his eyes absent now as he stared up at the hospital, “I used to do my clinical rotations here.” 

You were broken out of your silent thrashing of internal humiliation as you raised your brows, lips parting in curiosity as you asked, “You were a doctor?” 

“No,” Chishiya snorted, that amused calico look of his on his face once more as he looked down at you, “I was a medical student. Training to be a doctor but that obviously didn’t happen…” His lips curved into a frown, his eyes cold once more as they looked back up at the building, “I came here tonight to see if anyone I knew would be here.” 

“Oh…” You looked away, feeling somewhat awkward and unsure of how to reply to him as silence took over once more beside the occasional rustling of the wind in the tree’s, the urge to speak overtaking you to the point you couldn't resist, “Chishiya...I…” You looked away, feeling somewhat bashful, “We...made a really good team back there.” You forced yourself to look up at him as you offered a bright yet subtly shy smile, “If you want...you could stay with us…?” 

Chishiya pulled the lollipop stick from his mouth, letting it drop to the ground as he spoke, “No thanks.” You turned to him in surprise as you frowned a little, you shouldn’t have expected anything less…

“Oh...I understand.” You offered a weak smile as he turned his back on you and began to walk once more, “I just have one more question,” You called out causing him to pause, “...Do you by any chance know about a place called the Beach?”

Note: Whew...! As a lurker in the Alice in borderland fandom I saw a lot of people complaining about the lack of Chishiya fics so I decided to volunteer myself and take on for the team to write a series for this little blonde fucker so PLEASE let me know your thoughts and I hope you enjoy!! Also

#alice in borderland #aib #alice in borderland imagine #alice in borderland x reader #chishiya x reader #chishiya x reader smut #shuntaro chishiya #shuntaro chishiya x reader #aib imagine #aib x reader

[toraashi]

[ red string of fate ]

akaashi keiji x gn!reader

[ warnings/genre ]

fluff, brief mentions of alcohol, language

[ word count ]

1,665 words

Akaashi found himself zoning out far too much lately. During work, during time with friends, over dinner, and now on his second date this week. Stirring his food around with his chopsticks, he spun his noodles, lifting them to his mouth, and making eye contact with his date across the table as he did so. Through the haze of his thick lashes, he watched as they prattled on about some mindless work topic, their free hand waving aimlessly while the other wrapped around a glass of wine. 

He desperately tried not to, but once again, his mind trailed off, sapphire hues flicking to the dainty red knot tied around his pointer finger, following the thread as it trailed in front of him before vanishing in the distance. Akaashi, like many others, had all but given up on this fantasy. Finding your soulmate. The one for you. It was an exciting concept as a teenager, knowing that there was one person in the world that the universe assigned as yours, someone unique and entirely catered to you and your soul. Alas, as time drew on, reality set in. True, the concept was exciting, but there were several billion existing on this Earth, and many times people's strings would lead them to a cemetery. People often never found their soulmates regardless, and Akaashi had heard of people avoiding them. It was a confusing system, all but a naive dream, and most learned to maneuver through life disregarding it. After years of high school revelation and the words of others insisting he just ignore it, he'd finally began branching out, hoping to find peace with another.

Wasn't it disheartening to commit to someone knowing that there'd always be someone better out there, though? He bit his inner cheek in thought, pushing his glasses up his face as the person seated before him sighed.

“Akaashi-san, are you even listening?” Chin raising, he glanced at them, lips curling into an apologetic smile. They cupped their cheek with their hand, eyes reprimanding and bitter. "Your head's always in the clouds, Akaashi-san. It's infuriating." He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Level-headedness was a trait he took pride in; clearly, this person wasn't observing him like he was them. 

"I was listening. It's been a long day at work. I'm sorry I seem distracted." Repressing the distaste in his tone, he searched their eyes for relent, waiting for them to continue their rant. The person across the table groaned loudly, sliding a hand through their hair before moseying it across the table, knuckles brushing up against his. Akaashi's entire body grew stiff at the contact, discomfort swelling his being as they followed the path up his arm to his face, eyes tender and reluctant.

"Akaashi-san, I really like you," Was this supposed to feel so wrong? He'd been on a few dates with this person, and maybe they'd been more invested than he noticed, but every dinner felt empty and meaningless to him. Gemstone eyes fluttering closed, he let an exhalation drop from his pursed lips, fingers withdrawing. 

"I don't feel the same. Perhaps we shouldn't reschedule this date." Akaashi cushioned his words with deliberate sympathy, features softening while their's hardened. Guilt stung like a dagger in the back, and in an instant, he was attempting damage control. "I'm sorry-" 

"Shut the fuck up. You've been leading me on this whole time." Flinching at their biting words, he averted his gaze to his food, eyebrows furrowing with annoyance. 

"We're just not compatible." A huff sounded above him paired with a jingle of keys. He made no argument as they slid from the ornate chair, fingers digging into their waist as they examined him with hostility.

"I hope you find what you're looking for, but don't bother contacting me again." Grimacing, the boy didn't look as his former date stormed from the restaurant, leaving him with both the bill and an empty seat. Dating was much too complicated, he decided. Was it really worth the heartache for something he wasn't particularly invested in? Running a straggled hand through the inky waves on his scalp, he reached for his phone and unlocked it. 

11:30pm. 

He worked early the following day. Perhaps his date walking out on him was for the best. 

The scarlet thread tied neatly around his finger seemed to glow beneath the flaxen lights of the Italian rooftop restaurant, and he sighed for the millionth time that night, flagging the waiter down for the check.

Soulmates. 

Maybe Akaashi was indeed just a romantic at heart, a raging eclectic who refused to settle for anything below the best. He'd always viewed himself as level-headed, but after countless dates initiated by bored co-workers, he never felt the pull he longed for in a partner. 

A pull. 

Akaashi raised his hand peculiarly, noticing as the thread grew taut, tugging in a specific direction. A skipped heartbeat and his eyes followed the string over the ledge of the second floor, through the myriad of cars parked impatiently at the stoplight and to a figure across the way. They held their hand up suspiciously, staring at a glittering amber knot. 

Akaashi rose abruptly, nearly knocking his table over before quickly rifling through the cash in his wallet, splaying a debatable amount on the white tablecloth before grabbing his coat and pacing briskly through the restaurant. The stairs felt eons-long, his feet slapping against the metal, glasses fogging with the intensity of his breaths, but he could hardly care. Every moment in his life led up to this one. Pushing through the line of people, he exited the building, the cool night air biting his cheeks and painting them a rosy red. The tug of his hand directed him, almost as desperate as he to meet this mystery person. From this distance, he could tell they were bundled in a thick shadow-colored jacket in an attempt to fight the cold and the color of their shoe as they stepped into a taxi- 

"Wait!" He shouted over the traffic, jogging in between cars, spouting apologies left and right between incessant honks, the drivers swerving to avoid his form. "Wait! Sorry, one second." His fumbling through lanes of cars seemed to catch the person's attention, and they instantly perked up, features flooded with panic and concern. They leaned to the cab driver as his foot met the pavement once more, holding a lone finger, a plea on their lips. Goosebumps littered his skin as he turned to them, shivering in his navy turtleneck. Now that he was here, he was unsure of what to say. He'd been so eager to stop them, he hadn't thought of the consequences of his impulsive choice. What if they didn't want to meet him? What if they were dating already? A flurry of questions and insecurities pelted his mind in milliseconds; he barely caught the playful quirk of their lips tainted by a breath of exhaustion. 

"Can I help you? My cab can't wait all night." Refocusing, he peered into the dripping hues of their eyes, watching as the color glimmered beneath nearby shop lights. Their hair was dusted with snowflakes that he longed to brush away. He felt a pull towards them, something he'd been missing in dates for his entire life. "Hello? Stranger?"

"Sorry," He chuckled, embarrassment leaking from his words. "I saw you from the restaurant roof across the street, and I think you're my soulmate." God, that was so embarrassing to say, and he wrapped his arms around himself in consequence, hiding from both the cold and their reaction. They stared at him with the widest eyes he'd ever encountered, cheeks tickling with a blush before they held up their hand, palm facing towards his shivering form. 

"Can you see my string?" His heart nearly thumped from his chest as he revealed his own, nodding slowly and bringing it towards theirs. An inch filled with longing and tension separated the pair's fingertips, and his breath hitched when they pressed their palm to his, smiling tenderly. "Is this okay? I can't explain it, but I feel a pull to you already? Is that weird?" A laugh rumbled in his throat, and he was shaking his head vigorously.

"No. I feel the same." Relief billowed from their lungs, and their fingers collapsed in the spaces of his. 

"Aren't you cold?" They whispered, peeking up at him through thick lashes, a reserved timidness radiating from their form. He hummed, lifting their hands once more, pressing a feather-light, almost polite kiss to the back. 

"I'm not." And he wasn't. In their presence, he felt warm despite it all. A few shy glances later and the cab driver interrupted the moment.

"Oi! Am I taking you or not?" Disappointment fluttered through their features at the abrasive words of the chauffeur, and they removed their hand from his. Lips parting to break the news, he moved first, spluttering words without consent from his brain. 

"I can take you home. If you're comfortable, of course." Sunshine shot through them like lightning at his suggestion, and they pulled on the sleeves of their jacket, grinning giddily. 

"Are you sure? You barely know me." He'd never been more sure of anything in his life, but he went light on the dramatics, eager to please and impress.

"Like I said, if you're comfortable." Casting him a sparkling smile, they nodded eagerly, turning to the driver and sending him away. 

"All right, Stranger, lead the way." They chortled, skipping to his side. Akaashi returned the enthusiasm, offering his hand. Taking it with pleasure, his soulmate hummed, allowing him to lead the way. Guiding them through throngs of people towards his car, he glanced back tenderly. 

“My name’s Akaashi Keiji.” The dreamy look that swam through their eyes had him swooning. 

"That's a lovely name." They cooed, squeezing his hand before speaking their own.

Akaashi could get used to this. 

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji #hq x reader #haikyuu headcanons #akaashi keiji imagine #akaashi scenario #akaashi haikyuu #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi fluff #akaashi fic

[losille2000]

The Swan, Chapter 6

TITLE: The Swan CHAPTER NUMBER: 6/? AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH Tom/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom GENRE: Romance/Drama FIC SUMMARY: Sequel to The Ugly Duckling. Astrid embarks on a two-week trip to London to serve as her sister’s maid of honor, hoping against all hope she might miraculously run into her Hawaiian mystery man. When her sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law drag her to a production of Hamlet to meet the groom’s best man, Astrid gets the shock of her life. The situation, though, is anything but perfect. RATING: M (sex, language) WARNINGS: None in this chapter. AUTHORS NOTES: So... what can I say? It's been a while. If you want the whole story, you can look through my blog or message me. I'm happy to answer. That said, it's been a good three years since I did any serious writing. My writing muscles need to build back up to what they were before. Please be kind... and let me know what you think. :D

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - ALSO ON AO3!

Chapter 6 - Flying the Coop

Regret.

Astrid regretted ever stomping up those stairs to Tom’s bedroom. She regretted challenging him to make a move. She regretted letting him have his way with her. In the moment, it seemed right. Maybe if they slept together again, they’d find an incompatibility, especially now that the air of tropical mystery had dissipated and left in its place two broken flesh-and-blood people.

How wrong could she have been?

Now it was amplified, deeper, hotter, engulfing.

Only two weeks for whatever this fire was to fizzle?

It wasn’t, as the Brits say, bloody likely.

And here she was, smack dab in the position she didn’t want to be in; no matter how tangentially her current association with her mother, the family business, and Hollywood was, being connected to Tom in this way presented too many problems to even consider at this point. And fucking him—

“Astrid, are you even listening to me?”

Astrid jumped from the intrusion, letting out a slight squeak. She blinked hard and turned in her spot to look at her sister, who stood in the middle of the furnished but unoccupied flat. “Sorry?”

“Are you okay?” Tilde asked. “You’ve been spacey after the dress shop— and I’m just worried.”

“You don’t need to worry.”

“Let me worry,” she begged. “Let me be the big sister I never got to be.”

Astrid laughed ruefully. If only she could actually talk with Tilde about Tom. She wouldn’t understand, or at the very least, it could pose some very difficult situations in the coming days with the wedding right around the corner. But, Astrid guessed, Tilde meant the other elephant in the room... Astrid being the elephant, and their mother being a Class A narcissist. Because there was absolutely no way Tilde would know about what had happened at Tom’s home...

“It’s too late for that, Tilde,” Astrid said. “You know I love you. I just— there’s no changing her.”

Tilde grumbled and glided over to the couch in the living room. She dropped down on top of the cushions, barely displacing the pillow stuffing with her slight ballet-formed frame. “I should have never allowed her to do all this. I should have done it on my own, it’s not like Jim and I are so hard up. But I thought...”

Astrid held up a hand to stop her sister and sat on the couch more gingerly than Tilde, measuredly, so as not to displace any stuffing in the overstuffed couch, either. Something her mother had taught her, after all: If you’re not going to put in effort to look like a lady, you can at least act like one.

God, even that memory still hurt, down to the marrow in her bones.

“But you did.” Astrid shrugged and laid her head on the back of the couch. There, she sighed.

The sisters sat in silence for some time, listening to Duchess rooting around the flat for something to chew on. When the pug found nothing, she eventually jumped up onto the couch and snuggled into Tilde’s lap.

Astrid cleared her throat. “It’s not all Mom, either. I’m just tired from jet lag and getting everything together for the house party.”

And sleeping with the Best Man. She was pretty sure she’d read a romance novel or a hundred about this situation once. Did that make her a cliché?

“Oh, I meant to ask,” Tilde interjected. “How did that go? Tom was a total tool last night and I was worried about today.”

Astrid licked her lips subconsciously; she could still taste the sugar left by a bite of tiramisu Tom had given to her on a fork. If she concentrated hard enough, she was sure she could still taste the salt of his skin mixed in with it. She could certainly feel the tight muscle in her thigh that pulled every time she shifted, from the way he’d bent it and held it firmly in place as he’d had his way with her.

Frankly, it was a miracle they’d accomplished anything after they ended up in bed. But, she supposed, that was the weirdest part about the whole afternoon. They got out of bed, dressed without speaking and just... worked on what they needed to for the party. There was no discussion. No arguing. Tom stayed a respectable distance from her; she wasn’t sure if she had really wanted him to do it again, over and over, until they were both exhausted. They ate lunch quietly, they got everything organized and packed into his Land Rover, then Tilde showed up and they bade farewell, like it was something they did every day.

Nothing more was said about Hawaii, or a relationship, or lies, or having this end in two weeks. He seemed to be ignoring the topics all together, likely in the misguided belief that if he didn’t bring it up, then everything was fine. She ignored them because discussing WHY she refused to become a true part of his life was too painful.

Astrid pursed her lips and closed her eyes again. Isn’t that what she told him she wanted, though? To feel worshipped and then go about their lives, like nothing happened? Ignore all the elephants and enjoy the sex. No emotion, only sex. He was just following her demands, his need too great to put the brakes on their interlude in his bed.

The problem was that she did want more with him. She wanted emotion and relationships and rainbows and butterflies. When she had thought of him as some wealthy businessman she might once again bump into while visiting London, this had been possible. She had, after all, imagined a reality over the last eighteen months that included falling in love with him and living a life together.

But he wasn’t a businessman. He was an actor. He ran in circles she just couldn’t stomach anymore.

“It was fine. We finished everything and packed it all into his Land Rover for the drive up to Cliveden,” Astrid finally said. “The costume deliveries will be there when we arrive.”

“This really has gotten out of control,” Tilde said. “Part of me just wants to run to the register office and get it over with.”

Astrid shook her head violently. “You do that, and I’ll flip the fuck out. I put too much work into this.”

Tilde laughed. “Scared you, huh?”

“I’m serious, Tilde,” Astrid said, lightly smacking her sister’s thigh. Duchess popped her head up, and thinking it was an invitation for her, came over to her aunt. Astrid cuddled the dog close to her chest, breathing in her freshly bathed fur.

“She likes you,” Tilde said.

Astrid kissed Duchess’ head. “Small children and dogs, apparently.”

Tilde chuckled softly before letting out a long sigh. “I bet she would really like it if her Aunt Astrid were around more.”

“Aunt Astrid is a teacher and never has any time,” she replied directly to Duchess. Duchess reached for the hand that had stopped petting her and touched it with her paw. Her imploring buggy pug eyes asked Aunt Astrid for more.

Tilde huffed, but said nothing more for a long time. Then she cleared her throat. “How do you like the flat, anyway?”

“It’s nice,” Astrid confirmed. In fact, it was nicer than “nice.” This flat looked like one of those staged ads in a real estate magazine with lots of recessed lighting, soft gray colors, top-of-the-line furnishings and a ton of space.

“We’re trying to decide if we’ll sell it or keep it as an investment property,” Tilde replied. “It’s kind of a pain in the ass as a rental property, though.”

Astrid nodded. “You could just give it to Dad’s company to manage.”

Not that doing so was a great option, either.

If Astrid saw her mother irregularly, she saw her father even less. After their separation, he spent time in Las Vegas developing a new casino concept and then, when Astrid graduated from UNLV, moved his business operations permanently back to Sweden. Still, though, the relationship with her father was better than it was with her mother, simply by virtue that he was never around and didn’t have an opportunity to find the weaknesses in her armor like her mother. Tilde rarely spoke about either parent, but Astrid was certain their relationship was similar.

Tilde sat up and turned to look at Astrid seriously. “Or you could move into it.”

“Excuse me?” Astrid said, her heart skipping a few beats, from a sudden surge of anxiety and... something else.

“I’m serious, Astrid,” she said. “We don’t see each other enough and I want to spend time with you and make up for all those years we were apart.”

This wasn’t just some passing fancy. Astrid could see that as plain as day on Tilde’s face. Her sister was determined to convince her to move to London. But for what? She had no support system other than Tilde and James... and her career... well, that was back in Las Vegas.

Not that Las Vegas itself was the most amazing place to live and work.

“I’d never see you anyway,” Astrid argued. “You’re always rehearsing, or preparing to rehearse, or performing. And god knows James is going to be busy doing whatever.”

“Yeah, about that...” Tilde said, trailing off quietly. She picked at the dog hair on her sweater for a few seconds, then slowly looked back at Astrid. “I’m retiring at the end of this season.”

“What?!”

Tilde shrugged. “James and I want a family, and if I wait until it’s a ‘good time,’ it’ll never happen because of our schedules. And really, it’s getting harder and harder to come back from injuries and such. I just... I need a long break from being a performing ballerina. I don’t have the fire I once had, the same will to fight for every goddamn role.”

Astrid simply nodded. This was huge news. Ballet was Tilde’s life. She’d been doing it since she was a little girl, had impeccable skill and training and talent for it. The joke was that Tilde had come out of the womb in pointe shoes.

Which wasn’t that far from the truth, really. As soon as their mother could, she’d gotten Tilde into dance with the best instructors money could buy. Their mother, the failed ballerina, always lived through them. Which explained why she did not like anything about Astrid— Astrid did not have anything that would benefit her.

“Have you told Mom yet?” Astrid asked.

Tilde shook her head. “Of course not! And listen to her prattle on about how I’m a failure and she gave me so much and I’m just a terrible person? No, thank you. I’ll wait until she is permanently back in LA before I tell her.”

Even though Tilde had not yet told anyone else, it somehow eased the tension in Astrid’s shoulders knowing that Tilde would be in their mother’s crosshairs for a change. Typically, that wasn’t the case; their parents always treated Tilde like the perfect golden child. Of course, Tilde had always been one of Astrid’s fiercest allies… when she could. However, since Tilde spent most of her life in London studying at the Royal Ballet from a very early age, support and camaraderie had been scarce. Now, though? Now it felt like she and Tilde could weather the storm together.

Tilde continued, “Yeah. I’m thinking about opening up a dance studio and then after the baby thing happens, if I still have the performing bug in me, then I’ll start guesting. But I’m just so excited to start having babies.”

Stopping the smile from forming on Astrid’s lips was impossible as she registered the excitement on Tilde’s face. Astrid felt the enthusiasm coming from Tilde’s corner of the couch. “I’m excited for you, Tilde.”

And she was. She truly was.

Tilde reached out and grabbed Astrid’s hand. “I’m serious, though, Astrid. We never had a great family growing up, and I see this as an opportunity to right the wrongs of the past and create the family we should have had growing up.”

“I don’t know, Til.”

“James and I have both talked about it a lot and we both agree.”

“Tilde, even if I did move here,” Astrid began, “I don’t know the first thing about teaching in England.”

Tilde nodded. “I know. But James’ parents are retired teachers. I’m sure they’d be willing to help you make heads or tails of it.”

Astrid pursed her lips and turned to stare at the dormant fireplace sitting in front of them. Duchess, who had not moved, made happy dog purr noises as Astrid massaged the tiny velvet triangles of her ears. To be fair to Tilde, Astrid had often thought of moving to London to be nearer to her, but she never thought it would happen or that Tilde would actually need or want her here. The fact that she was wanted made emotion spring to her eyes and prick at them until they watered.

But then, there was the other issue.

The really, super, ginormous issue that came in the shape of a devastatingly handsome British man she met on vacation. If she moved to London, she’d certainly be seeing him more. No clean break at the end of two weeks like she hoped.

“And, you know,” Tilde said, “London’s arts scene is stupendous. We have the hook-up. I thought you could get back into it. You can hardly do that in Las Vegas.”

Astrid snorted. “Tilde, that part of my life is over.”

“Why? You’re amazing. I remember the video you sent of your college production of Othello. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place.”

While Tilde’s appreciation for her talent warmed Astrid’s heart, it didn’t take away the sting of her mother’s actions. Astrid couldn’t even bring herself to discuss it with Tilde when it first happened, much less in the intervening eight years since the incidents that led to her total disavowal of all things acting related. Her silence on the matter, though, had finally come home to roost. First with Tilde telling Tom she was still an actor, and Tom calling her a liar because she told him she wanted nothing to do with it. And now, with Tilde staring her down imploringly. Tilde wanted answers just as much as Tom did, except for very different reasons.

Astrid could not force her suddenly leaden tongue to move in her mouth. Tilde would just have to live with not knowing the whole story, for now. Finally, she said, “If I move to London, I’m not going to be acting.”

“Well, I guess I’ll take that,” Tilde replied. “As long as you’ll still consider moving here to be with me.”

A knock at the front door startled them all, sending Duchess barking and wheezing to the door. The door opened and James popped his head inside. “Knock knock.”

“Come in!” Tilde sang back to him, jumped from her seat, and nearly leaped over the back of the couch to get to him like he was a cold glass of lemonade on a hot day. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him squarely. For a brief, possibly irrational, moment, Astrid was jealous of her sister and the relationship she had built with James.

Which wasn’t a great feeling to have if the plan was to spend more time with them. How could she uproot her entire life— leave her students and friends— and move halfway across the globe just to be consumed by the green-eyed monster?

“Babe,” Tilde said, “tell Astrid she needs to move to London.”

James laughed and turned to look at Astrid. “Astrid… you need to move to London.”

“Thank you!” Tilde pecked his cheek and pirouetted in place until she was facing away from him. She started walking back toward the bedroom. “Let me go get my purse and we can get going.”

When Tilde was gone, and the flat was mostly silent except for more of Duchess’ puggy wheezing as she calmed, James’ smile dropped into a stony seriousness. He stepped over to her and quietly murmured, “We would love to have you here, Astrid. But I understand if you don’t want to come. The decision has to be yours, and if you decide not to move, I will handle Tilde.”

Astrid was grateful for James’ level-headedness in the situation. In the short time she’d known the man, she found that he was a gifted reader of rooms. That was why he was so good with Tilde— a steady anchor in a turbulent sea. Clearly, he understood the anxiety twisting her stomach into knots.

She set a grateful hand on his arm and squeezed appreciatively. “Thanks, James.”

“And don’t let my association with Tom cloud your judgement,” James said.

Astrid withdrew her hand like he’d burned it. Her eyes snapped up to his, then focused outward on the rest of his features and body language. She didn’t know how he knew, but he did. Tom must have told James, despite that she asked him not to.

Unless Tom had told James last night…

“How do you...” She trailed off, turning her gaze and trying to hide her blush.

“He’s my best man for a reason. We tell each other everything,” James replied. “I had hoped that your work today would allow you some time to figure things out before more of this wedding commenced and caused a problem.”

Astrid gulped. “Does Tilde know?”

James shook his head silently.

“Good,” Astrid replied. Good for two reasons, really. The first, because it confirmed for her that the invitation to come to London wasn’t Tilde playing matchmaker. The second, because she still didn’t want anybody to know about it. “Wait… how much did he tell you?”

James stared back at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a slight curl at the corner of his mouth. “That would be breaking the Code.”

Her face now completely aflame, Astrid bent down and grabbed Duchess into her arms. She couldn’t even look at the man anymore without feeling embarrassed. Hopefully, it would pass quickly.

“Bad news!” Tilde called from the hallway as she came back into the room. Her thumbs moved rapidly over the screen of her iPhone. “Mother decided we needed an all hands on deck dinner tonight.”

Astrid groaned. “In addition to or replacing the one tomorrow night at Cliveden?”

“In addition to,” Tilde said. “Tom can’t make it tonight because he has the cast party, and Dad isn’t even in England yet, so that’ll be the official one. Tonight is probably just more nitpicking.”

“Do we have to?” Astrid whined.

Tilde sighed heavily and dropped her phone into her purse with agitation. “Strength in numbers, dear sister.”

Her sister's proclamation made the summons to dinner no better, but Astrid and James dutifully followed Tilde out of the flat and out to the car. The only saving grace was that Tom wouldn't be there. Astrid could focus on one problem, not two.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fan fic #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fan fiction #the swan #actor!tom/ofc #tug series #swan #actor!tom

[cosmik-homo]

I was just thinking about Ryan and why I feel his dyspraxia narrative feels different to me than, for instance, my Dyspraxia thoughts about alfred, and I think part of it is, like, not only about Plot Relevancy (which is by itself a complex topic) but also, like, the relationship between Overcoming and Managing.

One of the things motoric issues do is fuck with your self esteem and your ability to do things. When you fall and fail twice as much as your peers and when u have this struggle with learning new skills (cuz really that's a main aspect of dyspraxia) it's easy to just assume failure by default, and start questioning is this worth trying. When you're u have to work on tasks other consider non-issues (putting on clothing right, the dexterity involved in opening doors, folding towels, holding a fork right) you become self conscious. So it's just natural that dyspraxic narratives would have to do with finding ones confidence and self esteem. And I feel DW does do it with Ryan- him finding himself and the courage to do new things- but it's like. Oh Look Heartwarming He Is Finally Getting The Hang Of This Bike Thing! He's.ore confident cuz he gets to do more stuff in his travels with the doctor! Meanwhile Alfred is like. I don't think Ryan has a Oh Cured Disability narrative but it sure is like. Some part of dyspraxia are in fact there for us g get over, and some of them are just. The way we exsist through space. The problem of confidence comes from dyspraxia but a solution based entirely on getting better motorically is bound to fail, because inevitably there will be some stuff that you will never be entirely able to not struggle with. The solution is learning and internalizing it's Fine And Okay to be dyspraxic and not only you have a bunch more to contribute- and even if you didn't you ha e people that love you. Again, I'm not saying DW only does the first version- I think it treads the lines between the two and combines them. Ryan's dyspraxia and dyspraxia based feelings are mostly discussed outright in the first two eps and then just alluded to, so. That makes it all ldN lot more towards the second. But I just really appreciate how Alfred's narrative is really on those themes of Inaction Due To Fear and Self Esteem, while having him be a mentally and motorically dyspraxic character*, and yet it, like, doesn't have to touch? Idk I am using way too many words and really not getting my point but. Yeah. Having a dyspraxic character that isn't expected to work on bettering their motorics and instead the "Get Confident, Do This" narrative is about, like, Humanist Political Rebellion and Big Saving The World Magics. I am still incredibly happy to have Ryan- explicitly dyspraxic adult character in genre media? and a man of color no less? Awesome- I just had some thoughts about why only dcd-cided Alfred who was, at first, framed as a joke, still always resonated with me as the Best Dyspraxia Rep I Know. and my strongest brainworm <3

* (I realized I mostly talked about motorics in this post but I think that's because other aspects of dyspraxia heavily overlap with ADHD and Autism and those have been talked about before)

#your honor i love him

[generalskales]

Pillow Fort

Read It On Ao3 Here

Characters: Griffin Turner, Original Male Character

Prompt: Griffin and Eiji build a pillow fort.

"You mean to tell me, that despite being alive for what amounts to possibly a thousand years, you have NEVER built a pillow fort?" "That is what I said." "Get all the pillows and blankets in the house that you can find, we're building one."

"It just seems to be, I don't know, not a good use of our time? We can go out and help the ninja with their patrols, or do some chores around the house?" Griffin almost felt sorry for the young immortal, the poor guy doesn't even know how fun a pillow fort is. The brunet just shook his head and smiled at the blonde standing across the room from him, and continued to rearrange the furniture. Eiji just huffed out a sigh and went upstairs to raid the rooms for what he was asked to collect. Not long after the other had left, Griffin had a sudden burst of energy and rushed out the door. He needed to run and he needed to run now. Thankfully for the master of speed, there was a large clearing behind his house just a short hike away from his house. Whenever he got a burst of energy and didn't feel like tearing through the house like a cat at 3 in the morning, he rushed out to run the perimeter of it. Judging from Eiji's face, however, it should have occurred to him to maybe explain this to his roommate after telling him to go fetch something and then bolting. "If this was your idea of a joke then you better explain it because I don't particularly find that funny." Griffin felt embarrassed, mainly because he was caught but also because he kept forgetting to mention that he has to run a few laps at least once a week or else he'll go nonstop for a few days and risk collapse. "You know how elemental masters have to sometimes find an outlet for their elements or else it can possibly kill them? That's kind of what I'm doing here." "I understand, but I would like to be told of this before I'm sent to fetch something and then find you gone, especially when it's this late in the day. Seriously Griffin it's almost sunset, at least tell me where you're going before you rush off like that." "I can't control the energy, sometimes I don't feel like cleaning up the aftermath of an indoor burst." Eiji pondered that last part, before nodding in understanding and agreement. Griffin sighed in relief and was about to ask how he could apologize for the worry he caused before he was cut off by the blonde. "So, why do you care so much about pillow forts? Is it like a family tradition of yours or..." "What? No! Well... Hold on, I need to gather my thoughts coherently." "I'll wait." Griffin didn't feel like he could talk about this topic without letting it slip that he was in love with the other master, not at his track of all places. He made a gesture suggesting that he wanted to carry Eiji to another area, and was relieved when the blonde caught on and held onto him somewhat tightly. "Where are we going?" "Back to the house, we'll talk as we build." "Whatever makes you comfortable Griffin." Griffin never really paid attention to how far away the clearing actually was, he thought it was a lot shorter. Granted, he was usually going so fast it really was just a stone's throw away for him. He felt kind of bad for making Eiji march all the way out to get him. The pillow fort didn't take as long as Griffin had hoped. He planned on focusing so much on building it that he could ignore the inevitable conversation that would end with him broken-hearted and out one wonderful roommate. Eiji, on the other hand, looked pleased with the result. It was a simple little fort, just barely big enough for them to be comfortable, but the look on his face betrayed his emotions. He ducked underneath the blanket they used as the roof and invited Griffin to join, patting the spot next to him. Griffin happily obliged, laying his head on Eiji's thigh. "So, we built the fort, and I think I can see why you were so intent on having me build one with you. It was fun, despite the purpose still being unclear to me." "Well, what do you think the purpose is?" "I read up on it while I was upstairs as to what it was, and the purpose, usually, is to entertain a child? I am not a child and neither are you, so there has to be another reason for your suggestion." "You talk like a nerd." "Says the man who spent half a day teaching me Sonic the Hedgehog lore." "Hey, that's very important information!" "Back to my question, why did we build this?" "Well, like you said it's usually to entertain children, and yet you have never even heard of one much less build one. It's a nice thing to experience as a child and while I understand that your childhood was... far from great, it's something you never even thought to act upon? I don't know exactly, I think I just wanted to give you something nice to remember about me when I'm not around anymore..." Eiji paused, processing what Griffin just told him. He had a look of concern on his face that was usually reserved for a problem with his silk moths. Eiji's eyes were a nice blue, it reminded him of a pool. He would be honored if he could drown in them. "Griffin? Are you okay? You're staring off into space again." "A pool would be a better descriptor..." "I'm sorry a what? Griffin, what are you staring at that has you so enthralled?" Griffin quickly sat up and attempted to hide the blush that was appearing on his face. "Is there something wrong?" "No, no there isn't. I was just thinking about going swimming later..." "Griffin, usually when people lie they avoid eye contact, and you're not even facing me while speaking. Either be honest and tell me what's wrong or you're getting moth therapy." He shuddered at the mere idea of moth therapy, he didn't know what it was but something in the back of his mind said he probably he didn't want to know. He tried to think of an excuse but his mouth moved faster than his brain. "Eyes." "What?" "I was staring into your eyes, they remind me of a pool because I used to go swimming a lot and the water was the same shade as your eyes and gosh they're so pretty." Eiji, unfortunately, went silent. A sign that Griffin has majorly fucked up and he needs to find a way to play it off that wouldn't offend him further. He was interrupted by what was unmistakably laughter. It wasn't the prettiest laugh he's ever heard, but definitely one of the nicer ones. It was genuine, and it helped deter the approaching doubts Griffin had about his feelings. "Thank you! No one's ever really commented on them. Although you've seen my mask, they're usually too terrified to notice! You were enthralled by my eyes? I don't really understand why, because your eyes are even more fascinating!" "How so?" "Griffin... please tell me you're joking." "I don't understand what you find special about my eyes?" "Well, I find your left eye specifically to be interesting, it's two different colors. Brown and blue, split right down the middle it seems. You have sectoral heterochromia." Griffin gave Eiji a confused look and left to go find a mirror. Obviously, he would have noticed his left eye being two different colors... right? He never felt so stupid looking in that mirror, he's had this his whole life and he's just now noticed? He stared intently in the mirror, wondering and slightly hoping that this was some kind of hallucination from lack of sleep. No wonder people did double-takes the rare moments he removed his shades from their proper place. He figured he may have gotten used to it, a lot of people in his family had some strange-looking eyes. Maybe he just thought his eyes were ordinary in comparison. He's known a few people with heterochromia before, but he never thought he had it as well. Eiji was always the smart one, spending possibly thousands of years locked in an evergrowing library of knowledge does that to you. Almost as if the thought summoned the other elemental, Eiji appeared in the doorway, holding a bowl and a pack of popcorn. "Want to watch a movie in the fort with me?" Griffin smiled in the mirror, staring into his roommate's pretty blue eyes. "Sounds great, but I swear if you pick another slasher film then you're dealing with me tonight. I will demand so many apology cuddles you'll wish you never knew me." The blonde smirked and gave him a wink. "Aww, I was looking forward to a Vorhees marathon... I'll go pick something else then, see you in the fort birdy." Griffin was about to backtrack and say that he was joking until he remembered quite vividly the select reasons why he disliked the genre. He's seen enough blood courtesy of that stupid tournament. He shook the thoughts away before staring into the mirror one last time. He had to agree, his eyes were fascinating.

#ninjago #snake tails #griffin turner #ninjago griffin #griffin ninjago #ninjago oc #ninjago original character #oc x canon #oc: eiji #racetrackshipping #i got tumblr access on my school computer now so guess who decided to post a fic they did yesterday :3c

[multifandom-stranger]

4 . 9 . 16

The Broken Few Pt. 1

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning: Topics such as mental and physical abuse, self harm/cutting, and drug use are mentioned. Strong language is used as well. Read with this in mind please.

Heavy footsteps slammed into the puddles riddling one of the many back alleys of Seoul. A certain figure was following suit trying to catch him. “Shit! Oh fuck, oh fuck…” Mark hissed in between heavy breaths. He had been dodging around corners and shoving people around on the streets to try and shake the man off but nothing could change his keen focus induced by a blind rage. 

“MARK LEE GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!!” Mark looked over his shoulder to see just how much distance he was gaining and the answer was not that much. What he could see was that god awful ‘father’ of his. He had to refer to the man as such even with no blood relation. Mark has been put into the foster care system a year back. To say it was the safe space he needed to grow as a troubled teen was a fucking joke. The man in charge of their foster home was ruthlessly abusive to all the children in his care. 

Mark has been beaten, thrown, and mentally broken down by this man who had promised to give him the life skills for success. His only splice had been his friends on the streets. One day he snuck out during the night and bumped into some dude. Literally. He was running away from the hell hole he called home and right as he turned his head caught a flash of white before hitting the ground. He had big round eyes and pure white hair. No way in hell that was natural. Mark just sat there knocked down for a bit as the stranger stared at him with a… weird look. “What’s your name?” said the man as he extended a hand. Mark took it defensively and scoffed. 

“Why should I tell you?” Mark snapped back at the probably older man.

 The man smiled gently at Mark as he restarted the conversation. “I’m Taeyong and I help people like you.” What kind of asshole says shit like this is?

 “The fuck? Whatever man.” Just as Mark began to walk away his wrist was grabbed harshly by the taller of the two. He winced since he had been dragged by it earlier. “What the hell!?”  That same indescribable look was on his face. It was almost like he was reading a book that both informed and saddened him. Mark felt as though he was a tiny thing being observed under a microscope. Taeyong just gave off this oddly sweet and intimidating aura.

 “I can tell you know,” he said gently. Taeyong pulled up the sleeve of the arm he had grabbed and confirmed his suspicions. Bruises. Mark's arm had a few older ones along with the very obvious thing that adorned his skin. Lines upon lines of cuts. Same as his bruises, some were old and almost healed whereas some were newer and caused the previous grip to be painful. “After all, I’ve been there too. Takes one to know one.” Taeyong said as he rolled up his own sleeve. Mark instantly notes the familiar discolored lines adorning his pale skin. 

Even with his faded scars on display Taeyong smiled softly and said, “So do you wanna come with me to talk about why? I sense your running away as well. I have a place for people like us where we can feel safe for a while.” 

That was when Taeyong led him to this crummy little abandoned rooftop apartment. Apparently the place had been foreclosed or something. Point was that no one was there and no one would move in. The only sign of the place being lived in against regulations was the colorful lights that peered through the grimy windows. Taeyong stopped by the door and turned to face Mark with a smile. “Gonna tell me your name or what kiddo? That is, if you trust the stranger you walked off with enough to introduce yourself.” he teased with a light chuckle.

 Mark joined in his brief laughter and stated, “I’m Mark Lee. Nice to meet you Taeyong.” He extended his hand with a smile which Taeyong gladly returned as he shook his hand. Without another word he opened the door to reveal a rather inviting room, unexpectedly so. Sitting in this room with hand painted art on the walls, posters, small string lights, and lots of other cool things were three other boys now staring at the new face he was to them.

 “Guys, meet Mark. Mark, meet the guys.” Taeyong said and then pointed to one of them. “No hair over here’s name is impossible to say so we just call him Ten.” Ten proceeded to give him a small wave and a half smile. “Then there’s Jaehyun. He’s kinda the wanna be cool guy.” 

“Ya! Wanna be? I’m the real deal you asshole!” Jaehyun fired back with a scoff and a quick dismissive wave to Mark.

Taeyong continued, “Finally, the rabbit. See, doesn't he look like one?”

 Another outburst was heard, this time from the last boy with orange hair. “I’m not a rabbit! Why can’t you introduce anyone normally.” 

Taeyong waved a hand at him to tease and finally gave his name. Ever so sarcastically he sang out “Mark meet Doyoung! I really hope you get along well.” Ten rolled his eyes with a smile as the other three chuckled at his antics. “Now for the serious stuff. You gotta go back by dawn or something right?” Taeyong asked. 

Mark stared at him, taken back again. “Literally how do you guess this shit?” 

“Seventh sense is what I call it,” he leaned in closer to Mark as he continued. “But I think I have one hell of an intuition. Alright alright, court is in session!” 

Suddenly he was pulled back into a seat by the boy closest to him, Doyoung. Mark looked at him a bit confused before he whispered, “Relax, this is how we all had to do it. Roll with it.” 

Taeyong slaps the small table twice and looks back to Mark. “Spill kid. What’s your strife?” Looking around the room he saw everyone had gone silent and begun to stare. They didn’t hold any malice in their expression or boredom. Each person in the room seemed to be hanging on a thread, waiting for the moment he spoke. It felt oddly comforting. Even if it wasn’t, why not open up? Not like he’d ever see these guys again. 

“I uh, I’m in a shit foster home. Guy in charge makes us refer to him as father even though, clearly, he’s not related to any of us. I have no idea who my real parents are so it’s not like I can just leave. The main issue is that he beats the hell out of us. Day in and day out if you do anything he finds punishable, you’ll get hit for it. I just… It’s also his words though. I’m sick and tired of being called a fucking mistake or that my parents left me for a reason.” Mark started to feel his eyes tear up a bit before he resorted to his usual trick. Looking up as high as he could. He always did that when he cried. Look up at the ceiling, sky, stars, whatever. “I would do anything to feel like a person. A real person. Not a shell of one or a mistake. That’s why I cut. I wanted a feeling. I wanted an escape.” he said as he started to breath heavily and grind his teeth together.

 It amazed him that once he lowered his head he was met by that same look of understanding. Not pity or disinterest, but of empathy. There was a long comforting silence before Ten carefully broke it. “I was kicked out for being gay. I was also abused too.” 

Then Jaehyun added, “My parents both are addicts and tried to sell me off for drug money.” 

Doyoung chimes in calmly stating, “I’m lucky enough to have had great parents, they just passed away a while back.”  The room filled once again with a comforting silence.

They all shared glances of sympathy until Taeyong once again slapped his hand against the table. “Jury’s verdict? All in favor say aye.” One by one the three other boys all said ‘aye’ and Doyoung patted Mark on the back. “Court adjourned. Mark, are you willing to join our little family here?” Taeyong asked with his big brown eyes all rounded out with curiosity. 

“Depends on what you mean by that. Why should I?” 

Jaehyun leaned over Doyoung so that he was in line of sight with Mark. His expression got dead serious in that moment. “Kid, you either stay at the foster home or you can stay here with us and work to make a living of your own.”

Ten peeked over Jaehyun just barely and added, “We pick-pocket and do little jobs for people to get by. And yeah, it’s small but we have this little place to call home. We lead our own lives and do whatever the fuck we want here. No one can hurt you here.” “Best part is that this family is the best one any one of us has got. Pretty soon I bet you’ll fit right in.” Doyoung said as he placed an arm over Mark’s shoulder. “I know it’s not an honest living but it’s something. Are you in?” Taeyong asked. The other three looked at him with blank expressions. Whether he said yes or no wouldn’t change their lives too much, they just wanted to see the kid happy because they saw that pain in him. That pain they all knew too well. 

Surrounded by the darkness of the night outside the apartment Mark knew he still had plenty of time to get back but why the fuck would he. This was definitely a better shot at living life than living with that monster back home. Fuck it, this was his new home. Mark looked to Taeyong and said with a newfound confidence “I’m in.”His new family looked around at each other with big wide grins. 

Jaehyun lightly punched Mark on his shoulder to catch his attention before saying, “Here’s the rules, okay? One, loyalty above all else. We’ve all been fucked over by those we trusted.” When Mark glanced around once more he noted in the back of his mind that Ten looked particularly hurt. “Second, be smart. Don’t do something dumb enough to get in big trouble. If you fuck up so big it screws the whole family over, consider yourself out. We don’t want you here if you're just using us.” Mark knew the heavy nature of the streets. The rules were typical of most gangs or small families he had heard of but they seemed more reassuring than daunting. Why the hell would he stab these guys in the back if they’re the ones sticking out their neck to take him in. “Finally, listen to the older members. Since your the youngest and newest you gotta lot to learn from us kid.” 

Mark nodded as Ten held out his hand. Looking down there was a small needle in it. “Take this and prick your finger. Then go seal the deal by leaving a mark of your print on the wall.”

 Mark glances over to where Ten has pointed with his free hand to see four bloodstained marks upon the dingy green wall. He took a deep breath before taking the needle and walking up to the wall. “You know, this is like some mafia shit.”

 Taeyong let out a small laugh and looked at the kid with particular amusement. “You in or not? I’m not forcing your hand at all, but just know that once you're in your family. We’ll do anything for you at the drop of a dime and we expect the same back.” Mark stared the thing down for a bit before pricking his finger. A small bead of blood emerged and grew until he stamped it against the wall.

 Now here he was, running from that damn foster dad of his. He had called the cops to search for him but Mark has been living with the boys off the grid for weeks. It had almost been a month before the local police found themselves at a standstill. That’s when he went back out into the streets again. But he couldn’t forget one thing. The only thing he ever had left to him from his parents was a ring. It was a thick, plain silver band that only fit on his pinky finger. He had been told it was his mother’s ring. And of course, he left it at the fucking foster home. To cut a long story short Mark shimmied the damn drainpipe, got the ring, but got caught on the way out by the demon of a father figure he was forced to have. Of fucking course. So here he was, running down alleys and through streets to get away. “God damnit!” Mark shouted to himself. He had finally made it out, yet he just had to get the ring and get himself into a whole load of trouble. He had been working on the streets a lot these past few weeks so he knew a way to get a major gain and lose the man. Mark took a sharp left turn before starting to climb the chin fence he knew was around the bend. Once at the top he hurled himself down, landing with a thud. He looked back to see the old man run up to the fence and hit it in frustration from the other side. 

“Where the hell do you think a fuck up like you can even go, huh?! You got nobody! No one but me!” Mark could feel the rage swell. He did have somebody. He had Taeyong, Doyoung, Ten, and Jaehyun all there for him. 

Mark kicked at the fence sending that bastard back on his ass. “Yes I do! I’m not worthless! I’m not a fuck up! And I’m certainly not alone. If you ever try and find me again I’ll be the one to kick your ass for once. That’s a promise, not a threat.” With that he broke his firm glare and ran off to the rooftop apartment oasis he now called home.

#nct mafia au #nct mafia #nct mark #nct taeyong #nct ten #nct jaehyun #nct doyoung #mark #taeyong #ten #jaehyun #doyoung #nct au

[jksangelic]

peaches & piercings (m)

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: punk!jimin, e2l, college au, very explicit smut, one-shot, jimin is a whole asshole

↳ pairing: cheerleader!reader x punk!jimin

↳ warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, sub/dom themes, casual sex, be t r ay a l, alcohol (and weed? idk) consumption, oral sex (male receiving), squirting, thigh-fucking, kind of exhibitionism?, jimin is pierced (that’s all i’ll say), just expect the worst from me tbh

↳ summary: jimin, dipped in hair-dye and pierced in so many places that you just couldn’t keep track, doesn’t think you’re his “type”. you call bullshit.

↳ note: i reallyreallyreally hated this fic. loved the idea, hated how i wrote it. i’ve had this bad boy sitting in my archives for months and months and months and couldn’t gather the courage to post it until NOW! partially because this is an apology fic for my inactivity and more so because i just think i’ve read it too many times that at this point, i’m just being nit-picky and need to move on.

a special thanks to the lovely @14statelier whomst unwillingly received dong pics for the sake of this fic. i’m so glad i found someone as sweet as you to beta for me + become an even better galpal! love u always xx

also thanks to my gal @jungshookz, i’m pretty sure (78% positive) i sent her my idea via snapchat and was probably inspired by her in some way, per usual.

OKAY i’m done you can read now hehehe

↳ words: 11.6k

↳ parts: one | two (complete)

“Jungkook, if you’re not going to throw it then get your grabby hands off my waist,” you warn, eyeing him as he stands behind you and delays in one-manning you into an extension or ogling your ass in your skirt.

           “You’re just so wobbly today, I’m waiting for you to chill out a bit,” he lies with a smirk. You smack his hand but exhale deeply as you firmly grasp his wrists and count.

           “1, 2!” With mutual timing, Jungkook dips down with you before heaving your body above, squatting to catch your heels mid-air, and pumping back up into an extended position. He’s right, you wobble a bit, calling out, “Bail!” and feeling his hands disappear beneath to re-catch your thighs and bring you down safely on your toes. You curse silently under your breath but pat Jungkook’s shoulder as a symbolic “thank you”.

“It’s too fucking early for this, I’m tired,” you say, only making excuses for yourself.

“Well, liven up. The doors are going to open soon and no freshmen want to join a failure of a cheer team.”

“Hey, stop bickering,” the captain, Suzy, orders, “Y/N, you’re fine to just handle the flyers, I’ll stunt with Jungkook.” You squish her into an exhausted hug.

“This is why you’re captain,” you coo.

With that, some of the staff open the gym doors, welcoming an intimidatingly large group of people in with smiles. You fake one yourself, ready to get this over with as soon as possible so you can go back to your dorm and sleep. Within ten minutes, you had a group of girls and a handful of brawny guys already watching Suzy and Jungkook’s exhibition, a mixture of oohs and ahs being rewarded. You handed each of them a thin, poorly-made flyer with pixelated clipart of a girl doing a toe-touch before they scrambled.

After a while, most of the initial commotion dies down and you people-watch each clueless face, thinking how adorable they are, so young and so lost, as if it weren’t you only a few months ago. You’re only a sophomore, but in your head that gives you enough authority to judge the freshmen.

You snap out of your daze upon boots clicking in the distance, soon revealing a man seemingly darting through the crowds to exit across the other side. You would’ve ignored him if it wasn’t for his peachy-tinted hair, long and slicked back atop and close-shaven near his neck, his thin but fit stature dressed in all-black, and the glint of metal, that you soon realized was a septum piercing, in his nose. He has a dark sleeve consuming his right arm and you wonder what eighteen or nineteen year old has a fully-developed sleeve.

Although his eyes were covered with chunky black sunglasses (in the gym, at that), the rest of his appearance sent your pierced-and-tatted-hot-boy alarm berserk. Suddenly awake, you wait for him to head closer to your booth before hopping next to him.

“Hi there, freshie. Care to take a tryout flyer for this year’s cheer team?” you ask with a pitch that’s much higher than your own, kindly handing him one of the shitty-looking papers. He mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch but speaks before you can ask him to clarify.

“Not a freshman. Do I look like someone who cheers? I’m just looking for the counseling center to turn in my transfer papers.

“Also, can you, like, give me some personal space?” he continues in a mock valley-girl tone.

You jump back, completely caught off guard with his sudden hostility and attempting to regain your composure by clearing your throat. Someone must’ve shoved a stick up his ass this morning.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Once you leave the gym, you head right, pass two sets of restrooms, head left, and it’s behind the big statue where the foyer is.” Your voice sounds much better.

His eyebrows rocket upwards over his glasses, completely frazzled by the number of directions you gave him, “Shit, okay. That’s a lot.”

“Here, I’ll just walk you,” you say, not giving him any time for him to probably decline. You don’t even question if he’s following you or not, the obvious clunkclunkclunk of his boots giving it away.

Unsurprisingly, the man doesn’t try to talk to you on the way to the counseling center. At most, he walks side-by-side, at least three meters between you for good measure. And even though it’s pretty clear he doesn’t want to talk, you ring him out a little more anyway.

“So, you’re not a freshman. Underclassman or upperclassman? And you’re a transfer? From where?”

Pass two sets of restrooms and head left.

“Senior. From Busan.” He doesn’t even show a hint of feeling. Emotion. Does this guy even breathe?

Straight until the statue in the foyer.

“Great. Well, it was nice to meet you, senior from Busan. I’m Y/N. If you ever need help or anything, feel free to ask me,” you deadpan, swiveling on your feet to salute him.

He leans on one hip, taking a hand with an incredible amount of rings on it and pushing his sunglasses over his hair like a headband. You certainly weren’t expecting a reveal of the kindest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life. He almost looks permanently sleepy—eyes drooping flat on the lid. Your trance distracted you from his brief once-over, unpredictably impressed by your looks, if he had to admit it.

“It’s Jimin. Jimin, senior from Busan. See you around, cheerleader,” he says with a sly tilt of his lips before swinging the door open and slithering into the office. Past all the glitter and bright colors that poured out of that hideous uniform of yours, Jimin found you really cute.

Jimin waits patiently for the front desk to call him up, lounging in one of the hard, black plastic chairs that never failed to give his ass cramps. Though he didn’t seem like it to new faces around the campus, he was ecstatic to be starting college again in a whole new atmosphere. He even got to room with another male originally from Korea, Min Yoongi, in a small condo not too far a walk from the area.

He could even prospect cuties like you during his year, undoubtedly positive he could busy himself judging by the attention he’s attracted so far. All it would take is a hungry stare, a lick of his lips, an all-knowing smirk. It was easier here than it was back home, if not child’s play. He could have you in three hours flat. But then he thinks of you choosing the obnoxious cliché of college cheerleader and cringes at the idea of associating himself with such… American-ness. He could at least go for some sort of indifferent, grunge hipster that might actually have some thought to her. Yeah, more his style.

The woman at the front finally calls for him, so he arranges his papers and shoos away any daydream of hooking up with the girl in a tight skirt and ankle socks.

Taking the long route back to the gym, your imagination sputters through all the possible reasons why you should hate that guy, bad-guy radar ringing and shrieking and threatening to punch you square in the eye if you even think about it. Eventually, it comes to the conclusion that he was just new, he was probably having a rough moving-in, and you shouldn’t judge a transfer by their hair. Book by its binding? You don’t really remember how the saying goes in this situation.

“Hey, good job on snaking yourself out of flyer duty. What, did you bang Asian Hot Topic on your way?” Jungkook snickers.

“And did Cait break up with you because you can’t dom for shit? Hand me my jacket.”

He guffaws, practically throwing the clothing at your face, “We didn’t break up, asswipe. How am I supposed to act when she suddenly calls me ‘daddy’ without previous warning? I’m not ready to be a father.”

“Kook, you’re dumb as shit. Maybe I should bang Asian Hot Topic and give you pointers of how a real dom works their magic.”

Jungkook crosses his arms in denial, “Pfft, you don’t even know him. He could be a receiver for all you know.”

One, two, three seconds. You both chortle at the impracticality.

You take one final look in the body mirror, adjusting the slinky grey dress and hanging an oversized burnt-orange corduroy jacket over your shoulders for that final touch of unnecessary, but fashionably-adept, garnish to your outfit cupcake. Not having enough time to do your hair, you sweep it over to one side and leave it as is.

“You look fine and you’re ten minutes late so get out already,” your roommate, Sara, whines. She practically pushes you out, slamming and locking the door for emphasis.

Waving off your discombobulated roommate, you start your trek to the humanities building (which is so far away) with a skip in your step. A new school year meant new people, new classes, more lunchtimes with subpar food and occasional parties that could potentially lead to you getting arrested. Who knows!

A new school year, however, didn’t mean that you would know your way to your new class apparently. Bummer.

It’s only by your fourth circle and a glance at your phone that you panic, fifteen minutes somehow passing in the midst of your scrambling. Pace quickening, you pull out your paper with sloppily written notes of what class room number was at which time, simultaneously half-jogging past classrooms and—

“Oof!”

You land straight on your ass.

“Ow, watch where you’re going stu—oh, it’s you.”

You look up groggily, pain stinging through your legs from the brunt of your fall and lazily making eye contact with a pair of puppy dog eyes. Jimin stands above you, rubbing his chin where, you suppose, your forehead made rough contact with and indiscreetly staring at your bright blue panties where your dress failed to cover.

Hopping up and dusting yourself off, you pick up your fallen bag and paper before glaring at him, “Sorry, I got lost and wasn’t paying attention.”

He scoffs, “Aren’t you the cheerleader? You’re supposed to be, like, the girl scout of the school, right? You shouldn’t be lost.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, well. I am,” you mutter to yourself, “I don’t even think there’s a 207 in this building…”

“Oh, 207? Intro to psych, right? That’s where I’m going too,” he admits, eyes blown wide. Welp, certainly not the highlight of your morning.

“Great. By the looks of the current time, we’re both lost and,” you wave around the empty corridor, “there’s no one who’s going to help us.”

“I’m not lost. I just woke up late,” he answers nonchalantly, a warm glow to his face like he couldn’t give two damns about his class.

“W-What? Then let’s go! Where is it?”

Jimin twirls and walks a different direction, mumbling, “I’m not your escort, rich girl.”

You prattle at his comment but follow him anyway. When you find the correct lecture hall, you groan at the fact that you already passed it several times. He opens the door quietly, not even bothering to hold it for you as you scramble to catch it. A couple of the back rows look back at you two, annoyed by the minor inconvenience.

“Well. Welcome to my 10AM psychology class at,” the professor booms through the hall and peeks at his wristwatch, “10:36. Go ahead and take these two free seats.”

Jimin shrugs and walks towards the front of the room, a quiet and embarrassed you tiptoeing behind him. Being this late and having to sit next to this ass wasn’t how you wanted your first day to go at all.

For the remainder of the 24 minutes until the first break, you skim over the contents that you missed in the syllabus and want to ram your head into the closest wall. Participation and attendance by themselves are 30% of your grade, homework and assignments (thank god) being a measly 20%, and the final plus tests and quizzes a hunking remainder of 50%. What even was this system?

During your ten minute break, you silently scroll through your phone notifications, setting it down irritatingly when the hall refused to grant you enough service to respond to any of them.

“Don’t have LTE, princess? Might as well watch paint dry without your phone to entertain you,” Jimin snickers beside you. You scowl menacingly at him and he giggles more.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but back off, Jimin. Sorry I don’t, like, play the electric guitar in my free time or whatever.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, still smiling and blowing bubbles with his gum, popping them quite obnoxiously, and quite intentionally.

“What, do you think I play the electric guitar? Are you stereotyping me as some sort of garage band drop-out punk?” he jesters.

“And do you take me for some sort of pink fuzzy consumerist? You don’t know me. Buzz off.”

Jimin had definitely tucked you into his mental folder of “tough gals”; his aloof tactic of flirting not seeming to penetrate that pretty skull of yours. He could just take the path of least resistance and approach you normally, but where was the fun in that? You were too interesting a specimen to just use-and-discard.

Jimin suddenly thinks you look attractive with furrowed brows and pouted lips. It was most definitely working for you, so he lets it slide for now. When class ends, you all but bolt before Jimin can even look your way, sure he’d find another surface flaw to pick at.

You suddenly think of what all of the adults in your life have said during your upbringing: people that went out of their way to bully you were either jealous or had an embarrassingly crushing “thing” for you. Jimin, on the other hand, was just annoying.

Of course, to your dismay, class isn’t the only time you ever saw him. You weren’t totally stupid. The campus didn’t stretch for miles and you were bound to see him sometime and have to deal with the efforts of avoiding the man at all costs but fuck were you praying to whoever controls your Sim above that they would grant you some mercy.

“Just tell him to fuck off if he’s so far up your ass,” Jungkook argues, crushing his juice box in one gulp and biting his massive cafeteria burrito.

“You don’t get it, Kook. I have. So many times, in so many different instances. Did I tell you about the time I thought he was helping me get a textbook from a tall shelf but he ended up taking that last one for himself?” You angrily rip a bite from your limp sandwich. You really did hate Turkey Thursdays.

“Eh, first come, first serve. Maybe he didn’t know you were trying to grab that one.”

“My ass, Jungkook. He claimed that if I really wanted it, I would ‘do something in fair exchange’ for it. I’m not looking to going into prostitution anytime soon.”

“Respect sex workers,” Jungkook criticizes.

“Oh, no, totally. Sex work just isn’t my forte.” Kook shrugs.

“Okay,” you continue, “how about the time I went to IKEA to buy that ceiling lamp and was obviously struggling to one-trip everything from my car? The dumbfuck passed by and asked if I needed help, so I was like, ‘Yeah! Sure, it would definitely make up for the time you asked for sex in lieu of my psych book,’ but instead of helping me carry anything he took my coffee, drank some, and left.” Jungkook starts a rebuttal but you cut him off short, “Then he showed up to my work the other day, god knows how he even saw me in there, and started taking a video of me when I wasn’t paying attention!”

“What the hell,” your friend sports a face of disgust, “like, he’s stalking you?”

You scratch the back of your neck, “Well, not exactly? I think he was just maybe—see, A$AP Rocky may or may have not been playing on the speakers, and I didn’t know anyone was in the shop! So. I don’t know. I started—”

“Started rapping with a rolled up poster as your microphone,” he deadpans. Finishing your horrid sandwich, you crumple the saran wrap and chuck it at his eye, satisfied when we wails exaggeratingly.

“Maybe that’s just his way of flirting with you, he’ll get bored eventually.”

“I think he just hates my guts and thinks of me as an equal to the gum under his thick, goth boots,” you mumble.

“Does it matter? So what if Danny Phantom doesn’t like you?”

“He’s causing a problem though. Besides, everyone cares if someone doesn’t like them. It’s bullshit if they tell you otherwise; bullshit or a lack of sympathy.”

“So what are you going to do about it? Because I’m totally your friend and all but I don’t necessarily want to hear about your boy problems all the time.” You harrumph at his negligence and slump back into your seat.

There really wasn’t anything you could do about it; it wasn’t bad enough to the point of distressing tyranny. You simply couldn’t befriend the guy, it was obvious he didn’t want that. You would just have to pray to all things good that he would eventually lose interest, stop harassing you out of kindness, or have a change of heart and treat you like the saint you were.

If only it were that easy.

Sylly-week kicked ass, to say the least. Even two days prior the hectic week from hell, your body aches from partying while your wallet cries from all the textbooks and supplies you paid for.

Sara slept beside you, forehead stuck to the desk with her laptop stuck on some sort of half-assed document and you couldn’t fathom a better picture to represent college.

Although it was already around 11, you hop out of bed and throw on your windbreaker from cheer and some spandex, shuffling into a pair of your sneakers and bolting out of your room with your bag. The amount of sodium and sugar you consumed from Cup-O-Noodles and off-brand cookie dough bites made you feel disgusting, and you know running a quick mile at the gym would get your blood pumping enough to make you: 1) feel better about yourself and 2) put your ass to sleep.

The walk is short, the air still a little heavy with heat but cool enough for you to be comfortable in a long-sleeve. Some tired students exit the library, really the only other people you see at this hour. You would’ve thought it creepy if the campus wasn’t so well-lit and played background music through the announcement speakers. If you died or got kidnapped, at least it was to some groovy jazz.

You swipe your card across the sensor beside the athletic building door, waiting for that subtle beep before the gears clank and allow you to heave the door open. Immediately, the smell of sweat poorly masked with air freshener fill your nostrils and your adrenaline builds. You’re no body builder, but a run certainly sounded nice right about now.

You practically skip through the halls, rounding a corner to enter the weight room before you stop in your tracks to see someone in the room across. You squint suspiciously, peachy hair striking a very strong familiarity to…

“Jimin?” you whisper to yourself. You shouldn’t be surprised that he’s at the gym, but you are because he isn’t. He’s in the dance studio. Before you bolt, your eyes glue to his sensual movements, legs gliding across the floor and body free-flowing alongside the bass-filled music. No previous bias could deny that he looks like an angel in his room, dancing smooth as meringue and practically skating across the floor despite those clunky black boots of his; and powerful, hitting every note and beat with intention and vigor. You’ve never seen anyone dance like this.

After a few seconds, you render that you’re spying on him and continue walking, nervously scuffing your sneakers down the linoleum and immediately, and unfortunately, catching his attention.

He first sees you in the mirror. Ignores you. Then realizes it’s you and turns into the most ungraceful bag-of-bones as he scurries to pause the music and chases you down the hall.

“Hey!” he yells, grabbing your elbow.

“Don’t touch me,” you strike back, jerking your elbow out of his grasp and staring him down.

He looks apologetic, genuinely worried for a second before he breathes deep and tries again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that. Um, why are you here?”

“Um, because I can be? I was going to go to the gym, dickwad.”

It takes all of his patience not to insult you, “Okay. You’re right. Were you… were you watching me?”

You give him a sickeningly-sweet smile, “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just passing by.”

He nods solemnly, straightening his tank as if it wasn’t already wrinkled and damp with sweat, “Okay. Okay, cool.” He starts to turn before he keeps going in a 360.

“Can you keep this between me and you? That I was here? That I was here and I was—”

“Dancing?” you ask quizzically, “Why does it matter?”

His eyebrows stitch together in frustration, “Y/N, do I look like I’m a dancer?” He gestures to his piercings and his sleeve, waving his hands about in so many different places that your lewd curiosity wonders what he looks like naked—for the sake of knowing how many piercings and tattoos he has though, obviously.

“I think you look like a dancer. Just not a contemporary dancer. Did you take ballet?” you half-tease, crossing your arms and beaming slyly at him.

Jimin huffs, impatient, “Will you just keep it locked somewhere in that airhead of yours?”

“What’s in it for me, Jiminie,” you pout, “what do I get as reward for keeping your secret?”

He falters a moment, licking his plump lips and walking dangerously close, “You want a reward? I don’t take you as that kind of girl, Y/N.”

He must be delirious, eyeing him so and shoving him away, “Ew, no. I just meant, like, be nice to me from now on. And help me with psychology. That class is nothing but a memory test.”

He blinks dumbly from your rejection; who ever rejected him? He waves it off.

“Okay. I can be compliant. I won’t treat you like the rich bitch you are, and I tutor you on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Deal?”

“I’m not a rich bitch. I have student loans like the rest of the student population, thank you very much. Deal.”

You smile at each other devilishly, ready to part ways before bursting out with an instant, “Wait!”

Jimin looks over his shoulder curiously. Damn, you could really see how toned his shoulders were in that shirt.

“There’re dance majors here, is that what you transferred for?”

He turns all the way, leaning sideways against the wall and sighing, “Honestly, yes. But my family thinks I’m transferring to finish my business degree and that I would have better opportunities here. I really did it because there’s some great studios in the area but—” he catches himself rambling, “I don’t know how they would feel about my grand decision.”

You shrug, “You’re a great dancer, Jimin. Honestly, you could open your own studio here if you wanted to. You do have great opportunities.”

His sleepy eyes stare you down, a half-smile drawing itself out before he can take it back. “Give me your phone,” he orders.

You don’t know why but you do.

He dials into it with his overly-accessorized fingers, giving you a moment to get a closer look at his septum and the abundance of ear-piercings he sports before he hands it back. You’re pretty sure one of them is Gucci and you bite back a chuckle. Rich bitch.

“That’s my number. Text me when you’re free on study days.”

And with that, he re-enters his room and resumes the music.

The first time Park Jimin meets with you at a Starbucks on a Tuesday, like he instructed, you thought you somehow managed to get yourself stuck in the Twilight Zone.

“Hey, it’s Y/N. My last class ends at 3 on both days and there’s already a quiz this Friday. Help.”

 You sent the text without emojis. He didn’t deserve any.

You had barely got to Instagram before he texted you back. With multiple messages.

 “u text like a gramma”

“but ok”

“starbucks at 330? i’ll buy”

 You giggled to yourself at his joke, sending a single “(:” and putting your phone to sleep.

 To your disbelief, he really did buy you a cheese danish and a tall, iced, caramel macchiato. You sip it gingerly while he pulls his things out of his bag: a couple mechanical pencils (the industrial, expensive ones), a 1-inch binder organized by subject with dividers, and notecards. You grab them and hold them up like it’s evidence from a leading murder case.

“Notecards? You are way too organized and functional.”

He snags your pastry before you can grab it and takes a huge bite, “Yeah, but ih’s gonna het you a bedder ghrade.”

Whining, you get it back after his second bite, somehow only half remaining.

“Okay. Let’s get started. It should only be a vocab check because that’s really all he’s asked us to study so far. We’ll start with my wonderful notecards,” he waves them in the air for effect, “and see which ones you do and don’t know.”

You nod, waiting for the chaos to begin. Who were you to tell him that you haven’t actually studied any of the vocab yet? He holds the first one up. Abductive reasoning.

“Uhh… is that like, something detectives use on kidnapping cases?”

“Wh-What? No. Well—are you thinking of ‘abductions’? Abductive reasoning is being able to use the two states of induction and deduction alongside your intuition to reach a conclusion,” he pauses and tilts his head a little, “ I guess the best analogy is giving out a verdict on a criminal case. Without being 100% sure, they use the evidence to tie together as many different points as they can to come to a conclusion. So, I mean, you got it wrong, but you can easily remember the definition with that.”

You’ll take what you get (majority of his reasoning went through one ear and out the other, anyway), wiggling your eyebrows in justified approval. Jimin laughs at you, eyes squinting to slits and shaking his head. He takes notice that you aren’t wearing much makeup today, your cheeks and the bridge of your nose a tad red with irritation and a bit dry where the sun burnt and eyes daintier without so much eyeliner on them. You threw on a tank and some workout shorts and look like the epitome of… comfortable, in your head. Jimin thinks you look effortless.

“Park?” you wave your hand in front of him.

He catches himself staring and jumps out of his seat, chair screeching across the tile.

“Sorry,” he coughs, “I’m going to take a whiz.” Stupid. He practically trips over himself to get to the restroom.

You watch him hurry to the back. He probably had much better things to do than help you study in the middle of the afternoon. A couple of younger girls watch him as he passes, giggling like a pack of fangirls and combing their hair out of their faces. If they only knew.

Did he even have a girlfriend? Most likely not, right? He only just transferred here and despite his well-endowed looks, he was still intimidating. Like a giant “don’t touch, I bite” sign constantly hung around his neck.

He comes back shortly, and before you can deduct that you would rather save the embarrassment than to quench your curiosity, you ask, “Are you dating anyone?”

“Because you get a lot of followers,” you reason, shamelessly pointing out the girls who ogle his tattooed biceps. They giggle again when he looks their way. God, so many giggles.

He rubs the back of his neck nervously and that intrigues you, “No, I’m not dating anyone. I think if it weren’t for my… accessories? And the fact that I’m foreign, girls wouldn’t like me as much.” You find tiny comfort that he’s single but squish the thought away.

“How ‘bout you? Dating that guy on your team?” he retorts.

“Who, Jungkook?” you snort, “No. He has a girlfriend and he’s all brawn over brain. I’m not dating anyone, actually. I don’t like guys that are so competitive to win females strictly for the points, and there’s a lot of that here. S’gross; we’re not animals.”

“We kinda are,” he argues, but smiles understandingly.

“Okay, but not in the way where your possible significant other has to perform an instinctual mating dance?”

He juts up an eyebrow, “Really? Because I could easily arrange that.”

For the first time, you both laugh. At the same thing. Who knew that Jimin could dance of all things? And pay for your food? And actually be a nice guy who’s really smart? Thinking about it, today has gone so polar-opposite of what you expected that you contemplate if this is Jimin’s identical twin that just happens to have the same piercings and ink that bully-Jimin has.

Twilight Zone.

“Okay, let’s continue,” he says, resuming the queue of notecards.

“Define abulia.”

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” Jimin waved a hand in your face.

“Hm? Sorry, say it again.”

Jimin packed up his supplies, then grabs yours and tucks them into your bag, “I said, ‘Are we going to your place right now?’ You said you picked up Black Panther on DVD so I want to watch it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Cats and shit.”

You both stand up and stretch, the rest of the students in the lecture hall slowly filing out. Midterms were already approaching, which meant that you and Jimin had known each other for quite some time now. His tutoring was ditched weeks ago after you were finally comfortable with the material and able to comprehend what the professor was saying without Jimin to interpret. At first, meeting up stopped completely. You two would talk occasionally during class break and that’s all, and after a while, you just figured your deal was completed and Jimin finished his case and you both separated onto your different ways.

But then Jimin had asked if you wanted coffee at the same Starbucks you had first studied at, but for no specific reason. Just to hang out. So, you did.

Hanging out once or twice for coffee turned into twice getting lunch turned into four or five times lazing about your dorm, and now, you were just completely, wholesomely, friends. It was hard not to be on edge at the contrast of current Jimin to hell-on-earth Jimin, but you took what you could get.

“Is something on your mind? You’ve been spacing out for a long time,” he prods, taking your bag himself and throwing it over the same shoulder his own bag was on. The

walk to your dorm building was short but you could feel your feet dragging from sudden exhaustion.

“I think I’m just tired? I’m fine. Ready to Black Panther it up and all that jazz,” you chuckle. He takes the hint and resorts to quietly humming to your room rather than talking. That’s one thing you liked about him, he always knew when your mind just needed simple white noise.

Unlocking the door and jostling it out of its stickiness, you make a running jump to faceplant onto your bed. The mattress dips next to you when Jimin sits.

“I know you like cheer and all, but I think you need to take a break,” he says.

“Easier said than done. And I have mandatory captain conditioning in 3 hours,” you groan, propping your head on the palm of your hand to watch Jimin as he eats a stale bag of chips that he found on your nightstand. His face contorts in repulsion and throws the bag away.

“Okay, well, you’re not going. Tell them you’re sick. Let’s watch some DC movies and eat popcorn and have, like, a girl sleepover but I’m not a girl and I don’t want to spend the night,” he says, counting each point on his fingers.

“First of all, you lunatic, it’s Marvel not DC. Second, I don’t have popcorn. I can’t just skip conditioning because if I gain one pound Jungkook will sense it with his nose or something and attack me.”

“What,” he says in disbelief, grabbing your waist with one hand and squeezing a little, “you’re fine. You’re not going today and that’s final.” It’s not very often he touches you and as much as you try not to show it, you feel your face heat and mouth gape open and closed, ready to combust. You don’t particularly know why; guys touch you all the time (not in that way, thank you very much) but when it was Jimin, it was like you had been raised feral and failed to receive any means of human interaction.

He notices, taking his hand away as quick as he placed it and looking at the floor. Despite your lack of proper reaction, you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel a little twinge of disappointment. God, you’re so confusing to yourself.

“How about you? Your vampire ass won’t dance in sunlight so you must be tired too. How long do you normally dance for when you’re in the studio?”

“Well,” he lays flat on his back and stares at your popcorn ceiling (your dorm building was extremely outdated), “I try to workout at the actual gym in the morning before I get ready for class, and then I dance from 11 to whenever I feel is enough during the weeknights. That is, if no one’s there.”

“Why do you even follow this whole path of disliking mainstream trends and ‘rebelling against the world’? Isn’t that tiring? Aside from dance, do you, like, make your own skateboards and go to secret underground bars or something?” you tease. He rolls his head towards you in annoyance and mouths a “ha ha”.

“No, I just. I don’t know. I don’t like people telling me what to do or where to go or how to look,” he showcases his tatted arm. “This is all mine. I don’t want to be another puppet controlled my whole life to consume and work off a never-ending debt just so I can only live comfortably when I’m old but too old to actually live.”

“Wow, bro. That’s deep,” you pretend to smoke a pretzel stick. He continues anyway.

“Recently I made some friends that are in one of my labs. They’re from Korea too. If I’m not studying or working or hanging out with you, I’m probably with them. Partying or something,” he says, stealing away your “cigarette” and crunching on it loudly.

“Woah, you work? How do you find the time to do that?”

“Kinda. Nothing official, I just tutor people sometimes. Charge them by the hour and make some decent pocket change for food or whatever.”

You contemplate. How come he’s never charged you for your tutoring before? You ask him, studying his side profile and admiring his jawline when he talks. Flexing then easing; taut then relaxed.

“Because we had a deal. We agreed that I would help you in psych as long as you kept my secret, in which you did, so I figured that was good enough. Besides, you’re too cute to charge. I look like a bad boy but I’m not evil.” You giggle, resembling a middle-school fangirl and exaggerating a flattered stature.

Jimin laughs again, light and refreshing staccato notes that you could honestly listen to all day. It was therapeutic in its own crackhead way.

You’ve been unintentionally staring at him more and more often, Jimin finally taking notice within the last few minutes. He knew how to read a girl; how revealing they make themselves to impress him or how their eyes dim in any sort of suggestion that his hands should somehow find place on their body. But with you, he has no idea what that stare means. For the most part, you carry yourself so independently to the point of being standoffish and Jimin just can’t figure you out. He sought the day you would give in and beg for a night with him just like most of the other girls in his classes did, and when you didn’t, he wanted to know why. Not out of inflated ego or need to get into your pants—okay maybe because of that initially—but even more so that he just needed to dissect you. Know how to get you going, what kind of person you really are, which was completely different from what he originally imagined.

You were talking amidst his thoughts, not paying attention to the strings of sentences that fell out of your lips and before he knew it, he held himself directly above you, hands on each side of your head and staring right down into your disordered doe eyes.

“What makes you so different?” he asks aloud, more to himself than you. Puzzled and not under the impression that it was a rhetorical question, you shake your head.

“I don’t u-understand. What are you doing, Ji—”

He tucks a loose strand of yours out of your face, causing you to hiccup. “I feel like when I think I know you, I’m actually far from it.”

You don’t particularly know what you’re supposed to say to that.

“You didn’t ever need to get to know me. You just needed to make sure I kept your secret,” you play along. Knowing it wasn’t really the whole case, your own statement stings a little. If it weren’t to save his own ass, would he even be here right now?

Like he read your mind, he answers, “Why would I be here? I haven’t needed to help you in weeks. I’m with you all the time because I want to be. Because I—”

“Because you…?” you trail on, heart beating so hard you swear he can hear it. You wanted him to say it, maybe that’s what was keeping you from confirming your feelings. You needed validation; that this wasn’t just you or that this was some one-sided longing because you doubted someone like him could ever like someone like you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks instead, so hesitant and delicate and worrisome all in one question and you ponder if this is the same boy you first met at orientation.

“Please.”

He dips down slowly, eyes half-closed in anticipation of what your face looks like so close, pausing an inch away when you shut your own. You feel his warmth near your mouth, waiting for that first touch, any contact, until it seems like it’s been far too long. When you peek, you see nothing but his perfect… cheekbone? He stares, jaw stuck open and eyes fluttering, at the intruder in the door before swinging himself off the bed and coughing awkwardly.

“Oh, Sara. I didn’t know you were coming home so early today,” you squeak out. You sit up yourself, brushing off nonexistent dust from the bed and watching Jimin gather his things in a rush and squeezing past a concerned Sara in the doorway. He doesn’t even turn back, ears stinging red and peeping a quick, havetogotextyoulater. Great, the asshole left you to face your roommate alone.

“Was that Jimin? Park Jimin? The fucking transfer student?”

“Oh my god, Sara, what’re you freaking out about?”

Dropping her stuff in the middle of the room, she shrieks annoyingly and grabs your shoulders, “Are you seriously fucking with the Park Jimin? Y/N. Nuh-uh. No way. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Chill out! We’re just friends. He tutors me sometimes.” Not quite a lie.

She eyes you and deadpans, “Yeah, I didn’t know tutoring also included a one-on-one session of how to have sexual intercourse.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you remove her hands, which were digging crescents into your skin, and pretend to arrange your bed, “we haven’t even kissed. You just walked in at an inconvenient time.”

Sara sighs, rubbing her temples and sitting on your bed, “Look, babe. Just be careful. I’ve been to parties with him and have heard some awful things. Shit you expect from a movie where the girl gets fucked over because the guy doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants. I just want the best for you, okay? He’s not as sweet as you might think he is.”

He isn’t sweet at all, you said internally. But still, your heart clenches at her words. Sure, he acts like a dick, and you shouldn’t be surprised if he really does get around as much as Sara suspects; but there was just some sort of denial that lingered. If he really was such a player, why would he have stuck around with you for as long as he has, as platonic as it has been until now?

“I… I didn’t know that. I’ll be careful,” you assure her.

All it took was a squinty-eyed smile and a tiny caress to the small of your back on the way into the lecture hall for you to completely melt into his hands. You were simply putty, magically molding into some gross, odd-smelling ball of love just because of the almost-incident yesterday. You can practically feel the radiating disappointment from Sara if she knew how easily you gave yourself up for him.

His face reoccurs in your daydreams for days, all the way up until the weekend comes up from behind and smacks you on the ass.

“Focus,” Jungkook taps you through you skirt again. Oh, or maybe it was Jungkook.

The stadium speakers blared with announcements and you’re brought back to the world of clashing helmets, captain’s orders and Jungkook’s strong hands residing on your waist for partner stunts.

You didn’t need to be reminded, you were much more stable than you were weeks ago. He throws you in the air during the signaling note of the band and catches your right foot with ease above him, keeping you stable as you pull a heel stretch and present a pretty smile. The crowd roars along, inspiring the team and singing along with the cheers.

By the end of the game, you’re exhausted, tearing down paper signs from the concrete walls and shuffling your poms into your bag in a hurry.

“Hey, are you going to the feed after? Everyone’s going, I could give you a ride,” Jungkook offers, but you shake your head.

“I’m pretty beat. I’ll go next time.” He shrugs, finding more interest in catching up to someone who is interested than trying to convince you otherwise. By the time your clean-up is done, most of the fans are gone, the stadium a comparable difference of quiet than how it was only twenty minutes ago.

“You’re sure taking forever,” a sudden voice pipes up. Outside the gate stands Jimin, all-black tank and jeans, per usual. “You looked great out there.”

You smile, suddenly awake and jogging towards him, “What’re you doing here? I thought you didn’t like football.” During all your rushing do you realize that you relax around Park, time always seeming to slow down in his presence and you dissolve into his effect.

“I don’t. Such an American moneymaker. They’re all cons.” He takes your bag like he always does, leaning against the gate and looking excited, “Mind if we stop by my place? I have something to show you. It’s not far, probably only a 5 minute walk from here.”

You nod before he even mentions how long it takes to get there, heart palpitating at the thought that he’s inviting you over. You’re sure you smelled from cheer and you probably looked like the opposing team warmed up suicide runs over your sweaty body, but you nod.

“Were you here the whole time? Or just towards the end?” you ask, slightly insecure towards the fact that he could’ve been watching you cheer.

“Was here since halftime. Got Yoongs to watch with me at the gate where I was before for the most part. He left halfway through fourth quarter though, said he got tired from seeing others exert themselves so much,” he chuckles at the thought, eyes squinting and crooked tooth visible from the side. Your heart swooned, you were even starting to notice the little things. How he acted. His habits. What he did and didn’t like.

You were in fucking deep.

“I did get to see you cheer though,” he answers your unspoken inquiry, “you looked pretty, Y/N. It’s like watching a whole ‘nother person compared to how you act outside of uniform.” You’re still stuck on the word “pretty” and nod along like you’re listening.

“You should see how people look at you,” he draws on, “like they’re entranced. Even when you were just relaxing on the sideline, not doing anything, you stand out.”

“Oh my god, Jimin, where is this even coming from? One more compliment and the world might explode from the paradox you’re creating.”

He shoves your shoulder lightly, laughing at your tomato-red face, “What do you mean? I can’t compliment you?”

“No that’s not—I just mean. You know. You used to hate me and now you shower me with praise like I’m the best person in the world. It’s just crazy how much our relationship has changed. And… And yesterday—”

“Yo, can’t believe you really stayed for the rest of the game,” a raspy voice outbursts. You just realize that Jimin stopped you in front of a house, presumably his house, as a mint-haired ball sits on the porch. He inhales from his cigarette and exhales through his nose before throwing it underneath his boot.

“Hey, Yoongs. This is Y/N. Y/N, Min Yoongi, my roommate. Has a bad smoking habit and have only recently gotten him to smoke outside.” Jimin snickers, offering a hand to lift Yoongi off the step and welcome him into some bro-hug.

“You smoke too, bastard. Just did it ‘cause I knew you were bringing someone home tonight,” Yoongi retaliates, eyeing your figure. Shivers run down your spine at the comment.

Jimin coughs unexpectedly, then anxiously laughs as he pulls your arm behind him and into the house, “We’ll be in the living room. Go sleep or something.” Yoongi only clicks his tongue in response.

“Sorry,” he says once your inside, “he can be a little too personal sometimes. He’s really nice once you get to know him.” You shake your head, giving him a comforting smile that eases the tension in his shoulders.

He settles you on the couch, host-like politeness apparent when he asks if you want anything to drink, tells you where the bathroom is, and hands you the tv remote before disappearing to find his laptop. His home was cozy, minimalist furniture often in gray, black, and an occasional blue spread throughout the rooms. You weren’t sure if the boys were attempting to be modern or if college tuition only allowed them this sort of set-up, but nonetheless, it was way nicer than you expected.

“Back,” Jimin plops onto the couch right next to you, Apple laptop unlocked to a default background. He looks to you briefly before setting up some page on Google, “Have you signed up for your classes for next quarter yet?”

He looks different, your eyes scanning over his face to figure out just what it is, “Basically, just gotta confirm and pay and whatnot. Have you, Jimin?”

It’s his septum, you discover, that he’s taken out. He looks handsome either way. Propping the laptop suddenly on your lap, he beams, “Yeah, go ahead and take a look.”

You scroll through the page, humming to yourself, “Mhm… Mhm… Accounting, business 101, contemporary repertory… God, you’re going to hate sociology with Doyard, she’s a complete psycho!” You trail, giggling at his misfortune. Once you’re done, you meet his discontent face.

It takes a few takes from his face to the screen, back to his face, until oh shit!

“Wait does ‘contemporary repertory’ mean something important?” you squeal in rushed excitement. “Is that a dance thing? Are you taking a dance class here?” Before he can even explain, you shut the laptop and safely place it on the coffee table before tackling the man, withdrawing an oof from his lips.

“Easy, girl. Please don’t break me before I even get to show up on the first day.”

“Jimin, this is amazing. You’re finally doing something you want to do, during regular hours, at that!” You nuzzle into his warm chest, “I’m so happy for you, Jimin. I hope you have fun.” His heart clenches at that; how could you be so fucking caring about him? He knew you’d be surprised, but not genuinely happy for him. His hand glides over the skin between your midriff and skirt, an inkling of a gasp floating out of your throat.

“Sorry,” he whispers, moving his hand higher and locking eyes with yours. Time is always slow with him but now, it’s like it was screaming at you to take the opportunity. Unwinding one of your arms from around his neck, you smooth his hair up so you can see those prepossessing eyes.

“You can touch me,” you confirm just as softly. His features harden and you hope you didn’t read the situation wrong.

“I… I never got to kiss you that night.”

“Then you can kiss me now, if you’d like,” you say, pleading in your voice and it’s all he needs to hear before he burns his lips into yours. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted this,” he pants between suckles to your bottom lip. He kisses like he dances: powerful and in perfect control with his body, molding it to yours and massaging the skin he just apologized for touching only seconds ago.

You cup his face and look down at him with sultry prowess, “I want you, Jimin. I’ve always thought about this, hoping you would just make a move, idiot.” You dive back into him, his moans prominent when you lick and nip at his lip. He lowers his grip to your ass, squeezing and pushing his hips into your own.

“Well, I’ve always thought about fucking you in this cursed uniform,” he growls, forcing a giggle out of you. Grinding down into him for effect, your mouth travels to his ear so you can state a small confirmation.

“I’m flexible, babe. I’m all yours.”

He hums his praise, latching his mouth onto your neck, laving and peppering blues into your skin before he carries you off the couch. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, “Where are you taking me?”

Heading into a hallway and taking a sharp left, he kicks his door open, “I don’t know about you, hot stuff, but Yoongs doesn’t need to see you getting dicked down in our living room,” he jests. When he lays you back onto the foot of his bed, you briefly scan his room and find it hard to believe that it’s relatively clean, the posters on his walls the only thing that seemed cluttered. This guy was your high school self’s wet dream. Scanning him promiscuously, you chuckle.

“I can be into it,” you drawl playfully.

Earning an unimpressed scoff, he fingers the hem of his shirt, “You’re mine,” he sheds it in a swift pull and throws it to the side cockily. Marveling at each detailed divot and curve of muscle, you can’t help but bite your lip in frustrated anticipation. “Unless, you don’t want me,” he finishes with a tilt of his head. He knew what he was doing, simulating innocence to draw you out of your transfixed stupor to hear those three words string from your mouth. You reach out to touch his abs, tracing over linework of ink and watching him shiver from your touch. Knowing exactly what he wants to hear, you gaze into oblique eyes and mouth the words, “I do want you”.

Goading him on, you lay back and extend your legs above you, shuffling your spandex tantalizingly slow over your skin. Jimin whistles at your show, staring at the white g-string you sported under your skirt and wandering his hands over the supple skin you expose.

“Jesus, you fucking tease. Leave the skirt.” Tittering at his request, you dig your heels into his back to propel him down towards you, his ringed hands keeping himself afloat and a winning smile winking down at you. Bless your heart you didn’t faint right then and there.

He kisses you like a man starved, lips burning hot with desire and aching to be bit—so you give him that. Sinking your teeth gently into the flesh, he punishes such action with a slap to the underneath of your thigh, then holding it close to the side of his abdomen and rolling over with you on top. Practically suffocating from lack of air, you dislodge yourself, quite reluctantly, from his mouth and soothe his complaints with brief kisses to his thick neck.

“Why didn’t we do this—ah, before?” he pants. Sucking a particularly tender spot of his jugular, he moans out and bucks into your hips. You continue your way down, leaving no inch of skin untouched until you reach where his skin ends and the nuisance of clothing began.

“You don’t make things very easy for me. Can I suck you off?”

“Fuck, don’t ask. Just do it. Turn around, though, I’ll finger you at the same time,” he offers, propping himself up on his elbows as you readjust yourself with your head towards his bulge and your ass facing him, knees keeping you up on one side of his torso. “Perfect,” he commends.

Unbuckling his ridiculously tight jeans, you hook your thumbs under the denim and whisper a quick, “Up,” to pull them off when his hips lift off the mattress. Your pride inflates at the sight of his bulge resting in the crook of his thigh, adorned by simple black boxers that hugged him in all the right spots. All but drooling at the member, you place a loving kiss where you know his head resides, mouthing at it gingerly and soaking the material with your saliva.

He ruts into your face as he watches such indecency, “You know, I should probably tell you something,” he says rather seriously, shuffling your skirt up above your ass and mischievously prodding at your sex with his thumb.

“Hmm,” you mumble, sliding his boxers down enough to suck at the pink tip that oozed of precum and spreading the liquid around with your tongue. The bitterness that came with it was all welcomed, slightly sweeter than others you’ve ever tasted and you appreciated it much more when a man this good-looking was laid out before you.

He groans, “Ever heard of a Jacob’s Ladder? Fuck, right there, underneath a bit…” You suck and nip at the skin of his frenulum, knowing he was bound to like small dosages of pain mixed with his pleasure—a guess all too correct when he cries out in ecstasy and gives your ass a light spank.

“A Jacob’s what?”

“Just—just look at it. If you don’t like it then I can just take them out,” he sighs, all too impatient to give you a rundown of whatever a Jacob’s hoo-ha entailed. You perk a brow at his vocabulary, halting your mouth and sliding his boxers the rest of the way down.

If you weren’t riled up before, you were hot, ready, and willing to beg on your knees to be stuffed with Jimin and his… accessories. You understand the term “ladder” now, three rungs of metal pierced on the underside of his shaft and glinting up at you with intimidation. You hope Jimin can’t see the now overflowing amount of arousal oozing out of your pussy, squeezing thighs together in a useless attempt of hiding yourself.

“Fuck, didn’t that hurt?” you question, hovering fingers over the balls of silver that protruded on each side in complete awe.

“Of course it did, honey. It’s all worth it, though. It’ll make you feel good too. Need me to take them out?” You shake your head a little too vigorously, earning a chuckle and his middle finger to slide in between your folds unexpectedly. Yiping at the sudden entrance, you cast a glare over his shoulder with his only response being the curve of his digit.

“C-Can I lick it? Can it get infected if you don’t use a condom?” you bombard him with questions, entirely unfamiliar with the subject and entirely enamored by it.

“It’s all healed up, baby. You can do whatever your little heart desires with it. And I would oh so much prefer going bare,” he confirms, and your heart flips at his pet name for you. That, and the thought of his thick, pierced cock penetrating you condom-less.

You wrap your lips around him once more, unafraid to take more and more of his length until you feel the cold metal—your stopping point. Call it your lack of experience, but you prefer not to catch your teeth on those piercings today. You make up for it by sliding a hand back under his scrunched boxers, fondling his balls as you bob diligently. He curses and struggles to keep his body still, digging another digit between your legs to slow your own ministrations. When it works and you moan around his cock, Jimin can’t help but want to play a little game.

“Should I give you a challenge, babe? It’s super simple. Whoever makes the other cum first gets to request something. Anything. Deal?”

“Deahl,” you muffle, swirling your tongue lavishly around his crown. Everything with Jimin was much more… intriguing. Even your first time having sex was turned into some lusty escapade of unexpected metallic embellishments and cheeky gambles. It made you feel something in your veins, wanting more and more of whatever poison Jimin was.

Taking a breath, you lick broadly over his entire shaft and scarcely taste the titanium—more than anything, it was just cold. Jimin shudders at the feeling, punishing you with a third and final finger and pushing downdowndown into a spot all too sensitive for you to focus.

Try as you might, your now pathetic attempts of sucking him off is all forgotten in your own haze of chasing your orgasm. Instead, you rest your head on his hip and writhe against his hand, fucking back onto it while he simultaneously prods your g-spot over and over again until you see stars.

“Giving up already? You were doing so well for a while, you could’ve won,” he lilts.

“Jimin, please make me cum. Oh god,” you wail, legs straining for just that final push…

“Is this what you want?” He slides his thumb across, swiping whatever he could collect and using it to knead at your neglected clit. It’s all you need, pleasure washing over you in tandem of near oversensitivity, a near scream tearing through your lungs that only comes out in ragged whines against his leg.

“Beautiful, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re ruining my sheets over here,” he criticizes, removing his hand with an obscene squelch and moving around in the bed.

The torpor you caught yourself in didn’t render what he was saying, just letting him move you about so your head rests on his pillows while he places himself between your legs.

“Jiminie,” you babble, “fuck me.” He strokes your hair away from your face and smiles, that cute puppy smile that turns his eyes into crescents. The rest of him, though, is purely sinful. Hair sweaty and pieced to perfection as his body taunted you with toned muscles.

“I don’t think you’re ready, honey,” he answers, “even though you’re dripping in your own cum.” He leans back and stares at your pussy without embarrassment, pulling your knees together and watching the juices flow even more. “I should put it to use.”

You peer up at him, curious as to whatever the hell he’s dreaming of over there and inexplicably stunned when you see his dick between your legs. “J-Jimin, what are you doing?”

“Shh, just keep them closed tight,” he orders, fucking himself between the lips of your heat and the warm skin of your thighs. You can’t help but ravish the sight of him as he slicks himself up, eyeing you down as his hips roll into you agonizingly slow. His piercings graze against your nub occasionally, warmth once again growing in your stomach.

“Fuck, you’re so soft and so wet. Who did this to you, hm?” You moan maniacally, angling your hips as to catch him and push inside, but he only laughs degradingly and intentionally misses.

“You think I’m going to fuck you if you can’t even answer this simple question?” he sneers. “Answer like a good girl, then I’ll fuck you into oblivion.”

You scramble for words, initially incoherent and struggling. “Jimin! Shit, Jimin. You made me this way. Ah, you m-make me so wet, so please put it in, put it in and—ha, aah!”

He shoves his length in like it’s all he knew what to do, your ankles to his shoulders so he can drink up your moans with his reddened lips. He was right—the piercings didn’t feel like any dick you’ve received before, it was so much better. This was pornographic, it was so good. He all but pistols into you, his cock grazing places previously untouched. Indulging in his heaven sent strokes, you cry and groan at each relentless thrust.

“Hush, baby, Yoongi’s going to hear your pretty self,” he warns, but you don’t give a shit. If anything, you moan louder with a know-all glint in your eye, testing Jimin’s patience. “Brat,” he spits.

He pounds into you repeatedly, completely removing himself before filling you up again and again and again. Between the pressure to your g-spot and the added stimulation from his Jacob’s Ladder—your stomach heaves, an unfamiliar feeling washing over your abdomen contrary to anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Oh, Jimin, wait!” you sob, halting his hips from another brutal shove a little too late. The second he pulls out, your second orgasm (and first ever untouched orgasm) of the night reigns over, briefly showering his lower stomach in your own wet arousal.

“Holy shit, that’s so fucking hot. Did you just… squirt on me?” he growls, not taking the time to hear your answer as he lifts you into his lap, legs wrapped around his muscular back and arms gripping around his shoulders for dear life.

He sinks back into you deliciously, filling you to the brim with your added weight and rutting up into you to chase his own release. Everything is soaked and sticky, Jimin’s ragged breathing and groans so close to your ear that you’re sure it’ll be engrained into your memory forever, his thrusts so deep inside you wail once more.

Consequently, the banging on the wall next to you comes as no surprise, Yoongi’s angry, “Shut the fuck up!” clear as day. Jimin waves it off.

“Don’t listen baby. Moan louder for me. Tell me where you want my cum.”

The slaps of skin become louder; it wouldn’t be long before Jimin came. “Inside, Jiminie, please. Cum inside me, pump me full,” you squeal, lust sparking inside you knowing that his roommate could hear you getting fucked senseless.

One, two, three more aching pounds before he spills into you, his pretty moans music to your ears. You flop back as soon as he takes himself out, suddenly aching all over from how much he stretched your legs and groaning at the pain.

You slap his eager hand away when he fingers his cum back into your abused lips, “That hurts, idiot.” He smiles and sucks your intermingled cum off his fingers with a pop.

“We taste good together,” he husks. Fuck. “By the way. You came first. Stay the night?”

You oblige with or without the pressure of the bet, dog-tired from your beating and not even fathoming the trek back to your own room. Jimin takes charge in your state of haziness, washing you off in his shower, replacing your uniform with a t-shirt of his own and laying you beside him on his mattress (sheets replaced and refreshed).

“You have piercings in your dick,” you state in the middle of the quiet.

Jimin snorts at the outburst, looping an arm around your side and melding his body to yours, “Yeah, is it weird?”

“… Robot dick,” you whisper, words cracking at the face of your laughter.

“Oh my god.”

“So, when you’re going through metal detectors at airports and whatever, do you have to tell them that the metal’s in your penis? Do they have to check?” Titters are awarded with light jabs to your side, which are then led to screams and kicks to his legs.

Yoongi bursts through Jimin’s door, brows stitched together in heated anger parallel to the flames of hell, “I swear to fucking god, if you two don’t quiet down I’ll mount your heads on my wall, it’ll make a great decoration.”

“What the hell, what if we were naked? Don’t just go busting through—”

“Yeah because you obviously care if I know you two are fucking. ‘Don’t listen, baby! Tell me where you want my cum, baby!’” Yoongi mocks. Pillows are flying and insults are thrown as you watch them bicker sleepily, all fading into white noise as you begin to drift off.

Sleep itself feels like a blink, so exhausted that you don’t dream. Waking in the same position that you were last conscious in, the only difference in picture is the fact that: A) the sun is shining through Jimin’s skylight and B) Jimin is no longer in bed with you.

But before you can even question where he’s run off to, his sly self sneaks back into the bedroom, shirtless and face clean from washing up just now. You don’t even hide the fact that you look down to check out his tight briefs, metal detector in your brain trying to scope it out.

“You’re awake. Sorry if I was loud,” he smiles, crawling on top of you as you stretch out like a mangled cat. You shake your head, combing his hair back with your nails as he dips down into your chest. “I like when you wear my shirts.”

“That’s pretty stereotypical,” you whisper out, voice low and raspy from your slumber. This isn’t fair, you think, he got to brush his teeth already.

He sits up and gives you A Look, making you giggle and giving you the leverage to feel up his abs as he flexes haughtily.

“I can get used to this,” you purr.

“I bet you could,” he mumbles into your neck, nipping at the places he already marked last night. He doesn’t push, just relishes in your warmth and fondles you carefully as you continue to wake up and it makes you shiver.

“I wish you would’ve done this a long time ago,” you sigh.

“You hated me.”

“You didn’t make it easy for me to like you,” you retort, gasping when he bites your collarbone, “Now—Now I like you.”

He stops abruptly and pulls away, landing on his side with an elbow and tilting his head towards you, “Well, I hope you don’t start liking me too much.”

You squint, “W-Why? Don’t tell me this was just a one night stand or anything.”

“No! I mean, not just one night or whatever. I just—this is just casual, right?”

You all but bite your tongue to keep from lashing out, “What do you mean ‘casual’? You didn’t say anything about ‘casual’.”

“Oh, Y/N, c’mon. Did you really think we should date? Look at us, baby. We’re just not… each other’s types, you know?”

It’s about time you get up, shoving aside his warm blankets and grabbing your soiled uniform from the floor, “No, Jimin. I don’t know. I thought you were being genuine with me.”

“Hey, no, don’t leave,” he grabs your arm before you leave his bedroom, “Okay, there was some miscommunication. I’m not trying to be mean. Can I just… I don’t know, think about it? I’m just not used to this.”

Looking into his eyes for some sort of confirmation, your tensions subside. “I’m not a toy. If you don’t want to be with me, just say it.” The hurt he feels in your tone breaks his heart, for once. Would he really be willing to try something he knows won’t work?

For you, maybe.

“I do like you, Y/N. Just give me some time.” He pulls your arm once more, hoping you’ll stay. But you draw the line and pry his hand off politely.

“Of course I’ll give you time. I’ll see you later, okay?” He nods understandingly. He can’t feel butthurt when he’s the one putting you on ice, he knows that. So Jimin watches you leave in his shirt, mind clouded more so than when you arrived.

a/n: yay! you made it through the first part! if you liked it, feel free to let me know or ask any questions to the characters! xx, selene

#ficswithluv #btsguild #btssmutclub #bts #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan smut #bts smut #jimin #park jimin #jimin smut #jimin imagines #kpop smut #kpop imagines #punk!jimin #jimin is pierced #jimin fic #bts fic #one shot #reader insert #jimin x reader

[mininky]

Nefarious Intentions

Summary: Life sometimes sucks. You’ve been stuck in that strange world that is adulting, questioning everything about life as you’ve gradually grown harder and harder to everything until one bland date brings you to a small record store and you meet him. Min Yoongi. In his very words, ‘not a good guy’ but he’s just too tempting to ignore. And safe, careful, planner you finds yourself wrapped up in the storm that is Yoongi.

Pairing: Min Yoongi X Reader

Genre: Smut, possibly the longest sex scene I have ever written, with bits of introspective romance?? I guess?

Word Count: 15.2K

Warnings: unprotected sex, oral (F giving and receiving), spanking, a hell of a lot of dirty talk, and as always from me, plenty of swearing.

A/N: This isn’t complete. You’ve been warned. It doesn’t leave off on like...a cliffhanger or anything, but I’ve had this bad boy sitting around for ages and I’m just too busy to finish any of my projects at the moment but a lovely friend of mine reminded me about this particular bad boy Yoongi fic and I felt that I owed all of y’all who’s stuck around my very long bouts of radio silence a holiday present. Merry Christmas, you filthy animals.

   You can still clearly remember the first time you fell in love. It wasn't anything amazing or special, it wasn't some wonderful whirlwind romance always portrayed in stories and movies. But you can remember the butterflies, the way your skin warmed uncomfortably any time you held hands, the way your breathing grew uneven just from the smallest of hugs or stolen glances. Soft kisses when others weren't looking would send your head into the clouds. You can also remember the heartache, the way it felt as though everything had come crashing down when he moved on and you were stuck trying to pick up the pieces of your life. But you would eventually, and if there's anything that you've learned as you've gotten older it's that love changes entirely. Not just with each partner but also with wisdom. Where you once could talk about the innocence of love now it was sex, marriage, children, careers, half-assed dates, trying to decide if you could see yourself living with that person or if the relationship wasn't going anywhere after just a few months.

   Love used to just be. It just came one day, crept into your heart like a thief in the night but instead of taking anything it just took up space. Ahhh, what a way to live. Youth holds far more innocence than people realize. Growing up is a pain, the world becomes crueler and you start analyzing everything instead of just living. When did that happen? When did love become a strategic game rather than just an effervescent thing swirling around in the depths of your soul? When did you start worrying so much about keeping up with others around you?

   You weren't always all this doom and gloom. In fact, most people will say that on the outside you seem to be a very positive, kind person. A bit of a pushover. Always there to help. Some might say otherwise, that sure you're nice enough but you seem to have a wall up. Is that such a bad thing? Is it bad to want to protect yourself from the inevitable pain of having to move on? If you were to answer honestly, wholeheartedly, you probably started feeling this way a few years ago. After you watched your best friend walk down the aisle. So beautiful. So happy. And you were so fucking alone. Miserably alone. And you felt like a complete bitch for watching such a beautiful moment happen all while thinking selfishly about none other than yourself. And then everyone else moved on. They got married or moved in with their partners. They had children. Your siblings all got married. And then there's you. The forever bachelorette. The workaholic.

   If we remain on the topic of honesty, you aren't even sure you know what love is anymore. You can vaguely recall the innocence of days past. The earnestness of loving simply because you couldn't control it. But you can't describe it. How does one describe love? If you had asked the you of yester-year...fine, yester-decade...you would have said, "It just is. It's there one day and it strings you along for a wild ride and you just try your best as the shotgun driver to help steer this whole thing along." But the older, hopefully, wiser you? Well, now you see love as something more akin to a good game of chess. It's a strategy. A battlefield, a place where good plans should hopefully get you across the way but where other plans can foil you. Fucking Pat Benatar had it right, who would've guessed?

   You glance back up at your date, drawn out of your internal ramblings as the waiter passes by. This guy isn't the worst. He certainly isn't the best. On paper he's got everything going for a good future. He's a doctor, he seems nice enough, he has his own home. For fuck's sake, he even works at a free clinic one weekend a month just to help people. And he's obnoxiously handsome. It's your third date with him. But why is it that you just don't feel a spark with him? Maybe you should sleep with him, see how that pans out. That's one thought. On the other hand whenever a waiter passes by you desperately want to grab the check and run back to your sanctum away from this boring hell.

   "(Y/N?)" You blink back up at Shownu, giving a small awkward smile.

   "Sorry, I guess I didn't get enough sleep last night. I'm a little tired."

   He nods kindly, grabbing a passing waiter and paying the check before he resumes speaking with you. "It's okay, you just looked a little bored. I'm sorry I'm sure that cardiovascular disease is probably a boring topic to most."

   "Oh no, it's fascinating." Lies. It felt like he was trying to read to you from a textbook. "I'm just a bit out of it. I have a new client who's been more than a bit difficult and I've had to work almost around the clock to try to figure out what'll make them happy."

   "What do you do again?" Looks like you aren't the only one snoozing off when the other person's speaking. That's not a good sign.

   "I'm a graphic designer. This client, in particular, is a local coffee shop, they're rebranding themselves but apparently, the two owners are having a hard time agreeing with what direction they want to go in. I'll get a green light from one and a red light from the other and it's been almost a week of this now." You ruffle your hair aggravatedly before stopping. "Sorry, I didn't mean to talk so much about work, I'm sure it's boring."

   "A bit." My god dick, take a hint. You were trying to be polite earlier and here he is just openly calling your work boring. "But that's okay. You've got a lot on your plate. You drove here right?"

   "Yup, I guess I'll talk to you later." Another lie. You have no intention of contacting him again. Even if he is hot and a doctor. Your friends would call you crazy to not be interested in him. But is it so wild to want to enjoy your time with the other partner? When did the world become about saving face and looking good? Was it always this way and you were just ignorant? No. Naive would be a better word for you. You needed to grow thicker skin.

   Shownu doesn't even walk you to your car, not that you're bothered by it. You wanted to escape just as much as he did. Looks like you'll have to keep looking. Or maybe you should give up. Be a spinster. Widdle your days away in your work and be the fun aunt who comes around to steal stop signs and do dumb shit with your nieces and nephews. Yeah, that sounds a lot more like you than some boring marriage. Maybe. Or maybe you're just giving up. You can't tell. Maybe it's just the last glass of wine you had talking.

   You look around before getting in your car, your eyes spotting a small record store across the street. You've lived in the city for ten years, yet you've never seen this tiny little gem before. It's tucked away, a small poorly lit sign simply saying 'records.' It looks so unusual here, in the posher side of town. But ten years ago this place hadn't been gentrified. It's like this one little building is holding out, refusing to conform. Unwilling to yield with the times, refusing to be aesthetically pleasing for some woman who owns a teacup poodle and drinks overpriced syrupy coffee who needs perfectly paved roads and has to speak to the manager. And before you can understand what you're doing you're jaywalking your ass right over to it.

   It's cramped, wall to wall, row after row it's filled with vinyls of all colors. There's a few teenagers looking around, clearly affluent based off of their clothing but rebelling. At least that's what you're assuming based off of the designer clothing mixed with cheap hair dye and piercings. Ah, you remember those days. Except your clothes were hand-me-downs and goodwill finds. Maybe vinyls are cool again. You can remember thinking you were hot shit to finally get a walkman at a garage sale. CD's were already mainstream then but they weren't cheap. The kids at school didn't have pity on you for that. Not that it mattered to you, it felt like you finally had the whole world of music available to you whenever you wanted.

   It feels nostalgic to go through the records. You can remember the way your oldest brother would begrudgingly take you with while he flirted with girls in a different record store. It was the spot, where only the raddest kids hung out. And now here you are almost three decades later in another record store late at night with just a bored employee and two rich kids who think they're hot shit for being in on something that others aren't. Ah, youth.

   One record, in particular, pulls at you. You stop for a moment, thumbing it before gently picking it up. Christ, does wine give you all the yearning for nostalgia or are you just getting old? You'll go with the wine, it's a much more comforting thought than confronting your age right now. You want to hang this up. Remind yourself of who you were. Who you are. You've been losing sight. Maybe. It's hard to tell, life moves too fast the older you get. Or maybe it's that pesky malbec. The fact that you only had two glasses isn't important. You need a scapegoat for tonight. A way to ease this growing uncomfortable feeling in your chest. Like the world is falling apart and moving on and you're stuck somewhere. You aren't sure where. But you do know that you need this. So you march up to the register, the two brats in the shop trailing behind shortly after.

   The boy, no that's definitely a fully grown man, lazily gazes up at you before taking the record and scanning it. You'd call him cute, but his eyes look a bit too hardened for that word. He looks like he's seen some shit and doesn't hide it from the world. Like he's ready for a fight at all times and probably sleeps with one eye open just in case. He'd be the type to survive a zombie apocalypse. "I didn't realize we even had any Atmosphere records. Wow, that takes me back."

   "Ant really was ahead of his time. I mean, don't get me wrong, Slug is a great rapper, but the real key to their music was how Ant produced everything. Their new records are great too, but this one? This one's just a real gem."

   "Hmmm, look at you, corporate hotshot getting her panties in a twist over some nineties backpack rappers." His words drawl lazily, a sardonic smile curling up and showing the gums of his teeth as he places the record in a bag. "The world is full of surprises." You aren't even sure what to say as he hands the bag over to you, standing there with your mouth agape before he nods his head. "You gonna move lady? I've got other people waiting." The teens behind you snicker, and you harden your eyes for just a moment before grabbing the bag and marching out. What a dick. A total dick. Tonight's not your night. Christ, what were you even doing there? You don't even have a record player.

   You don't realize it until you get home twenty minutes later, still fuming as you pull the record out, that he's left behind his phone number on the receipt. "Call me when you're bored, Ms. Corporate." When did the fucker even get the time to do this? The little shit's fast. He didn't even give you his name. Why does that bother you so much? He was a dick. You shouldn't want to know his name. You go to rip up the receipt but for some reason you find yourself tacking it up on the fridge. Maybe you'll save it for a lonely, no scratch that, angry night. Reem his ass out for fun and then you'll tear it up. Yeah sure, that's why you're keeping it.

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

   A week's gone by and you still haven't taken down that stupid receipt from your fridge. You haven't gone back to the shop either. You've been too busy, surviving off of ramen and egg sandwiches while working painfully long hours until you want to tear your hair out. You finally reach some semblance of agreement between the two owners, and you've finally finished working on their project. You got it done faster than anticipated, you just wanted them out of your life. But now you have only small projects in the meanwhile. And that's dangerous. Because free time keeps allowing your brain to wander back to him. If you're Ms. Corporate then he's Mr. Dick. You kind of wonder what his dick looks like, if it's big enough to back up his ego or not. You'd rather die than admit that. Shit, what are you thinking? If you've got time to fuck around then you've got time to pick up some more clients.

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

   You aren't sure how you wound back up here, but suddenly you're back in the same vinyl shop with Mr. Dick behind the counter again. You refuse to acknowledge the inner glee at seeing his face again. You barely even look in his direction, instead, you start rifling through the records before picking out a few more. Once you start digging through you find your brain focusing more on the artwork, on the way how everything comes together, nostalgia blossoming as you thumb through familiar covers. Radiohead, The Roots, Sade, Maxwell. Lord, you can remember your first boyfriend putting Maxwell on while making out with you in the car. You called him an old man, said it was probably what your parents put on to have sex. He was dejected, you thought it was funny but sweet. He didn't see it that way. So it goes.

   You quietly walk up to the counter, a soft smile playing on your face as you carefully place everything before the look on your face is wiped back to a careful blank slate when you see Mr. Dick cocking a half-grin at you. He looks like the type of guy that high school girls used to cream themselves over, they probably still do. The kind that always has a cigarette in hand, definitely used to be a skater, probably has a secret love child on the other side of the country, maybe did some minor time for a couple of DUIs. You almost want to laugh at the way you're trying so hard to picture his life. The poor dude's probably just totally normal, or maybe you hit the nail on the head. What does it matter, he's just some random dick.

   "Ms. Corporate, you're back I see."

   "I am."

   "Always a pleasure to see a pretty gal in here, but especially when it's you." You roll your eyes and he grins at this, you hate the way how your defenses almost momentarily break at just how cute he is when he smiles, really smiles. Here you were trying to figure out if he's done time or not and suddenly you're wanting to pinch his cheek. Christ, you need to get out more. And you don't mean back here either. "I'm a little sad though, you never did give me a call."

   "I never got bored. Besides, what was I even supposed to do? Call you up and go, hey the dick behind the counter at the record store, I'm bored?" He laughs at this, a full belly laugh before he cocks his head to the side.

   "You're an interesting one Ms. Corporate. Here I was trying to figure you out, and you've thrown me for another loop. I wasn't lying though, I was disappointed that I didn't hear from you."

   Your eyes narrow for a moment, trying hard to fight the heat that so desperately wants to rise to your cheeks. "Like I said, I wasn't bored. And I'm not interested in speaking to random nameless douchebags."

   He nods his head, sliding your credit card and humming for a moment before the machine chirps and he hands over your bag and receipt. Before you can turn around he's speaking again, "Yoongi. Min Yoongi." You stare at him for a moment before he continues, "Now I'm not a nameless douche."

   "A named douche doesn't fair any better in my books. I suppose I should've said that first."

   "Fair enough, but at least I don't buy old man sex music in the middle of the night." You can't help but laugh at that, Maxwell really is old man sex music so you can't blame him. In fact, some twisted part of you is elated that he thinks so too. Not that you'd admit that to even yourself.

   "Have a good night, Min Yoongi." He looks startled for a second, he's almost transfixed on the way you laugh. You can't feel his eyes trailing you as you walk out the door, you're far too focused on trying to calm the strangely warm fuzzy feeling trying to take over you to notice.

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

   Life is strange, no matter what age you are things will pop up that you can't explain how exactly it's happened, or why it's happened. The trick to being an adult is looking like you know what the fuck is going on, but the honest truth is no one does. Maybe they think they do, maybe they really do more often than not, but no one does one hundred percent of the time. That's the honest truth. The entirety of humanity is a mass of dumbasses pretending to look like they know what's going on. You are indeed one of those dumbasses, another fish in a large school trying not to be eaten but having no clue what lays beyond the school of fish ninety percent of the time. Your predator goes by the name of Min Yoongi. Perhaps he doesn't even see himself as a predator nor you as prey, but that's exactly how you see it. It's been over a month since you last stepped foot in his workplace. There should be no need to go. You now have five vinyls and still no record player. Most would call them poor financial choices and an odd way to splurge. You've thought about it more than you can count though, going back to see him that is. That stupid fucking receipt is still hanging up on your fridge, and it's taken everything in your willpower to not call him randomly.

   Min Yoongi. You wonder, far too often for your own good, who he is. What he likes, dislikes. What makes him tick. What gets him off. You blame him. It's the way he looks at you. Cold eyes, analyzing you to your very soul. Sneering at you one second, taunting you smugly, before switching to the sweetest smile you've ever seen. You've only seen him twice, no longer than a few minutes at a time. You don't know if you can even say that you've ever had a real conversation with him. He doesn't even know your name. And yet he runs through your thoughts on repeat. You would love to be able to settle on a normal human. A good guy, someone like Shownu. Safe, stable, traditionally handsome, a great career. But your stupid fucking brain feels nothing around a guy like him and then suddenly it sparks and rewires itself around a douche named Min Yoongi who you actually wondered if he did time or not. Life is strange. So it goes.

   It's thoughts like these that are your downfall. Late at night, all alone in bed. Pondering what he's doing, who he's doing. You're sure a deadbeat like him has a slew of girls at his beck and call. He certainly acts like it. But that shouldn't matter to you. After a month of wondering, going back and forth, staring longingly at the fridge, you're picking up your phone and slowly entering in the numbers. One digit takes you nearly thirty seconds, the last time it took you this long to call someone was when you were staying at your grandmother's house using her outdated rotary phone as a child. And here you are, a grown woman, terrified over some dick who works at a record store. Life is strange, you can't help but think as you delete the numbers and enter them back in. Should you, shouldn't you? What's to gain? What's to lose? Life is about strategy, isn't it? Does he offer you anything? Perhaps temporary release is all you need. But can he actually offer that? Maybe. Hopefully. Maybe not. Who knows. It's a risk. Not a calculated one either. In fact, odds are heavily stacked against him. And the adult in you says to not bother. That's what vibrators are for, if all you're looking for is a release. But there's another voice, something longing for this. There's something about him that plays on repeat in your head. Something that stirs up oddly sentimental feelings in you when you think of him. Which is strange, you don't know him. So how can sentimentality be tied to someone you just met? Maybe it's just part of his trade for soon to be old spinsters like you, you guess.

   You take another deep breath, staring at the screen as you sink down to the floor of the kitchen and finally hit the dial button. Shit. Fuck. What are you doing? This isn't like you. You haven't thought out every exit strategy yet. Christ. Oh god. "Hello?" His voice is deeper over the phone. You won't explain how that makes you feel, it's a bit embarrassing honestly.

   "Yoongi?"

   "Ms. Corporate?"

  "...Yes..." That's right, you never told him his name. There's garbled background noise for a minute, you hear him telling someone to shut the fuck up before it's eerily silent for a moment and then you hear a breathy chuckle. And oh god, you are so so so fucking screwed.

   "Holy shit. I didn't think you'd actually call. Just when I thought you forgot all about me you actually call."

   "I was bored." You bite back a smile, head resting on your fridge as you stare up at the ceiling. Jesus, you should dust more often, is that a spiderweb?

   He gives a sing-song laugh, and that strange tipsy feeling in your gut bubbles back up again. You feel oddly nervous, kind of giddy. When's the last time you felt this way? You don't know if you ever did. "Holy Christ. I'm sorry, give me a moment, this just...makes me weirdly happy. Fuck. Shit. -I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO HOME. Sorry, not you Ms. Corporate. Just uh, a friend. He's a dipshit. A bit drunk. Having girlfriend troubles I guess. Dunno why he came to me. I uh...I dunno why I'm telling you this either. Christ. Are you still there?"

   "I'm here." You don't know what to say. Fuck. Why did you call?? It's been nearly thirty seconds and you've already lost all confidence in saying anything. This is why you need a plan, a strategy. When you don't know how to proceed the only option is to deflect. So deflect you shall. "How did you know it was me?"

   "I've answered nearly every unknown number asking if it was you for about six weeks now if I was very honest. Not that you needed to know that." You swear you can hear him give an awkward chuckle. How unexpected. Perhaps staying behind the counter gives him an odd confidence boost. Or maybe he's been drinking just like his friend and is being a bit too honest. You're not sure why, but that doesn't feel like such a bad thing to you. The lack of snark is as startling as it is endearing.

   "Well, I've kept your stupid receipt pinned to my fridge for the last six weeks. Not that you need to know that." You smile at the way he laughs this time, mentally visualizing his gummy smile. Maybe you should have face timed him. But then he'd see you looking like a full damn mess in the middle of the night. You'll just have to imagine what he looks like.

   "You're really cute Ms. Corporate. Really obnoxiously cute for someone who has the strangest taste in music. I mean you went from Atmosphere to Radiohead to Maxwell. I'm sure it branches out even further than that and hopefully to a few other decades. I'm curious."

   "About what? My music tastes?"

   "Well yeah. And a lot of other things about you. Like I said, I've been trying to figure you out. You run around in my thoughts all day lately. That's not fair Ms. Corporate. Not fair at all. At least you can think of me as the douche with the name. But all I've got is Ms. Corporate with weird music tastes."

   "Hmm...."

   "What do you mean hmmm? Isn't this your cue to, oh I don't know, tell me your name?"

    "It's fun this way. Safe. Now I don't have to worry about you looking me up and finding my place and chopping me up into pieces."

   "Pretty sure I would've done that beforehand if that were the case, you know, cover my tracks and not leave my number behind or anything. Come on Ms. Corporate, you're killing me. I want to know if your name is as pretty as your face."

   You give it a moment, relishing silently in the exasperated sighs you hear over the phone, his feet shuffling loudly against pavement before finally, you speak up. "(Y/N). My name's (y/n)."

   "(Y/N)." The way he says your name slowly has tingles running up your spine, your cheeks heating up at the way it almost feels like he's savoring your name. Christ, what is it about this cheeky devil? One second he's captain douche and the next second he's adorable and then suddenly he has your toes curling just from the way he says your name. He has 'bad idea' written all over him in big bold letters and yet here you are, sitting on your kitchen floor grinning like a fool. When's the last time you smiled this much? Shit, that's a depressing thought, let's not think about that. "That's a pretty name. It fits you."

   "You sure do seem to be all compliments tonight. I'm wondering when sir asswipe will come out."

   "I save him for the store. Customer service will do that to you." That's...fair enough. But still. And why does that make you laugh? Why is it that everything just seems so easy with him? "(Y/N)." He pauses for a moment, you hear a lighter clicking in the background before he takes a drag. Well, it looks like you got one thing right, he's a smoker. Ashtray tongue, not that great. You bet he makes it look hot though. "I wanna see you."

   You don't respond, breathing halting for a moment before you hum. You want to see him too, that's the honest truth. You want to get to know him, explore him. Open him up and examine his thoughts, lay in bed and talk for hours, maybe throw on that Maxwell record and see what happens. Wait...what the fuck are you thinking? You can't help but burst out laughing, stopping when you realized that you probably sound absolutely insane and rude. Insanely rude. "Wait, no I wasn't laughing that you want to see me, it's just...I don't know why but that stupid Maxwell album popped into my head." You pause, terrified that he'll be angry or upset or realize that you're a bumbling idiot but instead, he gives a sing-song laugh. God, you want to see his face too.

   "Okay, real talk though, why did you buy old man porn music?"

   "I felt like I had to, I don't know, buy it to repent for my sins?" He's wheezing now, his laughter becoming infectious until you find yourself cracking up with him. Why is it so easy to talk to him?

   "What in the fuck does that even mean?"

   "I feel like at this point, it's better without explaining. But I will anyway. When I was in high school I was dating this dude who broke up with me because I made fun of him for putting on a Maxwell tape when we made out in his car. I told him it was old man sex music, and when you said it when I was checking out it confirmed that while I was right, I owed poor Maxwell my money I guess. I don't know. I'm not making any sense am I?"

   "Kind of? Not really? I get the feeling that I'll always still be wondering a bit with you though. Not that that's a bad thing. You're weird (Y/N), but good weird. I certainly didn't expect this from a corporate hotshot."

   "Why do you keep calling me that?"

   "Well, you look like you work in an office. You don't?"

   "Nope. I own my own business, I'm a graphic designer. But I was on a date the first time I popped in, oh and the second time I popped in I had just finalized some things with a client in person."

   "You...you wore a business suit on a...date? I don't mean to be rude but um...how old exactly are you (Y/N)? Like what era did you come from?"

   "Ah, Monsuire Jerkwad appears again. I'm 30 for your information. Which is an old biddy in my mother's eyes."

   "Whaaaat? I mean I figured from your music choices you were about my age, but wow. Look at that, I'm just one year older than you. I guess that makes me whatever the fuck the male version of an old biddy is. Say though, (Y/N), why for fuck's sake would you wear a business suit on a date? You didn't answer that earlier." Huh. So he's just a year older than you. You thought that he was younger actually. Man, asian really don't raisin. You briefly wonder what his skincare routine is. Or maybe he's one of those bastards that just uses Irish spring soap for everything and still magically looks great with no idea that there's a difference between moisturizer and lotion.

   "Ah...well, I went on the date after meeting with a client. But I mean, it was like a hot librarian suit right?" You can tell by the laughter that you were way off the mark. "Yeah...okay so it was just a normal suit. But whatever, I didn't feel a need to get dressed up for him."

   "What, is the guy a slob or something?"

   "Nah, in fact, it couldn't be further from that. But I dunno I just didn't really jive with him."

   "But you went on a date with him anyway?"

   "I told you Yoongi, I'm an old biddy. I'm drying up over here. Eggs ticking or whatever. At least according to every single family member, even the extended ones I rarely talk to."

   "Being a chick must be rough, I feel like they nag you guys extra hard. But I get it, my folks are always pestering me to get married. Settle down, find a career, have kids. Shit, at this point they don't even care what order it happens. If I came home with some random baby I think they wouldn't even be angry they'd just be like 'finally, little Mins.' It doesn't help that my brother and his wife don't want to try for kids for another couple of years so suddenly all the pressure's on me."  

   "God, I felt that in my soul. Why can't they just let us breathe? It's like my life revolves around finding someone to make my parents happy all of a sudden. I don't even know when that happened. Or how, or why. But it's like, I've gotta keep up with everyone else you know? I feel like somewhere along the line I got left behind."

   "Did you though?" He takes a long drag, and you swear you can practically smell the cigarette through the phone. You bet he's a clove kind of guy, he's too weird to go for menthols. "I mean, did you really get left behind? Life happens for everyone at different times. What's so wrong about that? Trust me, I get the pressure and the nagging and the bullshit. But at the end of the day, this is your life. Live it without regrets. Why settle just because other people tell you that you should? That seems boring as fucking hell."

   Life really is strange. Who would have guessed that some random dick in a random record store you'd never been to before a shitty date would suddenly be the one lifting the burden off your shoulder as if it had never been there? Everyone else was always telling you that it would happen, that the right guy would come along and soon enough you'd be married and having kids and all would be grand. But the honest truth is...that's not what you want. You don't even know if you want kids. And marriage? Man, that just seems like something you don't need in your life right now. When did you get so wrapped up in feeling like you'd been left in the dust that you felt you had to do the exact same things to keep up?

   Somewhere, in the core of your very being, you probably knew right then and there that you were getting into way too deep of territory for someone you had just met. But you had dropped your guard, refused to acknowledge any warning signs. How could you when someone finally was telling you that it was okay to just live? He told you the words that you needed the most without even knowing it. You can feel tears threating to rise but you gulp everything down and instead just give a quiet thanks. You just hear the drag of his cigarette again before he responds with an equally quiet no problem. It feels like the world could stop, right there and then. As if it was just the two of you, frozen in your own separate corners of earth while quietly listening to the static from the phone and all would be well. It felt safe. Dangerously safe.

   "Fuck, I need to charge my phone it's about to-" With that, the call drops and you stare at your phone for a moment. Maybe it was for the best that his phone died, who knows what you would have said to him if you stayed on the phone any longer. You just practically spilled your guts to a virtual stranger from your kitchen floor at one in the morning. And yet, for the first time in a long time, all you can do is stare happily at your phone before finally forcing yourself into bed.

   The next morning you may or may not have squealed like a complete buffoon upon reading the text you missed from him after falling asleep. "Sorry bout that. Next time tho, I wanna see you in person. That way there's no worries about my phone dying." Shit. It's too early for this kind of attack. You'll blame being half-awake for why you responded with just a simple "K." You only have your own neuroticism to blame for your internal freakouts that constantly reoccur over the next few days when you don't hear anything back. Maybe you were a bit too dry. Okay...you most certainly were too dry. Christ, if there's ever been a dead fish version of a text, that would be it. Maybe you should have expected to fumble this badly. Maybe it's a good thing. He didn't seem like the type to really be interested in anything other than playing around. Not that you were expecting anything. Right? Okay...well maybe you did kind of really want to make out with him. Which is strange, because honestly, you can't remember the last time you even thought of wanting to make out with someone. University years maybe? But now's not the time to be thinking about that! Nows the perfect time to throw yourself into work, it's the best scapegoat for avoiding emotions you'd rather not explore.

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

   "Wow, your boredom intervals are quickly decreasing. Do you not have a lot of work right now or?" Jesus what in the fuck are you even thinking, dragging your ass in this stupid fucking store in the middle of the night for a third time. And you still don't have a goddamn record player. God, you pray he never finds that out. He'd probably never stop making fun of you.

   You can't help but shoot a glare in his direction, but your nerves falter the moment you see the shit-eating grin on his face. You swear you can feel your breath hitch in the back of your throat and trap itself. It's suffocating. Blinding. It's not fair. He's so handsome. Dark disheveled hair partially obscuring his coffee-colored eyes, gummy grin, obnoxiously white teeth for a smoker, milky pale skin that's always at stark odds with his typical black t-shirt, veiny hands. This isn't good. This isn't fair. You really want to kiss him.

   "What, cat got your tongue or something Ms. Corporate?" He's leaning across the counter, head cocked as he openly ogles you. It's not fair. You've been a wreck for the last few days, waiting around for some sort of a response and this fucking shrimp is acting like you never spoke. Like nothing changed. Like he didn't tell you he wanted to see you in person. It's probably just your own stupidity or neuroticism peaking through, but when he called you Ms. Corporate it felt like that perfect paradise on the phone was all a mirage. As if it never happened. It's infuriating how he can act so calm. Before you can continue overthinking and turning around in circles you march up to the counter and grip his shirt in your hand, pulling him in for a kiss that he reciprocates unusually quickly. You can feel his tongue slide across your lower lip, asking for entrance when the sound of the door chimes pull you quickly away. Damn these stupid kids buying records in the middle of the night. Don't they have a curfew?? Fucking rich kids trying to be edgy when they should be at home, in bed, not fucking interrupting this not so Hallmark moment.

   "Stop fucking calling me Ms. Corporate, you colossal idiot." You can distantly hear him sending you off with a hoarse 'goodnight.' Everything in you wants to turn around and see what kind of a face he's making. Is he just making fun of you? Is he as hot and bothered as you from a kiss? It felt like electricity ran up your spine like everything was floating for a moment, the world just goes away when you're with him and all that's there is the two of you. Fuck. You like Sargeant fuckface from the record store. And even though you have a feeling that all of this is a terrible idea you can't help but grin to yourself the entire way home. Hey, at least this time you didn't waste more money on records you can't play.

   You aren't sure if it's the place, or Yoongi, or your increasing age that your mother likes to remind you of constantly (not that you'd ever admit that) that makes you feel so nostalgic, so sentimental. But whenever you're around him it hits you hard. When did love lose innocence, when did it stop simply being about selfishly, greedily wanting to learn everything about the other person and staying by their side? When did it grow to be a chore, a thing that you did because it was another step on the ladder of life? And why is it that when you're around him all you can feel is those same simple straightforward feelings? Fuck, you want to kiss him again. His lips were so soft, and you were right, he tasted like Djarum Blacks. You wonder how he got them, you're pretty sure that there's a ban on them now. Ashy, a bit of clove lingering on his lips. Lingering on yours. God, it's almost infuriating how happy that makes you. Almost. But right now, you're too wrapped up in glee to be annoyed. You hope that somehow, someday, you'll manage to wrap him around your finger the way he has you so effortlessly wrapped over his. Not that you're complaining. If you're going to be wrapped around anyone's fingers, you're okay with it being his. Not that you've been staring at them whenever he handed you your bags or anything. Nope. That definitely wasn't the case. Maybe.

   When you get back home you try your hardest to stay busy, but your thoughts keep wandering back. Jesus, you think it would be easier to control your brain. It isn't until your phone clatters off the counter that you realize Yoongi's calling you, and for a moment you squint at the phone before hastily picking it up and answering. Shit wait, act cool. "'Sup Colonel nitwit?" Fuck, wait that wasn't cool. Christ, why are you like this? What are you, a twelve-year-old boy? You should probably seek counseling for your stupidity. Or maybe not, because when you hear that sing-song laughter reverberating through your ears it suddenly makes everything feel okay again.

   "You're something (y/n). A real piece of work. I mean you called me an idiot earlier, no wait, a colossal idiot and now I'm Colonel nitwit?" He laughs again, and once again you find yourself sliding down the fridge onto the floor, blushing as you blink up at the ceiling. Dejavu. "Ah, this is bad. I should have texted you. Hearing your voice makes me want to see you in person."

   "Foul. Out of bounds. That's not fair play. You aren't allowed to say things that cute."

   "You fouled first, who just marches up to someone and kisses them at their place of work?"

   "It's not like anyone else was there." You're glad he isn't here to see your face, you're already grinning like a fool and you have a feeling that he'd tease you mercilessly if he could see you right now.

   "Until those damn brats showed up." Ah, it makes you painfully happy that he was just as annoyed as you were. "I don't know what it is about you, but you just run around my thoughts all damn day."

   "So why didn't you ever text me back?"

   "AH! About that, I realized after I hung up that you said you were out on a date that first time and I suddenly started feeling like a homewrecker. I mean, I know you said that you didn't seem interested in him or maybe that was me just hoping I heard that I dunno everything feels kind of fuzzy now. My memories are hazy I just-"

   "It was just a date, not a boyfriend. I'm not the type to talk to others when I'm sincerely dating. Although I'm also not the type to call up guys who leave me their numbers on receipts. I guess the world is full of surprises."

   "God, this is really bad, I really wanna see your face. And you can't tell me that this isn't fair play when you basically just called me special."

   "I'm sorry, but what language were you thinking I was speaking that that's what you came up with? Because I'm pretty sure I didn't come close to saying that."

   "No no, it was totally there. In the subtext. It's all about the subtext you know. I mean you said that you aren't the type to call guys who give you their number on a receipt and yet you still called me. That makes me special."

   "Bwa-what's with that. You dork. Shit, now I wanna see your face."

   "Where are you? I'll come over to you."

   "I'm at my home. Scary. Maybe you are a serial killer and that's really your goal. You know, to chop me up in little pieces or some weird shit."

   "Wanna take the risk?"

   "Kind of."

   "Only kind of??? What's with that lukewarm response? I'm clearly not a serial killer. But I won't act like I don't have nefarious intentions." You can hear the clicking of the lighter, and you can't help but take a deep inhale at the same time as him. God, you bet he looks hot smoking. Wait no, smoking is bad. Very very bad. "Where'd your thoughts go right now, (y/n)?" It's not fair. He has you wrapped around his finger. You want to see him, you want to inhale his scent, run your fingers through his hair, taste him, touch him, fuck him. Fuck. When's the last time a guy got you this hot and bothered from merely existing? Has this ever actually happened? You aren't sure.

   "I'm curious, describe these nefarious intentions please."

   There's a pause, another drag of his cigarette. "Alright, I'll start with the less deviant things. I can't get the feeling of your lips outta my head. I want to kiss you, hold you, touch you. It's weird, I'm not normally the type for soft fluffy things. But the world is strange, as you said. You do weird things to my brain (y/n). You run around my thoughts night and day. When the door chimes at work I turn into Pavlov's dog and hope it's you." There's another long pause, for a moment all you hear is the thudding of your heart rushing into your eardrums and the soft staccato of static coming from your phone.

   "Those don't seem very nefarious to me."

   "Interesting, so you DO want to hear my deviant thoughts."

   "Well, calling your intentions nefarious is a rather interesting way of putting it. It makes it sound more sinister and less...I dunno...sexual? And then when you explained it all seemed rather, I don't know...innocent I guess."

   "That's because I don't wanna scare you off, Ms. Corporate."

   "Again with that stupid name?"

   "I wanna fuck you." Shit, you weren't expecting him to be that straightforward, especially after he seemed to be beating around the bush earlier. And why are you now a mix of happy and horny? That's a new mix for you. "I want to see what kind of faces you make when you cum. I want to taste you. I want to see you under me, on top of me, I want to hear you beg, I want to hear you scream my name. I want to ruin you until all you can think of is me. Until all that satisfies you is me, because right now all I can think of is you. All I want is you. And it doesn't feel fair to not see you in that same boat. So what do you say, (y/n)? Do you still want to see me tonight?"

   You want to tell him that you're also in the same boat, that really the two of you have been going in circles with the same thoughts for probably just as long. Both of you are so greedy, wanting and thinking of nothing but ruining the other. But ruin seems an unfair word, it seems to scratch only the surface. The honest truth is that you just wholeheartedly want the other person, you want them under your thumb to declare them yours. Maybe. It's strange. You were always the kind of girl to take things slow. You never did one night stands, you never had fuck buddies or booty calls or anything even close to resembling that. Sex was always something that came far later in a relationship. But this? You aren't even sure what it is. You can't exactly say he's a friend, you don't really know him. You can't say that you aren't on the way to becoming lovers, but then again he might be thinking of things from a strictly physical standpoint. You aren't sure. Maybe you should ask. Someday perhaps. If you were frank though all of this excites you. Fascinates you. Terrifies you ever so slightly. But all you can think of at this moment is that it elates you to no end that he wants you just as much as you want him. How absolutely greedy. "I do. I probably shouldn't, but I do."

   "Yeah," the dark chuckle on the other line brings heat up to your face, your breath catching in your throat. He suffocates you even with the simplest of things, even with a laugh. "Yeah, you probably shouldn't. You strike me as a good girl. The type to always please others before pleasing herself. The type to not rebel. I don't know why, but I feel I should at least tell you this. I'm not a good guy, I'm not the guy you take home to your parents or the kind of dude you can gush about to all of your friends. But I am at least confident that I can give you a reprieve. It's gotta be stressful, being good all the time constantly working for others, constantly pleasing others. But who tries to please you, understand you, allows you to just be selfish every once in a while? I can be that for you. I want to be that for you. Which is really weird because I usually hate when chicks want that from me. And here I am offering myself up on a silver platter to you. Man, the guys would think I've gone crazy if I told them this. I don't even get it, but there's just something about you that makes me feel...I dunno something."

   It's strange, how little he knows you and yet he says the things you need to hear the most. When is the last time you did something simply because you wanted to before he stumbled into your life? Did you ever? Here you were hot and bothered before and now you want to cry big fat ugly happy tears. Yoongi gives you emotional whiplash with just a few words. It's not fair. "I want to see you. Tonight."

   "Okay." Another drag, another chuckle. "Okay, then send me your address."

   You fumble with the phone, texting the address over to him quickly, your heart jumping out of your throat the entire time. The anticipation has your heart soaring and nerves dropping deep into your belly, you're a mess of a multitude of emotions all at the same time.

   "Wow, would you look at that. You're only about ten minutes away from me. I'll be over soon." Before you can respond he hangs up, and you're left staring at the ceiling wondering momentarily what you've just gotten yourself into before you're scrambling off the kitchen floor and into your bedroom. Shit, shit. You don't have much time. The house is presentable, barely. Whatever. It'll have to do. You brush your teeth, comb out your hair quickly, and do a quick once over. He'll have to just deal with your bare face, but hey at least you shaved in the bath earlier. The doorbell chimes right as you throw an oversized sweater over one of your nicer lace bras you quickly changed into. You nearly knock into every door and corner on your way to the front door, slipping slightly at the entrance before taking a deep breath and opening it.

   He's painfully good looking, but his trademark blase pokerface has you ever so slightly annoyed. Here you were rushing about, a bundle of nerves and energy, and he looks remarkably indifferent to everything. As if he didn't just tell you that he has, and you quote, nefarious intentions. But that thought runs right out the door the moment he narrows his eyes on you and gives you one of his award-winning gummy grins. You're so fucked. You're such a sucker for him already. "You okay?"

   "What, yeah, why wouldn't I be?" You open the door wider, motioning him to come in before shutting the door gently behind him.

   "Because you look nervous. Relax, I'm not here to eat you. Eat you out, maybe. If that's what you want. I'm only here to give you whatever you want." He narrows his eyes on you again, his gaze sweeping over you before looking directly at you. It feels like he can see right through you, right down to your very soul. It's comforting, terrifying, it's like everything that comes with him is a euphoric blend of polar opposites leaving you to drown somewhere in the in-between. He makes you feel like you're in the eye of the storm but precariously close to being tossed into the chaos raging all around you.

   "I hate to say this, but that sounds almost too good to be true. What's in it for you?" You tilt your head, analyzing him as you lean back against the door while trying to feign nonchalance.

   "You. And oddly enough, for once that's enough for me." He shrugs at this comment, although his eyes narrow a bit as if even he can't even believe that he just admitted this.

   "What if I said I didn't want more? Or what if I said that I wanted no strings attached if there is more? Or if I said-"

   "-I want strings attached. No, I need strings attached." You can't help but blink owlishly back at him as you try to digest this information. You pegged him for a wham-bam-thank you ma'am but I'm never calling you again type of man. "Call me crazy, I mean this is totally out of my typical wheelhouse but I realized that I was jealous when you said you were on a date right before you first came into the shop. If we're going to do this I want strings attached. Call it whatever you want, but whatever this is it's just me and you babe. No one else."

   "No one else on either side?" Greedy, selfish, but fair. You're over the moon that for whatever reason he's just the same as you. At least, when it comes to this situation. God, you want him. All of him. You want to sink deeper into this, drown yourself in him, lose yourself in all that he has to offer you. That's dangerous. But you don't care, you're already too far gone. You can feel your stomach tighten, mind halting as he stalks closer to you, his breath hot on your ear as one hand tightens around your waist and pulls you closer to him.

   "No one else on either side." His eyes travel down from your eyes to your lips before slowly wandering back up. God, you just want him to kiss you already.

   "Deal." Why do you feel like you might have just made a pact with the devil? And why is it that you still really don't care, as long as it means you get to finally taste him again. Fucking hell, you're pretty sure all of your sanity flies right out the window when he's involved. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips, just a few centimeters away from your own. So close, so close. It's like time has stilled. As if the world has fallen away and yet again all that's left is the two of you. Falling, falling. Sinking. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. Into a chasm of euphoric insanity of pleasure.

   Slowly, painfully slowly, you move your hand to his cheek the other hand winding up the firm planes of his chest. That surprises you, you thought he'd be more delicate. He certainly seems delicately built at first glance, but looks can be deceiving. His eyes never leave your own, his sights set squarely on you. Refusing to look away. Refusing to run. A deal has been made with the devil, and the devil is letting you know you aren't about to leave his crosshairs. "Kiss me, Yoongi." That signature lazy half-smile of his appears for just a fraction before his lips are on yours. He's spicy, ashy. That damn clove has your toes curling, sighing, melting into his touch. Fucking hell. You're already wet, thighs trembling, hands curling his shirt into a ball, as he licks into your mouth.

   The beat of your heart sounds painfully loud in your eardrums. Every sound is fuzzy, staticky as if you're still on the phone. Your own groans almost sound distant, his sighs sound so soft. So content. It feels like the two of you have been dunked in molasses. Time has slowed down for both of you. Moving so slowly, tenderly. Almost as if you're starstruck lovers who have just one night to cherish each other. As if you've known each other's bodies forever but have never been allowed to explore them. It feels like a fragile spell, moving too quickly might break the magic and the devil will run home with his nefarious intentions long forgotten. His hand grips tighter for a moment before wandering down, palming and massaging your ass before picking up your legs and wrapping them around his waist. He takes the small change in stature to detach from your lips, both of you watching with glossy eyes as a thing string of saliva breaks. "You're beautiful (y/n)." A hoarse whisper, kind words from a man with a crass mouth. It makes you want to be feral, it makes you want to slow down. It makes you want everything. Nothing but him. He drives you to the brink of insanity with all these diametrically opposing wants and needs.

   A long low moan tumbles out of your lips at the feeling of his tongue gliding across the prominent vein of your neck before sinking his lips down. Soft petals of pinks and red appear in his wake, a trail of cherry blossoms in spring-time painted on your skin leading up to your ear before his teeth gently press down on your lobe. Shit. That feels way too good. Toes curling, fingers wrapping into his hair and his tongue tangles skillfully around your ear until suddenly he's off, his eyes boring back into your own as your breathing tries to slow back down. "Tell me what you want, (y/n). What do you want from me?"

   If any other man would have asked you that, with such a knife-sharp gaze, you surely would have clammed up. You've never been the vocal type. But you're too far lost in his eyes to care. There's a part of you that desperately hopes your own wants will please him, that he'll sink deeper with you into this chasm of pleasure with you. "I want to suck you off."

   The admission seems to catch him off guard for a moment, there's almost an innocence to the way he blinks back at you but that's gone quickly enough that you almost imagine if you really saw it or not. Replaced by a wolfish grin, desire bubbling across his features, infecting your skin, your core. As if the madness is catching. "Well well well. Who knew little Ms. Corporate had that in her? I can't say the idea of you on your knees hasn't been in my mind before. I also can't lie and say that it isn't one of the most exquisite things I've ever thought of. But I thought I told you that this was about you? About your pleasure? Are you sure that's what you want?" Your brain processes his words slowly, you're far too focused on his growing erection pressing against your inner thigh to think clearly and quickly.

   "I told you, Yoongi. I want you. I want you to lose yourself just as much as me." That's right, you want to watch him fall into pleasure just as you have. You want this madness, this desire, this sin to grip him tightly just as it has gripped you. You're greedy that way. And right now the greatest satisfaction you could receive is seeing him out of control, and you in it. You might be on your knees for him, but he'll be under your spell.

   You unlatch your legs slowly, trembling slightly as you lace your fingers through his and pull him along to your bedroom silently. All you can hear is the hum of the A/C and the sound of your shallow breathing when you push through the bedroom door and lead him to the edge of the bed. Before you can move, his hands are quickly pulling off your sweater and tugging down your leggings until you're left in just your underwear. "I'm not about to have you finally blow me and you're still dressed." His fingers gracefully move around your back, unlatching your bra and tossing it behind you. It's feverish, the look he sends you. All you can think of is that you want more. You want to see him look at you like that all day. As if you're the only woman he wants. As if he needs you. You can't even respond, too lost in the way he looks at you like he wants to devour you whole. So instead you move forward a step, tugging his t-shirt over his head and staring for a second at his bare skin.

   He has those skinny boy abs, the kind that you always felt weren't fair because it comes naturally from stupid fast metabolisms and not hard work. But you aren't going to complain right now, not when he looks so good and he's yours. All yours. Whatever this is, he made a deal, no one else. You can be as greedy as you want because he's just the same. You sink down onto your knees, your eyes locking onto his as you unbuckle his belt and toss it off to the side. You aren't sure if it's just your hopeful imagination or if you really do hear his breath catch in his throat as you slowly unzip his jeans before letting them fall to the floor. He's a briefs kind of guy, thank god. You've always hated how boxers look on men. He takes a moment to shuffle out of his pants completely before prying off his tight black briefs, and your mouth instinctively waters at the sight.

   He's thick, veiny, and you're happy to report that he keeps everything well-groomed. Thank god, no pubes will be stuck in your teeth tonight. Heat rises up to your cheeks at the way he looks at you with carnal anticipation. Suddenly you aren't so sure about all your earlier internal bravado about being the one to make him sink deeper into pleasure with you. He's looking at you like a predator stalking his prey. As if a meal has just presented itself to him on a silver platter. But you'll change that, you want nothing more than to watch that mask fall off. You want him to break. To fall. To tremble underneath your touch the way you shake with anticipation and euphoria under his watchful gaze.

   It's with an unwavering determination that you finally grasp his dick in your hand, staring up at him as you pepper soft kisses around his tip. He's salty, tangy, drooling with precum. Delicious. Sinful. Perfect. You refuse to move your gaze off of his eyes, you want to watch him. You want to see how he falls apart. It only takes one long lick from the base to the tip to start seeing the signs, the way his Adam's apple bobs and his gaze clouds over ever so slightly. It's minute, but it's there. God, you want him. More than you've ever wanted another person. Greedily, in hopes of breaking him, you pull him into your mouth. Inch by inch, until your nose is pressed firmly against his dark patch of hair and his hand is fast to wrap around your hair and grips you tightly until a slight sting can be felt in your scalp. You didn't know you were into that, but the sensation leaves your core throbbing. Aching. Shit. You pull back up, licking around the tip with one hand jerking in slow steady motions as the other one holds his balls in your palm. Rolling them gently until you finally dive back down. There's a dull ache in your jaw already, and you have to steady your breathing to take him whole. He's just long enough to reach past your uvula and activate your gag reflex if you aren't careful. But the way his thighs flex and the guttural groans you hear are enough to have you wanting more. It's beautiful, the way he unravels. Just for you. Only you. You made a deal with the devil after all.

   "Holy fuck, you're good at this." His head is tilted back, the veins on free arm popping as it curls into a fist. You can see a thin veil of sweat covering his chest and his breathing sounds uneven, small groans and grunts breaking the rhythm. It spurs you on, moaning slightly at the way his dick pulses and throbs in your mouth. "God, (y/n). You're too fucking hot. It's not fair, shit, how someone can look that good. You look like you were made to be on your knees, fuck. God, you don't even know how much I've thought about this. I've been like a goddamn high school kid, jerking off to the thought of you every night." You finally close your eyes, concentrating harder on his words and his dick. Shit, have you ever had a guy be this vocal before? It's such a turnon. God, you want him. You want him so badly you feel like you could burst. It's not fair, how even when he starts falling apart, his composure finally going out the window, you're just a bigger mess. Both mentally and physically. You feel like you could wring a gallon out of your panties, your thighs are already drenched. You can't remember the last time you were this wet. Have you ever been this wet? Fuck, what is Yoongi doing to you?

    His thighs tremble and flex in spasms, his groans increasing and you open your eyes back up to see his sight's back on you. He looks so fucked out, hair a mess and cheeks flushed. You wish you could take a picture of this. No man should be this pretty, it almost isn't fair. You can't help but moan as his hand yanks your head further down before his grip relaxes. "Shit, shit, sorry, but I'm going to, fuck, cum. So if you don't want it-" You manage to silence him by putting his hand back on your head and slacking your jaw. A silent permission to use it as he wants. He understands your nonverbal command instantly. He gives a dark chuckle as he shakes his head. "Fuck. You really are too good to me, (y/n)." He doesn't waste time, nor is he gentle. You aren't sure if he's too far gone to think about your gag reflex or if he doesn't care, but it would be a lie to say that it doesn't turn you on. The way he uses you, the way he loses himself in thoughts of nothing but the pleasure your mouth can bring him. It isn't long before he's unraveling, groans turn into the most beautiful moans you've ever heard. Husky, deep, feral. And then you finally taste it, thick sticky white ropes of his salty, tangy cum. He stills for a moment, groaning as he softens inside of you before pulling out slowly, watching intently as he smears cum across your lips. "Be a good girl and swallow for me."

   You blink up at him, pausing for a moment before pursing your lips and swallowing everything back as his thumb swipes the remnants from your lips before forcing it inside. This time you really can hear the hitch in his breath as your tongue swirls around the pad of his thumb before swallowing back again and opening your mouth up as if to show that all is clean. There's a dark chuckle from him, but the look in his eyes doesn't reflect that sentiment. He's looking at you fondly, warmly. As if you didn't just perform one of the lewdest acts of your life for him simply because it made you melt when he called you a good girl. "Well would you look at that, you really cleaned up, didn't you?" His words give you a thought, and you reach out impulsively to follow through with it. Your lips latch onto his now softening cock, licking gently, slowly so as to not overstimulate what's now very sensitive skin as you clean off every last drop. You can feel Yoongi squirm, his hands are quick to grab your hair again and pull you up to your feet with a force that has you moaning. He's certainly stronger than he looks. "Jesus Christ, you're going to be the fucking death of me."

   Before you can even think of responding his lips are on yours. Distantly, somewhere in your sex addled thoughts, you can feel some sick sense of euphoria at the thought of him tasting his own release on your tongue. He's so different from any other man you've ever had. When had sex stopped being fun and became a chore to keep your partner satisfied? You can't remember the last time you felt this much pleasure, this much satisfaction. And you haven't even been touched yet. Shit. You're in for a wild ride with Min Yoongi. "You know, for normally being a mouthy little thing you haven't said very much." You blink up at him, confused at the loss of contact with his mouth, instinctually seeking the warmth of his skin as you curl up closer to him for a moment. Truth be told you've never been very vocal. You aren't sure what to say, where to start. But you don't want to say that and get laughed at by him, or worse yet, called a prude. But then he shoots you that look, the one that feels like he can see straight to your soul and suddenly you're talking.

   "I've never been very vocal. It's embarrassing." You look away as you speak, your cheeks heating up at your admission. You wait for the laughter, for the teasing, but instead, all you feel is his hand cupping your chin and forcing you to look at him.

   "What's so embarrassing about having your partner know what you want? What you like? I want to please you, I want to watch you fall apart. I mean for christ's sake you just licked my cum off my dick without a second thought. As if it was the most natural thing in the world for you. It was the hottest goddamn thing I've ever seen. I want to make sure that you feel just as much pleasure. So tell me, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to eat you out? Finger you? Fuck you? How do you want me to fuck you? Do you want to ride me, do you want me to take you from behind, do you want me to take your ass, or fuck you raw? What exactly do you want?" His free hand ghosts over your body as he holds your face firmly in place. You can't look away, even if you wanted to. It's like he's put you under a spell. Fuck. God, you want him. More than you want anything else. If you were locked in a room with this man for an entire day you'd use every single second to explore his body, to have him explore yours.

   "I want you to eat me out." You're rewarded with a Cheshire cat grin, he looks like a villain who's just been handed the world. And suddenly your thoughts are running back to what he said on the phone. *'I'm not a good guy.'* God, why does that have you so hot and bothered all of sudden? It's like he was put on this earth just to wreck you.

   "Good girl, was that so hard?" Before you can respond he's pushing you onto the bed and prying your underwear off. "Jesus Christ, I don't think I've ever seen panties that wrecked before. Seems little Ms. Corporate enjoys being on her knees. Not that I'm complaining, I consider it an honor to see you enjoy something so filthy with me." You pull yourself up a bit on your arms to see him better, and you tighten at the sight of him prying your legs apart. He's looking at you like you're a delicacy, the finest meal that's ever been presented and he's a starving man. "Do you like that, do you like when I talk to you like this?"

   God, more than you ever thought you would. "Yeah." He chuckles, blinking up at you and shaking his head before hooking your legs over his shoulders and dragging you to the edge of the bed.

   "Another lukewarm response. Maybe I should just stop." He's teasing you, at least you're hoping he is. Because he's so close now, you can feel the warmth of his breath on your clit. But he isn't moving, he's just staying there. His eyes locked on yours as if waiting for more. Christ. He's waiting for you to respond. And you can tell by the amused look on his face that he could wait all night if need be.

   "I..." You pause, take a deep breath and close your eyes. It's too hard to say it while he's looking at you like that. "It turns me on when you tell me things like that."

   "Things like what?" Son of a motherfucker, he's really not going to let you off the hook. He's enjoying this way too much. Fucking sadistic little shit. But the annoyance has you riled up enough to be defiant, to say it.

   "I like it when you call me a good girl. I like it when you call me filthy. I like it when you praise me. I like it when you tell me what you want to do to me. It makes me feel wanted." You almost want to cry, it makes you feel so vulnerable to admit this to him. It's strange, how just moments ago you were so confident and now you suddenly feel so unsure. But when you finally open your eyes back up the look he's giving you makes everything feel alright. Like it's safe. It's safe to be honest with him. To be vulnerable. As if he'll protect you, hold you. You don't know if he actually will, but when he looks at you so tenderly, so lovingly, it's impossible to think that he won't. But it's the smile he gives you, all gums and pearly whites, that make it worth it. Christ, you're flying a million miles an hour on this emotional rollercoaster.

   "What a good girl. You are wanted, so wanted it's terrifying." Before you can even think about the meaning behind his words, the subtext in the empty spaces, his mouth is latched onto your clit. The sensation brings a jolt of electricity up your spine, your legs latching around his face as a long garbled moan drags out of your mouth. Shit, when's the last time you were touched like this?

   "Holy fuck." You can feel him smile, and the low chuckle he gives you reverberates through your body. You aren't sure what to focus on, the tantalizing image of his face buried in your wet heat or the sensation of his tongue as it moves in hungry circles around your clit. Just as you grow used to the dizzying, tingling feeling of his mouth you feel one finger slowly ease its way inside of you. It's odd, how frenzied his mouth is, but how gentle his fingers are. It's easy to sink into this feeling, to relax under his touch. God, he's good. Just as he works in a second finger you can feel yourself unraveling. "Oh my god, don't stop. Please, please don't stop." You've never cum this fast before, but the release is imminent. So close. Maybe it's because you've been so aroused for so long that even the slightest of touches turn you into a mess. You're just over the horizon, legs trembling around him and toes curling as needy whines leave your lips. His tongue moves faster, fingers scissoring into you until all you can see is blinding white. It's almost an out of body experience, everything feels too intense to process. Your body writhing under Yoongi, trying to fight his hold around your legs as your hips lift up and your moans tumble out one after another. It's blinding. Brilliant. It makes you feel whole again. As if all is right with the world when you're here underneath him. But maybe that's just your delirious post-orgasm brain talking.

   Somewhere, it almost feels like it's on another planet, you can hear Yoongi cooing, smiling as he looks down at you with your essence still smeared across his face and fingers still lodged deep inside your pussy. "What a good girl. Do you want to taste yourself?"

   You blink back up, still slightly out of sorts as you nod slowly before finally managing to say, "Yes, please." If you were more coherent you would have probably lost consciousness at the look Yoongi gives, drenched in desire. His nefarious intentions are written on his face. The epitome of deviancy. Sin incarnate. It feels so empty when his fingers pull out with a pop, and both of you watch with rapt attention as he pulls his fingers apart and watches the strings of your release break. God, you always thought he had beautiful fingers but it should be illegal for them to look that good while covered in your essence. You lean up on your forearms, opening your mouth and watching as his fingers slowly enter your mouth. You'd do this a thousand times if it meant getting to see that look on Yoongi's face, the way he watches you with complete and utter satisfaction. As if the only thing in the world he wants to see is you at your lewdest. The guttural groan that leaves his mouth sends waves of pleasure through you as his fingers leave your mouth with a pop.

   "Jesus, you really are going to be the death of me. Or that pretty little mouth of yours will be."

   "At least you'll die happy." You shrug, laughing at the glare he shoots you before giving you a gummy smile. It's odd how comfortable it is to be around him. As if everything is right with the world and the two of you aren't in the middle of outright debauchery that involves you consuming a hell of a lot of cum. It shouldn't be legal for him to give you such a warm and fuzzy smile.

   "Nah, I won't die happy until I've fucked you." He really is the king at giving you emotional whiplash. At this admission you look down to see that he's hard again, leaking precum once more. You've never thought a dick was pretty before, but his is. A dusty shade of pink, thick, twitching in the air with need. You can feel your own core pulse with need as you look at him. Fuck, you want him. More than you've ever wanted anything. Who knew you'd still be this greedy, this needy, after already achieving what was arguably the best orgasm of your life.

   "Then fuck me." The words come out of your mouth in a low timbre, each syllable dripping with want. Yoongi doesn't verbally respond for once, instead, he just repositions you, gently leaning your head against the pillow as he shuffles your thighs over his hips. You can feel the velvety soft tip of his cock tap against your clit, and the soft sensation has you sighing underneath him.

   "Are you sure that's what you really want babe?"

   "I want you to fuck me, Min Yoongi. Please, fuck me." For a moment he pauses, his Adam's apple bobbing. You swear that for a half-second he almost looks like he's contemplating everything as if he's questioning the validity of the situation before he's spitting into his palm and wetting his dick.

   "I won't be gentle. That's not in my vocabulary."

   "I don't want you to be gentle. I want you to fuck me, make me see stars." You reach out to touch his cheek, your hand wandering down his chest for a moment before gripping his dick in your own hand and guiding it to your greedy entrance. He watches for a second before taking over, snapping his hips into yours and sliding in all the way in one go. The burn is tantalizing, the stretch leaves you feeling utterly full and before you can even think of relaxing fully into it he's snapping his hips again.

   "Well Ms. Corporate, you can't say I didn't warn you. I want to see you beg, cry, scream my name. I want to see you fall apart on my cock, over and over again tonight." He emphasizes by picking up pace, his hips smacking against your skin with loud thwacks. It's disorienting, tantalizing, the way he fucks into you. Each time he's fully inside you you can almost touch the stars. You swear his dick is made of magic, the way it takes you out of your own overgrown thoughts and into the present. All you can think of is him, of the pleasure he brings you. It's like your nerves are on fire, it's almost pathetic how quickly you melt underneath him. Teeth clacking, his name spilling out in a broken mantra of whines and moans. Thank god he said he wanted strings attached because all you can think of is that once won't be enough with him. Shit, you're pretty sure you could fuck him every day and you'd still want more. So greedy, so needy. Just for him. Only for him. The devil has you in his crosshairs, but you don't want to leave. "Look at you, already falling apart." Such crass praise. You can feel yourself pulse around him at his words, and the moan that leaves him has your back arching. You wish you could turn his moans into a song, you'd play it on repeat. Such a beautifully filthy sound.

   You can feel another release looming over you when he picks your hips up and fucks into you harder. Christ, how does he have the stamina for this? Not that you're complaining. "Yoongi I'm going to, fuuuuck, right there, keep going, right, fuck!" Somehow he seems to understand your garbled incoherent rambling, because he grins down as he fucks into you harder, pulling you into a heated kiss that you try hard to reciprocate in between broken moans. It's electric. It burns you up from the inside out. It raises goosebumps across your flesh and has your eyes rolling the back of your head as you writhe around him. If Yoongi wanted to ruin you then he's already won. You're positive that sex will never feel this good with anyone else. He slows down for just a moment, fucking into you shallowly as you try to get your breathing back to normal. It's hard to do anything though, you feel like you're floating on a cloud. As if your consciousness is only barely connected to your physical body.

   "You still with me, babe?" You can't even look up at him, it takes a painful amount of effort to just nod. You can hear his own groans and grunts better with your eyes closed. What a sinful symphony, skin against skin, mewls of pleasure from two lovers, or at the very least strings attached deal makers, lost in the throes of passion. He twists you underneath him until you're on all fours, shakey legs barely keeping you up and arms failing as your face plants into the pillow and your ass hangs in the air. He gives one test swat to your ass, and your scream of satisfaction and clenching pussy must be the answer to his unsaid question because his hand comes down harder this time. Surely leaving a pink park in its wake, and before you can process a third loud smack rings through the air. Jesus christ mother mary, you could drown a man right now with how wet he has you. Before you can even say anything he's fucking into you again, taking you from behind as his hands twist into your hair and pull you up until your back is flush to his chest. The sting in your scalp has you clenching around him, you're a mewling drooling mess at this point. And you're too far gone to care, euphoria is the only thought on your mind.

   "You've been such a good girl for me. Do you think  you can cum again, do you want to cum all over my cock for me?" A stuttered yes hangs in the air for just a moment before his mouth latches onto your neck and his hand leaves your hair to tug at one taught nipple while the other dives lower until it's rubbing circles around your clit. Yoongi isn't the only one who would die happy after this, but you can't seem to get the words out. Shit, you can't seem to get any words out. It's taking everything in you to just breathe at this point. Every sensation is too much for you to handle, you're far too sensitive after your last orgasm but you're greedy. You want more. You want to please, you want nothing more than to be good for him. Especially if that means that you'll find only the greatest of pleasures in the process. This third and final orgasm has you spasming, bucking against his chest as broken cries wail out in unison with his own sweet groans of pleasure. God, you wish you weren't in this position, you wish you could keep your eyes open. You wanted to see his face when he came, but then again, there'll be a next time. Won't there? All yours after all. Greedy. You never thought you'd be this greedy.

   You can still feel him bucking into you shallowly before finally moving you back onto a pillow and pulling out carefully. You can feel exhaustion seeping deep into your bones. It takes more effort than you want to admit just to roll over and look up at Yoongi, but it's worth the exertion to see his face. His pale skin is flushed to a pretty petal pink and shining with a thin sheen of perspiration, damp hair sticking to his forehead and his eyes are glazed over in a state of numb content. Handsome doesn't really fit him, he's more pretty you would say. Beautiful really. But you won't say that. You figure most dudes wouldn't take too kindly to being called something so feminine.  So instead you just watch him quietly, drink in the sight of him as he ruffles his hair and shuffles over to your bathroom to clean up. He has a surprisingly nice ass. Christ, you really do like everything about him.

   "Do you have any baby wipes?" His voice sounds hoarse, and a part of you wants to get up and grab a cup of water for him but you're too tired to move.

   "Yeah, in the cupboard closest to the toilet I think I should have some." You hear him rummaging around before he comes out with one wipe and silently cleans you up. It feels oddly domestic, and somehow that makes you feel more awkward than when you were having sex. Christ, you've never been good at these kinds of things. But when you look at Yoongi, the way he just hums to himself as he wipes away any last remnants that have trickled onto your thighs, it's hard to not have your heart melt. He's like the human form of catnip for you, everything feels upside down and yet strangely addictive with him around. "Thanks. Are you going to spend the night?"

   He pauses for a moment, his movements halting and his eyes not meeting your own. That's okay, you're used to this. You shouldn't have gotten your hopes up. "If you're okay with that, that would be nice. But I tend to sleep late, I don't want to bother you if you have to get up early."

   Well, that certainly wasn't what you were expecting. You can't help but blink up at him, words failing before manic uncontrollable giggles come tumbling out of you. You finally manage to stop long enough to wipe some stray tears out of the corner of your eyes before finally responding. "Nah, I set my own hours, we're good."

   You watched him take you in curiously, a small flicker of a smile ghosting his lips before he turned around to rummage through his jeans and grab a lighter and cigarette, about to light up before he turns around and raises an eyebrow, a silent question.

   "Go ahead, but I don't have any ashtrays so you can use a cup or something." You point to the empty water cup by your bed before slipping under the covers, watching him take a deep drag and shut his eyes. The silence would probably feel unbearable with anyone else, but for some reason, it's soothing with him. You have absolutely no clue what you've gotten yourself into with him. Strings firmly attached to whatever the fuck this is, as per his rules. And yours too. You did agree. You want to break this all down, pick it apart and analyze this entire rendezvous piece by piece to make sense of it. You've never been this type of girl before. Impulsive, brash, hedonistic, quick. That's the only way you can describe this. No you were always slow to act, but quick to think until Min Yoongi snarked his way into your heart. And yet it feels so right. Shit. What does that mean? You wish you could think about this more, but the moment you feel his long fingers brushing your hair soothingly you're lulled into sleep.

   That night you dream of his lips on yours, sweaty skin sticking to sheets and the orchestral sound of his groans mixing with slick skin hitting skin. Christ, you're so screwed. Having sex with him isn't enough, not even in your dreams. You aren't sure why he's so all-consuming, but one thing is for certain: he isn't the only one with nefarious intentions.

#yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #suga smut #suga fanfic #suga fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts reader insert

[qm-vox]

The Far Realms vs. Obyriths: Cosmic Horror in D&D

Shout-out, once again, to Afroakuma, from whom I learned most of the material I’m about to explain and with whom I’ve had many fascinating discussions about this topic.

It’s ya boi Vox, back at it to complain about RPG shit in an educational fashion again. Remember when I did a whole article about (evil) gods in D&D, arguing that they have more potential than to be used like supervillains? We’re gonna do that again, but this time with incorporating cosmic horror elements into your D&D campaign. Some of this advice may also be useful for games similar to D&D but for the sake of my own sanity I’m gonna confine myself to the one system or I’m gonna be here until my kids are in college.

This article will be broken down into three parts: an overview of cosmic horror’s origin and original thesis (in which we travel my favorite magical land, Full And Complete Context), a breakdown of the Far Realms in D&D (including older takes from late 2e & 3.5, how those changed in 4e, and their ambiguous state in 5e) & how you might use them for a cosmic horror campaign, and a breakdown of Obyriths in D&D and how you might use them in your campaign.

No discussion of cosmic horror is complete without some Content Warnings. Right up front: cosmic horror has its roots in extremely racist fiction, and I’m going to be talking about that straight-up. Also included in this article will be body horror, descriptions of mind control and mental corruption, supernaturally-induced madness, violence, and medical horror, among other things. This is a genre that hit the ‘fuck shit up’ button with its face on fuckin’ Zero Day and does that but again every time we successfully write something in it. Additionally, spoilers for some of Lovecraft’s work will be in here, with absolutely no tags and no warnings before they happen. You have been warned; do as thou wilt.

HP Does A Racism - Origins Of Cosmic Horror

Yeah, I’m about to be like that about it.

In the beginning there was Howard Phillips Lovecraft, an absolute garbage fire of a human being whose personal issues are such a knotted mess that I’m half-sure that the concept of the Ouroboros is just the echo of his bullshit reaching backwards through time. Like many authors of his time, Howie Love here was born into significant wealth, and while his education would be cut short (he had some manner of health problem in high school that ended his attempts at schooling) it was pretty high-quality, as it tends to be when you’re rich and white in the late 1800s. When he began writing his most famous body of work, Lovecraft had three attributes which would shape it: EXTREME racism, an incredible love for the works of Edgar Allen Poe, and every fucking phobia ever turned loose on God’s green Earth.

If you want to know more about that first point, try looking up what he named his cat; Lovecraft was so racist that even other racists thought he was too racist. Mother fucker was so racist that he wrote about the dangers of contaminating one’s bloodline with French-Canadians. His racism made it into all of his works in some way, shape, or form; many had themes of miscegenation, plenty included people of color only as deranged cultists of terrible powers, and as we’ll get into later in this segment the very racism that caused him to do these things also made him write the...let’s say ‘villains’ for lack of a better term, of his ongoing body of work as thinly-veiled stand-ins for white people.

No, really.

Lovecraft’s early work included a few short stories in the American Gothic style, the most famous of which is The Rats in the Walls. It’s a fairly classic story as far as those go, but Howie Love would soon abandon American Gothic for the genre he founded and defined: cosmic horror. Keep the racism and phobias in mind going forward, they’re about to become real important.

Howie Love Clowns On Himself - Themes And Thesis Of Cosmic Horror

While Dagon is generally accepted as the ‘first’ cosmic horror story, I prefer The Colour Out Of Space as the definitive example of the original thesis of cosmic horror at its most clean and clear (it’s also the work of Lovecraft’s that has aged the best; I highly suggest it if you haven’t read it yet!). In it, an alien presence - arguably but not necessarily an entity - crash-lands outside the fictional town of Arkham. Our narrator, a surveyor, coldly investigates the horrors that occur after and learns the sorry tale of a family destroyed by this alien presence as it blights their land, corrupts their bodies, and drives them to madness. The presence leaves, but not wholly; a fragment of itself remains behind, alongside the chilling possibility of a repeat performance.

The Colour Out Of Space, and indeed most of Howie Love’s work, was written at a time in the United States and the United Kingdom where human exceptionalism was the norm. Humans were not merely important, but special, chosen, exalted in nature and placed in a universe whose sole purpose was to be the stage for our domination. The Colour Out Of Space proposed a different idea: that we ain’t shit. Not only is humanity not exalted, but humanity is insignificant, existing at the mercy of fate, able to be casually annihilated at any time by forces we do not understand. It was a shocking proposal when it was published, and though the zeitgeist that gave it power has faded (most people realize we ain’t shit these days, can’t imagine how that fucking happened) it still resonates with many people.

The later works that defined the Cthulu Mythos would build on this theme, introducing powerful beings which claim dominion of Earth or of all reality. You’ve probably heard of most of them - Cthulu is the big one, of course, but there’s also Yog-Sothoth (The Dunwich Horror), Azazoth, Catboi Slim (Nyarthalotep), and many more, not all of which were written by Lovecraft himself. These beings are gods, or else so far above humanity that the difference is academic, and this brings us to the second defining theme of cosmic horror that Lovecraft would lay out, that of forbidden knowledge.

Protagonists in Howie Love’s stories have a tendency to lose their minds. Later authors would chalk this up to the idea that witnessing these gods or their works is so inherently horrifying that the mind simply snaps in their presence, or even that these gods are bound up in the concept of madness (this second one is a rather incompetent reading, not that I’m thinking of any PAIZO in particular that just ran with it in their RPG setting), but Howard’s own work doesn’t always bear that out. The protagonist of Call of Cthulu is not driven mad by that being - he is driven towards the brink by the realization that the Cult is still out there (and coming for his life), and that Cthulu will only rise again. Our viewpoint character in At The Mountains Of Madness realizes he has committed unspeakable atrocities on living beings much like himself by mistake, and that if further explorers come to disturb their slumber they will only repeat the same errors and lead to mankind’s annihilation. It’s not just that these ancient powers are terrifying or even that they are alien, but that to comprehend them is to understand that humans are so far beneath them that their attitude towards us cannot be thought of as ‘benevolent or ‘malevolent’, because we are beneath their notice, lesser in comparison than even a bacterium. In such a context, all humans do is consume resources better used by our superiors, and thus our existence is a profanity upon the divine. The only moral action, the stories argue, is self-annihilation; only ignorance permits us to justify our own existence to ourselves.

Sound familiar? Almost like this is the exact argument chucklefuck racists make about the existence of people of color, Jews, and anyone else they happen to not like? Yeah. This is the part where Lovecraft accidentally made himself the villain of his own work. Congratulations Howie, you played yourself. And since his audience was largely fellow white men also hard up on that whole racism thing, this idea of human profanity tapped a deep well of anxiety. I’m not about to argue that racism is over (it isn’t) and that’s why this vision of cosmic horror is less popular; indeed, it’s retained a pretty solid cult (heh) following, in part because the idea of such beings is inherently kinda terrifying. But I’d be remiss not to bring up the fact that this terror has its roots in racism, so...there you have it.

Other authors also built on the Cthulu Mythos, with Lovecraft’s enthusiastic blessing. These days their works tend to be mistakenly attributed to Howie Love himself, but that’s not actually his fault; they were published on their own, under their own authors’ names, and as far as we can tell Howard never tried to take the credit. These other authors had a tendency to substitute the indifferent divinity and corrupted humans of Lovecraft’s work with direct malice; their vision of these god-like beings was one in which they noticed humanity and did harm to it, creating a movement away from Howie Love’s original thesis (”human insignificance will lead to the unimportant and unmarked event of our destruction” & “seeking knowledge can only lead to self-annihilation”) during his life which only picked up momentum after his death. Indeed, most modern attempts at Lovecraftian horror mimic this overt malevolence, often without even lip service to the original thesis. It’s not necessarily an unworkable angle of horror, and it definitely has bones in with its origins; “God is real and He hates you personally” is a terrifying idea! But this movement away from the cold indifference of stories like The Colour Out Of Space definitely contributed to the current climate of...sloppy adaptations, let’s say.

Not that I’m thinking of any Paizo in particular.

So Should I Use Mythos Content Directly In My D&D Game Or What?

No, because I will cry and tell everyone that you punched my children and kidnapped my girlfriends.

More helpfully, probably not. The presence of other divinities, but especially evil divinities like Erythnul (Greyhawk) or Malar (Forgotten Realms) makes the thematics of cosmic horror pretty fucking weird. If you really wanted to, your best bet is to not use the published system of divinity at all (see the previously-linked article, up at the top of this one) and instead make Lovecraft’s gods the setting’s only gods. That means asking yourself some hard questions about clerics in your game world and possibly divine magic in general - that’s a separate article though - and even then you’re in for a rough row to hoe. D&D’s characters tend to be competent, dynamic, empowered - a far cry from the educated but otherwise fairly helpless protagonists on which cosmic horror tends to trade. Themes of futility in the face of incomprehensible beings don’t really make for good D&D most of the time, not when so much of the system (any edition, it doesn’t matter) is set up to create and reward cunning and heroic struggle. Classic cosmic horror, in the original proposed form, is not a good fit.

Thankfully, we have two solutions to give you what you crave in-house. Let’s start with the one that is somehow both the closer fit and the further fit.

You Have Fucked Up - The Far Realm Overview

Originally introduced in late AD&D 2e, the Far Realm as an idea hit its stride during 3.0/3.5 before getting a major rework as part of 4e’s cosmology, where it became the source of most/all aberrations. We’re gonna go ahead and pretend 4e didn’t happen, not because 4e is bad (and for the love of fuck please don’t start an edition war on my cosmic horror post) but because 4e’s cosmology just doesn’t really fit in with any of the rest. 1e <-> 3.5 is more or less coherent and you can beat 5e into line with a wrench and some harsh language, but 4e...well, anyway.

The Far Realms is outside reality. No, not in another dimension, we know what those are - those are the Planes. It’s outside reality; it is Somewhere Else. “It” is probably even the wrong term, since by definition any place (”place”) that isn’t the multiverse as D&D knows it is the Far Realm. To paraphrase Afroakuma, if the Great Wheel is a Lego brick, the Far Realm is a giant squid; if the Great Wheel is a bowl of Fruit Loops, the Far Realm is the theory that intelligences from Pluto rig the results of major sporting events. The contexts are not compatible. These two things do not go together in any way. Combining the two can only end in sorrow and woe.

So mortals try to combine the two all the time, because we’re dipshits like that.

Every now and again, some truly, monumentally stupid person - usually but not always someone inside reality - breaches the skin that contains reality inside itself, and lets in the essence of Outside. This is a phenomenally bad idea; the immediate result is corruption in both directions as the essence of each form of reality bleeds into the other. Both attempt to ‘scab’ the breach, translating the foreign substances and beings into something more like the reality they have moved to. If a breach happens, there is one of three outcomes. If you are very, very lucky, no being on the other side notices the breach, and you’ve ‘merely’ blighted and corrupted a vast stretch of land, tainting it with something sort of like, but not enough like, Chaos and Evil for millennia to come - maybe even forever. If you’re not lucky, a being on the other side notices the breach and acts to seal it, the ripple of which causes you to not have a nation or continent any more as said corruption absolutely consumes the lands in which you live. And if you are phenomenally unlucky, the being on the other side is just as stupid as you are, and it comes through. The last time that happened the original Gnomish pantheon got murdered. Their homeworld doesn’t exist any more.

There is no ‘good’ outcome. This is the repeated and absolute theme of the Far Realms; whatever your reasons for getting involved with them, whatever you wanted, whatever you were seeking, you don’t get it. Mortals fuck with the Far Realms because our inability to comprehend them leads us to think of them like things we can experience. The scabbed-over beings we meet that are from there (Psuedonatural creatures; see the Alienist prestige class in Tome & Blood and Complete Arcane, as well as the bigger version in the Epic Level Handbook) are Chaotic Evil because that is how reality translates them. They aren’t Chaos, they’re another reality, and their unwilling and unwitting corruption of all around them gets redefined as Chaotic Evil in order to reduce their damage to all of existence to a manageable fucking level. Were you seeking the Far Realms in order to harness power for great change? Get fucked, you can’t control what happens. Were you seeking magical power? Get fucked; the reason people go mad when exposed to the Far Realms isn’t just that the knowledge they gain makes no sense, it’s that the complete lack of context means all of the stuff you killed and stole and lied and cheated for is more or less completely goddamn useless. Trying to escape existence for some reason? One, death is faster, but two, hope you enjoy suffering the entire time you die - and that’s if the breach stays open long enough for you to be able to enjoy death as a concept before you get sealed away in a place where mortality doesn’t meaningfully exist.

You don’t get what you want. This was a bad idea. You fucked up.

5e, the most recent edition of D&D, mainly continues this trend. It has suggestions of the lazier interpretation of Lovecraft’s work tied to the Far Realms, which I heartily suggest you ignore, but some of the other ideas are phenomenal. The Great Old Ones Pact for Warlock has one in particular that I like quite a bit, which suggests that the Warlock-to-be created an unintended connection to a Far Realms intelligence and gained power against both of their wills and possibly without the intelligence in question even noticing. You don’t need to change a lot in 5e’s run to bring out the extant themes of the Far Realms - though admittedly this is greatly assisted by the fact that 5e barely has any Far Realms content to begin with, so there’s not a lot to edit. That also means there’s not a lot to use, so if you want to use Far Realms stuff in 5e you’re gonna have to get ready to spend a lot of time making your own. Which brings us to...

Who The Fuck Funded This Research?!? - Using The Far Realms In Your Game

Considering that all-important theme - “this was a bad idea” - the Far Realms are likely to be antagonistic in nature in your game, even if ‘antagonistic’ isn’t the right term. Published adventures have used Far Realms content as a sort of backdrop (Firestorm Peak comes to mind here) before, and you can easily make Far Realms creatures a more direct problem for your PCs by centering the campaign around a cult or research team attempting to cause a new breach. This could be a great time to engage with player-side themes such as the ethics of magic use, the cost of power, and the burden of responsibility for said power, assuming your group is down for it. Even if they’re not, horrifying monstrosities that by definition have no place in this universe are great to kick in the head(s).

What motivates people to cause a breach? Mainly stupidity, but the special kind of stupidity you only get when someone is highly educated and deeply intelligent. For awhile, in the real world, there was a burst of designers making D20 heartbreakers - successors to D&D 3.5 meant to fix its many catastrophic flaws. Each person thought they had it, the secret to make the system they both loved and hated finally function, and they were all wrong. Causing a breach into the Far Realms is like that. Every sign points to it being a bad idea. Reading the research and spells of the last people who tried it reveals that it’s a bad idea. All of the diaries and primary sources of those who did it and those who stopped them say it’s a bad idea, but that’s okay because I, Wizardhat von Dipshit, am not like those fools. I will be more careful, and the power to reshape the Planes will be mine!

The easiest way to make Far Realms creatures for use in your campaign is to start with an existing monster and fuck it up; rearrange its abilities (adding or emphasizing mental attacks and psychic damage, if you can), alter its physical form, and generally just make that shit wrong and fill its blood with spiders. If you want to get more alien from there or make something original, the best guideline I can offer for you is that aboleths were the result of Far Realms taint in the beginning of this reality (it’s telling that the closest thing reality could translate their progenitor into was a Greater Deity).

No one wants power for its own sake, of course, but what your antagonist actually wants is more or less irrelevant because the important bit is that they had every chance to know better and they’re about to make this bad decision on purpose anyway. This is how the Far Realms brings out cosmic horror themes in a heroic context; power that is beyond both mortal comprehension and control, which has no place in this reality and recoils from us as violently as we recoil from it. Like Lovecraft, whose stories revealed a deep cynicism about knowledge and science, your antagonists will be erudite individuals whose ruinous plans are only possible because of what they have learned and, in turn, chosen to ignore. If nothing is done, unstoppable catastrophe will be unleashed, and with it will come madness and desolation. If only some heroes were on hand, eh?

The disconnect the Far Realms has from classic cosmic horror is also the source of why they fit; they don’t belong here. In Lovecraft’s work, it’s humanity that doesn’t belong - we are a blight upon the rightful property of higher beings. The Far Realms are instead an intrusion, something from Elsewhere which doesn’t want to be here as much as we don’t want it here. That helps those classic cosmic horror themes work much better in this context, but maybe you’re looking for something else, something from here. Do the Planes have cosmic horror from within the shell of Reality?

Yes. Oh yes, they do.

Ancient Evil Survives - Obyrith Overview

In the beginning, there was war.

The primordial War of Law and Chaos is the greatest conflict to have ever rocked the Planes. It was so destructive, so all-encompassing, that it consumed entire Material Plane worlds, reshaped the nature of the Planes themselves, and is still happening, even now. It began in the early days of the Great Wheel and was prosecuted by Chaos, led by the self-styled Queen of Chaos, over a single question: should reality be real? Should effects follow causes, should gravity exist, should fire burn and light reveal, should things age and die, should...

The forces of Law said yes to these questions and fought to establish and maintain an order and logic to reality. Chaos fought for an unbound reality, one in which each individual would be completely free to express their own true essence as tangible changes in the existence around them. The War was never truly won or lost, but the imprisonment of Miska the Wolf-Spider broke the backs of the Chaotic coalition and brought the War to a stalemate of sorts, in a reality which, if not dominated by Law, is definitely Law-leaning. Mortals are familiar with the terrible demons used as footsoldiers by the Abyss, the Tanar’ri, who reign yet in that terrible place. But it was not the Tanar’ri in command of Chaos, and not the Tanar’ri who prosecuted that terrible War. Indeed, the beings we now recognize as demons rose up against their creators, the Obyriths, after the imprisonment of Miska. They overthrew the Obyriths in a great slaughter and replaced them as the dominant exemplars of Chaotic Evil.

The Obyriths are not dead. They plan, and they wait, and they wage war and slaughter upon their wayward slaves in the Abyss. Every last one of them burns to reignite the War and achieve their vision of unbound reality, free of the wretched Law and all too weak to survive without it.

Prisoners Of The Flesh - Obyrith Nature

So what are Obyriths? The easiest answer is that they’re demons - the first demons, in fact, which preceded the more famous Tanar’ri (when you think of demons in D&D chances are you’re thinking of a Tanar’ri), and while this answer is entirely correct it is not the whole story. Tanar’ri are famously Chaotic Evil; they revel in corruption and destruction and are driven to maliciously annihilate or taint all they come across. A demon army marching across the land will stop to personally kick every puppy between point A and point B and they will absolutely mutiny against you if you try to stop them from doing so. What is good and pure must be soiled; what exists must be made to not exist, its foundations shattered, its virtues turned against themselves, its values abandoned. Tanar’ri respect only raw might, and only as long as they think they can’t defeat it.

But Obyriths, their progenitors, are Evil Chaos.

Let’s have some examples. This little guy is a draudnu, a kind of Obyrith made from the bones of chaotic celestials which post-dates the ‘end’ of the War by a pretty significant amount of time. They’re on the weaker side for Obyriths.

(You’ll find this boi in Monster Manual V for 3.5 incidentally.)

Take a nice long look. Really take it in - because that’s not the draudnu. That’s the prison of flesh, the scab, that reality has forced on the draudnu, that the terrible Law has locked it within. The actual draudnu looks like it’s inside me God it’s inside me I can feel it growing and twisting it HURTS get it out, it’s seeping into my blood it’s inside me it’s INSIDE ME -

Let’s have another example. This is a sibriex, recently re-published in Mordenkeinan’s Tome of Foes for 5e with no mention of Obyriths, which is a damn shame. They were instrumental in defining the forms of the common breeds of Tanar’ri.

Fun, right? But again, that’s not a sibriex; the actual form of a sibriex is perfection. Absolute beauty and grace. I am nothing compared to this perfection. I am no one in the face of this perfection. My existence can only profane this perfection. I must serve the Perfect One. I must let it remake me and reshape me, I must appease it, I must make amends for the crime that is my trespass upon the reality made for the Perfect One.

Those two are ‘common’ Obyriths, examples of that race of demons which have peers who are much like themselves, but the Obyriths still have extant Demon Princes. The Queen of Chaos is still alive and nursing her ancient hate. Pale Night’s true form is so profane that reality cannot stand its existence; when she reveals it to you, the multiverse destroys your soul so that knowledge of her truth does not exist. Obox-Ob, murdered by the Queen of Chaos, yet exists as an Aspect of himself - and the Planes live in fear of the rise of the Prince of Vermin, whose truth is agony, rot, and corruption, such that even if you magically remove memory of it from your mind you continue to die from the soul outward.

And Dagon plots within the depths of his palace, sponsoring and advising Demogorgon - the Prince of Demons - and contemplating unimaginable lore of evil. The Demon Prince of Depths looks like this.

This is the form carved on blasphemous altars in the depths of the oceans, where sunlight has never reached. This is the form worshiped by mortals who delight in corruption, destruction, and fear, who dream of a sea where vision is a distant memory and predators hunt by the scent of blood. It is the form sought by those who lust for ancient lore, kept in places far from mortal sight and utilized by an evil older than many gods and mortal races, a form whose mere touch can taint a body of water, mutating & mutilating all within and unleashing their fury, their terror, their slaughter, for ages to come. And it is not Dagon. Dagon’s true form, imprisoned within that flesh, is I’m drowning in the cold dark, I can feel my bones breaking, my eyes are bursting, I’m blind and I’m drowning and I can’t die, my lungs are gone, the water is seeping into my blood I’m drowning and I just want to die make it stop I’m DROWNING.

It’s telling that witnessing Dagon’s true form, his Form of Madness, can give even creatures that breathe water, or which do not breathe at all, crippling hydrophobia.

The true forms of Obyriths are not flesh or matter; they are not, by nature, Material beings the way other Outsiders and mortal things are. Their true forms are that you, personally, are going mad. You, personally, are being assaulted, violated, and infected; you, personally, are being victimized, corrupted, consumed, and betrayed. Imagine if the act of pouring flesh-eating beetles into someone’s eyes had a personality, will, and desires - not the person doing it, the act itself - and that’s an Obyrith. They are evil because what they are is evil, much in the way Erythnul is evil. Unlike their creations, the Tanar’ri, Obyriths aren’t in it to kick every puppy that has ever existed. They want to throw off the yoke of the Law and release their unbound forms. They want an existence of darkness and isolation in which all beings are free to express their true essence to the limit of their might and their will.

They just wanna be themselves.

No matter who has to die.

The Foes Of All Reason - Using Obyriths In Your Campaign

Do you enjoy life’s little conveniences, such as cause-and-effect, linear time, predictable & observable physical laws, not having your body boil away beneath the agonizing will of some random asshole, and the capacity to recognize patterns in nature? Then Obyriths are your enemies. As demons, Obyriths can be summoned and are thus easy to use in the sort of ‘guest star’ role that Tanar’ri are often used in, even if it takes a moon-sized pair of brass balls to decide you can contain one. However, this use - while valid - is not a good way to bring out their cosmic horror themes, and since you decided to read an article about cosmic horror in D&D this far down I’m going to go ahead and assume you’d like to do that.

As one of the Planes’ most ancient and active evils - arguably the most ancient one that hasn’t died or otherwise fucked off - Obyriths are absolutely prime for campaigns that deal with ancient lore, primordial conflict, and unreality. If you like the idea of long-burn plots by masterminds with the patience of aeons, Obyriths are definitely for you. For an example of one such story, check out The Tale of the Whale, written by Afroakuma. The downside to using Obyriths in this way is that if you want to do so in canon settings, you need to be prepared to do some absolute fucking deep dives on the lore, which may require access to books or PDFs as far back as 1e & 2e. If you’re using your own setting this problem is lessened, though at that point you do have to manage to sell the ancient nature of such beings in a way that makes them feel suitably eldritch.

For more...let’s go ahead and say modern for lack of a better word, takes, keep in mind that Obyriths are not Tanar’ri. They do not scheme to overthrow the government of a nation; your pale, fleshly shadow of the Law is nothing to them. The plots of Obyriths upend the Laws which underpin reality itself. Could the great contract that details the alliance between the tribes of Men and Cats be found and perverted, turning each against the other in all reality? Could the insects of this realm be infected with the essence of Obox-Ob so that the Demon Prince of Vermin can feast on mortal souls and effect his own return to power? Could a bridge linking the Deep Ethereal to the Abyss be constructed, permitting the sibriexes and their master, the Prince of the Chrysalis, to shape new slaves from the very essence of raw Potential? Obyriths pervert what is and should be, not just because it suits their end goal of chaos unbound, but because corruption and violation is their very nature. It’s how they think, how they move, what they believe in, love, and value.

Obyriths have a lot to suggest for them when it comes to cosmic horror stories in D&D’s context. They bring out direct themes of madness, terrible truth, malign alien intelligence, and reality-unreality. You can comprehend their motives and even their nature, sort of, but their end goal is completely alien to mortal beings; the reality they want would be completely unrecognizable to the denizens of the current one. They are evil as mortals understand the concept, but not in a way that matches or even relates to their peers, which means they act in surprising and unpredictable ways.

All of this of course damages their ability to fulfill the classic cosmic horror thesis, but there’s something to be said about the idea that an alien intelligence, to be horrifying, needs something humans can attempt to relate to. It certainly makes writing for them easier.

If you’re using Obyriths in 3.5, you’re set to go; look for them in the various Monster Manuals, as well as Fiendish Codex. If you’re attempting to use them in Pathfinder, good decision but you’re gonna have some stat block converting to do. Trying to use them in 5e is gonna be the absolute bitch of a job, and I’m not sure where to even start on those suggestions except to note that the signature trait of Obyriths - the thing that makes them them, mechanically - is a Form of Madness ability, where they reveal their truth to their victims. Forms of Madness are mind-affecting abilities which hit all non-demons near the Obyrith, tainting them in some way. You can see some example ideas above, and the ones from 3.5 in the published books I just mentioned, but here’s hoping I can find an expert on 5th Edition’s mechanics kind enough to lend me a hand here.

I hope this article proved helpful to you! As with all of my work, questions and critique are welcome. Thanks for reading!

#D&D #planescape #far realms #demons #obyrith #cosmic horror #body horror #advice #I'm Not Sure How To Use Tags #reblogs welcome #critique welcome

[aglayalilich]

on some horror movies

a few months ago i got to see midsommar and though it didn’t quite do to me what hereditary did i thought it was a very compelling movie...shortly after, though, i was able to see the 2018 version of suspiria and wowwww did i feel some ways about that movie. i felt at the time that the two went very well together. so my friend invited me to see the director’s cut version of midsommar this weekend (still very interesting, though i felt the final cut was the right choice) and i decided i would also watch suspiria again and take notes on both. because i

wanted to articulate more why these movies work so well as a double feature for me, beyond ‘ah yeah there’s some girls dancing in it’ though certainly the role of dance and the climactic dance scenes are a part of it. there’s this structural similarity too in the final ritual acts. but like i was saying, it’s more than just a similar aesthetic. in fact the aesthetics are really in contrast, with suspiria’s bright red on desaturated colors versus midsommar’s blue and white on very lush, saturated backdrops. though they also do something similar with how color begins creeping into the character’s clothing in midsommar and of course many people have already talked about how the iconic red begins to creep into suspiria culminating at the end. really drastically different cinematography style also, midsommar is full of these long empty lingering shorts, all this wideness and slowness while suspiria is fast cuts, sudden zooms, races fromt he point of view of one character to the next. (sidenote: both have this GREAT visual language of mirrors, suspiria has the mirror room and dance studios and characters refracted a hundredfold, great for questions and multiplicity of identity. midsommar has a couple of really great scenes where one character is talking to another character but the second character is standing out of the shot and only visible in a mirror. ahhh so good. in general i wouldn’t say the effect of either movie is fear so much as disorientation--reflections, refractions, inversions. physical spaces impossible for the audience to navigate. images that the audience cannot arrange chronologically. i love it) anyway. this isn’t an essay so it is unstructured. i took about 10 pages of notes during my second viewing of midsommar and i can only understand about half of that because it was dark as fuck in the theater but i would like to at least ATTEMPT to give form to what i was feeling. comes down to 3 core similarities.

1. i read both of these movies as about abuse in communities that are supposed to be ‘safe.’ the community is a relief from trauma/abuse/horror of the outside world. there’s also a strong emphasis on the familial nature of this community. important to note that the community is genuine, it is not wholly a falsehood. it has a motivation beyond doing evil for evil’s sake, it may even believe the evil is necessary for the care of the community. this is a close and poignant topic for me, and i assume for other people as well, so it’s compelling to see it addressed in horror. it can be a great relief to see something as the subject of horror--that is an acknowledgement that it is horrific. a confirmation, an understanding, and sometimes through the resolution of the movie we can find stories that help us work through this.

2. both mostly focus on the horror of endurance rather than the horror of ending (death) which is a big thing for me in terms of my horror preferences. while i love some iconic monsters and killers ultimately the idea of ‘what if a fucked up thing killed you’ is just not actually that scary for me. what is scary for me is, yknow living in a state of unspeakable agony.

the olga scene in suspiria (you know the one) is a perfect example of this. every time you think that scene is about to be over it keeps going. and keeps going. the character is hurt but never killed, contorted impossibly, injured beyond the realm of what the human body should be able to endure but she is still alive. even when the scene finally comes to an end she is still alive! hard for me to articulate this scene if you haven’t seen it--i am very pleased and excitable about body horror and it was still rough for me purely because of how long it feels. in a sense this scene doesn’t even really end because much later during the climactic scene of the movie she is still fucking alive and has been in this state for the entire duration of the movie.

with midsommar it’s less of a body horror angle and more...dani living with all her pain and grief. but it’s done physically as well--being killed suddenly is not so horrible as being kept alive, the climactic horror is about a very prolonged, painful death. the dance scene doesn’t take it to suspiria levels but there is still a sense of the participants having no choice of when to stop, but simply must keep going in exhaustion until they cannot.

3. i really love how both of these films show pain (and other emotion) evoked through motions and breath. this one is harder to articulate. you know a lot of the time in a movie you will see an act of violence but it’s pretty...shallow, it’s just the image of violence, it has no weight to it. you don’t feel it. not so in these movies. it’s hard for me to articulate exactly how a piece of media goes about accomplishing this or not but often it makes the key distinction between things i think are just fine and things i really love.

these two have a really particular way of showing pain. in a very literal sense, there are incredible portrayals of bodies in physical pain. but there’s also dani’s raw screams of grief at the end of midsommar’s intro (and at other points throughout the film.) she is in too much pain to speak, all she can say is no, the leaked script describes it as ‘it’s so intense that it looks painful, dangerous even.’ on a slight digression i often feel  like i dont love ari aster the way a lot of people do but the thing i really truly do love and am awed by is the portrayal of this raw horrible grief pain in his films. it is so horrible it is very difficult for me to see and that is a little part of why i can never watch hereditary again. but anyway

sometimes pain robs us of thought and of language. (the movie knows this, the aforementioned prolonged painful death at the end of midsommar is one in which the character involved cannot move or speak). at a certain point it cannot be articulated through words. so these characters, the films themselves, articulate their pain (both physical and cosmic) through dreams, sighs, movement, screams.

sometimes pain seems too much for any one person to bear. this is when the movies come back around to the topic of community. both films emphasize the community as a body, made up of the individuals who serve as its cells or organs. when one part is hurt, the whole body feels the effects. more than that, the things too big for one human to possible feel are instead taken up by the community, felt by the larger body. volk is danced by one body, expressing the feeling not just of its creator but of the body. in midsommar we see the community take on in unison the feeling of one member, dancing or screaming as one (though i’ve seen different takes on whether this is to positive or negative result.) the body is formed and expresses itself through motion and breath, the dances, the sighs, the rhythmic exhalations which are all both precise and instinctive.

there is also something more i can’t say here about...not pain but the desire for someone to understand your pain, the desire for true connection.

i tried a few times to write about why this is a topic i fixate on but it didn’t feel right. to summarize ill just say that i struggle deeply with the ability to express pain.

now, on horror and the working-through of trauma...i said earlier that it is compelling to see these topics addressed in horror. horror is the main genre of any media that i enjoy and though i like other things, i don’t generally seek out anything that doesn’t have some inclination towards horror. this has always been the case but grew more true the more, uh, fucked up my life became, and i find it generally the best mechanism for thinking about (and not necessarily but sometimes coping with) grief and trauma and pain in all its forms. other people have written extensively about this, articulated it better than i could, there’s not really a need to get into it further than that.

but i’m thinking about one thing i’ve seen recently...(actually two things, firstly, some posts that seems to imply horror movies never tackled trauma before ari aster started directing which is just...quite a take, quite a take.) it was shots of ending scenes from a few horror movies, including hereditary and midsommar and also suspiria...i think the vvitch also and maybe also possession or something you know all the movies bitches with ptsd love (i’m bitches.) shots of the protagonist’s faces in the ending, a certain expression both rapturous and dissociated. there was something in the way i saw some people respond to this that made me think a lot...i think the idea that through great overwhelming trauma we can reach a point of ecstasy, or total transformation, is a very compelling story. it is something i have wished for often or even believed will happen--that there will be a certain point at which it really is too much and beyond that will be something different. some rapture that you will reach. not necessarily something positive but something that isn’t pain, that is beyond pain and horror. the idea of reaching divinity through great suffering is nothing new of course. but.

the true horror of endurance is that this is not going to happen. there is no point at which there will be absolution or ascension. the mirror does not shatter. it just keeps going. when you think this is the limit, it just keeps going.

the nice thing about movies is that they have a structure, and though they might leave you altered, they do end, the screen goes black. comfort of darkness, relief of endings. a sigh...

at least, that’s how i feel right now.

#this is based in my own experiences and mood and is not meant to be telling people how to feel or any kind of formal analysis #just trying to shape a feeling out on paper!

[imnotinclinedtomaturity]

Love Yourself (Chapter 21)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. chapter words: 12.5k story words: 167.5k (so far) chapter: 21/? rating: m warnings: language, alcohol, sex mentions, some bi/homophobia, eventual explicit smut genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn [[ao3]] [[first chapter]] [[previous chapter]]

a/n: look we all owe @auroraphilealis a massive thank you because she stayed up until 1:30am her time editing with me because i’m a stubborn asshole of a nightowl who was determined to post tonight

Twenty minutes later, Phil stepped into the lobby of Dan’s building — or, at least, he hoped it was Dan’s building. There were apartment buildings to the right and left of Beans and Grind, and Dan hadn’t specified which. Phil had guessed purely based on the fact that he’d watched Dan turn left out of the shop more often than not.

The lobby was nice, fancy in a way that the miniscule entrance to Phil’s building wasn’t. It wasn’t ostentatious, though; it was sleek and modern and, really, looked exactly like the kind of building Dan would live in. In the center of the room, a man in a black suit was perched in a chair behind a tall desk.

“How can I help you?” he asked, setting his book down to address Phil.

“Um, I’m here to see Dan Howell?” Phil requested anxiously. The entire evening had wracked Phil’s nerves, and suddenly having to interact with a doorman was almost too much. “He said he’d tell the doorman to let me up?” Phil said, unsure of how this worked. He’d never been in an apartment building that was nice enough to have a doorman for security, much less one that could let guests in and out of residents’ flats.

The doorman pulled a book out from under the table and turned to a table entitled Howell. “ID?” he requested.

Phil fumbled in his wallet for his ID and nearly dropped it as he placed it on the desk. It seemed to take forever for the man to copy down his license number. Phil’s nerves were already shaken from the fight he’d just witnessed, from the anticipation of visiting Dan’s flat, from the excitement about what might happen there. He really didn’t need the added stress of not knowing how Dan’s fancy building worked.

The doorman slid the book across the desk, gesturing for to Phil to sign next to his name and license number. The page in book was labeled temporary guests, and contained list of names and signatures of other people that must have visited Dan’s flat over time. The neighboring page had a short list of permanent guests — it looked to only be Dan’s family (three different Howells, including Adaline), and Louise Pentland.

And a crossed out Isabella de la Renta.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Phil hoped that someday his name would get to fill in her spot on the list.

The doorman closed the book and handed Phil his ID back. “Right this way, sir,” he said, voice curt as he led Phil to the lift. Phil watched as the doorman inserted a key and pressed the seventh button, baffled that the doorman had to use a key just to let someone onto Dan’s floor.

Jesus, Phil knew that Dan was famous, but that seemed like an absurd amount of security.

However, when the doors opened, Phil realized that the security wasn’t to keep people out of Dan’s hallway, it was to keep people out of Dan’s flat. Rather than opening into a floor with several residences, like Phil had expected, the doors opened directly into Dan’s foyer.

Unsure of what the protocol was when you stepped off a lift and into someone’s apartment, Phil tentatively hollered, “Hello?”

From somewhere down the hallway, Dan yelled, “In the lounge!”

Phil shuffled forward, but hung awkwardly by the foyer door that led into the rest of Dan’s flat. “Erm, I don’t know where your lounge is…”

There were a few loud, clumsy footsteps, followed by Dan’s head peeking around the corner. “Sorry, I’m a terrible host. Come this way.” Dan jerked his head to the right before spinning around and leading Phil through the door.

Obediently, Phil followed Dan into the next room, trying his best to take in his surroundings without loitering. The hallway had pictures hanging all the way down it, but Phil couldn’t tell what they were from here. There were doors, too, cracked open into rooms that Phil couldn’t quite see.

Not wanting Dan to think he was snooping, Phil hurried to catch up.

When Phil entered the lounge, Dan was already standing at a bar cart.

“I decided to be productive while I waited for you,” Dan said, gesturing to a pitcher of clear liquid. “Gin and tonic okay?” he asked, even though he was already pouring two drinks.

“Sounds great,” Phil agreed. He didn’t particularly care what they drank — in fact, he would almost prefer they abandoned the drinks all together, seeing as he was determined to have things happen with Dan when they were both sober.

And tonight, well… Phil had a feeling about tonight.

But Dan had had one hell of an evening, and Phil totally understood why he wanted a drink tonight. Hell, drinking together had been Phil’s idea, so it’s not like he could really protest.

“Let’s sit,” Dan suggested. He made his way over to the couch and sat the pitcher of alcohol down on the coffee table.

All day, they had been toeing a line, precariously teetering right on the edge of a cliff. And now that Phil was finally alone with Dan, now that they were in the privacy of Dan’s flat, Phil wasn’t sure how to push things along — or even if he should push things.

How much space was appropriate to leave between them?

Dan solved Phil’s problem, though, by sitting down right in the middle of the sofa, meaning that wherever Phil sat, he couldn’t possibly be very far from Dan.

That was just fine by him.

As Phil sat on the couch, he finally took in his surroundings.

Judging from the grand foyer, he’d expected the lounge to be lavish. However, this room was much more intimately decorated; the sofa was worn in and appeared to have a permanent crease on one end, and the bookshelves were stocked full of nerdy knickknacks and movies, all arranged in perfectly balanced clutter.

The room was mostly monochrome, with pops of color from the trinkets on the bookshelves and an abundance of plants. Unlike Phil’s television, Dan’s gaming consoles were arranged neatly, and he couldn’t see any of the wires or controllers. Everything hanging on the walls seamlessly tied into the rest of the decor.

“Your plants all look so much happier than mine, it’s not fair,” Phil whined. The was an oversized pot of cacti on the coffee table and they all looked like they were thriving — a sharp contrast to the pitiful, small cactus Phil had next to his kettle.

“Maybe that’s because I actually water mine,” Dan teased with a cheeky smile.

“Shut up,” Phil mumbled. He covered up his slight embarrassment by taking a sip of his drink.

In an attempt to shift the topic away from his inadvertently murderous tendencies towards houseplants, Phil nodded at his drink and said, “It’s great, thanks.”

His viewers gave him enough shit about killing plants; he didn’t need it from Dan, too.

As Phil took another sip, he looked closer at the bookshelves. By this point, Phil was well aware of the fact that Dan was a nerd, but it wasn’t until he actually got a good look at Dan’s bookshelf that Phil realized just how big of a nerd Dan was. There was an entire shelf dedicated to merchandise from Guild Wars, not to mention the plethora of anime figurines. The bottom row of shelves were all dedicated to movies, video games, and board games, several of which Phil owned himself, but some of which he’d never even heard of.

There would be time to dissect Dan’s possessions later, to look over every single item on the shelves and hear the stories behind all of the knickknacks. Right now, though, they needed to talk about everything that had happened with Isabella. Or not talk about that, and talk about them instead. Or not talk at all and fucking kiss already.

Or something. Anything but ruminating in this tense, expectant silence.

“So…” Phil started, but lost his nerve after only a word.

“So…” Dan responded, flashing Phil a soft smile. “Should we talk about what happened down there before we move on — like far, far away from that topic?”

Phil shrugged. He wanted to hear what Dan had to say — and desperately wanted Dan to put some of the things that Phil had heard into context — but he didn’t want to put any pressure on Dan. Phil only wanted Dan to talk if he wanted to talk, not because he thought he owed Phil anything.

“It’s up to you,” Phil said gently, offering Dan what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Dan pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his hands, and flashed Phil a chagrined look — a look that softened all of Phil’s leftover anxiety from the fight.

Dan drew a deep breath, a bold determination in his eyes. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” Dan said, humble and genuine. “It wasn’t exactly my finest hour.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Phil assured him. “If I were in your place, I’m not sure I could have restrained myself any better.”

Phil cut himself off from saying anything else though — even though he was keen on the idea of going on a massive diatribe about how awful Isabella was now that he’d met her. But Phil wanted to give Dan the space to talk, to bring up whatever he wanted.

So Phil stopped talking, waiting in patient silence for Dan to continue.

Dan sighed, and shifted his attention to a loose thread in his ripped skinny jeans. His fingers tugged and pulled, and Phil was worried he was going to make the hole bigger.

“She brings out the worst in me,” Dan muttered, staring down at his lap. “I swear that’s not how I usually am.”

“I know,” Phil murmured sincerely.

Months of knowing Dan had proved that to Phil. Dan was kind and sweet and caring. The Dan that Phil had seen earlier that night, the Dan that screamed and fired shots at people, was nothing like the Dan that Phil knew. And Phil felt like he knew Dan very well by this point.

“Don’t feel like you have to talk about any of that just because she decided to share private stuff in front of me, though.” Phil reached out and stilled Dan’s hand, running his thumb over the back of Dan’s hand before pulling away.

“No, it’s fine,” Dan sighed. He brought a hand up and ruffled his hair, shifting so that he was fully facing Phil. Dan drew his legs up between them so they were criss-crossed, but it didn’t leave much room between him and Phil. As a result, Dan’s knees — and most of his shins — landed on top of Phil “We should probably talk about it. I mean, it’s kind of important I think.”

Phil opened his mouth – to say what, he wasn’t sure. But he wanted to say something to indicate to Dan that yes, downstairs is important to us. So, so much of it seemed relevant to them. Phil wanted to understand everything that was wrong with Isabella, wanted to know just how deeply Dan’s wounds ran. Phil wanted to make sure that he’d never hurt Dan in the same ways that she had.

And, secretly, Phil desperately wanted to know if there was any truth to Isabella’s claim that he had a part — no matter how big or small — in the end of Dan and Isabella’s relationship.

“I’m getting the sense I don’t know the whole story behind your breakup with Isabella,” Phil settled on after several seconds of silently gawking at Dan.

“Um, no,” Dan agreed sheepishly. “I guess I’ve brushed over a few of the details.”

“Why’s that?” Phil wanted to understand — to understand everything about Dan, everything about his past. Shifting a bit, Phil turned so that he was facing Dan, too, one leg sliding between them, still underneath Dan’s. This felt like a conversation they should be properly looking at each other for.

Dan took a long sip of his drink but he had a contemplative look on his face, and Phil knew he wasn’t avoiding the question. “Some of it I just wanted to let go, didn’t want to focus on it anymore.” The liquid in Dan’s mostly-full glass threatened to spill over as he spun it back and forth between his hands. “I was an idiot when it came to her, in a lot of ways. I guess I didn’t really want to admit the full extent of it.”

“How so?” Phil prompted, although he could imagine a few ways Dan had been idiotic when it came to Isabella.

Dan shook his head, and pursed his lips, his eyes flitting up to the ceiling for a second as he seemed to collect his thoughts.

“For the longest time, I told myself that it was fine that we were totally different people. That it was good that we had different ideas of a fun evening because it pushed me to do more.” Dan sighed deeply before continuing. “It took me a long time to see, but eventually I realized that she wasn’t really interested in me, just in Dan Howell and the fame and the perks and the money that came with it. The worst part is that everyone could see it before me.”

Phil frowned. After hearing some of the things that Isabella had said to Dan, Phil couldn’t say he was surprised that Isabella was interested in Dan for reasons that weren’t… Dan, but he was a bit shocked that Dan hadn’t initially been aware of it.

“No one tried to warn you?”

A blush rose from Dan’s neck all the way to the tips of his ears and, oh, maybe people had.

“Not quite in those words,” Dan admitted. “But it was clear that no one liked her. Every time I saw Louise, she would complain about how awful Isabella was.” Dan shook his head and rolled his eyes — he at least looked a little amused at himself. “Hell, even my mum couldn’t stand her and she’s likes everyone.”

“Yikes,” Phil chuckled. “That’s never a good sign, is it?”

“Nope, not at all,” Dan conceded. He brought his glass up to his mouth, and fished an ice cube out with his tongue instead of taking a drink. The room was quiet for a moment as Dan thought, except for the soft crunch crunch crunch of Dan chewing.

“I don’t know why I couldn’t see it,” he finally continued. “I mean, she never wanted to just hang out. She was always pushing to go somewhere, somewhere we could be seen or get expensive dinners or jump the lines at clubs or whatever.” Dan’s hands waved wildly around him, his frustration evident. “It just… wasn’t me.”

The confession didn’t come as much of a surprise to Phil as he thought it should have — not with all of the clues he’d seen. Phil could still remember all of the pictures Isabella had posted online of her and Dan out doing things, the way Dan had made it clear over and over again that he was a massive introvert — two things that didn’t seem to fit together well.

And then there was the phone conversation that Phil had overheard the first time Dan had ever come to his flat, when Isabella demanded that Dan come out with her, and forced him to talk to the bouncer when he refused to leave Phil’s.

With each confession, Phil was able to piece together more and more of what Dan’s day to day relationship with Isabella must have been like, and it was looking worse by the second.

“I think I can count on my hands how many times she willingly came to my flat to just, like, relax,” Dan continued before Phil could say anything. “Fuck, you’ve already been here longer than she ever wanted to stay.”

Dan leaned forward and set his glass on the table — a glass that was still nearly half full, Phil noted.

Good.

As much as Phil knew he couldn’t police Dan’s behavior, Phil really, really wanted Dan to be sober tonight.

Phil took a deep breath and steeled himself to ask a question that he wasn’t sure he wanted — could stomach — the answer to. “Why did you stay with her, then?”

The blush that had previously calmed down on Dan’s face came back in full force. Dan’s sudden embarrassment put Phil on edge, already confirming what he’d suspected.

“I liked having the, um, you know, physical stuff.” Dan looked away and stared steadfastly somewhere behind Phil. “For a long time, I knew what we had wasn’t great, but I thought it was good enough.”

Phil scanned Dan’s face, trying to make sense of the masked emotions he saw. It was hard, though, because Dan still wasn’t looking at him.

He needed to see, he needed to know.

Phil set his drink on the table next to Dan’s and tentatively reached out to cup Dan’s cheek, guiding his head so that he looked more directly at Phil. Dan’s eyes flicked to meet Phil’s gaze, and his lips quirked up into the ghost of a smile. Phil couldn’t resist stroking his thumb over Dan’s cheek, dipping down to where he knew his deep dimple would form if Dan smiled just a bit wider.

Not wanting to push Dan’s limits too far right now — and not wanting to distract too much from the conversation they were having — Phil slowly, reluctantly, pulled his hand away from Dan.

“What changed?” Phil whispered.

Dan reached out and caught Phil’s hand in midair. Flipping his palm over, Dan intertwined their fingers, letting their hands fall to the sofa between them. Dan’s head followed the movement, his gaze fixating on where they were touching.

“I realized what it could be like.” Dan peered up at Phil through thick eyelashes. “That if just being around someone, without all of the physical stuff, was so fucking good, then —” Dan swallowed thickly, his eyes shifting away and back down again, “— then things with Isabella definitely weren’t good enough.”

“Oh,” Phil muttered, practically speechless at the implications of what Dan was saying. Or at least, what he thought Dan was implying — he wasn’t exactly speaking in the most concrete terms at the moment. Phil was pretty sure Dan was talking about him, but if Dan wasn’t… well, Phil didn’t want to make an idiot of himself because of a pretty sure assumption.

“So, did, um, someone in particular make you realize that, or…?” Phil trailed off, losing his courage to complete his already weak and ambiguous question.

To Phil’s surprise, Dan threw his head back in the loud, boisterous laughter that Phil had come to know and love, and sent Phil an incredulous look.

“Stupidity isn’t a good look on you, Phil,” Dan said, his voice dripping with fondness, a smile so wide that his dimples were canyons. There was no bite to the words, nothing but pure affection radiating from Dan.

Realizing how fucking obvious it was, how ridiculous of a question he’d really asked, Phil broke down into laughter as well. On instinct, his free hand flew up to shield his mouth — and the tongue he knew tended to poke out when he laughed too freely.

Dan’s other hand was right behind Phil’s though, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling it down, down, down, away from his mouth and all the way to the sofa. “Stop that,” Dan murmured softly, manhandling Phil ever so slightly so that both pairs of their hands were intertwined. “I like looking at your mouth.” Dan’s eyes flickered up from where he was looking at Phil’s lips, where Phil’s tongue was undoubtedly peeking out, up to his eyes. “And the rest of you.”

The smile on Phil’s face grew, and he lost all concern for how silly, how lovestruck, he must look. But he didn’t care if Dan realized how happy he was — fuck, he wanted Dan to know.

He wanted Dan to know that he made Phil the happiest he’d ever been.

“Cheesy isn’t a good look on you, Dan,” Phil quipped back, teasing.

Truthfully, cheesy was a great look on Dan — a look Phil wanted to see forever, if possible — but he wasn’t about to tell Dan that right now.

Dan rolled his eyes and softly tugged on Phil’s hands to pull him closer, the space between them growing smaller and smaller with every centimeter that Phil fell.

“Shut up,” Dan mumbled as he swooped in and finally closed the last bit of distance between them by capturing Phil’s lips with his own.

Phil melted, sinking into the sensation and letting himself get lost in the feeling of Dan’s lips on his. Phil leaned closer and pressed more firmly against Dan’s lips, their mouths moving in a slow rhythm. He was vaguely aware of the way that his stomach was flipping over, the way his heart was swooping, the way his breath was catching, but Phil was so fucking concentrated on the way that Dan’s lips felt against his that he could barely pay attention to anything else.

The only thought that Phil could register was finally.

With what was probably more fierceness than necessary, Phil ripped his hands from Dan’s, and reached up to cup his cheeks and hold him firmly in place, to pull his face impossibly closer.

A quiet groan tumbled out of Dan’s lips, almost completely muffled by Phil’s mouth.

Fuck, that was hot. The noise caused Dan’s lips to part slightly and Phil took advantage of the opportunity, slipping his tongue between Dan’s lips; Phil slowly worked Dan’s mouth open, exploring every bit of it.

Dan was fast to respond, clearly just as eager as Phil, and tangled his tongue with Phil’s, not necessarily fighting for dominance, but not quite yielding submission either. They gave and they took, taking turns caressing and exploring each other.

Warm hands pressed to Phil’s waist, almost immediately slipping just underneath his jumper. Ever since that day in the coffee shop when Phil had gotten to feel Dan’s hands on his bare skin — back when Dan had innocently helped untangle Phil from his sweater — Phil had obsessed over what it would feel like to be touched by Dan in the heat of the moment. What it would be like for Dan to run his hands over him, to kiss him, to caress him.

Right now, though, Dan’s hands weren’t exploring Phil’s body — they weren’t roaming up and down his chest or looping around his back and dipping below the hem of his jeans. But that was fine, because they were gripping Phil’s hips tightly, Dan’s fingernails digging so fiercely into Phil’s skin that they would certainly leave marks.

Marks that Phil would happily bare later. Marks that Phil would probably stare at and fantasize about when Dan wasn’t with him anymore.

Phil didn’t want to think about later, though. He wanted to focus on now. He wanted to focus on the way Dan’s lips were moving against his, and the way that Dan’s breath danced across Phil’s cheeks.

Above all, Phil wanted to focus on Dan.

Both of their breath was turning ragged, though. Kissing Dan couldn’t last forever. Phil could feel Dan gasping for air, and Phil knew he was losing the battle with his lungs.

He pulled back, but he didn’t go far.No sooner had Phil separated their lips than Dan’s forehead crashed into his, Dan’s breath coming in fast, hot pants across Phil’s cheeks.

Phil’s eyes flew open from the impact, and he was met with the serene sight of a blissed-out looking Dan. His eyes were still closed, his lips parted and twitching up at the corners. On Phil’s hips, Dan’s fingers relaxed, just slightly, his hands slipping down to rest in the crevice of Phil’s lap.

Dan’s breath slowed, finally returning to something that resembled a normal pace, and his eyes fluttered open.

“Holy shit,” Dan muttered.

“Yeah,” Phil agreed stupidly, his voice coming out breathless and weak. His hands fell from Dan’s cheeks, coming to rest on his shoulders.

“That was…” Dan trailed off, opting to close his eyes and tip his chin forward again instead of finishing his sentence. He pressed another tender kiss to Phil’s mouth and their lips melded together for a soft moment.

When Dan pulled back again, he only left a hair of distance between their lips. Phil could feel every one of Dan’s breaths, and he savored it, his eyes closed as he took in the tender moment. It took a moment before their eyes drifted open, almost at the same time, and met intensely.

“Yeah,” Phil repeatedly dumbly, his lips brushing against Dan’s when he spoke because they were still so close.

Dan’s hands slid up again, dipping back under Phil’s sweater and lightly brushing back and forth against the skin of Phil’s hips. The sudden sensation was a shock to Phil, and he squirmed, unable to help his reaction to Dan’s ticklish touch. A high pitched giggle escaped his lips without his permission, breaking the charged moment.

Dan’s hands stilled for a moment, his eyes flying open even wider in surprise at Phil’s reaction.

“Oh dear,” he giggled. His fingers tightened against Phil’s sides, and then dug in harder, beginning to tickle Phil with more intention.

Phil squeaked, squirming uncontrollably in an attempt to get away from the touch, while laughter bubbled up from his lips.

“Oh dear,” Dan repeated, a grin spreading wider and wider on his face, his dimples growing deeper. Phil could hear the childish, taunting delight that was laced in his voice, and almost, almost, forgave Dan for tickling him. “Someone’s ticklish, huh?” he teased, laughter interrupting his words and completely dissolving the sharp tension that had built between them just a moment before.

But it felt good. Despite the fact that Phil couldn’t stop laughing, and his sides were beginning to hurt from the overwhelming tickling, the moment felt good. In all of the people that Phil had dated, he’d never been with anyone that he could so easily bounce from exhilarating and hot, to silly and playful, and he absolutely adored it.

“Shut up!” Phil gasped around his laughter. “You already knew that! You figured this out when you were drunk! You don’t need to keep proving it,” Phil pleaded, reaching down to battle Dan’s hands.

Without warning, Dan’s fingers suddenly moved, right out from under Phil’s searching hands, until they were wiggling their way further into Phil, making him shriek with laughter.

“Stop, stop,” Phil cried through broken breaths. His face was flushed, and he couldn’t seem to open his eyes, he was laughing so hard. Thankfully, Dan’s movements finally came to a halt, and Phil’s body collapsed in relief.

“Oh my god,” Phil moaned, panting for breath. His hands fell to his sides as he worked to get himself back under control.

In front of him, Dan giggled, but didn’t say anything. Phil pouted, expecting an apology, but it never came — because in the next moment, Dan’s hands found Phil’s sides again, and returned to their assault. He grazed his fingers up and down, brushing Phil’s ribs and just shy of his armpits, digging his fingers in deep to get Phil going again.

“Fuck — Dan —” Phil gasped, struggling under Dan’s touch. Dan’s hands just kept going, and Phil could feel his abs beginning to hurt from the onslaught of laughter. Dan’s hands moved to Phil’s stomach, taking advantage of the moment, and Phil had finally had enough. Desperate to stop the onslaught of tickling on his sensitive stomach, Phil managed to place his hands on top of Dan’s, and force them to still against his skin.

He gulped in air as Dan laughed at him, his eyes crinkled up in amusement, and his dimple huge in his cheek.

“You’re the worst, Howell,” Phil complained, but despite being disgruntled about Dan laughing at him, Phil found himself grinning as well. He couldn’t help himself - not when Dan looked so happy being able to tease Phil.

“You’re cute, Philly,” Dan said quietly with a soft smile as Phil started to get his breath back. His eyes flitted over Phil’s face, and his fingers flexed back and forth against Phil’s body until Phil’s grip loosened and he let go.

Using his newfound leverage, Dan wrapped his hands more firmly around Phil, sliding around to his lower back and pulling him forwards, forcing them even closer on the sofa. “I like you a lot,” he murmured, the intensity from a few moments ago rushing back.

“Do you?” Phil asked with a smirk, no longer doubting Dan’s feelings for him.

“Yeah,” Dan said, his voice lower and huskier than it was seconds earlier. “I do,” he confirmed, leaning in and kissing Phil once more, lingering against his lips longer than necessary. “What are you going to do about it, Lester?” Dan teased, right up against Phil’s mouth.

Phil didn’t even have to think about it. After all of the flirting, the talking, the waiting, Phil didn’t have it in him to hold back for another second. Not if Dan was willing to go for it.

“This,” Phil whispered against Dan’s lips before closing the miniscule distance between them, and kissing Dan more passionately, more heatedly, than anything they’d shared yet.

Dan kissed back, matching passion with passion, heat with heat. It was slow at first, but it built and built, until suddenly their hands suddenly unable to stay still. Dan’s hands slid up from their spot on Phil’s lower back, tracing along his spine and pushing his jumper up as they made their way higher and higher. Cold air rushed over Phil’s skin, and Phil felt a violent shiver course down his spine — but he wasn’t sure if it was from sudden exposure to the air, or from Dan’s touch.

If Phil had to guess, though, he would reckon it was because of Dan.

Desperate to get more of Dan, too, Phil reached behind Dan’s head, cupping the back of his neck in one hand, pulling him impossibly closer, and tangling his other into Dan’s curly locks.

After all of the marathon nights of Buffy where Dan had encouraged Phil to play with his hair, Phil should have been prepared for Dan’s reaction, been prepared for the high pitched whimper Dan let out when Phil knotted his fingers in Dan’s curls.

But he wasn’t. Nothing could have prepared Phil for the satisfaction he felt from pulling those noises from Dan, from turning Dan on, from the way Dan quietly gasped Phil’s name. It all went straight to Phil’s groin.

The little amount of control that Phil had had over his impulses disappeared, and suddenly he felt himself pushing and pulling at Dan all at once. With a fervor that Phil hadn’t felt in years — had arguably never felt — he pulled at Dan’s shoulders, yanking him closer until their entire upper bodies were flush and Phil could feel Dan’s heart pounding in his chest. Almost simultaneously, though, Phil pushed, tipping Dan backwards, guiding him down, down, down, until his back crashed into the sofa and he gave a soft oomph.

Dan went without protest; his only response was to tighten his grip on Phil’s hips and pull him down, too — it wasn’t necessary, though, because Phil had every intention of chasing Dan into the cushions anyway.

Together, they tumbled into the sofa, Phil falling on top of Dan, his arms caging Dan’s head as Phil braced himself on his forearms. His hands returned to Dan’s hair, tugging just a bit. With what seemed like no thought at all, Dan’s legs spread apart, giving Phil room to settle between them. Suddenly, their hips were pressing together.

“Fuck,” Dan gasped. He tore his lips from Phil’s, and tipped his head far back, giving Phil a perfect, up close view of his long, beautiful neck.

Phil wanted to trace every bit of it with his tongue, to explore every piece of Dan’s body.

Unable to help himself, his body on tingling with desire, Phil leaned forward and pressed his lips to Dan’s exposed throat, kissing lightly from the base of his chin all the way to the jut of his collarbone. It wasn’t until Dan let out a long, mangled moan that Phil latched on properly, seeking out a pulse point on Dan’s neck and sucking.

Dan might have moaned before, but the noise he let out when Phil drew the skin of his throat into his mouth was downright pornographic. Beneath him, Phil felt Dan’s hips cant up, pressing into Phil’s forcefully. This time, they both moaned as their rapidly hardening cocks rubbed together through their clothes.

It felt good — more than good. The warmth of Dan’s body, the firmness of his cock, the vibrations of his moaning, they all felt positively delicious beneath Phil. And for a moment, Phil lost himself in the intoxicating pleasure of Dan.

The tight pressure on Phil’s hips dissipated as Dan loosened his grip and his hands slipped backwards, wrapping around Phil and drifting lower and lower until the tips of his fingers were dipping to Phil’s waistband, grazing the top of his arse, pulling his hips down more forcefully.

“Shit, fuck,” Phil gasped as their cocks collided again, the friction of their jeans and the grinding movement causing a burst of arousal to shoot through his entire body.

It felt great — sinfully great. Something that Phil wasn’t sure he could truly have yet, though. He needed to stop this before it got out of hand. He needed to give them both a chance to hold back, at least for a little bit longer. They deserved that — they deserved more than fast and sloppy on Dan’s sofa.

Phil tore his lips away from their place on Dan’s neck, and forced himself to pull his hips away from Dan’s.

The new position didn’t seem to suit Dan, though. His hips followed Phil’s up, seemingly chasing the heady feeling of grinding together.

“Wait, Dan,” Phil panted. “Fuck.” His hands flew from Dan’s shoulders to his hips, forcefully pressing them down into the sofa, restraining Dan’s movements and giving him no choice but to stay still.

Phil’s insistence must have registered with Dan, because he stopped fighting and his eyes shot open to look at Phil. “What?” Dan asked, a note of panic creeping into his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Phil rushed to assure him, his breath still coming out in sharp exhales. “I just — fuck,” Phil’s resolve waivered, and he let his head collapse forward onto Dan. He pressed a long, lingering kiss to Dan’s chest, right above his pounding heart. God, Phil really didn’t want to stop — not even for a second. But what he had with Dan was too precious, too new to risk. “I don’t want to go too fast.”

“Oh,” Dan murmured. He sounded shocked, almost disbelieving — something that made Phil’s heart hurt for Dan in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

Phil pressed himself further upwards so that he could properly look at Dan. When Phil leaned back, he saw that Dan’s eyes were blown wide in lust, and his eyebrows were raised in surprise.

Phil’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. Dan was right there, so unbelievably close, and not kissing him was taking an immense amount of restraint. But Phil was determined to do it.

“You’re too important.” Phil whispered, his voice raw with emotion that he hadn’t had the chance to express to Dan yet.

Dan’s eyes widened.

“You think so?” he asked, sounding vulnerable and timid.

Not missing a beat, Phil dipped down and kissed Dan again, moving their lips languidly together. He kissed him thoroughly, trying to convey just how important Dan was to him through their kiss alone. He moved slowly, gently prying Dan’s mouth open and caressing Dan’s tongue with his own. Phil kissed him until they were both running out of breath again — something that didn’t take long since they were both already so close to being short of breath.

“I know so,” Phil promised when he pulled back.

Dan’s hands shot from their place in Phil’s waistband to cover his face, but Phil caught sight of Dan’s red cheeks and bashful smile before his face disappeared.

“Phiwww,” Dan whined, his voice coming out muffled through his hands. The tips of his ears were tinting red, too, and Phil wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of eternity flattering Dan enough that he got this adorably flustered.

It was tempting to lean back down his elbows, to pry Dan’s hands away from his face, to surge forward and continue kissing Dan. But Phil was determined to start this relationship right, and that meant finishing the conversation they’d started earlier — and clarifying exactly what Dan wanted now that they had finally given into each other.

So instead, Phil pushed himself onto his hands, then his knees, and then dragged himself all the way into a sitting position. He glanced down and saw that his cock was still straining against his jeans — that would just have to calm down, because now wasn’t the moment.

“Come on, sit up,” Phil urged gently. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Dan’s wrists, pulling them back softly.

Dan gazed up at him with wide eyes and pink cheeks, a frown forming on his lips, his bottom one sticking out in a way that made Phil desperate to lean down and suck it into his mouth. It took every bit of Phil’s willpower to not give in.

“I don’t wanna,” Dan whined petulantly, pointedly staying horizontal.

If that boy wasn’t so fucking cute, Phil would probably murder him.

“Too bad,” Phil teased, using the leverage he had on Dan’s wrists to pull him into a seated position. They were close, closer than they had been when they initially sat down on the sofa — closer than when they’d first kissed, even.

Phil could feel Dan’s breath on his cheeks, and his eyes flickered down to Dan’s lips again. They were swollen from kissing, redder than they normally were. And fuck, he just looked downright kissable.

Forcing himself to behave, Phil pushed backwards and put just a few more centimeters of space between them.

“What do you want from me?” Dan pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Finish talking,” Phil murmured, giving into some of his desire to touch Dan by letting himself reach up and run his fingers through Dan’s hair. Dan’s eyes fluttered closed, and his pout twisted into a soft smile, his arms falling back to his sides

“Please,” Phil urged, when it seemed Dan wasn’t going to do as he’d requested.

Dan’s eyes opened, but he sighed, his face scrunching up in confusion. “About what?”

“The fight, Isabella.” Phil shrugged helplessly, not knowing exactly what to demand from Dan. “All of it.”

“I don’t know how much more there is to say.” Dan shrugged, his hand seeking out Phil’s and intertwining their fingers. “You’re amazing, Isabella sucks. The end.”

Phil frowned slightly at the way Dan had seemingly closed off since their earlier conversation. He didn’t like it. He knew it might not be fair, but he wanted a full explanation from Dan. He wanted Dan to tell him everything.

“What?” Dan asked, a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice when all Phil did was stare.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Phil implored, even though he very much wanted Dan to talk. “But you said it was important earlier and, well, I agree. I want to know what happened — all of it.”

“Why?” Dan asked, and it was clear that he really didn’t understand Phil’s motivation in getting Dan to talk. Phil sighed, and squeezed Dan’s hand.

“I want to be different,” he whispered, looking down at their hands, feeling vulnerable.

“You already are, Phil.” Dan squeezed tightly in return. Slowly, Phil looked up, taking in the sincerity on Dan’s face, and swallowed.

“Good.” Phil leaned forward and pressed a slow, tender kiss to Dan’s lips, trying to show Dan what he was feeling. Slowly, he pulled away, and sat all the way back up, after just a few seconds. Talking was important, and Phil didn’t want Dan — or himself — to get too caught up in kissing again. He still wanted more of an explanation.

Phil cleared his throat and tried to shift them back to their conversation. “You were planning to break up with Isabella before she cheated on you.” It wasn’t a question — Phil knew that much for certain.

“Right,” Dan confirmed. “I was going to do it the next morning.”

“Was it just because she was using you?” It wasn’t until the words were out of Phil’s mouth that he realized how minimizing it must have sounded. “Not that that wasn’t a good enough reason to break up with her!” Phil rushed to add. “I just — was that it?”

Staring downward, Dan silently shook his head.

Phil bit is lip. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t want to tell me?”

“The full truth feels too heavy,” Dan confessed, still addressing their laps.

Needing to see Dan’s face, his eyes, Phil cupped his chin and forced Dan to look up, but he refused to meet Phil’s gaze. “What do you mean?”

Dan sighed, but he relented, giving into Phil’s insistent pushing. “It felt easier to simplify everything down to the fact that Isabella cheated on me.” Dan gave a small shrug of his shoulders, biting his lip between his teeth.

“As opposed to what?” Phil pushed.

“It was easier than saying that she was a manipulative bitch who only dated me for money and fame.” Dan’s gaze flicked away, settling on the potted cacti on the table. “And that, in the end, there was some truth to all of her accusations.”

“What do you mean?” Phil’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Isabella had accused Dan of a lot — not really liking girls, cheating, breaking up with her because of Phil… But Phil couldn’t tell if any of it was true.

“All that biphobic bullshit she was spouting — she’s been going on about that bullshit since I came out her.”

“Wow,” Phil breathed, unintentionally interrupting Dan. “That must have been really difficult, being with someone who didn’t respect your sexuality,” Phil elaborated when Dan’s stared at him blankly, eyebrows raised.

“It’s whatever, and like, not true. I mean, obviously I wasn’t doomed to leave her for a man just because I like dick, too.” Dan forced an awkward laugh. “But she wasn’t entirely wrong about you.”

“About me?” Phil asked, taken aback. He hadn’t expected this to really come back to him.

“Yeah,” Dan said sheepishly. “About you being, like, part of the reason I broke up with her. And would never consider getting back together.”

“But we never…” Phil cocked his head and shrugged his shoulder, hoping Dan would get what Phil meant — that they never did anything.

“I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that the feelings were there. So like I said, in a way, she was right. I wasn’t any better to her than she was to me,” Dan said dejectedly.

The idea that Isabella had somehow convinced Dan that he was in the wrong churned in Phil’s stomach, making him feel uneasy.

“Are you kidding me? No. Absolutely not,” Phil fought back fiercely.

Dan looked up in shock at Phil’s raised voice.

“You’re so much better than her,” Phil insisted. “Sure, there were some feelings. That’s kinda shitty. But you didn’t act on them — fuck, you didn’t act on them for an entire month after you’d broken up! If that doesn’t make you a better person, Dan, I don’t know what does.” Phil’s voice was just shy of shouting by the time he was finished.

“I wanted to act on them, though,” Dan argued, defeated.

“Trust me, I did too.” Phil shook his head despondently. “But we didn’t. And that’s what counts.”

“I guess.” Dan grabbed his drink from the table, draining the remaining half of it. He looked exasperated and annoyed, a flicker of the heat from his fight with Isabella back in his eyes. “Jesus, I’m just so fucking — ugh.”

“What?” Phil couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at Dan’s sudden change in demeanor. Following Dan’s lead, Phil picked up his drink and finished it.

“She just sucked so fucking much,” Dan ranted.

Reaching up, Phil carded his fingers through Dan’s hair again, and sighed softly. “Complain as much as you want, I’ll listen,” Phil offered sincerely, although a bit of humor still seeped into his voice.

“She was just so fucking self-obsessed,” Dan groaned, the feeling of Phil’s hand in his hair not even enough to calm him down, and Phil let it fall away.

Before saying anything more, Dan refilled both of their drinks, and handed one to Phil. “All she ever did was talk about herself and push for doing things that would help her public image,” Dan groused. “She’s literally the most selfish person in the world. And you know the dumbest part?” Dan chuckled humorously. “She always tried to pretend it was to help my public image too, but she never seemed to care that I didn’t care about that. That wasn’t me.”

“Mmm,” Phil hummed, trying to hold back his own anger at the woman. Dan didn’t need Phil chiming in about her being a bitch. But… well, Phil could at least say something. “Sounds like she was too busy loving herself to really love you.”

Dan froze, his glass halfway to his mouth. Phil watched as he stared, wide eyed, and could do nothing more than stare blankly back.

“What did you say?” Dan demanded.

“Er,” Phil stuttered, trying to remember exactly what he'd said because it seemed to important to Dan, for some unfathomable reason. “Something about her loving herself too much?”

“Fucking brilliant,” Dan muttered, more to himself than Phil. “Love yourself.”

Without saying anything else, Dan lunged forward and sweeped a small notebook from the shelf under the coffee table. It was a notebook that Phil recognized; he’d seen Dan scribble in it countless times — but never in direct response to something Phil had said.

Dan usually was pretty private with his notebook of lyrics, normally shielding the page from Phil’s view when he added to it. Tonight, though, the notebook was on full display; it was opened to the very first page, which only had two words on it.

album title????????????????

Beneath the series of question marks, Dan messily scratched two more words.

love yourself.

As if Phil wasn’t closely watching Dan’s movements, Dan flipped the notebook around so Phil could see it properly. Phil took in the words on the page for a second, before shifting his gaze up to Dan’s face. He was biting his lip so hard that it was turning white, and his brows were furrowed.

“Can I use that?” Dan sounded nervous.

Phil’s jaw actually dropped. “As an album title?”

“Yeah,” Dan answered meekly. “And maybe a song lyric, too.”

“O-of c-course,” Phil stuttered. He was having trouble processing the fact that Dan was inspired by anything Phil said, much less that Dan wanted to use it so prominently. “Why that, though?”

Dan’s gaze flickered down to the notebook. “Do you really want to hear me go on a full music rant right now?” Dan asked warily, looking back at Phil skeptically.

“Always,” Phil promised, smiling sweetly at Dan. He meant it — anytime that Dan shared his thoughts, his music, with Phil, Phil felt himself fall a little further.

Dan thumbed through the notebook, not stopping at any particular spot but skimming the pages. “It just seems appropriate. Like, on the one hand, I already can see writing a song with that as the chorus, and screaming that Isabella should go love herself is so much better than the two words I’ve been using recently. But also, I feel like it just… I dunno, captures the meaning of the album?”

Dan held up a finger, wordlessly telling Phil to wait, and took another drink from his glass before continuing. “This whole album, at its core, is really about being a little selfish, and doing what’s right for me, and love yourself really sums that up.”

For almost a full minute, Phil was struck silent. There was a certain kind of wisdom in what Dan had said that Phil hadn’t really thought about before. It seemed so obvious, and yet, was something that most of the world — Phil included — so often overlooked. The fact that Dan had grabbed that sentiment, and made an entire album around it? That was really something.

“I think you’re amazing, Dan,” he managed to mutter eventually. “And I think you should be as selfish as you want.”

“That’s good to hear.” Dan said, his smile twisting into a smirk, eyes twinkling. Phil’s brows furrowed, unsure what that expression could mean.

“Why’s that?” Phil asked, his head cocking to the side.

“Because if I’m really being selfish,” Dan said cheekily, “I just want you.”

All of Phil’s resolve to continue talking about Isabella, about everything that had gone wrong, about how Dan was feeling, drained away in an instant.

Words completely failed Phil.

He didn’t know how to properly communicate just how much everything Dan had said meant to him — the fact that Dan had sort of left Isabella for him, the fact that Dan was writing an album for him, the fact that Dan being selfish meant being with Phil.

So instead, Phil surged forward, insistently pressing his lips to Dan’s. He couldn’t help himself, kissing Dan deeply, his hands coming up to fist in Dan’s shirt.

“I just want you, too,” Phil murmured against his lips, barely pulling away to speak.

“We’re a good pair, then,” Dan mumbled back, slamming their mouths back together and effectively putting an end to any more talking.

There was nothing more that they needed to say with words, anyway. After so long of being so close, they just needed each other. They needed to feel and kiss and touch.

They’d talked for months. And they would have months and months to talk later.

But now, tonight wasn’t about talking. Not anymore. Tonight was about giving in, about finally letting themselves be everything that they’d wanted for so long.

Completely disregarding his earlier decision to not push too far, too fast, Phil let his hands fly from Dan’s shirt to his shoulders, because if Dan was going to be selfish, then Phil thought he might as well be too. The distance between them suddenly seemed unbearable, and Phil pushed Dan back, back, back, until he was laying down on the sofa again, his head landing with a soft thump near the armrest.

Dan didn’t miss a beat.

Mid-tumble, Dan’s hands found Phil’s waist again, wasting no time in slipping under his sweater and thumbing across the soft cushion of his sides.

“Fuck,” Dan muttered when their lips parted ever-so-slightly from the impact of their fall. His head tipped back, once again exposing his long neck, and Phil realized that this must be another hotspot for Dan.

Phil’s suspicions were confirmed when he shifted down, licking his way down Dan’s throat and fixating on the soft, fleshy spot where his neck met his shoulder. Phil sucked harshly, his teeth grazing Dan’s skin, and was rewarded with a deep, loud moan.

He wanted to find every single spot that elicited noises like that from Dan.

“Someone’s sensitive there, hmm?” Phil teased, echoing Dan’s words from when he’d tickled Phil earlier.

“Fuck—” Dan gasped in a shattered breath, “—off.”

The deep moan that accompanied Dan’s exhale made Phil think that Dan wanted anything but Phil to retreat.

Wanting more of Dan’s moans, Phil bit down, just hard enough to shock Dan’s senses, before licking and sucking at the sensitive skin again.

“Jesus on a fucking tricycle,” Dan muttered, his breath coming out in broken whimpers. “How do you fucking know already?”

Phil giggled into Dan’s neck, so unbelievably happy that he’d found someone that he could relax with, have fun with, even when they were in the middle of something so hot.

“Come back here,” Dan demanded, his words slurred and voice hushed. One of his hands slipped out from Phil’s sweater and landed in his hair, tugging roughly to redirect Phil’s lips to his own. “Kiss me, you spoon,” Dan muttered before he pulled Phil’s head down and crashed their lips together.

And so Phil kissed him. He opened himself up to Dan, brushed his tongue alongside his, and soaked in what he’d been missing for so long. Finally getting to kiss Dan was like heaven, and Phil couldn’t get enough.

Dan’s lips were plump and warm and just barely chapped; they moved in perfect synchrony with Phil’s, his tongue darting out and dancing at just the right moments.

Sometime while they were sinking into each other, kissing and just being, Dan’s hands made their way up to Phil’s back, pushing his sweater up along the way.

“Can I?” Dan asked breathily as he tugged the hem of Phil’s sweater further upwards.

It took a moment for Dan’s words to register, but when they did, Phil pulled his mouth away from Dan’s to breathe, “Wait, hang on.”

It took more effort than Phil wanted to admit, but he managed to at least get his mouth off of Dan’s, though he didn’t get very far. His lips found Dan’s throat as he said, “I want to take this at your pace.”

“Take — what — at my — pace?” Dan asked, his words coming out in short staccatos, matching the beat of Phil’s mouth against his skin.

“You,” Phil kissed Dan’s throat, unable to help himself. “Me,” kiss. “Us,” kiss.

For a moment, there was no response. And then Dan pushed his head into the sofa, forcing Phil’s mouth away from his skin, and stared up at Phil. Their gazes finally met again for the first time in what felt like ages.

“Phil, I’m in,” Dan said, his lips quirking up into a small smile. “I’m all in.”

Phil’s eyes went wide. For all of a second, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, wasn’t sure if Dan meant what he meant, but as he stared at Dan, stared at the way Dan’s body seemed to be giving in to him, Phil realized that he did.

“Fuck,” Phil cursed. “Me too, Dan,” he gasped, crashing their lips back together. He pushed into Dan’s mouth, kissing him fervently, suddenly desperate for more more more. But before Phil could really get into the kiss, Dan pushed him away again.

“Sweater,” he huffed as he tugged at the hem. “I want it gone. Please.”

Not missing a beat, Phil pushed off his elbows and extended his arms, balancing on his hands so that Dan had the freedom to push the sweater up and over his torso. The thick knitted material temporarily blinded Phil as it covered his head, but then Dan pulled some more, and Phil could see again. Phil lifted up one hand after another, letting the sweater fall from his arms, and watched as Dan shoved it off the sofa.

Beneath him, Dan was staring up, pupils dilated and lips swollen. “Come here,” Dan ordered, his fingers tangling in the fine hairs at the back of Phil’s neck and yanking him down. Phil’s eyes clamped shut, his lips slamming into Dan’s. He let himself kiss, just for a moment, before he remembered that he had a bigger priority at the moment.

“No,” Phil grumbled against Dan’s lips. With the little leverage he had, Phil tried to push himself back up.

When Phil opened his eyes and looked down, he saw Dan staring up with startled, wide doe eyes. A small smirk on his face, Phil shook his head and shifted his weight some so that his hands could slip down to Dan’s hips.

“Fair is fair,” Phil huffed, tugging on Dan’s jumper and trying to pull it up and away from his body.

Dan relented; his hands fell from Phil’s neck and pressed into the sofa beside his hips. His back arched up, letting Phil slide the soft knit jumper up his body. Seamlessly, Dan let his back fall and raised his shoulders when the jumper was high enough, letting Phil pull it free from his body entirely.

Spread beneath him, Dan looked radiant. His chest was soft and smooth, and just slightly tanned. Phil’s eyes were drawn down to Dan’s nipples, prominent nubs against the flat expanse of his chest. Every fiber of Phil wanted to touch, wanted to stroke up and down Dan’s chest, wanted to thumb over his nipples and feel the jut of his collarbone.

So Phil let himself.

He pushed himself upwards, balancing his weight on his knees and simultaneously forcing their hips together harder. His hands slunk up, landing on Dan’s chest and catching himself. Staring down in wonderment, Phil let his hands roam up and down, caressing every part of Dan’s bare skin that he could.

“You’re gorgeous,” Phil breathed.

Dan flushed bright red, only this time, Phil could see the way the blush spread all the way down his chest and reached the bottom of his ribcage.

“You’re prettier,” Dan argued, his hands rising up to Phil’s stomach, searching over Phil’s skin like he was trying to memorize the landscape of Phil’s torso. Dan’s touch was white hot, sending electric thrills up and down Phil’s spine that had him desperate to grind his hips down into Dan.

They’d come this far, they’d been so patient for so long, that Phil couldn’t resist just some inkling of the pleasure that he craved. He let his hips fall, let their crotches rub together, let their clothed cocks touch.

“Agree to disagree,” Phil panted in Dan’s ear.

A deep groan tumbled from Dan’s lips and Phil suddenly flashed back to that day in Beans and Grind when he’d called Dan a good boy, and the way that Dan had reacted.

Praise.

Dan clearly liked praise.

And Phil was more than happy to give it to him.

“You’re amazing, Dan,” Phil murmured, latching onto the tender skin beneath Dan’s ear and sucking, drawing the pliant skin into his mouth and nibbling at the soft flesh. “I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have you.”

“Shit,” Dan gasped, hips arching into Phil’s at the praise.

Phil pulled back from his neck and took in the serene, euphoric look on Dan’s face. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back, spine arched enough to force his shoulders off the sofa. His soft, pink lips were parted, quivering, his tongue pushing against his front teeth.

Fuck going slowly. Fuck propriety. Fuck chivalry.

Phil wanted to worship every single centimeter of Dan that he could see.

With renewed determination, Phil slid himself down, letting his mouth finally fall beneath Dan’s collarbones, and dip below where his shirt normally hid.

“God,” Phil muttered as he kissed down Dan’s chest. “You look so fucking good beneath me.”

“Mmm,” Dan moaned incoherently. His hands stilled, his fingernails digging into the soft skin of Phil’s side.

Phil’s lips trailed farther down, landing on the erect nub of Dan’s nipple and biting lightly, just to see Dan’s reaction.

It was a good reaction — better than Phil ever could have ever imagined. Dan’s hips thrusted up, uncontrollably smashing into Phil’s, and a loud keen was ripped from his throat.

Dan was a loud person. His laugh was loud, his voice was loud, his personality was loud.

Phil should have known that his sex would be loud, too.

Suckling at one nipple wasn’t enough though — not for Phil and, based on Dan’s whimpers and tugging hands, not for Dan either. Eager to give Dan all that he could, Phil kissed his way over to Dan’s other nipple, giving it the same tender, biting attention.

Dan writhed under Phil, his hips wriggling against Phil’s crotch and causing their cocks to grind together.

Despite Phil’s best efforts to maintain his composure, the sudden assault of Dan’s hips on Phil’s had him collapsing against Dan, letting his hips crash down and his forehead fall to Dan’s chest.

A sharp tugging at the nape of Phil’s neck pulled his head upwards, making him look up at Dan’s face.

“The sofa—” Dan panted, “I can’t.” He raised up, kissing Phil heatedly, moving their lips together so hurriedly Phil thought they might be in a race. “Bed—” Dan gasped. “Now, please.”

Fuck.

There was no way Phil could refuse a request like that from Dan. Not when Dan looked this docile, this soft, this turned on.

Wordlessly, Phil pushed off of Dan and held his hand out, silently beckoning Dan off the sofa. Dan didn’t hesitate; his hand grasped onto Phil’s and he used the weight of Phil to pull himself to standing.

“Let’s go,” Dan muttered. He didn’t let go of Phil’s hand, instead opting to pull Phil behind him, dragging him down the hallway and through a darkened doorway.

Desperate to get to see Dan — whatever this night would let him see, anyway — Phil fumbled on the wall, searching for a light switch.

“Don’t,” Dan ordered. In the dark of the room, Phil could only feel the warm grasp of Dan’s hand linking around his wrist, pulling it from the wall and back to Dan’s waist. “Just come here.”

Dan’s hands were on top of Phil’s, holding them firmly to his waist, as he stepped backwards and guided them towards the bed.

At the last minute, Dan spun them around and forced Phil to fall backwards onto the bed. For a split second, Phil was disappointed that the weight of Dan didn’t immediately crash on top of him — until the soft light of a bedside lamp filled the room, that was. It casted a more subtle, intimate light than the overhead light that Phil had looked for, and he was grateful for it.

Standing between his legs and looking down at him, Dan looked so soft, so fragile, in the warm light of the lamp, and Phil wanted nothing more than to ravish him.

“Come here, beautiful,” Phil begged, his hands reaching out for the hem of Dan’s jeans. They found purchase, and he tugged Dan down. The sudden movement caused Dan to tumble forward and fall into Phil, their bare chests lining up, their hips crashing together.

“You’ve been so good for so long,” Phil whispered huskily, speaking right next to Dan’s ear. “What do you want, baby?”

Dan’s forehead fell forward, his mouth desperately nipping at Phil’s neck. “Anything,” he mumbled. “Whatever you’ll give me.” His voice was high pitched and desperate.

Phil’s cock twitched, heat pooling in his stomach.

“Let me up,” Phil urged. He pushed gently on Dan’s chest and forced him upwards until he was perched on top of Phil, straddling his hips.

Phil’s hands drifted down, coming to rest on Dan’s waist, and tipped him over. Dan went willingly, falling into the bed and wrapping his legs around Phil in the process, effectively forcing Phil to follow him down.

“Phil,” Dan moaned. Warm hands looped around Phil’s shoulders and pulled him closer — though Phil wasn’t sure how they could possibly be touching more than they already were. Dan’s head fell back again, and Phil dove in without further invitation.

Kissing down the side of Dan’s neck, Phil could feel Dan’s hurried pulse, could feel his fast breath, and it was all positively intoxicating. Phil was certain that there was nothing better than this, than having Dan squirming beneath him.

Or that was what Phil thought until Dan’s hand’s slipped from Phil’s back, at least.

Suddenly, Dan’s hands were tracing hot trails down Phil’s back. Trails that didn’t stop, trails that were unimpeded by the barrier of Phil’s jeans.

No, Dan’s hands kept going and going and going. They brushed over Phil’s lower back and dipped straight below the hem of his trousers, completely forgoing his pants and reaching straight for his bare arse.

Phil already didn’t have any resolve left, but the feeling of Dan’s hands on his naked butt absolutely drove him wild.

Abruptly, Phil pushed himself off of Dan, kneeling upright between his legs so that he had access to Dan’s entire body. Phil’s hands flew to Dan’s zipper, working the button between his fingers without pushing it through the hole.

“Can I?” Phil asked. Even to his own ears, his voice was deep and scratchy — he could only imagine what it sounded like to Dan.

Clearly, though, Dan wasn’t turned off by Phil’s voice. “Please,” he begged. His hand reached out, too, and landed on Phil’s trousers. His fingers slipped beneath the hem and toyed at the button. “But only if I can, too,” Dan teased with a smile, a weak attempt at banter during the heat of the moment.

“Whatever you want,” Phil promised shamelessly, slipping Dan’s button through the hole, and almost simultaneously feeling the relief of his own jeans loosening.

Before Phil could do anything else, Dan pushed him away by the hips, forcing him to stand up at the edge of the bed. Dan’s hips canted up as he slipped his hands beneath his own trousers and pulled them down, taking his pants with them. When they were far enough down Dan’s legs, Phil reached for them, tugged the tight fabric over Dan’s slender legs and away from his body entirely. With absolutely no regard for what were probably expensive jeans, Phil dropped Dan’s clothes to the bedroom floor and sought out Dan again.

“Off,” Dan commanded, his hands reaching for Phil’s trousers and sharply pulling down. Phil happily obliged, tugging his jeans and pants over his arse and down his thighs, all the way down to his ankles. Two kicks of his feet, and then Phil was entirely free of his clothing.

He stared down at Dan, finally realizing that this was it. That they were both completely naked together, that they were finally about to be able to explore each other in a way they’d never been able to before.

“Phiw,” Dan pleaded. His arms extended and he made grabby hands at Phil, urging him closer. “I need you.”

Phil was powerless to resist Dan’s pleas, equally desperate to have their bare bodies finally laying against each other. Phil fell forward and landed on top of Dan softly, his elbows just barely catching him before he knocked the wind out of Dan.

Dan’s hands immediately sought purchase on Phil’s hips, quickly roaming to Phil’s more private parts. One hand slid backwards, wrapping around to cup Phil’s arse, while the other slid forward, just barely grazing Phil’s inner thigh.

Phil’s cock throbbed with desire. If Dan’s hand was just a centimeter or two over, he’d be grasping onto Phil — something Phil wanted more than anything in this moment.

Well, almost anything.

Above all else, Phil wanted to touch Dan. He wanted to give Dan what he hadn’t gotten in months, what Isabella, hopefully, couldn’t ever really give him.

“Touch me,” Dan begged as his own hand reached down a little more, and settled firmly on Phil’s cock.

For a brief moment, Phil couldn’t breathe, much less concentrate on doing anything for Dan in return. Slowly and steadily, Dan’s hand dragged up Phi’s cock, squeezing lightly at the head before trailing back down. His grip was tight and rough, in the best possible way, and Phil had to fight to maintain his composure.

“Phil,” Dan desperately urged.

Phil’s eyes snapped back to Dan’s, took in the way his pupils had blown wide, the way he was biting his lip, pleading with Phil, and that was all it took to pull Phil back from his delirious bliss. Pushing up on one elbow, Phil reached down between them and took the base of Dan’s cock in his hand. His hand slid up, pulling the foreskin back and thumbing over Dan’s slit. A bead of precum leaked out, and Phil smeared it down, using it to smooth out his movements. Dan was long and heavy in Phil’s hand — better than Phil could have imagined.

In response to Phil’s touch, Dan’s hand began to pick up speed, gliding up and down Phil’s cock faster and faster as Dan seemed to become overwhelmed with pleasure. Phil could feel tension building in him, could feel the way his stomach was tightening and his balls were drawing up, but he wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t ready. Not yet.

He was far too worked up from months of pining, of waiting, to be able to hold out the way he wanted to, so Dan needed to stop.

“Slow down,” Phil said, his breath coming out in sharp heaves. “I don’t — not yet,” he begged. “I have a better idea.”

Phil let go of Dan, and knocked Dan’s hand out of the way. Determined to hold out, to not give into pleasure quite yet, Phil grabbed Dan’s wrists and pulled them up and over his head, pinning them to the bed.

“Can you be good and keep your hands up here for me?” Phil asked, but it came out like more of a demand.

Apparently, Dan liked that, though. His eyes widened, his pupils growing even larger, his hands shaking in Phil’s firm grip.

“Yes,” Dan gasped, his hips thrusting up against Phil’s.

“Good boy,” Phil praised. He released Dan’s wrists and brushed his hands down down down Dan’s body, finally coming to rest at his hips. “You look amazing,” Phil murmured, taking in the sight of Dan’s long, leaking cock.

Now that Phil had touched, now that Phil had been touched, he couldn’t resist either feeling. So rather than picking — his cock or Dan’s — Phil seized both of their cocks in his hand. It was a good thing his fingers were long, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to wrap around both of them. As it was, his fingers didn’t meet his palm.

It was good enough, though. Tonight, Phil didn’t want to fuck Dan — well, he did, but this wasn’t the right moment. Tonight was about exploring, about finally being able to feel each other and indulge in the feeling of each other.

And the feeling of their cocks pressed together, the pressure from Phil’s hands squeezing them tighter, pulling up and down their shafts — it was sheer heaven.

Hands still above his head, Dan thrusted up into Phil’s grip. His movements were just slightly out of time with Phil’s strokes, creating even more friction on both of their cocks. Phil met Dan thrust for thrust, stroking them both as best as he could, even though they were both rapidly coming undone.

In just a few more strokes before Phil could feel himself reeling toward the edge again. Every graze of his hand against his cock, every twitch of Dan’s cock against his, pushed Phil closer and closer toward the precipice.

“Shit,” Phil gasped. His hand instinctively squeezed at his base, tightening around Dan too. “I’m — fucking — close.”

Hands still above his head, Dan’s hips thrusted up, jarring Phil’s hands back into movement, and he resumed a slower pace up and down their cocks.

“Me too,” Dan moaned. “Please, just — more.”

Dan’s head flew back, and Phil couldn’t help dropping down and sucking — sucking harder than he probably should. Maybe tomorrow he’d care, but right now he certainly didn’t.

“Phiiw,” Dan cried out, his hips stuttering. Phil groaned at the way his name sounded on Dan’s lips, nothing more than a deep moan, and felt his hips start to thrust harder into his fist. Phil couldn’t seem to help himself, but it didn’t matter, because Dan seemed to be enjoying it too. He arched his neck further into Phil’s mouth, and choked out, “Close.”

Dan seemed to lose control of his hands; they slipped down and grabbed Phil’s shoulders. His nails dug in, and the sharp pain only added to the white hot pleasure Phil felt.

With the hand he was bracing himself on, Phil shifted, tangling it in Dan’s hair and tugging sharply, stroking upwards on their cocks at the same time.

“Fuck,” Dan moaned. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” His breath hitched, his face scrunched up, his body tensed under Phil’s. Phil could see it before it happened, he could see Dan letting go, and then he did. Phil could feel streaks of warm cum shooting over his hand, and splattering against both of their chests.

The moans and whimpers that tumbled from Dan’s mouth were intoxicating, and so loud that Phil would have been worried about the neighbors if Dan didn’t have the floor to himself. The look of euphoria on Dan’s face, and the throbbing of his cock against Phil’s, was all Phil needed to topple over the edge himself.

The orgasm that had been pulling at his stomach since Dan had first kissed him — fuck, since Dan had first smiled at him months ago — surged through him, wracking his body in quick, hot spurts.

Phil’s breath mingled with Dan’s, and he lunged forward, locking their lips together. They were both too far gone to properly kiss, but just the feel of Dan’s lips underneath his own intensified the feeling of his orgasm.

“So good,” Phil whimpered. “So fucking good.” He could feel his cock pulsing in his hand, shooting what felt like endless streaks of cum against Dan’s chest, and it was so good. Phil’s entire body shook with the feeling.

Dan’s fingers dug deeper into Phil’s shoulders, just for a second, before he relaxed entirely, going completely boneless under Phil. Phil watched through half lidded eyes as Dan collapsed. As a final streak of cum dribbled out of Phil’s cock, he fell forward, unable to hold himself up any longer.

They laid together, trying to catch their breath. Phil didn’t even have the energy to roll off of Dan, so he just sunk down, hoping that he wasn’t crushing Dan. Their chests moved up and down in synchrony, far faster than they normally would. Phil wiggled his hand from between them, carelessly wiping their mixed cum on the bedspread, before tangling his still-sticky fingers in the sweat-soaked, curly locks of Dan’s hair.

“Jesus fucking christ, Phil,” Dan murmured, his eyes still closed and body still completely lax. “How are you that good already?”

Chuckling quietly, Phil tucked his head into Dan’s neck, pressing a kiss into the hollow of his collarbone. “I guess that beat good enough, then.”

A/N: COME SCREAM AT ME.

#mine #slow burn #singer!dan #barista!phil #phan au #coffee shop au #iminclinedtowriting #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #love yourself #ly

[sagaciousfchuzzle]

Do ALL of the Space asks!!!!

dOhhh noooooooooo, whoever could this beeeeeeeeeComet- What are you currently frustrated about?

Hahaha oh boy. Mostly how fucking stupid I was not doing internships when I had more of the chance and instead chose to go back home every summer. I really, really appreciated it at the time, but whenever I look for wildlife jobs now I just feel so underqualified and completely unprepared. I was stupid and some friends who will see this will never let me forget it.

Black Hole- What are you most afraid of? 

At this moment what I’m most afraid of is not being able to get a job in my field and not being able to make some kind of meaningful contribution to conservation and stuff.

Galaxy- Do you have any nicknames? What are they? 

Uhhhhhh, Plum/PlumPlum, Mr. Sneeze, Coah; I think that’s about it?

Star- What song(s) do you feel describes you?

Fffffffuuuuuuuuck, um. Okay so I wasted like 3 hours trying to find good ones so let’s just go with these:

Natalia Lafourcade’s Mi Tierra Veracruzana (specifically this live version)

Nujabes’ Spiritual State.

Wind of Departure/~Setting Off Wind~ from Monster Hunter 4.

Baths’ Yeoman, a wonderfully queer musician.

Pogo’s J’Adore Juin, though it breaks my heart that Pogo is an MRA idiot.

Moon- Are you currently reading any books? If so, what book(s)?

Oh god, sadly not. I still have some Discworld books to read but I don’t want to be done-done with the series as a whole. ;_;

Planets- If you could go anywhere, where would you go? 

New Zealand, Japan, South Korea, probably.

Mercury- Describe your aesthetic. 

Earth tones, rustic looks, organized messes, wildflowers and pine trees, hearty food and warm blankets on a cold and cozy day. 

Venus- What’s your favorite tv show? 

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm honestly maybe Parks & Rec? Or Steven Universe. 

Earth- If you could be anyone else for a day, who would you want to be?

On one hand I could be Chris Evans for a day but on the other hand I’d also want to be someone STUPIDLY RICH so I could give tons of money to me and my loved ones, and I wouldn’t want to do that to Chris Evans. Probably the latter, just someone super rich whom I don’t care about.

Mars- If you could change one thing about yourself, what would you change? 

Haha um. Maybe my penchant for sweet things. Or, y’know,my metabolism/weight.

Jupiter- If you had to pick one color to use for an entire week, what color would you choose? 

This is a joke right? ‘Cause anyone who knows anything about me will know the answer is Green.

Saturn- How far would you go for those you care about? 

Very far.

Uranus- What would you say is your greatest achievement? 

Fuck me man, I don’t know. I think being considered someone my friends can trust to talk about shit with.

Neptune- Describe yourself in one sentence. 

Hi I fiercely believe in there being a right and wrong and tend to not suffer those who choose the latter; that being said, I am a goof who loves puns and even though I can be snarky as hell I secretly prefer it when people are even more snarky back to me and put me in my place, because it’s fun to laugh, even at yourself. 

Pluto- If you could meet anyone, alive or dead, who would you meet? 

Terry Pratchett, author of the Discworld series (and many more books besides!).

Constellations- If you could have one talent, what would you want it to be? (can be magical or not)

>Magical or notOh man. Okay so if I want to be broken I’d say absolute control over time, so absolute that even fi I create paradoxes it isn’t an issue. Alternatively, something I’ve always thought would eb cool was to either:Be able to teleport as far as your eye can seeorAny time you’re going down a street or sitting in a place or whatever, and for some vague reason it reminds you of some other place you’ve been to (so you drive past a street called Railroad Avenue, but you know of another Railroad Avenue in another town, or you’re sitting in a park and smells like your grandparents’ backyard), those two places become ‘linked’ and you can freely teleport between the two vaguely similar locations. You can’t like… consciously force the linking though.

Asteroid- When you die, what do you want to be done with your body?

Cremated, spread over some nice wilderness, maybe with a tree.

Aquarius- What’s a topic you enjoy learning about? 

B I O L O G Y   &   E C O L O G Y

Aquila- Do you prefer to read books or watch movies?

I feel like these are apples & oranges? Like books are more of a solitude thing to enjoy by yourself, but movies are great to share with people.

Aries- What is something you enjoy doing?

Telling myself I’m going to get back into drawing, and then not. c:Alternatively, coming up with tabletop rpg plots and never using them.

Auriga- If you had to pick one villain from any media, who would you rather have to face and why?

The Nightmare Knight from Cucumber’s Quest, because spoiler reasons. 

Bootes- If you could have any animal, wild or not, fake or not, which would you want?

G R I Z Z L Y   B E A R .Or maybe a feathered serpent like Quetzalcoatl.

Cancer- How do you want to be remembered? 

Someone who, despite his extraordinarily sharp wit, was kind and cozy.

Canis Major- How many friends do you have? 

Lots man. 

Capricornus- What’s a song lyric that you relate to? 

Honestly I’m having a hard time with this one. I guess from Hey Rosetta! we’ve got two:From their song Kintsukuroi:Oh see inside of me lay the heels of your hands upon me and let your fingers fall bless these broken bonesmake it whole, make it better than it was before make it better than it was before! 

and their song Dream:couldn’t we make, couldn’t we make, couldn’t we make itjust like we wanted, just like we need itwhy can’t we, just like a dream?

who says we can’t. who says we can’t, who says we shouldn’twho says we couldn’t, make it just like we love itwhy can’t we, just like a dream?

Cassiopeia- What’s your favorite quote? 

I guess, “The blood of the covenant of friendship is thicker than the water shared by the womb” ‘cause that’s the first one that came to mind.

Cygnus- If you could go back to any time period for a couple days, when/where would you want to go?

I think to November a couple years back, or to some time last winter. There’s some stuff I could at least try to fix.

Gemini- Do you have any siblings? How many?

Just one older brother.

Leo- If you could change the way any movie was made, which movie would you change?

Honestly probably Kubo & the Two Strings because it had so much potential but the second half of the film seems so…………………. so boring compared to what they could have done with it.

Libra- If you could talk to your past self, what would you tell yourself?

Bitch stay in Alaska and do an internship.

Lyra- Would you rather be feared or loved?

Feared by strangers, loved by friends & family.

Orion- What’s your favorite type of weather?

Brightly sunny with some scattered clouds, but none-the-less it’s cold & crisp. Or it’s night time with moderate rain and wet streets.

Pegasus- What’s your favorite music genre? 

Fuck man there can’t be just one. Jazz, Classical, pseudo….electronic-ish stuff???, soundtracks, etc.

Perseus- What’s your favorite movie genre?

Action/Adventure or Comedy.

Pisces- Describe someone you love without saying their name.

She’s Saint Francis incarnate, and not just for the animals. Even when people hurt her she will always take the higher path, and I know she has a better moral compass than I do. She’s wise and snarky and loves working the earth with her own hands (Hint: it’s an aunt of mine).

Sagittarius- What do you do when you don’t feel well? What do you eat/drink?

If you’re talking about a cold or something what I tend to do is fill a kettle to the brim and heat up a ton of water, then basically chug tea all day. Specifically chamomile or maybe a lemon tea, but both with some honey. That tends to help me recuperate faster.

Scorpius- If you had to pick someone to betray you, who would you pick?

Probs my friend Owen, ‘cause he’d be the easiest to ignore. 😂

Taurus- What makes you feel comfortable?

Eating food with friends, telling stories and jokes, good music on drives long & short, telling truths and sharing feelings, going to sleep exhausted because I actually did stuff during the day.

Ursa Major- If you had to pick any job to have, what job would you want? 

Savior of all Ursus-kind. Or like raising abandoned bear cubs which would be super sad but also super heartwarming.

Virgo- What do you value the most- artistic ability/creativity, musical ability, athletic ability, intellect, or work ethic?

I think I respect work ethic the most - you may not be the most capable, but you’re being honest & earnest, and like a teacher of mine said in the past, “Hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard.”

Neutron- Are you more of a leader or a follower?

Honestly I’m happy to be a follower unless there’s no leader or the leader is incompetent.

Supernova- How do you feel about yourself?

Kind of unhappy, for the reasons mentioned in Comet. Kind of annoyed at how it feels like I’m procrastinating on starting my own life, whether that’s intentional or not. 

Supergiant- What’s something you like about yourself? 

People have told me they feel comfortable talking to me about issues and stuff and I really, really like that I can be that kind of person for my friends.

Red Giant- Would you get into a debate/argument with someone if you heard them saying something you disagree with or know to be wrong, or would you stay silent?

It depends. If they’re just talking with their own group and I’m not going to be stuck near them for hours, then I can just put headphones in, but if they’re making someone uncomfortable or something, I’d step in. I’d also step in if it was an honest mistake.

Red Dwarf- What’s your favorite smell? What smell makes you feel most comfortable? 

Pine trees I think. I loooooooooooooooove the smell of pine.

Protostar- Give a random fact about yourself.  

I finally beat Dragon’s Dogma the other day and I was scared I was going to be disappointed because I already kind of knew about the existential take it…. takes, but it was a blast and wonderful and amazing and I think everyone who likes rpg’s should play this game and Grigori is a huge…. sweetheart, of sorts.

#ask prompt #Anonymous #admiration-determination

[elementarypolitics]

The Joke of Phoenix Comicfest...

Phoenix Comic Fest* has decided to up the ante from last year and just blatantly say “fuck you fans, we don’t care about you.” So, a quick recap of last year’s insanity. Some lunatic came in with a slew of weapons with the goal of killing the actor who played the Green Power Ranger. Because even at its most lax, Phoenix PD and convention security aren’t unspeakably incompetent, the lunatic didn’t make it very far…but while the powers that be aren’t unspeakably incompetent, they are incompetent. Their genius idea in response to this clearly out of the norm incident was to ban all weapons—real looking, fake looking, wood staffs, plastic blasters, light sabers. That’s really smart because one of them fake plastic lightsabers might be the real physics defying tool of mass destruction and some Sith might decide to just start hacking people apart. It got so bad one of the vendors selling really good collectible lightsabers (still just plexiglass and lights, so not remotely deadly) was escorted off the dealer’s floor. And the company in charge of the event had many contradictory explanations as to why (none of them remotely believable)… because you never know when the plexiglass could magically turn into a stick of deadly plasma hotter than the core of the sun apparently. But it gets better. Every person had to be searched by the woefully understaffed security of the event which meant that people wait in lines…lines that went around the building several times…on Memorial Day…in downtown Phoenix. Yes, more people were harmed from heat stroke last year in line than were harmed by lunatics with weapons in the history of Comicon (I’ll admit I didn’t search every police report, but I did do a search and couldn’t find anything). Also despite the fact that the police requiring this level of security just created a huge mass of stationary targets for any lunatic who did want to hurt people, they also overreacted and instead of realizing the truth that “well we hit the lunatic quota for the decade, probably won’t have any more problems this weekend” as, you know as sane and moderately intelligent person would do, according to several people who spoke off the record, all of SWAT was out on the rooftops ready for action all weekend. As any idiot could have told them before hand, they weren’t needed. Please do remember this is Arizona, where police give contradictory orders and then shoot to kill unarmed people who can’t follow two contradictory orders at the same time…because Arizona police are both stupid and fucking cowards. They also fire gas on people who protest tyranny.** But back to Comicon. In addition to all of this, vendors on the floor also had a lot of trouble breaking even, and I know some aren’t even going this year. So last year was a cluster fuck of epic proportions. But the company in charge thought that they could do better this year!

How you ask? Well in the past most conventions have panels. Lots of panels. They rent huge convention centers and the goal is to fill each and every conference room with as many different panels from open to close to keep the nerds happy. Movies, comics, cosplay, cartoons, games, writing, trivia, dating, blood donation, signups. You name it there was probably a panel for it. Yes, the company running the convention ran through submitted panel ideas, but they accepted anything and everything, let the fans pick the topics, and tried to simply offer as wide a variety of ideas and discussion out there to entertain as many people. It was little more than organized chaos, and it was wonderful because it let the ideas and intellect of geekdom shine in the free flow way the creative process and the love of fandoms relies on. But letting nerds be nerds was apparently not for Phoenix Comic Fest. What do the nerds know, after all? They’re only the people paying the tickets and the ones coming to see all the stuff. Please don’t just take my word for it. Here are the actual words of the Square Egg:

Yes “Themes.” Do they even tell you what those themes are? Nope. They are keeping things so tightly controlled that you need to hold a seance just to know how you goose-step in line with them.

Now I could go off on them…but, the original response to this is so much better than I could ever put it…

    My personal favorite was that one of our panels that was turned down because it didn’t meet with the themes/celebrities of the Con was a panel of the political implication of Star Trek…because Star Trek has nothing to do with a convention whose headline celebrity this year is William Shatner. In the 25th Anniversary year of DS9. At a nerd con where Star Trek is always relevant. If that doesn’t leave you going WTF, I don’t know what would. If you want to say the description of our panel wasn’t interesting, that’s fine. That’s a matter of taste. But to say Star Trek isn’t relevant…I have to assume the people who run this shit show have never actually had anything to do with any fandom ever.

  Now do they have every right to do this? Yes, yes they have every right to do it. They’re fronting the money for the convention center, they’re booking the guests, they’re the one putting all the risk on the line. So, I’m not going to be a petulant child and scream “censorship” because this is not censorship. They’re not stopping me or anyone else from speaking, they’re only saying the podium they paid for isn’t open to everyone. They have every right. But we as fans have every right to say we don’t like what they’re selling. We liked the free exchange of ideas, not a spoon-fed list of topics. We’d like diversity of thought in what to choose from in terms of what panels to go see. We’d like to see our fandoms have a panel even if you couldn’t get a celebrity from that particular show or movie to make it out to the city which is hotter than seventh circle of Hell. So, this is not censorship, censorship only applies when it’s done by the government…this is the free market, and they have the ability to profit or fail (given their incompetence I would bet against profit, but who knows).

    So, if this isn’t censorship, why is any of this important? If you believe that politics isn’t downstream from culture then this isn’t important. I am just a nerd bitching into the darkness because only one of his panels was approved. But if you believe that politics is downstream from culture, then it really matters because it means that culture is becoming more controlled than any time I can think of. Science Fiction, Fantasy, Comics and all the other genres that traditionally go along with conventions of this sort were once the bastion of free thinking ideas, of politically unpopular statements, of the voices on the fringes for good and bad. Star Trek is the first place to show a woman of color in a position of power—it may seem all too trite now where mass media slobbers all over itself to put out one formulaic piece after another with all the main minority and interest group boxes checked—but in its time it was a powerful message. Robert Heinlein and Margaret Atwood’s works warned of the dangers of religiously driven populism. The Twilight Zone and Star Trek offered hope in the future. The science fiction stories of even more traditionally serious writers like E.M. Forester, Kurt Vonnegut, and George Orwell offered us warnings about technology and what government can do with it. This has always been some of the richest ground for the seeds of social change and intellectual freedom. But now Disney through Marvel and Star Wars offers formulaic tripe in the form of explosion joke explosion joke explosion joke tied together with a paper-thin plot…and with Justice League DC jumped on that mindless bandwagon. Star Trek has become a poor imitator of Star Trek on the big screen and a teen dystopian novel on the small screen. And speaking of teen novels, the genre that once gave us Wrinkle in Time gave is now spewing mindless YA novels with characterless protagonists that aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on and would be an insult to kindling to use as fire starter (and the less said about that Wrinkle movie from a writer and director who clearly never read the book the better). The only visions of the future exist somewhere between the Thunderdome and Battle Royale. The optimism in the human spirit in The Twilight Zone and Babylon 5 has been replaced by the bleak pessimism of Orphan Black and Black Mirror. Hell, even The Doctor has become a bitter and cynical shell of its former self. And while the written has fared a little better, the fact that Martin—with his message that humans are all vile disgusting things—has seen major success, doesn’t say much either. And now the conventions are ensuring that this single line of argument continues by ensuring only the topics they want are the ones discussed.

Now I’m not saying that all these new visions of science fiction and fantasy are bad. There has always and SHOULD always be that strain in the deeper levels of these genres. The problem is that there is yin to the yang. The DCEU under Snyder and Nolan with its philosophical richness was the perfect counterpoint to the mindless entertainment of Marvel. If you didn’t like one you had the other. Now they’re both mindless. The thoughtful science fiction of Star Trek which had a vague understanding of science and powerful social commentary was the perfect balance to the fun space opera of Star Wars. Now you just have mindless fun from both. The Twilight Zone countered the Outer Limits, Babylon 5 balanced Stargate, Buffy was not Xena, Dollhouse was for people who wanted more thought than Dark Angel. There used to be balance between hope and cynicism, fun and thoughtfulness, utopian and dystopian visions, substance and style. As there should be. But now we’re just being fed the same cynical, stylistic, fun, and dystopian vision from the content makers and being told by even the fan conventions to march lockstep to their tune. The people selling this crap will respond it’s what the people will buy…but Dennis Miller had a response to this for two decades, it’s for the same reason Eskimos eat whale blubber: it’s the only thing we’re being offered. And the fact is that the Snyder vision of Superman made money, that Whedon pile of trash barely broke even. If you don’t think this both reflects society’s problems and creates those problems, you’re deluded. Phoenix Comic Fest is a symptom, but it’s a big one. Because if you don’t think this is a trend that will continue if not protested that it won’t spread out almost every convention (because if they can control controversy, you know they will because corporations will almost always fall into playing it safe after being in existence long enough). I would of course encourage dealers to boycott (you didn’t make much money last year anyway and you’ll make less this year), fans to boycott, and if you agree with argument, maybe encourage the celebrities you were hoping to see to also cancel. It’s a small thing but so is the start of an avalanche. We need to keep the diversity of thought going. We need to not give into people telling us what to think, read, and enjoy. Because if it starts with what we find entertaining…it will work into what rules we are ruled by. Politics is downstream of culture. This has been true since a Sumerian king embellished tales of his ancestor Gilgamesh to help his own position. It is no less true now. Either we control culture and ensure diversity, or we will deal with all the problem of political conformity (oh wait, we already are).

*It has been renamed from the more traditional Phoenix Comicon because San Diego Comic-con has gone batshit crazy and decided to sue conventions for things that sound like them, as if they have even the slightest shred of intellectual ownership over the word comic or the all too common shortening of convention to con…but how stupid abuse of IP law is getting is a discussion for another time.

**I would really love to support police…but honestly you guys are making the gestapo comparisons just a little too easy. Be the adults in the room, like I pay you to be—grow the fuck up and stop acting worse than the criminals you’re supposed to protect me from. And you good cops out there, your silence in the face of your vile colleagues is not loyalty, it’s to betray to your sworn duty.

#Phoenix Comic Fest #Phoenix Comicon #Pop Culture

[equalitae]

S e c r e t s

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Genre: Angst

Song to suggest: Secret Love Song - Little Mix

Synopsis: Once the interest is gone, there is nothing but used paint brushes we try to recover. 

Once the bond is broken, there’s nothing that can fix it in what it used to be. Once you fall for someone else, there is not a thing that can be done to forget about the shared memories you two begin to share.

Once you break your old promises, you just begin to make new ones.

Word count:  3K

A/N: Hi! 

Here’s a complete request i had in my message inbox! I hope that you enjoy it and please, if you do, give it some love! 

I’m sorry it took me so long, though! 

Requests are open! Just remember to read the r u l e s before requesting!

See you soon, x!!

It was a mess. I was a mess.

The floor tiles were just as cold as my mind, but they still sent tickles through my legs, making my body hair bristle in a second. My head was leaning against the bathroom stall, avoiding me from kicking it several times against the wall out of desperation. The moon light was bright, and it slipped through the window hinges making my puffy and tired eyes hurt. I sniffled loudly, before letting a small sob leave my lips with ease.

I couldn’t think straight, letting millions of possibilities rush in my head like flashes of lightning, making my brain hurt with a migraine that I had seen coming up since I realized what had happened. I didn’t know when was the time I let my whole life get wrecked up, leaving my existence get managed by someone else than myself but I did know I was nothing else but naïve and utterly delusional. My head was running wild, full of my problems and worries that I hadn’t been able to control before they exploded in my face like a surprise.

I knew we were meant to be. I knew I was going to end up broken for good, every piece so shattered that no one else would be able to put it back together ever again, but I still let myself think I had a chance. The mere idea that I was able to tame the indomitable was exciting, and it made my heard flutter with anxiety as well. I was weak at the charms the presence of his persona gave, all distinguished and elegant, provoking a change of mood in my body.

The first time we crossed eyes, I was completely smashed. That afternoon I had left the house with my best friends, ready to have a “coffee date” —for my mother’s sake, and ended up being pushed over and over by dancing and sweaty bodies that couldn’t wait for the song to be over so they could leave to somewhere else more “private”. There was humidity in there, most of my hair stuck to my nape, letting the ends of it curl up by the body heat.

I had lost my friends over an hour ago, but I didn’t mind because I wasn’t able to even stand straight myself, so they would be able to get themselves a cab once they were done with their fun time. I tried to get myself a drink but since it was way too crowded, I decided to leave so I could get some air, slipping through the bar doors in a few seconds. I heard some honks in the street, as cars drove away in the street as fast as they could. The neon lights illuminated the sidewalk with purpleish colors and bluish tones. The line to enter almost reached the other corner of the sidewalk, and I could see several familiar faces waiting to be invited inside the club. I rolled my eyes when a few drops of water fell in my nose, making me snuffle because of the cold.

I started to walk with my heels barely hanging from my hand fingers, letting me walk properly. The night was dark, not even a single star shinning on the sky, letting me know it was about to rain. I couldn’t see a single soul on the street, meaning everyone was asleep or having “fun” outside just like me. I didn’t and still don’t know why I did it, but I led myself to the nearest park I know. The street lights were bright and white, marking the steps to reach the game place in the middle of the place. I could listen a few barks far away and some bugs over the bushes.

I was mumbling a song to myself, dancing without a reason as I quietly laughed to nobody but me. When I was done, and I could already feel the stone path that made the way to the games, I looked up. To my surprise, I stopped on my tracks, taken back as I distinguished a sole male figure that sat on the swings. I got closer, curious to who was in the deepest place on his hand, humming softly something I didn’t get to catch. By the time I reached the swings, I could smell the alcohol odor from far away, and it dizzied me. I was drunk, but I still had a little bit of sense in me.

The guy sat there tranquilly, murmuring something incomprehensible for me, just to laugh at himself afterwards. For what I could see, he was incredibly tall, so he could barely fit into the tiny kid swing. He was wearing an oversized hoodie, black and red, with a pair of ripped black jeans that made his thighs look fitter. His dark hair was a complete mess, running in every direction possible, looking like he was pulled from it a thousand times. I tried to get closer as quietly as possible, like if he was an animal caged for exhibition in a zoo. He didn’t seem violent, but I still had a little bit of common sense to know that I didn’t know this man at all. Who the fuck was this guy?

“You know I can hear you, right?” A groggy voice said, to my surprise, making me jump in the spot. His head was still low, drinking bits of the paper bag, but a pair of large ears was now visible for me. I fidgeted my fingers with anxiety, unsure if I should talk to him or just leave without a word. Which was the most reasonable one if I didn’t want to end up dead at the age of 23. But even after that, I staid where I was, looking at him with my head tilted to the side and one of my eyebrows arched with curiosity.

“What are you doing here?” I wondered, fixing my weight from one foot to the other.

“What are you doing here?” He responded back, drinking more of his stinking alcohol. I jarred my hands on my hips, towering over him.

“I asked first!”

He snorted, clearly annoyed, before gulping another drink of the mysterious paper bag. “I wanted to be alone, but now it seems-“he hiccupped, “-impossible.”

“You are drunk”, I stated expressionless with a disgusted voice. “Why?”

“Because I can? And don’t say it like that, you are drunk as well.”

“Yeah, but at least I can distinguish what two plus two means, you moron.”

He gasped for air, looking at me amused. A small laugh escaped from his lips, clearly entertained with the small drunk girl that decided to intrude his solitude moment. “Who are you?”

“My name is Y/N”, I extended a hand to him, which he observed for a second before shaking it slightly. His hands were way larger than mines, and when he shook them, it engulfed my tiny pair of hands in a go. His oversized hoodie covered almost halfway to his middle thigh, making him look cozy and comfier than how I felt in the tiny dress and high heels I was wearing by force.

“I’m Park Chanyeol, but you can call me Chanyeol.” His stretched legs shrank a little, as he bowed the swing beside him, asking me silently to sit with him. My sore legs moved by themselves, and a puff left my lips after I sat, absently thanking him for giving me some space. The paper bag, now forgotten beside him, contained a bottle that seemed to contain vodka in it; that I end up drinking by the time we had already talked with each other for an hour. The liquid burned my throat, provoking me to scrunch my face every time he passed me the transparent bottle.

At some point of the conversation, the topic had become something deep, involving the reason why he had been so drunk that night and why I decided that clubbing was better than staying in house with a good book and music. He was staring at me when he was done, wordless, both of his dark eyes carving a space in mine like a seal in paper. The way his brows furrowed in concentration, as how his nose scrunched a bit in unison with his pouty lips was something that remained carved in my memory till today. A bit of him remained with me for longer than necessary, lingering to the tip of my thoughts every time it had the chance to. That night was the night where I met the man who was probably the only one able to break my heart and put it back together in a snap of fingers, pulling my strings like a puppet as much as he wanted to.

After I met Chanyeol, I noticed how things slowly began to change. I didn’t remember much of the night after that, of course. The alcohol helping in the blackness of a good memory, curling on the words we both had shared in a moment of pure drunkenness and weakness. The personal part of it began to be closer, including him being with me most of the day in between classes. The relationship was something else, different to anything I had ever experienced before, causing excitement run through my blood vessels like fuel every time I had the chance to meet with him. I was conscious that once I realized people out there were more amusing, the relationship with my boyfriend of 3 years started to decrease.

The way he and I treated each other was nothing but dry, boring and plain. The dates contained nothing but a few words and meals shared, both of us deep into the relationship just for the sake of it. Once we met, I was completely sure he was the love of my life, mostly caused by my naivety and ignorance of what a real love consisted of. The lost words and fake promises were a routine, both of us breaking them more than once just because. The old caresses and attentions became something we used to share once back, but not anymore. I didn’t hear from him in weeks and when we did meet each other, was just because we both knew we had to at some point. Holding hands, sloppy kisses and whispered words were forgotten by now, as we both acted like strangers to each other.

Chanyeol was a completely story apart. His girlfriend, —something I learned from months after we first met, mostly because it slipped from him; was nothing but a whole bitch. When they started dating, Yeol had been in “love” with her for what seemed like ages, —his words, not mine, and he was way too ass whipped to properly see the con’s in his summer love and ended up in a toxic relationship without knowing how to get out of it avoiding getting hurt at last. The girl herself was okay at first, sweet and loving, but after they had been dating for a while, she started to change. The long before messages began to be loose words, or even just “seen” responses. She started to criticize, do and provoke reactions on Chanyeol that he wasn’t accustomed to; caused by an unknown fear he had no idea it existed. Her words affected on her more than what he thought they would do, and he began to response to them to, affecting her indirectly as well. He was deep down with her, done and practically annoyed by the dynamics they both shared, but he didn’t want to get out of it for fear he would end up alone if he did so.

We both were unhappy, sharing hurt feelings in the corresponding relationships; used to have a routine in which we had a comfort zone already stablished and that we were familiar with. The mess in our heads was a complete blast, revolving our thoughts and causing responses none of us wanted to properly give but ended up giving anyway by pure instinct and tact. We were lingering in a thin line made of hopes and memories, not wanting to let go the only thing we both had known for such a long time and were already understood by our simple lives. And even so, we complimented each other so well. The way our personalities were so different but still mixed up together like they were made to be blended together just as one.

The first time we touched, a simple touch of hands, was enough to make me confused. I was overexaggerating, I knew it, but the simple sensation of his body heat with mine caused a chain reaction in my body that I didn’t completely understood how to control nor handle. Stolen looks, missed smiles and “mistaken” caresses became frequent. We were both playing with fire, ready to get burned in any moment and not feeling any guilt for that. I was starting to get familiar with his smell, his reactions and his silly faces every time something happened. The way of his laugh and his deep voice were my soothing sound, provoking a calm sensation in me every time I found myself staring at his pearl white smile for a few seconds too long.

I caught him doing the same, though. His ways were way too frequent for me not to notice or even believe he was doing them “by mistake”. His fingers lingered on my face too often, his stares burned holes on me; even his clothes began to be part of my closet from now on. We were falling for each other, indirectly lying to those who had been by our side for more time than what we could remember. The interest in one another was staring to become more visible, obviously ignoring our respecting couples and concentrating on spending our time together more often. The way my heart beat way too hard when he was close was completely erratic, even scary sometimes. I loved having him around, messing with me every time he had the chance to, making my day a little bit brighter. We both had forgot what a real interaction felt like, at least until we first kissed.

We were both a little bit tipsy, sharing memories in my garden, looking at the stars like there were no problems trying to drown us every time they had the chance. The sky was clear, shinning with a very antique and unique way, closely starting to look like a messed-up canvas that ended up looking better than expected. The forgotten wine bottle was thrown in between the both of us, dripping the last drops of dark liquor in the grid that made a barrier between us and the sticky grass. Chanyeol’s million-dollar smile was at its best, bright and beautiful, as he spoke with ease about an old memory he shared with his fellow friends back to his hometown. I was so gone in his chiseled profile that I forgot to put attention in what he was saying, at least until his nose almost crashed with mine in his attempt to turn around so he would be able to look at me.

His minty and liquored breath crashed with mine, his dark eyes sparkling in the darkness of the night. I felt my cheeks reddening, flustered by his sudden nearness and my mind running a mile for it. His mouth shut, his wide smile disappearing as he scanned me slowly, inspecting my face like it was something he had to remember. His breathing was deep and slow, each time he took his chance to get all the air in his lungs, letting it leave with ease. I found myself staring at his features, captivated by the little freckles scattered in his face like they were personally carved in there. His eyelashes kissed his face when he blinked, purposely doing it slower than normal. I didn’t have time to process what was happening, not when his soft lips were lingering to mine in urge. His warm hands held me by the waist pulling me closer to his engulfing body until his both was crashing with mine. The soft strands of his hair tingled in my fingers, which I tangled in his neck the first few seconds I kissed him back.

This was wrong, we were wrong. We had been bottling our feelings till they exploded and lead us to be entangled in a hot mess full of lost caresses and missing words. His lips molded perfectly with mine, making the kiss blown my mind with thoughts I couldn’t control. I had free fell into a deep hole full of him in ways I couldn’t retract myself from. I was drunk by him, his kisses and smell. And even when this felt so good, we were both digging our own graves just by looking at each other. We both were committed in a relationship, each of them different from one another, and still so similar at the same time. I was cheating, this was cheating. And I still let myself enjoy the little happy moments like this, where kissing each other became a frequent act saved to when we were alone and free to be ourselves. We both had to hide in where he can finally be mine and I can be his, even if it was just for a few hours, as we emptied our need for each other like if we were both high schoolers who hid themselves from the public eye.

I fell so hard for someone that wasn’t mine to have. I was in love with someone who was barely a shared person between me and his girlfriend, and found himself sharing me with someone else too. We were both sneaking around, letting small laughs and stolen kisses enroll us into a deep maze of lies and forgotten sighs. He loved me and I loved him, it was just facts. We kept on the lies to our partners, pretending to be okay when it was more than clear that we weren’t. We needed to keep with our fake mask just by fear we could leave something assured for something that was a kids game behind a tree. We hurt ourselves, but we stitched ourselves back in place when we were together, the company given making us forget we had a life out of our little bubble.

It was so wrong but it felt so right, that we didn’t notice we were a ticking bomb about to explode, letting all our secrets bloom into the light. 

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