#the way the road blends into the air

[usedpidemo]

Stargazing (Twice Mina)

With the way things are going, Mina’s begging for trouble. And not the usual slap of the wrist kind that celebrities get away with—the kind that’s scandalous, career damning.

She’s so close to falling apart.

And as you watch her come undone—the very image that defines her gradually disappears—you can’t help but think: she deserves this.

—————

If there’s any clear-cut takeaway, it’s this: Mina is designed to be gorgeous, and she plays the part to near perfection. 

That’s the whole point. Here’s a sea of media outlets and paparazzi, accompanied by flashing cameras and screaming fans on one side. On the other, stars and figures from different fields, all dressed to the nines and emanate a distinguishable aura. The ‘I’m better than you’ kind. No amount of modest smiles and perfectly curated PR-fluff can disguise the noxious air of celebrity on the red carpet. 

Then you look at Mina, wearing the hell out of that backless dress, designed by none other than yours truly (you). You couldn’t have asked for a better muse. She carries herself and your brand around with a confident smile—with pride—seemingly indifferent to the raucous screams telling her to look this way, that way. Wherever her profile turns, cameras illuminate the crowd in near-perfect unison. 

It’s a slow motion fashion moment. 

As if she couldn't look any prettier, she brushes her hair with a quick, delicate swipe of her hand with queenly grace. The cameras live for moments like these. It’s what goes viral online; it’s what gets social media buzzing. She’s a K-pop idol, the media will say and it’s true, but she doesn’t look out of place with the so-called elite. If anything, she blends in seamlessly, rich, quiet, and enigmatic personality and all. 

Cameras continue to follow her as she walks through the carpet. She greets a few other celebrities in the vicinity; mostly Hollywood actresses and artists before she disappears behind the steps of the building. Throughout the entire ordeal, you were never on her mind, not even during interviews, nor when she was in clear view, even though you made her what she is now. All she can think about is herself and her character. That’s how fame works.

You don’t even get a text. Your only reference is a note that reads 23:00. 

—————

The next time you see Mina is hours later, at the promised time. One slender leg enters the backseat of the vehicle. She remains mostly untouched, leaving the gala looking the same as when she entered. She’s considerate enough to wave and give a flying kiss to the crowd, who unsurprisingly, go crazy for her. It’s a convincing act. You would, too, if you weren’t always by her side for ninety percent of the day.

She breathes out this deeply relieved sigh once the door slams shut. She’s tired—of being someone else, and just exhausted in general; she’s been in front of a mirror since five in the morning and it’s almost midnight by the time the event ends. You can tell she’d rather be in her hotel suite than anywhere else.

So you drive. No words. Just hit the road and get out of there. 

Even late into the night, Paris is still bustling and lively. You don’t make it past three streets before being met by traffic ahead. It’s an agonizing crawl. The satnav says you’ll arrive at your hotel by 2:00 in the morning. Mina probably won’t make it by midnight, at this point because she’s on the verge of falling unconscious, resting her head on the door. Her heels are set on the opposite end, with her lower half resting along the edges of the backseat into a couch position.

Even when she’s asleep, she’s still gorgeous. 

“Miss?” you gently call to her, snapping her from her tired daze. She gives you a mild stare through the rear-view mirror, unable to speak.

“We’re gonna be held up by traffic. You want something to eat?” you ask, knowing she likely won’t take anything more than a handful of fries or half a burger. 

“Sure. Whatever.” Mina sounds cold, a little annoyed somewhat. The past day has been unkind to her health; she arrived at the airport yesterday after a different schedule and barely had less than five hours of rest before dedicating the entire day for a gala she had contractual obligations to attend. She couldn’t say no even if she wanted; she’s got her whole schedule curated and planned out for months. 

You have more time to get her dresses planned out and prepared out than she has to breathe.

And time is unkind to both of you right now. Traffic trogs along at a snail’s pace. The arrival time on the satnav moves further and further away. Sunrise will meet you above a red light at this rate. How anyone gets around in this city considering the number of events that are happening all at once is beyond you. You only drive through Paris a handful of times a year, all for the same reason, and you abhor the idea—let alone the experience—every single time.

It’s difficult enough to wait, especially in this late of hours, when money and careers are on the line. Even more challenging is keeping a cool head and withholding yourself from using your instincts against the trusted systems of the algorithm. Mina will call you many things. She’ll call you insane. You don’t mind; it’ll be on the lower end of insults and comments you’ve heard from the so-called ‘elite.’ 

At the end of the day, you’re just simply following orders. 

You swerve off the main road, into narrow alleys and streets that aren’t registered on any official map. Anywhere that can give you a sense of progress and hold momentum. You drive. You make liberal use of your klaxon against anything and anyone. You go around in circles, sometimes looking at the satnav if it’s kind enough to give you a shorter, quicker path. In your haste, you completely overlook the star, the celebrity you’re meant to protect and coddle like fine art, and cracks begin to form.

“Shit!” Mina fastens the seatbelt, in distress and wide awake from your uncharacteristically aggressive driving. She lifts her head. Pierces your gaze through the rearview mirror with a mixture of panic, concern, and frustration. All that hours spent in the makeup room to look perfect, down to the smallest of details, coming undone within a few minutes. 

She seemed rather proud of her appearance, too.

Of course, her demands bounce off your ears—or ring through like white noise. You only know your task. Get her safe. 

Even though it’s your very idea, you forget about the thought of eating, too. You’ve passed by a couple of McDonalds along the way, but are blinded by tunnel vision to recognize a single one. It’s not a big loss; she’s as tired of eating fast food as much as you are. It isn’t good for her image right now, either. 

Eventually, you do make it back to her hotel. A little over midnight, but still not as early as you wanted to be. You look at the status of your passenger princess. She’s about as coddled as a five year old playing with her doll. A mess.

When you open up the door for her to step out, it’s a dramatic moment that gathers everyone’s attention and fixes every eye. It’s loud. 

It also so happens to be empty in the area.

The way she slaps you in the cheek echoes throughout the valet like the sharp crack of a whip, or the pop of a firework. Fucking hell, she hits hard. For a dainty woman like Mina, she’s surprisingly strong. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snaps, cold and bitter. 

You find no mistake in what you did. In fact, you believe you’re doing her a service. Tomorrow, she’ll be at the airport and out of the country faster than when she came in. She doesn’t have to think about you for the foreseeable future. You only see a moody, ill-tempered celebrity frustrated that circumstances haven’t gone her way. Chalk it up to fatigue, but you can’t be arsed to explain yourself or react accordingly at this point.

She’s also pretty when she’s angry, you can’t help but think. Not the pouty, cute, wholesome kind—the ‘I’m gonna rip your throat’ out kind of ire. Sometimes you forget your job and admire just how gorgeous Mina is. You’re no different than the paparazzi or the average fan.

It makes her heated. You’re mentally smirking.

It would be a waste to fight over something as petty as reckless driving this late. No one got hurt; not a single traffic light or speed limit was violated. But her heart jumped a little bit when she expected the least. In her eyes, it’s a reasonable enough incident to show some attitude and assert her status over you.

But not tonight.

Instead, you take her by the wrist and lead her to the alley beside the hotel, away from potential cameras and prying eyes. She yelps, but you slip a hand around her mouth so she remains quiet. Mina is too tired to show some resistance. 

“Listen here, Miss Myoui,” you tell her, pointing your finger directly at her. “I did everything right to make sure you have a fine, comfortable experience in Paris. Did your dress, drove you around, everything. What I did was save you a few hours of sleeping in the car.  I never asked for anything from you, so don’t come acting like an ungrateful brat.”

“Fuck you.” Mina raises her palm, readying another thunderous, face cracking slap as a threat. “I could have done all that instead if I wanted to.”

“Need I remind you who made the dress that you’re wearing?”

She freezes, unable to find some form of retaliation or rebuttal.

“Thought so.”

“Well what am I supposed to do, then? Get on my knees and worship you as my lord and savior?” she asks. 

Suddenly, something clicks inside your head. An idea.

“That—” you pause, mentally noting the entire sequence in a flash, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

“I’m not doing it.” Mina rolls her eyes, turning her gaze away and crossing her arms. Somehow, she’s managed to recognize your intent so quickly. What isn’t surprising is her natural cleverness and intelligence. “Not tonight. Not after what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s what you believe, asshole.” She shakes her head. “Just—let me go.”

“Would be such a shame if a rumor spread around then that you were spotted in the bathrooms with one of the billionaires,” you say, blunt in your threat. “Wouldn’t you hate that? I hear there was a tabloid photo of you spotted with one of the presidential candidates too—”

“You lie.” Mina’s eyes glare at you. You don’t flinch.

She’s not wrong. You’re only telling a half-truth. It’s true that there were billionaires who attended. It would be a strange event if there weren’t any present, in Paris of all places. The report of a presidential candidate showing up is legitimate as well, but that’s as much as you know as the general public. What goes on inside, you have no knowledge of.

“And what happened there was nothing at all,” she adds. “So quit trying to blackmail me and just let me fucking rest.”

“Then explain this to me.” You point at the dress she’s wearing—your dress—and find different sized patches where they shouldn’t belong. They’re not by design; they’re clearly the result of some kind of external tampering or meddling. Around where her legs should be. Near her tummy. The gala is an indoor event, yet it looks as if she had been soaked in some capacity. 

Something’s quite off.

“So?” Mina defends herself, unwilling to concede. “Got spilled by drinks, and you don’t really care if it gets ruined.”

While it’s true you usually don’t mind your dresses getting ruined, it comes at a price. “I’m not mad. And yes, I don’t care if you do fuck all with that dress. Hell, that candidate is very lucky he got to clap that—”

“Shut up!” 

By instinct, Mina slaps you again.

You chuckle. The sore redness of your cheek isn’t going to silence you. 

As she tries to walk away, you grab her by the wrist again. Pull her close to your chest. She trembles, but can’t do anything to stop or shake you loose.

“So you admit? You got fucked by that candidate?”

“No!” Mina remains adamant in her tone. She twists your grip to free herself. “Just—fucking stop already!”

“Only if you blow me. Just a quickie.”

“What? Why?”

“As remittance for the ruined dress, of course. Remember? Ruined dress, ruined cunt.” You can’t help but grin as you remind her of the terms of your agreement. It’s not written in the contract, but a mutual trust shared between you and your muses. 

Mina sighs. A deal is a deal, even if it’s not signed on the dotted line. And she has the experience to show for it. Ultimately, she reluctantly agrees, sounding defeated in her response. “Fine. But after this, we’re fucking done.”

“I’m in a bit of a good mood today, so I don’t want your pussy,” you tell the disgruntled Mina, unbuckling your belt then unzipping your pants. “Not gonna lie, the thought of some future president fucking that cunt of yours makes me sick. Get on your knees.”

God, it feels wrong, but you’re enjoying every little moment of this, down to the finer details. The look of dissatisfaction on Mina’s face. The fact you can get her flustered with your teasing. The fact she’s obediently on her knees as you whip out your hard cock directly in front of her. She can tell you as many lies as she wants, but they have no firm ground to stand on. She’s not some stuck-up star unlike many others in that gala, but even she needs to be humbled once in a while.

“His dick is better than yours, anyway. I won’t miss this pathetic piece of shit,” she tells you, gripping to the hem of your dress, dodging every attempt to slip your shaft between her lips. 

All the more reason to plunge it deep in her throat.

“Is it? This piece of shit you love to ride on?” You grab your cock and pursue her evasive mouth. You have a hand planted on her scalp, holding her still, as she begrudgingly accepts your length between her lips slowly, in a losing effort to fight back. She gulps her throat, watching as her cheeks hollow, as drool begins to coat your sensitive shaft, until eventually, her seal is vacuum-tight and tension builds up in your groin. “This cock you want to use—fuck—”

Words fail you as you become reacquainted with the warmth of Mina’s mouth. She bobs her head back and forth, slipping a hand around the base of your shaft to stroke. Your cock is poking the back of her throat, your senses relaxing at the pleasure coursing through your body. You feel yourself slipping away—at the cold, at the heat of her sweltering lips, at the layer of saliva that fills every inch of your length. It’s all too much.

This is Mina’s least favorite position. She’d rather have you beneath her most of the time, relentlessly bouncing on your cock till you’re completely drained; it’s how most encounters with her go to the point you simply give up and expect yourself on the mattress as soon as you enter her room. None of that matters now, not when she needs your very shaft to fill her thirsty, dry mouth, as a palette cleanse from the boring gala and because she needs you as much as she utterly hates you.

She doesn’t like the thought of you above her. Her eyes can’t be bothered to look up. It’s a strange dynamic; she’s the celebrity, she’s supposed to have control, not you. Your hand tugs on her black hair, begging her for more, and it reinforces the idea. You love this. Mina, the quiet, cold personality that everyone wants to be like, is zealously sucking you off and you’re helpless to how incredible she is. The suction of her throat. The drag of her tongue on your head, then on the sides. The passionate hum of satisfaction. You recognize the smug grin etched on the corner her lips while she doesn’t bother to look back, knowing full well she can take you any way she wants and you’ll fucking love it. She’s so aggressive, yet perfectly paced. 

And she moves like she can read your mind—cum and saliva dripping from the corners, her tongue running laps around your balls, her mouth devouring you entirely with each entrance. Small, whiny sounds that resemble a choke—they’re nothing compared to the echoey moans you can’t help but make. You’re gasping for air as if she’s punctured a hole in your lungs—and to an extent, she has. Your body instinctively has to remind itself they’re leaning on air, because she’s making your spine contort in ways they shouldn't be twisting. 

Mina is quite used to this. The notion of having to suck a cock. Not just yours, but fans, higher-ups in suits, all kinds. She’ll tell you yours is the best one, and you’ll believe her. You can tell by personal experience. You shouldn’t let control slip, especially now, when such power is rarely vested on you, but you can’t help yourself. There’s some urgency in handling her, but it might be a little too late. Especially when—

“Mina,” you pant, and you sound so desperate. “So close, Mina. I’m so close. I’m gonna—”

She continues to create friction, and eventually fire. Her hands wring around your balls and your base, tightening the coil of pressure in your stomach and in your veins. Spiraling further and further out of control, you can feel your legs crumble in a last ditch attempt to hold on. With your remaining resolve, you cling to whatever semblance of clarity you can find. 

And she plunges her lips further into your length. Her tongue descends lower, to the underside of your balls. None of that disdain and hate from moments ago can be found, only zeal and passion. It’s not graceful in the slightest; it goes against everything her image represents, yet she’s so damn good at it, you can’t stomach the thought of her doing something this filthy, this obscene. The very idea breaks reality. Yet here she is, on her knees, a mouth filled by cock, encouraging you to cum without uttering a single word.

So you oblige her. 

You don’t give her the decency of asking. You just pour it all over her with reckless abandon. Yanking her by the scalp, swiftly pulling yourself away in the heat of climax, blasting thick warm seed all over her pristine features, using her visage as a canvas for all your repressed thoughts. Mina welcomes every drop, sticks her tongue out with an inviting stare, unfazed by all that hot load you’re shooting directly at her. Her professionalism is practically hardwired, second nature to allow herself to be used this freely. It’s more than personal satisfaction; it also pays the bills.

It’s a win-win.

“Happy?” she asks, propping herself back on her feet, using the top of the dress to clean herself. Not a waste when it’s sole purpose is to be one and done. 

The mess around your groin—residue sticking on your pants—answers her question. You can only nod in agreement as you clumsily and slowly gather your bearings. She shakes her head, amused at your predicament, but proud of her work.

Mina acts nonchalant, walks back to the hotel while you still work through your trousers, as if nothing ever happened. As if you weren’t moaning in public about how airtight her lips are around your cock. You hurriedly follow her, only to be met with a surprise waiting just past the entrance doors.

“I hope Paris has been kind to you so far, Miss Minari, because we certainly won’t be.”

Three comically mischievous men of similar stature and appearance, in nearly identical outfits (a simple shirt, coat, jeans and beret combination, how inspired) with the most cartoonishly evil looks on their faces. They could be anyone on the street. You can immediately tell they’ve been waiting for some time.

“Who are you?” you ask, stepping in front of your client. Mina looks nervous, quietly analyzing the three suspicious characters.

“Doesn’t matter who we are, even if we tell you,” replies the middle man, matter-of-factly. “We have no intention of hurting you.”

“If that’s the case, then please step aside. Miss Mina won’t be taking any requests and she’s very tired, sorry.”

“I don’t think so, buddy.”

“What?”

“We heard everything. You lucky bastard,” says the man on the left. “I don’t think Mina seems to be tired at all. In fact, I believe she wants more of it!”

All eyes turn to the person of interest, who seems to be in denial. Mina, this cold, calculated star, appears to have a harsh, sudden reaction. Offended by the comment, she angrily retorts, “No? What the hell are you saying?”

“Yeah, you heard the guy.” The third man steps forward, the other two close behind slowly approaching her. “It’s all over you. Don’t try to deny it. You enjoyed getting blasted all over that pretty face of yours!”

The three men nod in unison. You don’t have a firearm or any weapon on hand, but you’re willing to fight all three guys, even if you meet a terrible end. That’s the likeliest outcome. Lady luck seems to have disappeared on your side, but it’s part of the job, after all.

“Relax, girl. Again, we don’t wish to hurt you or your bodyguard.” The first man, the guy assuming leadership reiterates. It’s as civil and diplomatic as it sounds, but the looming threat remains prevalent. And it doesn’t do them any favors when they creep up towards both of you like wolves. “We just want what he has.”

“And what is it?” Mina frowns, hiding herself behind you, peeking over the shoulder, trembling.

“Oh, you know what we want, Miss Minari. Give it to us and then we’ll leave you alone.”

Where’s the security in this hotel, you wonder? The ground floor is dead empty of guests, which is to be expected, there’s hardly anyone at the front desk, and there are zero guards at the valet that normally wait for the next car to pull up. It’s midnight, what did you expect? 

“Can’t I give you guys some money instead?” she pleads, desperate. She’s no longer hiding herself, but standing side by side with you. Shaking. Nervous. “Name your price and I’ll pay it.”

“I don’t think that will work, miss.” The three men remain adamant. They have you trapped against the corner of the entrance door. Neither of you can hardly move, let alone run. “We’re in Paris. We can easily rob anyone for our keep.” 

Judging by the rather expensive watches and sneakers they all sport, they seem to have a point. 

“But please, we just want one. One round with the finest Japanese idol in the business. That’s it,” the first man adds, his cohorts nodding in agreement.

Mina turns to you, calling your attention. “Hey.” You’re on high alert, waiting for the moment for hell to break loose. She merely stares. Nothing comes out of her mouth, just an expressive, seemingly strange gaze that doesn’t register anything in your head, nor does it open up any sort of interpretation. And for a while, you don’t understand what’s happening or what’s her intent. The three guys seemingly wait, shrugging whenever you eye any one of them. There’s no rush; time seems to stop at that particular moment. You know their demand; you have ears. You just don’t know if Mina is actually serious about caving to the pressure.

—————

(And fucking hell, you’re so—so—screwed.)

You don’t know if Mina will recover after this. Specifically, her career.

Clothes scatter everywhere in the room, with no regard for cleanliness or the host’s decency. Mina is set in the middle of the mattress as its centerpiece. The star of the show. Her dress is bundled around her waist, baring her chest and legs, while every man is completely in the nude. She’s spread on her fours, with the two subordinates lined up parallel in front of her, the third right behind her. You plan to join after, when everyone’s seemingly tired, when you can have her all to yourself.

At least, that’s what you think will happen. You know she’s going to get used all night long. Mina’s bracing for impact, hoping she can walk out in one piece after this.

You’re holding your phone, ready to record every little thing that happens. It’s not by their request, but your own personal desire. You love seeing it—the notion of Mina getting her comeuppance. The two men in front of her waste no time, stroking themselves hard and slapping their cocks right into Mina’s face, spilling flecks of precum on her. You notice the giddiness in their expressions as they incline the idol’s chin up, nothing but unbridled lust on their faces. The only thing missing is hurling her around and ragdolling her.

“Such a pretty face deserves all this cum,” says the second guy. He’s on the pudgier side, evidently not meant to be in the same atmosphere, let alone the same bed as Mina. “I’ll have you know you were my bias, and you have the most numbers on my counter.”

Utterly shameless.

Meanwhile, the first guy, his colorful body filled with numerous tattoos, slaps Mina’s cheek hard. It ripples throughout her lithe figure, rattles the bed a little. She keens. He takes a moment to look at the hand that committed the sinful act. He’s shaking, in disbelief. He did that. It’s a moment in time, a monumental occasion. Anyone else in his position would be shouting in the streets, celebrating too. 

You would.

The third guy, this aged man who’s evidently in his mid-to-late forties and probably shouldn’t be consuming K-pop, continues to stroke himself to Mina’s face. Too bad her mouth can only fit one cock at a time. Her hand grabs his shaft and he grips her hair instead as she pumps him at a delicate pace. Their collective moans fill the room as each person assumes a position around Mina’s sensitive holes, filling them hastily. No technique, no patience whatsoever. 

It’s pornographic for all the wrong reasons. How it all came to be. The setup. The characters. The very scene itself. Down to the shitty camera recording. Not befitting of an idol such as Mina. It’s got its own charm, but for the most part, it's as disgusting as you imagined. You can’t believe she’d agree to this. At the same time, you can’t look away. It’s a car crash that you know is gonna happen, yet all you can do is watch helplessly—and stroke yourself hard to.

All three men have different rhythms in which they fuck Mina. Tattoos slowly pounding at her dripping cunt, accompanying each deep thrust with a loud smack of her ass. His one hand grabbing at the hem of whatever’s left of her dress, itching to rip it off. Mina’s moan is suppressed by Pudge’s cock protruding through her throat. A fistful of hair in his grip, the other on her flushed, reddened cheek. Expecting her to take his relentless rhythm, only for her gag with each pump into her airtight lips. As if he doesn’t know how giving head works. The oldest man loosens up, lets his body hang as Mina strokes his cock with her ironclad fingers, letting flecks of cum spread over her neck and her shoulders, content with letting her handle him how she wants. 

In a way, it’s admirable seeing Mina like this. Three cocks and all, her commitment to fanservice and satisfaction is any fan’s dream for their idol. You’ve seen it firsthand before, how she attends to each fan one by one, but to handle multiple without a single complaint is quite the accomplishment. She’s gonna take it, and she’s going to love it.

And in fact, she does. You’ve never seen her this dedicated and into pleasuring anyone. How she uses her other hand to seize Pudge’s cock, spitting and licking the head, setting him ablaze. Even as the man with the tattoos begins to wreck into her sopping cunt, foregoing leisure for speed—as her whines echo throughout the room—she maintains her composure the best she can. Even begging him to go harder, which he obliges. The bed’s quaking, seemingly closer to collapse, as the man screams to the ceiling, “Fucking tight—so close—cumming—aah—”

All three men are clinging to Mina in some capacity. On her waist, using her hair, or her shoulders—as they all appear close to their climaxes. Their collective groans of pleasure make this evident noise that warrants numerous calls of disturbance or concern. Imagine the commotion when the staff called in to investigate eventually finds out. The notion spurs Mina as she leans further into it—looks right into the camera as she licks up Pudge’s underside. As if demanding you to take the best shot of her while doing it. 

It’s scandalous—the way Mina uses her expressions to make herself look good even under duress. How she winks, sticks her tongue, twists her face into lewder and lewder reactions while the three men who seemingly have power over her, now fold under her control. If only you could step in and be a part of the show, but you can’t.

And she looks even better with cum all over her.

The three guys moan in unison for dramatic effect. As if it was part of the intended shot. One after the other, each man reaches their own orgasm and blasts their hot load onto some part of Mina’s body. None of them seem to find their way into what they initially wanted, which is her holes. Mostly—tattoos man is partly into a deep thrust when he meets his abrupt end, only filling part of her cunt with his seed before deciding to pull out and throbs onto her back, her legs instead. Pudge gets most of her face, which she happily accepts. But even with her mouth wide open, he can hardly land his cum onto her sweet lips. As for the old man, he was never a factor to begin with. He had spilled his cum on the side, on the shoulder, on some hair, on her fingers. He was done before the others even finished.

What an unexpected sight. 

You stand from the couch you’ve been sitting on, close in on the aftermath of their orgasms, watching as they stand lifeless around the centerpiece that is Mina, running her fingers over all the cum spilled on her body. This is child’s play to her, yet the most surprising thing is: she wasn’t expecting any of the three guys to finish this soon, let alone all three of them. She has this unsatisfied look in her eyes observing her conduits, the supposed ‘threats,’ as if they didn’t live up to her expectation.

“Did I look good?” she asks you, tilting up, resting her head on her palm.

You show her the phone, speed past the raw footage. She watches like she’s the director—which she kind of is.

“Mm—not good enough,” she adds, grabbing the phone and grabbing a tripod from the bedside drawer. “Set it up over there and do it again. They’re not leaving this until they get it right. And you’re gonna show them the way.”

Looking at their tired, exasperated faces, they’d rather be anywhere but here. 

As for Mina, she’s the most energetic you’ve seen her in a while, eager for more—and you’re gonna have to make some phone calls explaining why she isn’t at the airport by morning. 

—————

(A/N: woo missed another deadline/date but happy birthday Mina! By request/commission, so thank you for waiting and I hope it was to your liking. I do agree we need more subby Mina but in the end she owns all of us let's be real XD Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #twice #mina

[marvelfilth]

The Witches Trap

Part 2

Pairing: dark!Wanda Maximoff x f!reader

Warnings: ghosts, description of death, paranormal activity, gore, blood, a bit of horror ig, typical ghost hunting stuff, nothing too scary tho

Words: 5.5k

Summary: you go ghost hunting with Peter, Yelena and Kate. What could go wrong?

A/n: first time trying out some spooky stuff, so bear with me. Heavily inspired by Sam and Coby on YT.

Masterlist

The way Yelena drives is far from smooth and sound, but she vehemently refuses to let Peter behind the wheel, so here you are, yelping and griping the sides of the driver's seat headrest like your life depends on it. You hiss when your head meets the roof, and Kate sends you another toothy smile from the front seat, her eyes flickering to look at Yelena every few minutes. You look to your right to check on Peter, but he is busy fumbling with equipment, his camera carefully stored away in a bag as he keeps checking the microphone.

You sigh and relax against the seat when the road finally smoothes out, and think about why you even agreed to this. Peter asked you to tag along for a new video for his YouTube channel, and by asked you mean begged you with his best puppy eyes and a bag of goodies in his hands. Apparently, if you agreed to go, Kate will go too. And if Kate goes, he won't even have to ask Yelena.

He was right.

So now the four of you are on the way to one of the most haunted places of America - Westview hotel.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Yelena asks, turning her head left and right.

"Yes," Peter answers, glancing up for a second.

"Honestly, this is too creepy already," Kate mumbles, her eyes locked on the numerous dolls pinned to the trees surrounding the road.

"The owner probably made someone do that. No way they had this type of dolls back in the eighteenth century." You try to reassure Kate as much as yourself.

"Actually, the first doll like that was made-" Peter finally looks up with an excited glint in his eyes, and you immediately press your palm against his mouth, "No. I don't need to know that."

"Ha! Little Y/n is scared," Yelena laughs, but her laughter is cut short when a twig hits the side window, making her shriek like a maniac.

"This never happened," she grumbles when the laughter finally dies out.

Relaxing against the seat you try to remember everything Peter told you about this hotel.

It got notoriously famous in the late eighties, when a high schooler got possessed by a demon and later died in a psych ward. The room the girl stayed in was closed off for twenty years after that. You wonder if Peter managed to book it.

Another thing you remember is numerous sightings of a dark, cloaked figure appearing in most random places, whether it's a supply closet or a presidential suite. It always managed to scare the shit out of anyone who was unfortunate enough to catch its interest. You shudder at the mere thought of encountering that particular entity.

"We're here," Yelena cuts off the ignition, and leans against the wheel to take a look at the building.

Your breath catches in your throat the second your eyes land on the magnificent hotel. At seven stories high it stands proudly on a hill, overlooking the vast grounds. The facade is noticeably worn, but no less majestic - a blend of dark wood and stone, a balcony stretching along its entire length. A dark figure on the corner of the rooftop makes you squint, and you gasp when you realize it's a gargoyle, albeit a very rickety one. You make a note to yourself not to walk under it.

Yelena ushers you along, shuddering as she notices the stone figures. “The air here is kinda thick,” she mutters.

You nod, feeling your chest tighten. She's right - the air grows heavier with each step you take. You hope the hotel itself is ventilated enough.

When you finally step inside you take a deep breath, looking around the foyer and spotting who you presume is the owner.

"Welcome to Westview Hotel! My name's Agatha, I'm the owner of this happy little place and your guide for today. Hope you have the worst time of your life here!" Her voice is too cheerful for the late hours, and you cringe at the full on villainous laugh she lets out.

Peter goes to speak with the woman while the rest of you look around. Yelena plops on the loveseat, her backpack thrown on the carpeted floor near her feet, and Kate just stands beside you with her mouth hanging open - you're sure you're wearing a similar expression.

While the outside of the hotel looked somewhat old and weathered, the inside completely blows you away with its beauty. It's elegant, if a bit eerie, with a grand chandelier and high arches that make the space feel even bigger.

You frown, sensing someone's eyes on you, and notice Peter glancing in your direction every so often. You send him a questioning look, but he only shakes his head, his lips pressed together and his cheeks puffed.

"Do you think he's going to sacrifice one of us to that witch? Scarlet Witch, right?" Yelena muses.

"Yeah, but I don't think you're her type." Kate winks at the blonde.

You snicker at her annoyed expression, and stumble back, accidentally bumping into someone. You turn around, an apology on your tongue, only to choke on your words when you are met with an empty lobby.

Your friends stare at you quizzically, but Agatha seems to be lost in thought, her eyes trained on the space right above your shoulder, then she slightly shakes her head, her lips pressed in a tight line.

"Sorry. I thought I bumped into someone…" You trail off, your back burning, an eerie feeling settling in your stomach.

"Sure thing, buttercup." Agatha winks at you, her mood changed back to normal in an instant.

You shudder, looking back at your friends. Yelena whispers something in Kate's ear that causes the younger one to chuckle, and Peter has his camera pointed at you.

"We already got some paranoid activity ten minutes into the night," he blabbers behind the camera, motioning for you to explain what happened.

"Um... It felt like I bumped into someone?" Talking to a camera is weird, but you manage to explain what you felt. "... I think it was nothing though, just my nerves acting up." You force a chuckle, your eyes moving to meet Agatha's stare.

She moves closer to be in the frame, and tells everyone about how much the Scarlet Witch loves to mess with younger women, her favorite pastime in this hotel seems to be entertaining the ladies. However, her idea of entertainment slightly differs from yours, and you gulp when Agatha mentions her choking sleeping guests and locking them in elevators.

"This is going to be incredible, guys," Peter says to the camera, his excitement too contagious for you to worry about your safety.

×××

The next two hours are spent walking behind Agatha and listening to her stories about various tragic deaths that occured in this hotel over the past hundreds of years. She stops every ten minutes or so in front of different rooms, each story worse than the previous one, and you shudder when she tells you a story of a woman buried alive in one of the walls, Agatha's hand casually resting on said wall.

She is telling you another story about a guy that danced on a ledge to impress a girl and fell on one of the spikes in the lobby, when you suddenly feel a tug in your chest. You stop, checking to see if anyone else felt that. Kate is staring at the ledge with her mouth wide open, Peter's busy filming Agatha and butting in with commentary (much to Agatha's displeasure), and Yelena grips Kate's hand so hard, you are sure she couldn't possibly see anything other than the wall in front of her.

You exhale and look around, trying to spot anything interesting, even though you've been looking at the same set of stairs for the past ten minutes. Strangely enough, you notice a door that surely wasn't there before, because you would've noticed it right away if it was.

While every part of this hotel was renovated, this door looks like it belongs in the past, with heavy iron hinges and a weird looking handle. There are no signs on the door, nor any numbers or words, and when something tugs on your hand, you follow the feeling.

You walk almost in haze, your friends' voices blurred in the background, unfamiliar warmth surrounding you, your chest lighter than it ever was and your mind in a euphoric state. You turn the knob and it gives in, the door rattling loudly as you tug it open, but before you could even glimpse inside, a hand slaps harshly on the wood, the door closing with a loud creak.

You blink owlishly, warmth gone and your head suddenly clear, as you take in Agatha's furious expression.

"It says 'Employees only'," she hisses through gritted teeth, and you step away from the woman.

"No, it doesn't, there's noth-" you choke on your words when you look back at the door, because now it looks like every other door in the room, 'Employees only' written in bold.

You look back at Agatha and apologize, but it seems like she doesn't hear you, her brows furrowed and her eyes flickering between you and the door.

"Okay that's hella creepy," Kate breaks the silence, her unoccupied hand digging in a pocket of her jeans to present a cross. "God will protect us." She puts it around her neck, and nods to herself.

"You don't even believe in God." Yelena jams her in the ribs, not letting go of the brunette's hand.

"You really should," Agatha casually advises, tugging at your elbow to move you further away from the door, "follow me, I'm going to tell you the story of the Scarlet Witch."

You cast one last look at the door and follow her down the hall to the very last room, something warm pressing at the low of your back to lead you. Shuddering at the feeling, you wonder why it is only you who feels something weird. Kate keeps sending you worried looks, but, other than that, she seems okay with Yelena's hand pressed firmly into her side. Peter isn't fazed at all, excitingly recording everything in sight.

Exhaling, you try to relax. If something here wants to harm you it wouldn't use such a gentle approach.

Or maybe it's just luring you in.

When you finally stop in front of room number 208 you feel a poke in your ribs, Yelena nods her head for you to look at Agatha, and you confusedly look up. Apparently, she wants you to open the door. Gulping, you move forward, your hand reaching on its own accord. You turn the doorknob with some hesitation, your hand trembling slightly. When you're met with a sight of a regular hotel room, you let out a quiet breath.

The walls are painted an unassuming beige, with green and brown accents, the earth tones bringing a feeling of calm. The four poster bed is pushed against the farthest wall, with nightstands on either side, and you could already imagine how soft it would feel to sleep in it. But the only thing that truly gets your attention is a floor to ceiling window and a french door, which hopefully leads to a balcony you spotted from the outside.

Agatha walks past you into the room, resting her weight against the foot of the bed. "It was locked," her eyes seem to be glued to yours as she speaks, "second locked door you opened today. I find that… interesting."

You are aware of Peter's camera being shoved right in your face, you're aware of Kate's hand reassuringly clasping your own, aware of Yelena's calming presence, but you are focused on something else entirely. There is this feeling again, now familiar warmth taking root in your chest, almost singing to you. You briefly close your eyes, savoring the sensation, wishing you could feel more.

"This is our most active room," Agatha says, "last year some teenagers decided to use a Ouija board in here and it got even worse. So you're in for a wild ride."

"This is nuts," Kate says from the other side of the room, trailing her hand over the painting of a burning witch.

"Oh, this actually happened here," Agatha drawls, taking note of your surprised faces, "almost a hundred young alleged witches were burnt at the stake here, on these grounds…" Agatha continues on with the story, but your eyes are stuck on Kate, on the other side of the room, your body frozen in shock. You can still feel what you thought was Kate's hand on your own, but with her standing on the other side of the room, and Yelena looking at you like you've grown two heads, you decide it's enough.

"Can you tell them to stop?" you shriek, stepping further into the room.

The warm feeling in your chest intensifies, the ghost of a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your cheek, turning your head to look at the painting. It's so gentle, so soft, it makes you lean your head in search of more.

"Them?" Agatha's voice grounds you. "I believe there's only one witch who is interested in you."

"What's going on?" Kate asks, moving away from the painting. Panic starts to rise in your chest, making you struggle to breathe. "Y/n, are you okay?" Kate's by your side in an instant, hands rubbing your sides, and you lay your head on her shoulder, silently reminding yourself that no ghost can hurt you.

"I thought you were standing beside me, I felt you take my hand, but you were on the other side of the room," you whisper against her shoulder.

"No. We're going back home." Yelena pales and tugs at your elbow, smacking the back of Peter's head with her other arm. "Your idiotic idea is going to give her a heart attack," she hisses and leads you to the door, hurriedly turning the knob.

It doesn't turn.

"What the fuck." She tries to open it again, and again, and again, until Agatha gets pissed and yells at her for trying to break the door.

"If she wants you to stay, you'll stay." She places her palm on the wooden door, and gives everyone a stern look.

"Say the word and I'll break that door open." Peter reappears by your side, looking guilty as ever, his camera now hidden away.

You take a deep breath and look around, now feeling much safer with all of your friends (and Agatha) by your side. The room looks like no one has touched it in years, and the warm, calming feeling in your chest only intensified after your little break down.

Maybe the witch just wants some company.

You meet Peter's eyes and manage a smile. "I survived Yelena's driving, I'm sure I'll be fine after this."

"Are you sure?" Yelena and Peter ask you at the same time.

"Yes, guys, I'm fine. I'm just not used to it like you are," you smile at Peter, and he nods in understanding.

He spent his college years filming in haunted places, a little hobby turned into a full time job as his channel grew bigger and bigger. Usually he invites his friend Wade to film together, but this time he really wanted you to come.

"Glad we settled that. Now sit," Agatha commands.

You take a seat on the bed, Yelena and Kate immediately placing their arms around you. Peter settles in a comfortable looking chair by the window, and Agatha stays standing, clearing her throat before venturing into the story of the Scarlet Witch.

"I'm sure you know that being a redhead, green-eyed, and exceptionally smart young woman in the 17th century meant one thing."

"Barbecue," Yelena mumbles, earning a scathing glare from the older woman.

"Yes. But here's the thing - the Scarlet Witch was never burned at the stake, and not because she was so good at staying hidden, but because she has never had a physical presence in this world, at least one that we know of. There's no proof of her existence, no paintings and no pictures, no sightings either."

Yelena shifts beside you. "Then how do you even know-"

Agatha cuts her off with another scathing glare, before continuing on. "We know because every single one of these poor women cried out her name before their inevitable death. They begged her to save them, but she never did."

"That still doesn't-"

"For the love of god, just shut up and let me finish!" The older woman shrieks, throwing her hands in the air. Momentarily closing her eyes, she clenches her jaw. "She never saved any of these poor girls, feeding on their fear, anger and desperation. She enjoyed what was happening. Hell, she spurged it on, manipulating minds, changing people until they became unrecognizable, and after this hotel was built she took charge, driving owners and residents away, leading people to their inevitable death, and lately possessing unsuspecting women. All of those poor people had one thing to say - 'it was the Scarlet Witch'." She shifts on her feet, turning to look out the window. "Hundreds of years of terror, but there was one good thing she's done. There was a particularly nasty witch trial, the poor girl was accused of seducing a priest's daughter. Imagine the horrors she was bound to be faced with if they got their hands on her. They never did, she escaped their clutches, and every single man involved in the hunt on the girl was brutally murdered. The girl died of old age in the safety of her own home, forever protected by the magic of the Scarlet Witch." Suddenly, her eyes lock on yours. "There's no trace of the Scarlet Witch, but there's a painting of the woman she saved. I'd show it to you, but for you it'll be the same as looking in a mirror, so I'll save myself the trouble."

Peter suddenly sits up straighter, nodding along to Agatha's words.

Kate slides her hand away from your shoulders. "Don't want to make her jealous or anything," she whispers, looking around.

"Do you say this to everyone or..?" You hesitantly speak up.

Her eyes turn serious, causing a chill to run down your spine. "Oh no, buttercup, you're a spitting image of the only woman she deemed worthy enough to save."

"She's not lying," Peter says, "that's actually the reason why I asked you to come." He sends you a sheepish smile, and shows you a picture on his phone. It's an old painting, weathered by time, but undoubtedly beautiful.

The woman looks just like you.

You gulp, your heart hammering in your chest. "Well, I'm not her."

"Maybe not. It's not like it matters." Agatha mumbles, standing up, a faraway look in her eyes. "She must've had her reasons to save the poor girl, and I suspect they were far from noble. Be careful." She looks at you one last time before turning to Peter. "Well, it's been fun entertaining you, but it's nearing midnight, so I'll leave you to your ghost hunting, or whatever it is that you're doing." Her lips purse at the numerous cameras Peter's unloaded from his bag.

"Wait!" You jump up, stalling Agatha. "How do you even know about what happened at the trials? Is there some kind of document?" You're aware of the absurdity of your questions, after all you are the one who experienced all of the activity so far, and while some of it could be blamed on your nerves or your brain playing tricks on you, the door accident still burns at the back of your mind.

"You don't believe me?" Agatha smirks, making you shift uncomfortably. "Don't worry, you'll see, you have a long night ahead." She sends you one last look, and easily opens the door before disappearing behind it.

You fall back on the duvet, pressing your palms against your face. The past hour puts an uncomfortable weight on your chest, and you struggle to wrap your mind around the fact that you're probably going to be targeted even more as the night goes on, either by your terrified, overly anxious mind, or the Scarlet Witch.

The warm feeling you felt when you first stepped into the room slowly disappeared, leaving you to wonder if it's done its job in luring you in.

"Okay, it's time to-"

"We're not using a Ouija board."

"- light up some candles." Peter says, looking quizzically at Yelena. "I'm not stupid, you know." He huffs, rolling his eyes.

You snort, shaking your head at your friends' antics. "Why do we need candles?"

Peter rolls his eyes. "To communicate with ghosts."

"Don't you have some fancy tech for that?"

"I prefer to keep it simple," he shrugs.

You share a look with Yelena. "And we'll be left talking to the AC," you mumble loud enough for Peter to hear and send you a middle finger.

"There's no AC in this room. Some people use flashlights, but I prefer candles. We'll also use a spirit box."

"We're not catching any spirits in a box, right?" You sit up, eyes darting between your friends.

Peter sighs and goes on a rant about his tools, explaining how everything works. To your great relief, you won't have to catch anyone, just put on a blindfold, some noise canceling headphones, and let some spirit talk though one of you.

"Sounds fun," Kate gulps.

"I'm not doing that." You shake your head, crossing your arms.

Peter looks up from the floor, where he adjusts the rem pod, the piece of equipment going off when he touches it with a tip of his finger, calibrating the sensitivity. "Yelena will do that."

It's almost comical how far Yelena's jaw falls. "And why is that, Parker? Why don't you let some spirit use you as a radio?"

"Um… my tarot reader told me you'll do best out of all of us."

Kate starts cackling like a maniac, clutching her stomach and bending over. You can't help laughing either, burrowing your face into the pillow to keep quiet.

Yelena continues arguing with Peter, and you decide to leave them to it and satisfy your curiosity. You smile at the questioning smile Kate sends you, and gesture to the balcony door.

You were right, it is the balcony you saw from the outside, stretching all the way to the other side of the hotel. You sigh and lean against the railing, taking in the view. If you thought it looked terrifying on the way here, it looks even worse from high up. Moonlight shines on crooked trees surrounding the land around the hotel, dark and menacing, broken branches hanging on the last threads. There is a well within walking distance, not too far away from where you parked the car. You swear to yourself you won't let Peter drag you over there, it looks way too creepy.

You finally relax, letting your eyes fall shut for a second, but a blurry movement to your left forced them open. You grip the railing, squinting.

Nothing.

"What the fuck." Kate's voice sounds from the inside, and you rush back just in time to see her exit the adjoined bathroom, snapping the door shut with a terrified look on her face. "No. Oh fuck no. Oh no, no, no."

Peter sits up, alarmed. "What is it?"

"There's blood on the mirror," she whispers, her hands shaking violently, "and in the tub, and on the floor."

Peter immediately gets up, taking the only camera that's been filming the whole time with him. You follow your friend, not paying attention to your shaking hands and your hammering heart.

When the door opens you see a pristine bathroom, so clean it's almost mocking. He inspects every corner from every possible angle, only to come up short.

"Guys?" Kate calls out from behind the door. "Are you good?"

"There's nothing he-" you freeze mid sentence when your eyes land on the mirror.

It's fogged up, one word clearly written.

Your name.

You reach out - not of your own violation, your hand guided by some unseen force - and touch the reflective glass right where your name is. You're hit with a vision, bits and pieces of what feels like distant memory escaping the prison your mind put them in.

You see a wrinkled face of an old man, his expression pure disgust as he spews something right in your face. The scene changes abruptly, and now you're in a dark cell, with only the moon to keep you company. Your heart clenches at the pure anguish you're hit with, the desperation drowning you, leaving you no room to breathe. There's a sudden blur, and everything turns blinding white, and then… you feel that warmth again. A woman stands in front of you, reaching out, her eyes glinting red. She looks ethereal, her skin pale, almost sheer, her unruly hair pushed back by a red tiara. You gulp, feeling the power radiating from her, chest aching with the need to submit to it.

You stumble away from the mirror. There's no warmth in your chest now, only pure, unconcealed dread. You lean against the door, palms pressed to your face. Peter doesn't dare breathe, his hands only shaking slightly as he makes sure to get it in the frame.

"Where did you just go?" He whispers, not daring to speak any louder.

You shake your head, blinking back tears. "Tell me you did this. Tell me it's a prank."

He looks at you, eyes full of fear. He bites on his lower lip, eyes wide. "I did this. I totally did this." He nods rapidly, ushering you out of the room.

Kate and Yelena wait on the other side, each holding a candelabra. You don't even bother to ask where they found them, heading straight to the balcony for a breath of fresh air while Peter explains what happened.

You look at the full moon, rubbing your chest in tight circles.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Again, and again.

The floorboards of the balcony creak, along with the railing, and you wonder if it's all gonna fall to the ground, and bury you in a mess of wood and cement. Maybe that's what the witch wants - for you to stay here forever.

You feel the remains of that need, that hunger for the witch. You long to see her again, even if it's just a glimpse, a whiff of her presence.

When you come back, the lights are off, and Peter is already asking questions, Yelena's terrified expression telling you everything you need to know about the answers they've been provided with.

The candle on the nightstand goes out, and Peter blinks, looking at you. "Weird."

"What?" You ask, looking around, hair on the nape of your neck standing up.

"He asked the ghosts if they wanted us to leave." Kate answers.

"That means they do." Yelena points at the candle.

You shiver, a breeze from the balcony making you curl in on yourself, eyes flickering to every dark corner of the room, flinching whenever you see shadows from the moonlight that look a little too ominous.

Someone is watching you, you're sure. A part of you hopes it's her.

"And why is that weird?" You ask Peter, watching as he collects the candles. You sigh in relief, glad to have missed the conversation.

"I thought they liked us - you - at least," he mumbles.

"Maybe they want us gone so the witch can have some alone time with Y/n." Yelena's brows jump up and down suggestively, and you can't help, but laugh, some of the tension finally seeping away.

That is, until the last candle on the nightstand lights up again, completely on its own.

Peter staggers back, dropping the stack in his hands. "No fucking way," he whispers, "that never happened before."

He pulls back to check the camera, making sure it's still recording.

"That's a yes, right?" Kate gulps, looking at you with wide eyes. "She wants you wants you. It's not a coincidence."

You take a seat on the rocking chair in the corner and close your eyes, reminding yourself that nothing here could ever hurt you. It doesn't really work when you still feel eyes on you. Your hands tremble, and your legs feel too heavy to stand on. Every sound is amplified, your senses going into overdrive, so when a clock stops ticking, you immediately notice.

The clock reads 12:08, the hands still for a moment, before resuming their course.

You're slowly starting to wish you never agreed to come to this place.

Agatha's words ring in your head. What if the witch thinks you're that poor girl? That'll explain the witches' interest in you. Maybe she made you see those visions to help you remember.

But… What if it's not even her that's been following you? What if it's one of the dark entities Agatha told you about? The thought makes you even more uncomfortable - you'd prefer the Scarlet Witch to haunt you instead of some dark, trapped soul, no matter how absurd it sounds.

"Hey," Kate approaches you.

You blink, and offer her a hesitant smile. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" She bites on her lip, her hands on your knees.

You nod, and take her hands in yours. "I'm fine. Just a bit shaken up."

She sighs heavily, head falling to rest on your lap. "Same," she mumbles, "I feel like a prey."

You rub her shoulders, hoping to ease some of her tension. "We'll be out of here in the morning."

She looks up, smiling. "Actually, we're not sleeping here. Peter said we'll try to talk to them one last time and then go."

You hum, wondering why the information makes you feel worse. Shouldn't you be relieved to leave earlier?

"Okay, come here," Peter calls, putting noise canceling headphones on Yelena's head.

Kate jumps up, her eyes lightening up at the sight of Yelena sitting rigidly on the chair, a blindfold and headphones in place. "Oh, this is gonna be good," she smiles, settling in front of the blonde.

Peter looks at you. "I think you should ask the questions."

You nod, biting on the inside of your cheek. You think of something appropriate to ask - something that would reveal information without offending any of the spirits here.

"Are we here alone?" You ask, and everyone turns to look at Yelena, awaiting an answer.

Yelena's head bobs up and down, like she's listening to her favorite song, but you know for sure it's just white noise.

"Hello," Yelena says, smiling slightly.

Not alone, then.

You nod, and Peter gestures for you to continue.

"My name is Y/n, what is your name?"

It's quiet for a little while, occasional squeaks from the balcony making you jump up and look around.

When Yelena doesn't answer, Peter decides to speak up. "Did you follow us here from the lobby? Was it you-"

"Shut up," Yelena barks.

Kate stumbles back on the floor, and settles against the foot of the bed. "Oh fuck."

Peter takes a step back, raising his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Sorry." He nods at you, urging you to continue.

"Do you not like him?" You ask.

"In… in the way…" her voice is unsure as she trails off.

"Peter's in the way? In the way of what?" Kate speaks up, looking at you.

"Deal," the blonde whispers, "owe."

Peter frowns. "You made a deal and you owe someone?"

Yelena purses her lips, tilting her head to the side like she can't quite figure out what is being said.

The bathroom door slowly creaks open.

"Are you in the bathroom?" Kate's voice shakes, and you take her hand, shuffling closer to the girl.

"Blood."

You exhale, looking at the open doorway with wide eyes.

Kate nods rapidly, her hand trembling. "There was a lot of blood. You scared the shit out of me."

Yelena chuckles, "Feed."

So whatever is here has been feeding on your fear.

"Who are you?" You ask again.

"You know," Yelena replies. "You all do."

"What's behind that door?" You have the strongest urge to go back there.

Yelena chuckles, shaking her head. “Go see for yourself.”

Light starts flickering, tears spring to your eyes, and you fight the urge to curl into a ball and cry. Yelena turns her head and sits up, leanings towards you.

"You forgot."

"Forgot about what?" You shudder, eyes darting between the door and Yelena.

"Our deal."

Peter darts to the other side of the room and snaps the door to the bathroom shut, his mouth set in a flat line. "We're leaving."

"She can't," Yelena singsongs.

"There's no deal. You're mistaken," Peter snaps, collecting the equipment.

"What deal?" You hesitantly ask.

Lightning strikes outside, a loud boom of thunder following. The painting of the burning witch falls.

"I own y-"

Peter tugs off the headphones, Yelena's mouth snaps shut. She tugs off the blindfold and blinks, brows set in confusion. "Are we gonna start any time soon?"

Kate groans, falling face first to the floor. "Fuck my life."

_______________________

Before you yell at me - yes, there will be a part two

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x y/n #scarlet witch x y/n #scarlet witch x female reader

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | ix.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You fiddle with the hem of your sleeve in the back of the car. You glance at the driver. His eyes are peeled on the road, silence filling the air. You’re thankful. You’re in no mood for small talk. Your eyes travel outside the car window. Behind you, the Corso and the Snow’s apartment is getting smaller and smaller.

Still, the weight in your chest isn’t alleviated. Not one bit. Despite heading home, not an ounce of joy finds its way inside your heart.

Your mind was at war with itself at the Snows’ penthouse. You couldn’t settle on a decision. In fact, you considered going back inside the apartment. Because that at least was simple, easy…natural almost. If it weren’t for Tigris pressing you to get inside the car and physically nudging you inside it, you’re not entirely sure you’d have even made it here.

And now…guilt consumes you.

You should be back in the room, dutifully waiting for Coriolanus ‘ return as he instructed. You’re breaking the rules. His rules.

Your stomach aches. You want to puke. What have you done? You almost find yourself wishing you were still back there. 

In a twisted way, Coriolanus has become a scourge you’ve grown familiar with, a woe that blends so well with all the others. He terrifies you…but he also knows you. So well. All your fears, your hopes, your dreams, your insecurities. It’s more than you can say for anyone in your life. Even William. He thinks you’re that perfect, pure, resilient girl. You never had the heart to burst his bubble.

A deep breath makes his way inside your lungs. 

No. No.

Coriolanus is bad. Coriolanus hurt you. You keep reminding yourself of that, replaying every moment when he made you feel small, powerless.

Besides, you miss your mother. Ma’s soothing words. Her gentle voice. Her warm embrace. Ma always makes things better despite struggling to understand you sometimes. 

You need her and you bet she probably needs you to. 

You even started to long for your father’s stern brow and disapproving stares.

As for William…truth be told, you’re beginning to ponder if you ever deserved him. He was always too good for you. Too kind. Too sweet.

You girdle a fresh rush of tears.. He should find someone who won’t lie to him, hide from him, betray him. Someone better than you.

It was naive of you to even pretend you could marry a man as wonderful as him.

The car halts in front of your parents’ house. 

The driver’s cheerful voice tugs you back to reality. 

“We’re here, miss.” he says. Astonishment draws a gasp from you. The drive flew by in a quick blur. Knee deep in the sea of your somber thoughts, you failed to notice you were approaching your childhood home. You fetch a bill inside your pocket but the man waves a dismissive hand at you. “Please, Miss Snow already took care of everything.” He gives a sympathetic smile. You wonder if he’s guessed anything or if he’s just picking up on the air of gloominess hovering around you. “Just take care of yourself, darlin’.”

Nodding, you mumble a quiet ‘thank you’. You exit the car and anxiously shuffle up the porch stairs. A warm breeze flutters through your chest at the sight of the familiar building. 

You’re finally home. 

Your gaze drifts to the garden. Surprise trickles inside you as you note that your roses are still thriving despite your absence. You wonder who you’ll have to thank for that. This batch has needed meticulous care ever since you planted the flowers. Neglecting them, even for a few days, could cause them to wither and perish.

Engulfed in contemplation, you’re startled when the front door abruptly opens.

You’re faced with Demetria’s bright smile and tearful gaze.

“Oh sweetie,” your mother exclaims, wrapping her arms around you.

You blink, taken aback by your mother’s sudden embrace. For a while, you’re unmoving, afloat in sheer disbelief. 

Then quiet words fall from your tongue.

“Hey, ma.” You relax a little, your eyes closing as you hug her back. You bask in the homey scent of Ma’s perfume, worry pulsing through you when you notice how much weight she has lost since the last time you saw her. Your mother’s hardly more than bones and flesh. You shiver. Perhaps, this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been gone so long. You’d have ensured Ma takes good care of herself, that she eats and doesn’t sink in a well made of her own grief.

It’s what you used to do before your world fell apart. You failed your mother. Again.

You and Ma enter the house together. You bask in your surroundings, soaking in every detail. Tears almost spill, a surge of emotion mounting inside you, but you blink them away. You’ve wept enough, been scared enough. He cannot get to you here. You wish to enjoy the fact that you’re safe and sound without turning into a puddle of tears. 

Arm threaded with yours, Ma leads you to the sunroom. Colorful strips of sunlight pour from the stained glass, dousing the room in warmth. The two of you sit and, some moments later, tea and cakes are brought to the table. Your insides clutch as your eyes land on a spot on the couch. You and Coriolanus had so many conversations here. In that very same spot, he held you in his arms and listened to you as you spilled your heart out.

Your mother starts prattling on about the house and what Strabo’s been up to while you weren’t here. You’re a bit flabbergasted that she’s not questioning where you’ve been all this time, her tone airy and casual, but you don’t have the heart to interrupt. You’re just elated that you can be with her again.

When your father enters the sunroom, you nearly drop your cup. He makes his way to you, on the cusp of tears for the first time since you’ve known him. 

You melt in his arms when he hugs you. He cradles the back of your head like when you were little. The tears you held hostage before now roam freely down your cheeks.

“Dad,” you whisper, sniffling.

He holds you in his arms a long time before his embrace slackens. He gauges you, relief dawning on his features. He smiles. Warmth rushes to your chest. You haven’t seen your dad smile in a long time. He rubs your arms and says, “Sweetheart, We weren’t expecting you so soon.” He cups your cheek. You almost flinch at the loving touch. But then you remember. This is your father. He wouldn’t hurt you. You’re safe. “But it’s a really nice surprise.”

A watery laugh spills from your lips.

“What? But…But I’ve been gone for weeks.”

Strabo’s shoulders sag, sympathy oozing from his tone.

“Yes, but we know that…it was easier for you to stay with the Snows for a while, sweetheart. We understand.” Befuddlement wells up within you. You glance between your dad and your mother. The compassion written on their faces mirror each other. Your father pats your arm, aiming to reassure you as he adds, “Coriolanus explained everything in his letters.”

A sinking feeling grows in the pit of your stomach.

Your tremulous voice swells in the room, edging on a scream.

“What do you mean by everything, dad?”

“Sweetheart, we know. And we aren’t judging you. I promise you. Your mother and I have been young too and-”

“Can I see those letters?” you snap, dread flaring along your spine.

Strabo’s brows furrow in confusion.

“Well they’re in my study, but-”

You don’t let him finish, racing through the house and making a beeline for your father’s study. Your parents trail behind you, concern etched on their faces.

“Sweetie? What’s going on?” Ma calls.

You don’t look at them, busy rummaging through your father’s desk. Your frustration grows as you open and close every drawer.

“I need to see them. Now,” you absently reply.

“I think you need to-”

“Now, dad!”

“Alright, alright. Here.” Heaving out a weary sigh, your father strolls to a cabinet on the other side of the room. The frantic uproar of your heart fills your ears. Strabo flips through several folders before retrieving a stack of letters beneath a bunch of other files. He brings them to you and you snatch them from his hands, ignoring his shocked expression. 

“Are you okay, kiddo?” he murmurs. 

Your gaze falls on Coriolanus’ neat, precise handwriting. The ink blurs in your sight as you register his words, frantically flipping through the pages. Only bits and pieces sink into your mind as your eyes hop from one sentence to another. By the second, you grow more and more horrified.

Your daughter is safe with me, you have my word. 

Our feelings have grown too strong for us to pretend.

As the preparations for our wedding have taken much of our time…

She is terrified you will disown her but I will speak to her. 

…will return when she is ready.

…for however long it takes, do not worry.

…as she is too embarrassed to announce our love to the entire capitol.

Your daughter is well and misses you dearly.

I shall do everything in my power to keep her safe and happy, now and forever.

Safe and happy. Now and…forever?

Your heart sinks to your feet.

Your mouth wobbles as your eyes rise to meet your father’s.

“No, dad. I-I don’t think I am.”

The room starts dimming around you, your knees buckling as you struggle to keep yourself upright. Your father rushes to your side. 

Then all is darkness.

When your eyes quake open, you’re greeted by the comforting sight of your bedroom. The same plushies you’ve had since you were five sit on the shelves. Pictures of your family adorn the wall beneath fairy lights. Your wardrobe is against the wall at the exact same spot and so is the antique full length mirror you received on your fourteenth birthday. 

Everything’s exactly where it should be. And it drapes a balm on your wounded spirit. 

At least nothing about your bedroom has changed.

You never should have left those familiar walls,  succumbed to boyish smiles and honeyed lies. You should have stayed right here, drowning in your own tears and choking on your pain. It beats the hell you’re experiencing now.

Your mother strokes your cheek.

“You haven’t been eating,” she says.

You sit up in your bed.

“Neither have you, Ma,” you retaliate, your brows squeezing together as you scrutinize her.

She sends you a sad smile.

“We can eat together.”

You nod. “I’d like that.”

Your gaze travels outside your window, where you get a glimpse of the rose bushes, the blushing petals brighter than ever.

“Who took care of my roses?” you mumble without thinking.

“I did.”

Your mouth falls open. “But you hate gardening.”

Ma snorts, caressing your hair. “And you’d have been sad if they’d have died while you were gone.”

Your heart swells. Your mother hasn’t stepped foot in the garden once before. She harbors a disdain for any kind of manual labor since your family left District 2. You’re in awe that she still took it upon herself to care for the flowers because she knows how much it means to you.

“I've missed you, Ma,” you say, pulling her against you for a tight hug.

“I've missed you too,” she replies, rubbing your back. “You really gave us a scare, child.”

Her long exhale flows against your shoulder. “Like I said, we understand why you had to stay away. You and Coriolanus needed time together. I just wish you felt comfortable enough to tell Dad and I the truth.”

You freeze. You’re suddenly struck with the remembrance of what occurred before you passed out and landed in your bedroom. The letters. The ghastly, dreadful letters. Or rather Coriolanus’ dizzying tower of lies. It’s no wonder your parents didn’t seek you out.

He peddled a fairytale to them. One where you’re the princess and he’s the prince coming to your rescue. Star-crossed lovers thwarted by fate. Indignation sears through you. 

Your brows knit as you lean back.

“Ma, about Coriolanus-”

Your sentence is curtailed by a bashful knock on the door. Your mother urges whoever’s on the other side to enter. A maid appears, bowing in apology.

“Mr. William is here to see you, miss,” she announces.

Your heart skips a beat.

“Oh.”

Your fingers clench, your nails digging into your palm. It was bound to happen at some point or another.

Ma seizes your shoulder, her forehead scrunched in concern.

“Do you want me to come with you, sweetie?”

You shake your head. “No. I’ve hidden enough.” You give a feeble smile. Inwards, your heart is steadily shrinking. “I’ll talk to him. Alone.”

“Are you sure? Your father and I are here if you need anything.” Her frown accentuates. “You shouldn’t let anyone get in the way of your happiness.”

You shrivel at her words. How do you even tell her and Dad? Where to even start? And most importantly, how to do it in a way that wouldn’t break their hearts?

You’re aware of the void Coriolanus has filled for them since Sejanus’ passing. While he was a brother to you, he was a son to them. 

Your father’s taken him under his wing, funding his tuition and even teaching him about his business. Your mother’s grown fond of him, regularly inviting him to lunches and even baking for him sometimes.

The Plinths and Snows have become entwined, tangled as branches growing from the same tree. And you’ve let it happen, unaware your parents were allowing a viper into their home.

You want to come clean, deliver your full truth. But the fear of causing them more hurt stitches your lips shut.

Electing to set the matter aside to focus on the one currently before you, you drag your feet downstairs. You can figure out a way to talk to your parents later. 

Right now, there is one person that demands your full attention. 

You’re stunned to see him standing in the lobby. It’s been so long. A lifetime ago it seems. He’s as boyishly handsome as you remember him, dark curls framing his face and vibrant forest orbs sparkling with longing at the sight of you. 

“William,” you greet weakly.

He wastes no time in running to you and wrapping his arms around you. 

“Baby, I’ve missed you so much.” 

Nuzzling the crook of your neck, he takes a long minute to soak in your scent. Your chest twinges.

“William…”

He steps back from you, his gaze narrowed in suspicion.

“Something’s wrong,” he finally says.

“Maybe we should sit-”

“I’m fine standing up,” he counters. He lifts your chin. “Just talk to me.” Your lips squeeze as your pulse quickens. So many words sizzle your tongue yet none will burst forth. William scoffs in frustration. “I haven’t seen you in weeks. I’ve been going crazy thinking about what possible reasons you could have to stay in Coriolanus Snow’s house of all people. You owe me that at least.”

You give a slow nod.

“You’re right.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat before meeting his gaze.

“William, the truth is…I can’t be with you anymore.”

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games #tbosas fanfiction

[imsiriuslyreading]

people are being awful so here is an inexhaustive list of 50ish of my favourite fanfictions ever in no particular order. most of them have changed my life in some way shape or form and i am eternally grateful and in awe: <3 xo

Wolfstar:

All The Young Dudes mskingbean89

Blends rvltn909

Sweater Weather lumosinlove

Dear Your Holiness mollymarymarie

The Cadence of Part Time Poets Motswolo

Honey if I'm not BrigidFaye

There's your trouble xxxnoimsiriusxxx

If You're Gonna BrigidFaye

Currents lunchbucket

Liebestrum lunchbucket

The Road Not Taken mollymarymarie

Bird Set Free mollymarymarie

Ever Thus WrappedUp

Just What the Doctor Ordered WrappedUp

wading in waist-high water colgatebluemintygel

Disarm You With A Smile five_ht

10 Reasons to Go to Michigan greyeyedmonster18

Nothing Sweeter than my baby DamageControl

Not another band AU thelovelyzee

A Black Mass Over Highway Ninety Greenvlvetcouch

Solntse lumosinlove

We Can Be Heroes youblitheringidiot

Like Real People Do Third_Crow

Beneath A Big Blue Sky Eyra

A Brief History of Dragons Eyra

The Birthday Boy greenvlvetcouch

The Killing Time (unwillingly mine) epicblueblanket

Till We Have Arrived Home Again prouvairing

The Players Secret WrappedUp

Let's Play Pretend msalexwp

Jegulus

Only The Brave Solmussa

You Signed Up For This Solmussa

Kill Your Darlings Messermoon (this counts for wolfstar and rosekiller too!)

Blue and Yellow Skies Alarainai

Drarry

What We Pretend We Can't See gyzym

Everybody Hates A Tourist wolfpants

Running on Air eleventy7

Terrible People wolfpants

Way Down We Go xiaq

Draco Malfoy and The Mirror of Ecidyrue starbrigid

Dramione

Measure of A Man inadaze22

Remain Nameless heyjude19

selfxconclusion spicyxpisces

Beginning and End mightbewriting

How to Win Friends and Influence People OlivieBlake

Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love isthisselfcare

Jily

Shelf Awareness ghostofbambi

Room Service ClaudiaWrites

MISC

A Dress With Pockets PacificRimbaud

The Audacity of Lavender Brown malpal132

Devil's Snare All The Way Down malpal132

#lanas crying again #wolfstar #drarry #jegulus #jily #panville #please this is not even half of them I'll be so honest #but if you saw how many words I've read this past year you'd judge me #love u bye

[norrisleclercf1]

The Devil is a Fallen Angel

Pairing: Mafia!Mick x Reader

Rating: Pg-17

Words: 2.3K

Requested: Yes/No

Warnings: Kidnapped, drugging?, angst, some fluff, heartbreak, we're having fun tonight

Part 1: An Angel and A Devil

Synopsis: Mick didn't think he'd lose you, and he certainly didn't plan of losing you forever

A/N: Happy Halloween! I hope this lives up to ya'lls expectations!

There's a quote you remember from one of your literature classes. It was a brilliant quote. It comes to you as you drive through the mountains of Germany. Be careful who you trust, the Devil was once an angel. 

"Hehehe, I knew I liked her for a reason." Mick groans, rolling on his garage floor as his father stands over him. "Da," "You know, never took you to get distracted by a pretty face. Then again, you are my son. Anyways, where'd she go?" Mick rolls onto his back, closing his eyes. Nausea sends him rocking, trying to ground himself as his body spins. 

"Hey," Michael claps loudly, blending in with the thunder. "Where'd my pretty daughter-in-law go?" Cracking an eye open, Mick feels that familiar clamp of his throat and scurries to a trash can, heaving his stomach into the can. "This is just sad, Mick. She didn't even give you a full dose, and you're sick like a newborn." Michael shakes his head, looking around the garage. 

"Pardon," Mick rolls back, lying on the ground as he sucks in the crisp, chill air. "Me for getting sick. The love of my life tricked me, drugged me, and I had to get dragged down as she took off in the damn car, leaving me here." He rasps, wiping his mouth. Sitting up, he spits, trying to rid the taste in his mouth. "Mick, you should've known she'd retaliate. You got distracted because you were thinking of," "If you finish that sentence, I don't care if you're my father. I'll kill you." Michael closes his mouth, watching the fire burning in his son's eyes. 

"Mmm, we better find her. She doesn't know her way around here, and with our enemies and allies, who knows who'll get to her first." Mick stands. He rocks, but Michael steadies him, ensuring he doesn't fall. "She," Sucking in another breath, he rolls his neck, the drug slowly disappearing. "She took my car. It has a tracker in it." Michael nods, grabbing a set of keys and helping his son to the car. 

"I never should've lied. If this is my punishment, I'll take it. Just don't hurt her." Michael rolls his eyes, hearing his son's whispers. "Mick, I swear if you're praying. I'm leaving you on the side of the road." Glaring, Mick shuts up as the two blondes follow the tracker. "Here, we're," Mick stopped, seeing that the tracker wasn't moving. "Stop!" Michael slams on the brake. Mick, not waiting, bolts out of the car, rain battering his body, soaking him to the bone. "No." 

Rushing down the ditch, he sees the car lying in the mud and water. Broken glass, blood, footprints, and drag marks surround him as he starts to spin around. "Y/N! Y/N!" He roars. Michael slides down the ditch, studying the scene. "Mick, Mick, stop yelling." Grabbing his son by his shoulder. "Goddammit! She's not here, Mick. She's not here." Mick just stares at his father. The words sink in, sending his face grumbling as he screams loudly, Michael holding him tight. 

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

"You could've made it look less like a kidnapping," Shoving your foot hard, you kick the back of the driver's seat. "Ow," They groan, blue eyes meeting yours. "A thank you would've been nice, you know?" "Oh, oh, a thank you?" You snap back, growing fussy with each passing movement. "A warning would've been nice, Sebastian, but you decided to hide this fact because Mick is your godson!" Kicking his seat hard, Sebastian slams on the brakes, sending you flying into the back of it. 

"Listen here," The older German turns around, facing you as the dark backcountry wood road is the only thing around you two. "I only helped you because Michael called and said you needed to leave. I never would've done this to Mick or my family. That boy loves you, Y/n. Like air, and right now, I'm ripping away the only thing he's got." Sebastian spats, furious at you for the first time ever. "And right now, I don't need some prissy, popular, no good, foul mouth, little GIRL yelling at me." Sebastian seethes, the two of you breathing hard, staring at one another. 

"Drive the stupid car," You hiss, baring your teeth like an animal. "What do you think I was doing?" He snaps back, turning back around and slamming the car into gear. "You're such a brat," Sebastian whispers, you snarl kicking the back of his seat again.

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

"Mick, baby, you need to eat," Corrina whispers at his door, knocking on it. "Go away," His meek voice broke through. "Corrina, leave the boy alone," Michael whispers, fingers trailing his wife's arm. "He hasn't eaten in almost 2 weeks. He can't keep doing this," She whispers, holding the simple plate of crackers and cheese. 

"Corrina, he lost the girl. Let him grieve." Michael hisses, but Corrina refuses to listen. "The only reason he lost that girl is because of you." Shoving the plate into his chest, storming down the hall, and spitting off German. "What does she mean?" "Scheisse," Michael jumps, holding the plate, turning as he glares at the ghost of his boy. "Nothing, she means nothing. You know how your mother is, dramatic." Michael chuckles, the nerves getting to him as Mick glares at him. 

"Papa, what did you do?" Mick is a dog with a bone, refusing to let go once he caught it. "Nothing, Mick. Jesus, all I did was tow the car and tell them to call off the search." His son's eyes widen hearing that, stepping out of the room. "Why would you do that?" Michael swallows, stepping back. "Don't question me, and eat your damn crackers and cheese. You're worrying your mother." Shoving the plate into Mick's chest, Michael follows after Corrina, begging her to talk to him. 

"Dumbass," Mick whispers, closing the door and returning to his laptop. He gave you a necklace with little angel wings a while ago, but it was unknown to you that it had a tracker. Lucky enough for him, you never took it off when you ran for him. Sitting down, he bites into one of the crackers and gags. Nothing has tasted good for him in the past 2 weeks. Everything was bland with little to no taste; it was almost like everything had lost its flavor or color when you left. 

Spitting out the cracker, he wipes his mouth, watching as the screen beeps and zooms in. "There you are," He smiles, leaning in as he laughs, shaking his head. "Right under my nose," 

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

"Class is fine, Mama, and yes, Mick and I did break up." You huff into the phone, tired of the older woman badgering you. She didn't understand why you would break up with your perfect boyfriend. You hated asking Sebastian to bring you back here but needed normalcy. The older German is still at the University teaching his Ecosystems class, and you see him playing with his bees. 

Now you know why Mick was always around him and why he only ever called him Sebastian. The older man watched you, ensuring you never told anyone Mick's secret. "Mama, I have to go, okay bye." Hanging up the phone, you groan, rubbing your eyes as you sit at the old table. The table you and Mick first met at, where you two fell in love, whispers of children and marriage. You hated and loved this table. 

"I hate that I miss you," Words soft, tracing the delicate bumps of your initials carved into the table. You can still remember when Mick pulled out the little pocket knife and started to mark the pristine table. "I hate that you left me," You smile, hearing Mick's voice clear as day. Even your thoughts were starting to sound just like him. "I had to," "Did you, though?" You turn, seeing Mick standing at the end of the bookcases, sunglasses pushing his hair back. 

The locks are longer, wearing baggy pants, a white tank top, and a black button-up thrown open. A chain necklace around his neck and multiple rings adorning his fingers. "Mick," You gasp, scrambling out of the chair, your back hitting the wall, leaving you utterly trapped and at his mercy. "Engel, you ran from me. You're okay." He whispers, moving closer to you. Wrists ache with the memory of the chains that kept you to him. 

"Come any closer, and I scream," His eyes narrow at that threat but soften as he shakes his head. "Y/n, we both know that no one is in here. It's almost midnight, and this is the time I'd always come to study. You've been repeating our schedule." He reaches out, flinching away from his touch, which has his entire body run cold. 

Not once did he ever think the love of his life would flinch when he goes to touch them, not once. But, here you are, jerking from his touch. "Engel," He whispers, dropping his hand and eyes filling with tears. "Don't, don't do that." You whisper, seeing this boy before you break. "I've hurt you," His words muffled, trying to stop his tears. "Mick, stop. Don't think your crying is going to change anything." You whisper, closing your eyes. The moment you honestly looked at him, you'd cave, and it's the end of you. 

"Please, Engel, I'm sorry, forgive me." He whispers, breath warm on your cheek, able to feel the pressure of his body against your own. "Mick, no." You whisper eyes screwed shut. Mick drops his head, bending his knees. He falls to the floor, knees cracking as he hits the floor. "I'll even beg you. Please, Y/n, please, I'm begging you. Don't leave me again, please." Arms wind around your waist, a nose brushing your hip as Mick holds you tight, begging you. 

"I'll die if you want me to die. I'll do it." Mick's honey voice is muffled by your stomach as he rubs his nose in your hip, having missed your warmth and smell. "Mick, I," You're at a loss for words. What do you say to the man who killed you, who lied about everything, yet you aren't angry anymore. Your soul is just yearning for him, and you hate that. "Get off me!" You scream so loud, slamming him off you. Mick flies back, landing on the ground with a groan and a gasp of air. 

"Engel, please." He groans, reaching out as you wipe the salty tears streaking down your face. "Fuck you, fuck you and your family. Fuck it all, Mick, we're done." You gasp, trying to stop the shakes as you bolt off, leaving everything. "Y/n! NO!" Mick roars, and the sound of thumping feet pounds after you as you move through the empty library, heading for the doors. 

Bolting out, you don't look back. Two arms reach around you as you let out a screech, almost animalistic. "Stop, stop, you're safe." Michael's voice fills your head, with you sagging into his chest. "Let me go, please. I can't do this. I love him, Michael, but I can't." You whisper as you see Mick run up to you. "Engel, please just let me explain everything. I can't lose you. It'll kill me." He whispers, caging the front of you between him and his father. 

"Mick, stop manipulating the girl," Michael growls, arms tightening around you. "I'm no," Mick stops, staring at your face. "She's coming with us," Mick growls, refusing to lose you this easily. "Mick, no," Michael argues, but Mick shakes his head. "I can't lose you," He whispers, leaning in as he kisses you gently, unable to help yourself to kiss him back. "I love you, always remember that. Okay?" Still drunk off his kiss, you nod numbly, feeling Michael pull you back. 

"Come on, we're going home. It's okay. We're doing this to protect you." Michael rubs a comforting hand on your back as you suck in a shaky breath. "Take me home, please." Exhaustion seeping into bones. "Shhh, it's okay." He whispers, placing you in his car as Mick climbs onto his bike behind you. "We're going home," You whisper, hating how your heart craves from the Swiss mountains, watching as Mick covers his perfect halo of hair. 

"I'm sorry, I thought having Sebastian get you out would help you and Mick. Instead, I've hurt you both far more." Michael whispers, the car horror movie silent. "I didn't ask that of you. I escaped on my own." Michael smiles, remembering the state he found his son in. "That you did. I was just trying to protect you." "I don't need your fucking protection." You snap like an angry child. Michael says nothing, the same silence filling the car. 

"How," Clearing your throat, almost like the words are choking you. "How do you love someone who's lied to you about everything?" The question hangs in the air, Michael chewing your words over. "You don't. You learn to love the pretty lies the boy has given you, and don't question it. If he's lying, it's not because he doesn't love or respect you. He's doing it because he's protecting what little light he's got. Now that you know, he's covered in darkness. Be that light for him; be the nieve little girl he wants you to be again. Don't ask him anything, ask me. Let me be the bad guy." Michael pleads, the love for his son endless. 

"Has he killed before?" "Yes," Michael doesn't miss a beat to your question. "Why?" Michael casts a glance your way and sighs. "Last year, a guy followed you home. Mick was watching from the shadows. He killed him without a second thought. I almost killed him for that, but he didn't regret it. The only time he kills is for you." Your stomach twists and turns, hearing that Mick only kills when it comes to you. 

"I don't ask him to kill anyone for me." You whisper, the air being sucked out of you. "You don't have to. He'd kill me for you if he had to. There's this old saying about the Devil," "The devil is a fallen angel." You and Michael say at the same time and stare at one another. "Be proud, angel. You've got your own Devil." Michael whispers. 

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula one #f1 x y/n #f1 scenario #f1 fanfic #mick schumacher x reader #mick x reader #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher #mick schumacher angst #mafia!mick schumacher #mafia!f1 #f1!mafia #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher one shot #mick schumacher fanfic #mick schumacher x y/n

[cheollipop]

calico

navi | taglist

pairing: ex!yoon jeonghan x bartender!reader

w.c.: 3.1k

tags: fem!reader, smut, angst, past infidelity/cheating, this is really toxic.... hate sex though....

the heartache from a past game of cat and dog—leaving you with nothing but a stained bed and a broken heart—came back tenfold when freshly-chopped hair and a sly smirk greeted you through the cracked-open, tinted window.

warnings: car sex, so semi-public sex, hate sex, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, some cockwarming, degradation (mentions of past cheating, both reader and jeonghan refer to the other as "slut"), reader is also called a cockslut at one point, hair pulling, pussy slapping, nicknames (hannie; darling), jeonghan is really toxic (and a big asshole), past infidelity, seungcheol is mentioned a few times *wink wonk*

A/N: this is for the anon who requested jeonghan ages ago. I might be 5 years late to writing it, but it's here hehe~ I'm so glad I finally got to write more for svt! this was really fun to write~ please consider leaving feedback/reblogging if you enjoyed! ^^ happy reading~~

nsfw under the cut—minors dni 🔞

Frosty air cooled the sweat sticking to your exposed skin, heeled boots clacking over the pavement as you stumbled out of the creaky, metal door at the back of the club. You were way too sober, you thought, eyebrow twitching at the memory of your fight with the new manager. ‘No alcohol after you clock in,’ the high-pitched sound repeated in your ears. You worked just fine with a shot or two in your system; you’d argue you worked even better, able to drown out the slurred pick-up lines and simply pour drinks. Friday nights were the worst, and having to deal with clingy men who didn’t understand rejection—most of which not even your type—without alcohol had you considering a career change. So the second the clock hit eleven, you hurriedly wiped your station before another batch of college freshmen crowded the bar, grabbing your stuff and scrambling out the back exit.

Your legs carried you out of the small alleyway and onto the lit main sidewalk, thankful that the council finally replaced the flickering light bulb. Your eyes zeroed in on the bus stop down the road, and you quickly made your way towards it before the last bus could arrive.

A sudden horn blared to your right, cutting through the stillness and sounding over the distant music from the club behind you. Your fingers dug into your pocket on instinct to circle around the tube of pepper spray, your body tensing defensively as you faced the Jeep parked in front of you. The driver’s tinted window rolled down, a head of short, brown locks peeking through the gap. Your hand eased around the spray when you met with familiar, downturned eyes, hooded with what seemed like amusement. A shot of pain seared through your chest, your heart pounding against your ribcage as Jeonghan stared back at you blankly, a simple “hey” reverberating in the air between you.

“No bitches to cheat on tonight?” You spat, tightening your fingers around the jacket in your hand.

Why was he here? After you’d finally stopped looking for him in every corner, hoping he’d pull you out from behind the bar to give you a tearful apology? After the scent of his misdeeds had faded off your bedsheets, your slumber no longer interrupted by dreams about your heart being used as a plaything?

Jeonghan's eyebrow twitched, his amusement blending with irritation. “Seungcheol’s taken now, whose cock would they jump on if I did?”

Resentment seeped into your chest, and you considered pepper spraying him just to erase that smug smirk off his face. But you turned away from him, sucking in the cool air while scheming eyes bore into your profile. You willed your legs into motion, your footsteps sounding to the beat of the muffled club music as you continued your journey down to the bus stop. A car door slammed somewhere behind you, and you picked at the side of your index finger while you walked, hoping it was just a clubber who’d been running late. A firm hand wrapped around your upper arm and twisted you around, striking out the previous possibility when Jeonghan’s hot breath brushed against your face.

“Let me drive you home,” he mumbled, his hand relaxing around your arm but not quite releasing it.

You couldn’t help but pity him in this moment. A man who’d broken your heart and left you to mend it alone, curled up on your bedroom floor while he stuffed his belongings into a worn-down duffle, not even an apology or a goodbye, only the loud clang of his spare key landing on your console before the front door slammed shut. That same man, two years later, parked in front of your workplace—for God knows how many hours—only to drive you home? A part of you was curious why that was. The other, though, wanted to get the fuck away from him.

“Why? So I can hear more about how not sorry you are? No thanks,” you tugged against his grasp, now tight around your arm again.

“(Y/n), please. I won’t say anything, I just wanna drive you home,” the subtle hint of desperation in his voice alarmed you. It didn’t make sense, and yet the unanswered question overshadowed your confusion. The anger that had been simmering in your gut was beginning to boil.

“So you actually don’t feel guilty?” You didn’t mean for your voice to crack, and yet the ache in your chest nearly made you double over the further his silence stretched—the same one that had robbed you of sleep, kept you away from all potential love interests, had you curled up in the same sheets the reeked of adultery and betrayal while Jeonghan continued to jump from woman to woman, a trail of his sins dragging behind his indifferent figure. “Let me go, Jeonghan,” your tone was weak, defeated, once again faced with agonizing reality—he’d moved on long before that day.

You missed the way his eyelids fluttered at the delicate roll of his name off your tongue, the sound sparking a memory into the front of his mind, a collage of smiles and easy laughter echoing in his ears. His hand raised to grab onto your other arm, possessiveness laced with concern slowly overtaking him at the sight of you—shoulders slumped, eyes glassy and your fingers shaking where they curled into fists at your sides, the mere mention of his indifference reducing you to the same, hurt woman he's left behind.

“It’s late. Let me just-” He paused. Jeonghan never paused, not even when you stood at your doorway, looking him in the eye while he soiled your bedsheets with someone else. “I just want to make sure you get home safe.”

You blamed it on the quiver in your legs, the loss of willpower to move yourself away from him, but this time, you didn’t argue.

--

‘I thought you would be okay,

You thought I would be the same,’

Dpr Ian played through the speakers, the volume on low despite the silence stretching between you and the man in the driver’s seat. You realized you hadn’t needed to give him directions, a relationship of three years enough to engrave the way to your apartment into his mind forever. Your eyes flitted over to the side every now and then, taking in the shadows cast over Jeonghan’s cheekbones with every passing streetlight, his fringe fanning over his forehead in a way unfamiliar to you. Looking back to the front, you decided you preferred his longer hair, and missed the innocent glimmer in his dark eyes. Though despite all the changes—new car, new hair, new attitude and style—Jeonghan still used the same perfume, one that you’d bought him for the first birthday you’d celebrated together. Something in your gut stirred at the thought, but you were unsure whether it was pleasant or not.

‘it’s just another show,

Don’t want your world no more,’

Jeonghan cleared his throat, “I got promoted to manager,” he spoke, breaking the silence.

“Good for you,” your tone was cold, uninterested.

“Yeah.”

Dpr Ian continued to play, ‘You’re so addicted to my bad decisions.’

“How’s bartending been?”

“It’s okay.”

He hummed, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he took a right turn. “Mm, I worry about you sometimes. People can act crazy when drunk.”

Your eyebrow twitched, irritation creeping into your tone, “you don’t get to be worried about me.” You felt the urge to slam your fist into his unnecessarily sharp jaw, to watch bruises paint his face until the rage embedded so deep within your soul dissipated.

A few seconds of silence passed as Jeonghan parked parallel to the empty sidewalk in front of your apartment building, sighing while turning off the engine and twisting in his seat to face you. “You know, I’m just trying to be nice here.”

Your fists clenched, mirroring Jeonghan and turning around to look at him with hooded eyes, your muscles clenching and relaxing in an attempt to calm yourself down. “Well, maybe you should’ve thought to do that before you fucked a random girl in my bed,” you spat, content to have watched his face fall before turning your back to him and reaching for the door handle.

A hand flew over your shoulder before your fingers could reach their target, his index and thumb grabbing your jaw and forcefully forcing you back into your prior position. “And you thought sleeping with my best friend was a good way to handle it?” He pulled you closer to him, your lower belly digging into the console as he bent you over it, his face mere inches away and his breath blowing warm over your cheeks.

“You don’t get to blame me-”

He was quick to interrupt your defense, “you think I didn’t notice you acting like a slut to get his attention? Way before anything even happened,” his grip on your face tightened, inching his own closer as he spoke, each word falling off his tongue making the knot in your stomach wind tighter. “The looks,” something in his eyes glimmered, and while that once made butterflies flutter in your stomach, it now grew the lump in your throat until it restricted your airway. “The touches,” his breath fanned over your face, small beads of sweat pilling over your skin at the humidity, and perhaps at the rasp in Jeonghan’s voice as he laid out your sins before you. “The pictures.”

Your fingers gripped the console, slipping off with streaks of sweat staining the black leather. Heart pounding in your ears, you hoped Jeonghan’s hearing somehow declined during the years you’d spent apart, the ringing in your ears fogging up all thoughts. You blamed the nerves on his accusations—a dark past you thought you’d buried without trace—and yet the proximity, the lack of space between your face and Jeonghan’s, the mint lacing his breath and the rasp in every word he spoke, you found hidden tinges of arousal mixed in with your anxiety, dousing your panties as you tried to escape the man’s grasp.

“Why are you here, Jeonghan?” Your voice wavered, but this time, you didn’t miss the wave of what seemed like relief painting his face when his name rolled off your tongue.

“Would you believe me if I said I missed you?”

The ache in your chest returned, your eyebrows furling until you appeared wounded by his words. “Not for a second,” your voice remained firm, though, sparing him no glimpse at your heart.

Jeonghan only scoffed, amused by the contrast between your tone and expression. He leaned closer—as though your indifference urged him to prove himself to you—pressing his lips the corner of your mouth, whispering his next words against the soft skin, “you’re not entirely wrong… but I did miss one thing.”

‘I thought you would be okay,

You thought I would be the same.’

--

Your lower back dug into the steering wheel, the leather beneath your knees creaking as you adjusted your position over Jeonghan, your pants shamefully thrown over the passenger seat. Teeth clacked against each other, heavy breaths mingling between your open mouths as your tongues pressed together in a battle of lust.

Two fingers spread you open, curling between your sopping walls until your eyes rolled back, his other hand holding up the window switch, waiting until the darkened glass closed fully before moving it to your hip.

Squeezing the supple flesh, Jeonghan groaned into your parted lips, “still so fucking tight, did Seungcheol not fuck you well enough?”

Heat flared up your chest, “shut up.”

You’d thought two years and countless hookups would’ve blurred Jeonghan's memory of you, but his fingers fucked into you with purpose, as though every inch of your body, every motion that drove pleasure up your spine had become second nature to him.

“I bet he didn’t know how to satisfy my pretty slut,” he pressed his lips to your cheek, using the hand on your hip to guide you over his fingers.

“Sh-shut up-”

He slipped out of you, gliding his digits down your cunt and over your clit before landing a harsh slap over the nub, your body jolting over him and a broken cry sounding in the humid car. The wet clap of his hand on your drenched pussy repeated, and you mumbled incoherently through a breathy moan.

“What was that? Speak up for me, darling,” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

The urge to punch the playfulness off his face dissipated when skilled fingers brushed over your clit, “fuck, again-”

And he conceded, bringing his hand down on your pussy once more to watch your back arch into the steering wheel behind you, lips parting as pain mingled with pleasure, your cunt throbbing under Jeonghan’s palm. That same hand swiftly moved to your face, fingers digging into your jaw and smearing your arousal over your skin while his other worked over his zipper, quickly undoing his pants and pushing them down far enough to take his cock out. It leaked precum over his black button-up, the vein lining the underside throbbing at the sight of you above him—eyes glazed over and fixed on his hard length, your tongue digging into the inside of your cheek.

His fingers tapped against your clit, once, twice, before landing another rough slap over it. He grabbed himself around the base, groaning at the sudden contact as he positioned you over the leaking cockhead, “be a good girl for once and- fuck-”

You cut him off before he could finish his sentence, sliding down his length unprompted until his cock was sheathed entirely between your fluttering walls. You rolled your hips to adjust, forcing your chests flush as you moved and pressing your lips to the shell of Jeonghan’s ear.

“You talk as if you’ve done nothing wrong, but you’re just as much of a slut as I am, aren’t you, Hannie?” Trailing feathery kisses over his jaw, you slipped his cock halfway out of your cunt before sliding him back inside, squeezing your walls around him to feel the stuttered rise and fall of his chest against you. “You fucked me that morning, then brought that bitch into my bed a couple hours after,” you pecked the sharp edge of his jawline, moving your lips back to his ear to whisper your next words, “didn’t even have the decency to take her to your apartment-”

Rough fingers tangled in the hair at your nape, tugging your face back until you met with unfocused eyes. Jeonghan readjusted under you, digging his feet into the clean mats and thrusting upwards experimentally, scoffing at the moan you tried to suppress. Your neck craned uncomfortably, gritting your teeth as Jeonghan eyed you silently, a hand on your hip keeping you still and leaving you helpless to do anything but warm his cock.

So you commenced your taunts, desperately trying to wiggle out of his grasp while you spoke, “how many hours have you been waiting outside, huh? Just to get your dick wet-”

“I have you on my cock now, don’t I?” His fingers tightened around your hair, and he leaned back in his seat, fucking up into your clenching cunt before you could think of anything to say—assuming you were still capable of processing anything but the smooth drag of his length between your pulsing walls, his nails digging thin crescents into the flesh of your hip. His breathing grew heavy, and yet his words remained clear, contemptuous. “You may hate me, darling, but whether you like it or not, you’ll keep coming back to me,” the hand in your hair eased, fingers scratching soothingly at your sore scalp and pushing your head closer to his, bringing his voice down to a whisper, “because you’re my pretty cockslut, aren’t you?”

Jeonghan nuzzled his nose into your cheek, planting a tender kiss to the heated skin while you frantically nodded your head. A staccato of moans and repetitions of his name rolled off your tongue as he brought you down to meet his relentless thrusts, his own grunts adding to the stuffiness in the closed-up car. He pounded into your dripping cunt, taking in the jolts of pleasure shaking your body every time he drove his cockhead into your g-spot, your moans growing needier the closer he pushed you towards the edge.

With one final slap to your throbbing pussy, your vision darkened and your body curled in on itself. Jeonghan’s fingers rubbed quick circles over your swollen nub, watching you writhe on top of him as waves of pleasure seared through you, your moans high-pitched and desperate as he guided you through your orgasm with unrelenting fingers, spark after spark of simmering heat blinding you to everything but Jeonghan.

He felt his own high approaching at the tight squeeze of your walls around him, his thrusts slowing down when you tumbled over the edge, but returning to their frenzied pace to chase his orgasm. Your fingers closed over his upper arms, tinges of overstimulation blending with the ecstasy of his cock slamming into your used cunt.

“Fuck- where do you want me, darling?” He rolled his head back over the headrest, eyes lidded with burning arousal and his thighs beginning to cramp up at the pace he was going at.

“Inside, Hannie, hnngh! Please, inside,” you said, words slurred and interrupted by a harmony of moans, disregarding the soreness between your legs while you begged Jeonghan to come inside you.

He laughed at the desperation, the sweet noise—airy, gravelly with the lust clouding his every sense—was cut short, interrupted by a throaty grunt as he emptied inside you, hot ropes of cum pulsing out of him to paint your walls. Cupping your ass with both hands, he sunk his fingers into the flesh and guided you over his cock in slow rolls of your hips, breathing in the air the other exhaled, eyes locked as the last spurt of cum warmed your insides.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but now, with your head resting on Jeonghan’s chest, his steady heartbeat echoing in your ears and cum slowly dribbling out of you while his cock remained sheathed deep inside, you realized you’d let your walls down for the man who’d caused them to go up, sinking into the pleasure he so generously poured into you. The walls you’d been holding up for two years, the pain he’d left you with sparking fear in your heart every time someone tried to get closer. And yet, the same man who’d planted that fear inside you somehow breached past the infrastructure you’d spent so long strengthening.

While you laid there in the faux sense of security Jeonghan so easily provided, you realized he was right: you will always find your way back to him.

reblogs/feedback are greatly appreciated!! ^^ apply for my tag list here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

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[latenightdaydreams]

Trucker!König x Stranded!Reader Part2 (fem)

MDNI🔞

For part one click here!

Master List

🚫Same as part one, there are HUGE TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS STORY!🚫

Please do not read if you are not in a good mental health head space or cannot handle extreme content. Your mental health matters more than a story! I have other smut and fluff with a kind and consensual König, please enjoy those instead🥰 Remember you're all amazing and deserve happiness in the world. I hope you all have a fantastic day and take care of yourself🩷

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🚫LAST WARNING BEFORE TRIGGERS🚫

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>cw: fem/afab, p in v, non-con, recording, threats, breath restriction.

3.1 word count

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With the sun in your eyes, you wake up on a groggy state; the sleeping pill having been so strong, you feel as if you’re hung over. At first your vision is a little blurry so you try to rub your eyes awake. Going to pull your hands down, you realize you can’t. Instant fear sets in as you realize your hands are bound together with zip ties attached to a bar over your head. You feel the truck moving, König is driving. In a panic you look over to him and with a trembling voice, you speak up.

“König…” you can’t control your breathing.

“Ah! Guten Morgen, meine Liebe.” König’s voice overly cheerful. He looks at you quickly over his shoulder. “That pill took you out for quite a while.” He chuckles as if this is a casual situation.

“Why…why am I tied up?” You like to think of yourself as a strong woman, but you’ve never felt this level of helplessness before.

“So that you don’t run.”

Silence lingered in the air as you stare at the back of his head. “Please don’t do this.”

“It’s already done.” He shoots you an uneasy glare from over his shoulder.

You take a deep shaky breath as your gaze stays on him. “I have friends waiting for me in Germany-”

“No, you don’t.” He cuts you off swiftly. “You said you were here alone already, remember?” He lets out a low chuckle. “You should know better than to give out that type of information from a man you don’t know Liebling.”

In your mind you begin to play back every action from taking a sleeping pill from him, getting in the truck, getting the piece of shit car, to planning this trip. All the small things that added up and left you here. Tears begin to stream down your face as true panic begins to set in.

König stays quiet and lets you have your little tantrum, smirking as he listens to your sobs. He waits for you to relax before telling you the rules. He’s a patient man, he can wait. 20 minutes pass and he let out a sigh as he hears your sobs quiet down.

“Now, I want you to listen closely please. In public, you keep your head down and don’t speak. You’ll get one chance to use the bathroom a day, so don’t fuck it up for yourself. When I ask for something, I don’t want to get any push back. You’re mine now, you have to obey.”

You stay quiet and listen to the words as the world seems like a blur around you. His voice blending into the sound of the tires on the road.

“Do you understand?” König’s voice tone snapping you back to this moment.

“Yeah…” Your voice cracks as you speak.

“Gut.” König ignores you and continues to drive. His mind preoccupied with the thought of what he recorded last night and what he will record again soon.

A voice comes in over his radio and you see a spark of hope, a way out. You watch König press down on the button and respond in fast German that you can’t understand. An idea comes to mind, if you scream for help when König presses to talk, maybe someone will hear you and track König down to save you. Sitting and listening to the men talk back and forth in a language you don’t know, the urge to do it now just overcame you.

“HELP!” You shout as König presses down to speak, “HE HAS ME TRAPPED IN HIS TRUCK!” Your voice strained from all of the crying you’ve been doing.

Panic sets in as König turns his head to look at you, you’re waiting for him to yell or physically hurt you. He doesn’t. He simply laughs. So does the voice on the other end of the line.

“I can see she’s woken up!” The voice jokes with a strong German accent.

Your heart sinks. He knows? And is okay with this? Tears burn your eyes as you feel stupid now and are scared for how König might punish you for trying to get help. Dropping your head back on to the pillow, you let out a long breath and let the tears roll down your face.

“So,” König has an air of arrogance in his voice, “how did your little plan go Maus? Were you expecting to be saved?” He mocks you.

You don’t say anything as you just lay there feeling defeated yet again. You take a deep shaky breath, trying not to cry.

“I’ll let that one slide, but next time I will have to put a muzzle on you Maus.” König shakes his head. “I have a sandwich and water for you if you’re hungry.”

You look at him, your stomach growling. Did he drug the food? Poison it? You have to eat sometime though… “I am.”

“Good girl, I’ll feed you once we get to the motel.”

“Motel?”

“Well, I have to sleep and there’s not enough room for the both of us. Plus, I want to clean you up.”

His words make your heart sink into your stomach. The thought of him cleaning you- just seeing you naked puts you into a panic. Your jaw beginning to shake as you try to suppress your emotions, not wanting him to know how much he is affecting you.

As hours pass, the sun begins to set again. König hasn’t spoken to you this whole time and you’ve just been trying to dissociate so you can avoid a break down. You look out the windows of the truck and see the sign for a motel. König parks the truck and stands. He turns to you and looks you up and down.

“Now Maus, I’m going to give you a choice here.” He clears his throat and kneels in front of you, “You can either be a good girl and walk beside me with your head down not saying a word or I give you another one of those sleeping pills.”

“I- I’ll behave…” You don’t want to be in that motel room trapped with him and not be conscious.

“You better, I’m not above resorting to violence.” His piercing blue eyes bore into yours. He left the truck, leaving you tied up, to go pay for a room.

While he is gone, you try hard to pull your hands out of the zip ties as they dig into your wrist. Pulling with all you might nothing happens other than hurting yourself. You stop once you hear heavy footsteps approaching the truck again.

He opens the door and steps inside. He begins to gather his things before he turns and looks at you. He took out his pocket knife and kneeled beside you.

“When I cut these, if you try to run, I will catch you and it will be worse for you.” He threatens.

You nod in understanding feeling a deep-rooted fear from his words. You believe him and didn’t want to push him, but also didn’t want to go into that motel room. Getting out alive is your main goal, so you do as he asks. He cuts the zip ties and yanks you up by your sore wrist. With wobbly legs you follow him out of the truck into the parking lot. Looking around there are no other cars other than another semi-truck. Feeling the warm air with a nice breeze makes you feel free, fills you with an illusion of peace.

König pulls you up to the door and opens the door with the keycard. He gently pushes you in and quickly closes and locks the door behind him. You stand there with your body trembling as he turns to look at you.

“Take your clothes off.”

You don’t move and just look at him. In his mind you’re going over a hundred different ways you could possibly try to fight him and flee, but he is massive, has a knife, and you don’t know where you are.

“Now!” He barks taking you out of your thoughts and back to reality.

You grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head before pulling down your leggings.  His eyes stay on you as you undress. Your hands fumble with the clasp of your bra as you become nervous before finally letting it fall to the floor. He walks to you and yanks your underwear off.

“You’re taking too long,” he huffs. “Hands behind your back.”

You put your hands behind your back as he asked. He zip ties your wrist together again, your wrist sore and in pain. He pushes you forward and towards the bathroom. He turns the shower on and checks the waters temp. His eyes looking back at you up and down, lingering on the bush between your legs.

“Get in.” He demands.

You walk to the shower and step in, the water warm as you stand there letting the water hit your body. König grabs a wash cloth and begins to lather it with a soap bar. He begins to wash your body; you close your eyes and turn your head trying to not get soap in your eyes. He aggressively washes your body. Grabbing the shower head, he rinses the soap off of you.

“Get out and follow me.” König turns the shower off and grabs a blue towel. He walks to the queen size bed and lays the towel down. You follow behind him soaking set, leaving a trail of water behind you as you walk. He points to the towel and you sit on it.

“Lay down,” he walks away back to the bathroom as you scoot back on the towel and lie down. The weight of your body on your hands behind your back is uncomfortable.

He comes back with a soapy wash cloth and a razor. You look at him and watch as he drops to his knees in front of you. He opens your legs and rubs your pubic area with the wash cloth. He began to gently shave your pubic hair. You stay as still as possible so he doesn’t cut you, you keep your eyes directed at the ceiling.

“You have a very beautiful pussy Maus.” König’s voice is full of lust and makes your stomach churn. He uses the wash cloth to wipe the hair he has shaved away. “Perfect…” he mumbles.

His hands caress your thighs before he stands and goes to the bathroom to return the razor and wash cloth. He comes back and grabs you by the shoulders to sit you up. He walks to one of his bags and opens the cooler. Placing the sandwich and the water on the small desk in the corner of the room.

“You can eat once we are done. I don’t want you to throw up.”

Going back to the bag he grabs a tripod and a second phone. He pulls the bedside table away from the wall a few feet. He places the tripod on top and places his phone in the phone slot. Taking the lamp shade off of the lamp the room gets brighter. You begin to realize what is going to happen.

“Don’t worry, this is only for me to watch.” He lies.

König begins to undress, pulling his shirt over his head revealing his scarred body to you. He pulls his belt off and tosses it on the bed before he undoes his pants and pulls them down, stepping out of them. You look forward trying to ignore his body, but it’s useless as he walks in front of you now; his erection in your face now. He grabs the belt off the bed and begins to wrap it around your neck. This causes a fight or flight trigger response and you scream and kick.

He puts his hand on your mouth and pushes you back into the bed, “If you scream and the young man at the front desk tries to come and save you, I’ll kill him. So, either save a human life, or be selfish and take him down with you.”

He phrases this as if you’re the bad guy in this situation, as if it isn’t him that would be killing the innocent man. You lay there looking at him, struggling to breathe with his calloused hand over your mouth and nose.

“Do you understand?”

You nod your head in response and he backs off of you, sitting you back up. He tightens the belt around your neck to the point where talking and breathing was hard, but you could still do it. He walked to the phone on the tripod and hit record. He held his original phone in his hand.

“Lay back Maus.” His voice husky as he begins to stroke his cock with his freehand.

You do as he says. The phone in his hand is pointed at you, you assume it’s recording you as well. You turn your head the opposite way of all the cameras to try and disconnect form this moment.

“Look at me,” he snaps at you. You do as he asks. Your eyes meet his icy pale gaze as he smirks.

König moves forward, dropping his gaze down to your sweet cunt. He nuzzles himself between your legs and began to slap his heavy cock on your clit, slowly moving himself up and down. Finding your entrance, he pushes forward. No prep as he pushes in, your pussy tight and dry as it squeezes around him pushing into without warning. He eyes watch your cunt struggle to take his enormous size through the screen of his phone. The belt around your neck muffling the pitch of your pained sounds.

“Ooh, ja. That’s tight.” He groans as he pushes all the way into you.

As your hips squirm with discomfort your walls flutter all around the length of his cock sending waves of pleasure through his body.  Slowly he moves his hips back as he spits on his cock for lubrication. You watch in disgust as he records himself pushing back in. He begins to fuck into you faster, causing the bed to hit the wall. You try to focus on breathing as you feel slightly light headed.

König begins to let out small moans of pleasure as your body begins to react, betraying you, and gets aroused. He smirks as your pussy begins to get creamy and fucks you harder. His hips clashing harshly against yours.

“I knew you’d like this, Kleine Hure.” He laughs as he speaks those words.

With his free hand he reaches up and squeezes your breast before slapping them both harshly; leaving behind red marks and making you whimper slightly. His hand moves to your throat and chokes you. Already struggling for air, you begin to squirm. After a few seconds he lets go and slaps your face lightly.

König suddenly withdraws from you and moves up your body until he is hovering above your face, his cock covered in your creamy white arousal. “Open your mouth.”

You do as he says and begins to shove his cock into your mouth, bucking fast as his balls slap against your chin. The camera in your face making sure to record your struggle. You gag repeatedly, body arching wanting to push him off, but your hands are still bound behind your back.

Finally, he pulls his dick out. A long thick string of saliva hanging from the tip. You begin to cough and spit out more globs on to your own face to clear your airways. König spreads your spit around his cock and goes back down to your pussy. He uses his knees to spread your legs apart to fit his body. His cock easily slips back into you. He lets out a low moan as soon as he feels your grip on his sensitive tip again before pushing fully in.

He bucks his hips in a such a harsh motion he is slamming again your sore cervix. He moves forward slightly to put the camera in your face and record you as you get fucked. You try to turn your head but he quickly grabs your jaw and turns your head back.

“Look into the camera.” He demands and you obey. After a while the camera drifts down your body to your breasts and then back to your shiny cunt. “Schön, I got lucky with this one.”

Not able to hold off any longer, König pulls out of you quickly and begins to jerk his cock over you, moaning loudly. His cum shooting all over your body, landing on your breasts and stomach as some drips down on to your pussy. He stands there breathing heavy as he moves the camera over you to show off his work along your chest and breast. He slaps his cock on your clit a few times, recording himself playing with the cum that dripped.

Finally, König stands up, stopping the recording on his phone. He walks over to the one on the tripod and stops recording as well. He turns to you and walks to the bed beside you. Gently he removed the belt from your neck, it leaving behind a deep mark that will most likely bruise.

“You did well Maus.” His voice oddly soft as he goes into the bathroom to grab towels and wipe you off.

Grabbing your shoulders, he sits you up and turns around to grab the water and sandwich on the dresser. He opens the water and holds it up for you to drink. He is patient with you and doesn’t rush you as you gulp the water desperately. König holds the sandwich up for you to take bites. You’re hungry but lack an appetite after everything that just happened.

“Come on, don’t waste food Maus.” König still speaking softly to you, it disgusts you. Still, you continue to eat the food not wanting to anger him.

Once you’re done eating the sandwich, he moves your body up more in the bed and pulls the covers over you, not allowing you to get dressed. Hands still bound you feel terrible pain in your wrist and arms, causing you to fidget.

“I’m sorry, I hope you understand why I can’t untie you.”

You don’t respond, just look at him. He looks back at you and walks away. He gets dressed, boxers and a blue shirt, and pulls out a laptop from one of his bags.

“Get some rest, sweet dreams.” He gently kisses the top of your head and sits on the other side of the bed.

On his laptop he uploads the videos he took of you. He begins to watch and edit the videos before putting it up for sale. You lay there listening to the recordings over and over again as he works on it. Finally, you’re able to fall asleep. Wishing to wake up anywhere but here.

.

.

.

.

tag: @soosouyoung

#please read the warnings #tw: noncon #konig #konig x y/n #konig cod #konig x reader #könig #könig x reader #könig smut #konig smut #könig mw2 #könig cod #konig x reader smut #konig x you #könig call of duty #könig x reader smut #könig x y/n #könig x you

[nayziiz]

Speed | CS55

Summary: In a chance encounter at a gas station, a mysterious woman on a Yamaha YZF R6 catches the attention of Carlos, a charming Ferrari driver. Little did they know the journey they would both go on.

Warning: Smut, fluff

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC (Lola)

Masterlist

Chapter 1

As she stood there, the thrumming pulse of the Ferrari reverberated through the asphalt, sending subtle vibrations up through the soles of her shoes. It was a sensory experience, feeling the raw power of the sports car resonate in the ground beneath her, almost as if it were alive.

Impulsively, she turned her head to the side, her curiosity piqued by the familiar rumble. Her gaze landed on the sleek lines of the Ferrari, its glossy exterior catching the sunlight in a dazzling display. And there, behind the wheel, was a figure that exuded an air of confidence and charisma.

The Spaniard seemed engrossed in inspecting her motorcycle, his keen eyes scanning over every detail with a discerning gaze. It was a moment of unexpected connection, two individuals brought together by their mutual appreciation for the machines they rode.

With a casual wave, she acknowledged his presence, the gesture a simple yet genuine expression of goodwill. In that moment, she didn't dwell on the significance of the encounter, merely allowing herself to be swept up in the rhythm of the city streets.

As the light finally shifted to green, she smoothly accelerated, the engine of her motorcycle roaring to life as she merged onto the highway. Unbeknownst to her, Carlos, drawn by the allure of the chase, followed suit, his Ferrari seamlessly blending into the flow of traffic as he pursued her.

What ensued was a thrilling game of cat and mouse, each manoeuvring through lanes with precision and skill, their vehicles dancing in harmony with the rhythm of the road. With every twist and turn, they pushed the limits of speed and control, the adrenaline coursing through their veins fueling their determination.

In her mirrors, she caught glimpses of the sleek Ferrari gaining ground, the distance between them shrinking with each passing moment. It was an exhilarating pursuit, the thrill of the chase igniting a competitive fire within her.

And then, in a daring move, Carlos surged ahead, the Ferrari darting past her with effortless grace. In that moment, a surge of determination washed over her, igniting a fierce resolve to reclaim the lead.

With unwavering focus, she pushed her motorcycle to its limits, the wind whipping against her as she chased after him, the highway stretching out before them like an endless ribbon of asphalt.

After a heart-pounding ten-minute exchange of speed and strategy, she made the split-second decision to veer off the highway, her sights set on the nearest gas station. It was a calculated move, a chance to catch her breath and regroup after the exhilarating pursuit.

As Carlos pursued her off the highway, the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins was unlike anything he had experienced on the racetrack. As a seasoned Formula 1 driver, he was accustomed to the thrill of high-speed races, the precision of every turn and manoeuvre ingrained in his muscle memory.

But this... this was different. The chase, the unpredictability, the sheer exhilaration of the moment stirred something deep within him, reigniting a passion that had lain dormant for far too long. Behind the wheel of his Ferrari, he felt alive, every twist and turn of the road awakening his senses in a way that no race ever could.

Gone was the familiar routine of the racetrack, replaced instead by the raw excitement of the open road. Here, there were no rules, no boundaries—just the exhilarating rush of speed and the thrill of the chase.

As he followed her into the unknown, a sense of liberation washed over him, the weight of expectations and obligations fading into the background. In this moment, there was only him, the road, and the enigmatic figure ahead—a tantalising mystery waiting to be unravelled.

For Carlos, this impromptu pursuit was a welcome departure from the structured world of Formula 1, a reminder of the pure joy that came from simply letting go and embracing the thrill of the ride.

As she sat astride her motorcycle, preparing to refuel, the familiar hum of the gas station's pumps reverberated through the ground beneath her. Turning slightly, she caught sight of the sleek Ferrari gliding into the station, pulling up to the pump behind her with a quiet confidence.

With practised ease, she dismounted her bike, the rumble of the engine fading into the background as she focused on the task at hand. As she began to pump gas into her tank, she felt his eyes on her, the weight of his gaze lingering like a tangible presence.

Carlos, unable to resist the magnetic pull of curiosity, stepped out of his Ferrari, his movements graceful and deliberate. Though he tried to appear nonchalant, his stolen glances betrayed a deep-seated intrigue, an unspoken desire to learn more about the enigmatic figure before him.

As she continued with the task of refuelling, she sensed his presence lingering nearby, his gaze never straying far from her. And then, in a moment of quiet confidence, she reached up and removed her helmet, revealing the face that had captured his attention.

With a fluid motion, she released her two plaits from beneath her jacket, the cascading strands of hair framing her features like a halo in the soft light of the gas station. It was a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes—revealing not just her physical appearance, but also a glimpse of the person behind the helmet, the individual beneath the facade.

A playful smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she casually placed her helmet on the seat of her motorcycle, her gaze meeting Carlos's with a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes.

“Hey.” She greeted him, the word laced with an easygoing charm that seemed to dissolve the tension between them.

“Hey.” He replied, his voice soft, almost tentative, as he returned her greeting with a shy smile, his eyes lingering on her with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.

A comfortable silence settled between them for a moment, the air tinged with a palpable sense of anticipation. And then, with a casual observation, she broke the ice, her words light and playful.

“Nice car.” She remarked, nodding towards the sleek Ferrari parked behind him, her tone casual yet appreciative.

Carlos's smile widened at her compliment, a faint blush colouring his cheeks as he returned the gesture.

“Nice bike.” He countered, his eyes flickering briefly to the motorcycle beside her with genuine admiration.

With the teasing glint in her eyes, she extended an invitation that hung in the air like an irresistible dare.

“I could take you for a ride.” She teased, her words laced with a playful challenge that dared him to seize the opportunity for adventure.

Carlos chuckled at her teasing remark, a warm smile gracing his lips as he shook his head lightly.

“I'm happy with my four wheels.” He replied, his tone light and playful, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

She chuckled in response, her laughter a melodic sound that filled the air between them with a sense of camaraderie.

“Too bad, then.” She teased, her words carrying a playful undertone as she finished pumping gas into her motorcycle.

As she replaced the nozzle and secured the gas cap, the moment lingered, suspended in the air like a shared secret between them.

Carlos's curiosity piqued as he took a step closer, his eyes scanning over the sleek lines of her motorcycle with genuine interest.

“What type of bike is it?” He wondered aloud, his curiosity evident in the way he lingered over each detail.

Her heart skipped a beat at the unexpected question, a flush of flustered surprise colouring her cheeks as she fumbled for an answer.

“Oh, this is a Yamaha YZF R6.” She replied, her voice slightly breathless as she struggled to compose herself in the face of his scrutiny. Carlos chuckled at her response, a knowing glint in his eyes as he took in the information.

“Sounds fast.” He remarked with a playful grin, his admiration for her motorcycle evident in his tone.

As he stepped closer to inspect her all-black motorbike, she couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at his genuine interest. It was a rare moment of connection, a shared appreciation for the machines that fueled their passion for the open road.

“I wasn't expecting to see a Ferrari Roma today.” He stated, changing the subject as she removed her gloves, the gesture a subtle invitation to continue their conversation.

Carlos's bafflement at the woman's unexpected knowledge of cars was evident in his tone as he posed the question.

“You know cars, too?” He asked, his curiosity tinged with a hint of admiration for the intellectually captivating woman dressed in full riding gear.

“I like pretty things.” She countered, her words carrying a hint of mystery that only served to deepen Carlos's curiosity. She responded with a sly smile, her eyes sparkling with playful mischief as she offered a simple yet intriguing explanation.

His laughter filled the air, a warm and genuine sound that echoed in the space between them.

“Good to know.” He replied with a grin, his amusement evident as he marvelled at the enigmatic woman before him.

A comfortable silence settled between them for a moment, the air charged with unspoken tension as they lingered in the aftermath of their playful banter. And then, with a boldness that surprised even himself, he seized the opportunity to extend an invitation of his own.

“You don't perhaps fancy going for dinner sometime to tell me more about your... Yamaha XYZ?” He proposed, his tone teasing yet genuine as he met her gaze with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity.

“YZF R6.” She corrected him with a breathy chuckle, her amusement evident as she clarified the name of her motorcycle. Carlos chuckled in response, his tone light and teasing as he acknowledged his lack of knowledge.

“Precisely. I have so much to learn.” He teased, his eyes dancing with playful banter.

But she wasn't one to back down from a challenge, and with a quick-witted retort, she turned the tables on him.

“Depends. Will the nameless man with the Ferrari pick me up too?” She countered, her words laced with a hint of mischief as she playfully tested his manners. Carlos, caught off guard by her boldness, felt a flush of embarrassment colour his cheeks at his oversight.

“The man with the Ferrari most certainly can. His name is Carlos.” He replied, determined to make amends for his earlier oversight. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she met his gaze, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Well, Carlos, it sounds like you have a date with Lola.” She remarked with a playful grin, her tone light and inviting.

“Lola?” Carlos repeated, a note of curiosity in his voice as he echoed the name she had given him.

“Technically, it's Louise, but everyone calls me Lola.” She explained, her smile widening at the revelation. Carlos nodded as he retrieved his phone from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Your number, please, Miss Lola.” He insisted.

Carlos's insistence drew a warm smile from Lola as she typed her number into his phone, taking a moment to add a playful touch by including the full descriptor of her bike beside her name. With a chuckle, Carlos accepted his phone back, the corners of his lips perking up at her playful gesture.

“Now you have to remember what kind of bike I ride.” She joked, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she watched him lock his screen and tuck the phone away in his pocket.

“It was lovely meeting you, Lola.” Carlos greeted her warmly, his voice tinged with genuine sincerity. “I'd love to stay and chat, but I need to get to a meeting.”

“Nice meeting you too, Carlos.” Lola nodded in acknowledgment, her smile lingering as she watched him climb into his Ferrari.

With a wink, he pulled out from behind her, the sleek sports car purring to life as it rolled past her, leaving her with a sense of anticipation for the adventure that lay ahead.

#carlos sainz #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #carlos #ferrari #f1 2024 #ferrari f1 #formula one #carlos sainz jr #scuderia ferrari #carlos sainz 55 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #cs55 #cs55 x reader #cs55 imagine #cs55 fluff #cs55 fic #forza ferrari #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz fanfiction #f1 imagines #biker girl #biker girl fic

[siienthiil]

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓪.

𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼.

contents.. yandere¿ dazai osamu x reader.

Choking.

You were violently choking on the hard wood floor, your body tilted to its side and your eyesight blurred by a mixture of dirt and blood that had infiltrated your vision. You had long ago coughed up all the rich liquid that was blocking your windpipe, which was a scare flavor of saliva and blood.

The air was vile, the smell so overwhelming that you could practically taste it on your tongue. You gagged, the unpleasant aroma of filth that has been accumulated overtime settling on your tastebuds and the smell adding to your migrane. Your head was pounding and you swore it was split open by the distracting pain that pulsated through your skull and to the back of your neck. Your leg too was also fractured, but to an extent, and bruises covered your body in various places.

But, nothing. Absolutely nothing would ever compare to the absolute fury Dazai unleashed on you after he found out about your escape attempt.

.

.

It feels like you're flying

Well, maybe you are by the way your body feels totally weightless as you desperately create distance from the prison you were once held in. Tears poured from your eyes like rivulets, a strange sense of hope swelling inside your chest. A feeling that you forgot had even existed and you sure as hell didn't want that feeling to go away.

You needed to get to where people were, you needed to blend into the crowd. You needed to get to the police.

The streets were no longer silent; distant laughter, people talking and the sound of motors running as vehicles drove up and down the road. Sounds you thought you'd never miss, but you did. Months of confinment and everything around you feels new. The air was cold and crisp and it seemed like yesterday that it was just the summer, yet it felt so long.

It doesn't take you long to stumble across a police station, the big and bold lettering on the sign catching your attention from a mile away. You waste no time to advance towards the building, bare feet crushing the cold snow beneath them with every accelerating step.

Until you're not.

Slender fingers wrap around your arm and suddenly your heart is in your stomach. The grip on your arm is animalistic and full of control, fingernails digging crescents into your flesh and you find yourself unable to move another step.

"where are you going?"

.

.

You're pulled back into consciousness by the sound of heavy footsteps reverberating against the walls and moving towards the door. Your heartrate immediately skyrockets, your anxiety alleviating your impending hyperventilation and cold sweat bathing over you. Your eyes shoot wide open and you fixate on the light shining through the small crevice beneath the door.

Quietly, you breath in through your nose and out through your mouth.

In through your nose,

out through your mouth.

The breathing exercise doesn't do anything to help soothe you and infact, you feel that your heart is beating so loudly that you think that he might've heard it to.

The footsteps come to a stop infront of the door and the air soon fell omnious and tense, hinges clicking and the door slowly opening with a loud creak. Dazai peered into the room, surveying it and noting every single detail, likely to see if you made another attempt to escape; his gaze lingering on the boarded up window. He looks away from the window and his honey brown eyes fall onto you.

Your blood runs cold and you'd hope that you would just go into cardiac arrest.

There was a slight tug at the corner of his mouth before his lips curl into a full blown smile, his eyes becoming downturned and his face molding into that disgustingly bright expression. He steps into the room, closing the door behind him and flicking on the light as he takes a step in. Why was he here? Why now? Is he planning to simply just watch you this time? Rarely, he would break a few of your limbs, but you didn't trust him. Not this time around. It rarely ever happens, but there's no guarantee where his head space is in, in that moment. He could suddenly burst and let all his anger out on you again.

He walks towards you and you narrow your eyes at him, an involuntary whimper bubbling within your throat. He kneels down infront of you and reaches his hand out to touch you, fingertips barely grazing your skin before you flinched away. The second you flinched, his heart twisted with hurt and rejection. He frowns and his hand falls to his side.

"You're still upset with me?" He says and he's not asking, he's simply making the observation. He finds it amusing how you think you could stay mad at him when he threw you into this room and only fractured your leg for precautionary measures. It'll heal, but it was much better than losing a limb, no?

You don't answer him and he sighs.

"I can't have you running off on me, ___. You understand why I did what I did, right? To...?" He's expecting you answer back, his gaze lingering on you and when you don't answer him, you can hear the finaltility in his voice. "To.. keep you safe. Now, say it back to me."

"Go fuck yourself."

Surprised, he leans back just a bit and raises a brow, his face slowly lighting up with amusement as his sinister laughter fills the room. He tilts his head at you, a toothy grin remaining etched onto his face as he looks down at you with mock curiosity.

"Where did you get the balls to speak like that? You're not exactly in the right position to be insulting me." He feigned arrogance, another huff of laughter escaping from his lips, "You are way too stubborn for your own good, gorgeous. You're gonna get yourself hurt if you keep this up."

Your eyes bore into him like daggers and you don't give him the satisfaction of responding yet again. Hatred pumped through your veins, fueling your rage and you wanted nothing more than to let out all your emotions on him. All the confusion, the hate.

The lack of communication from you made him frown once again, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"What's wrong? You were talking just fine a few moments ago. Cat got your tongue?" He tilts his head again, "You know how this'll turn out for you."

"Why me?" You croak out, managing to bring it upon yourself to finally say something that wasn't just profanities. He raises a brow.

"Why not?" He said, "You gave me a reason to."

"And what was that reason? I was there for you and you turned around and fucking kidnapped me!" Your voice is strained and it hurts to even talk, your voice coming out scratchy. Most likely due to the amount of coughing and screaming you did during the past couple days.

"If you're so insistent." Dazai chuckled, "You were too busy meddling in affairs that shouldn't have concerned you and look where being nosy got you. You were naive to think nothing would happen to you when digging around for information on the port mafia. I did it to keep you safe."

"To keep me safe? From what? The port mafia? Whatever they had planned in store for me would've been much better than the shit you've put me through." You spat angrily, slowly pushing yourself from off the ground and carefully scooting yourself back into the wall. Hissing in pain when you moved your injured leg to accommodate the position you were in.

"You wouldn't have liked what they'd do to you." He states matter-of-factly.

"You're a traitor and a fucking cunt. I trusted you."

"Is that all you know how to say? Profanities?"

"You were my boyfriend! You wouldn't have done this to me if you fucking loved me-" You should've known better than to think that he'd let you finish that sentence. Abruptly, his hand came up to have a tight grip on your jaw, forcefully pulling your face towards him and forcing you to look at him, a dangerous shadow casting over his features.

"I am your boyfriend and I do love you. You do not know the shit I would do for you and you'd certainly hate me more so if you had the slightest of clue of what I've done for you." His tone of voice sends chills down your spine and you find yourself not being able to hold eye contact with him for much longer. You close your eyes and you feel tears starting to form, prompting you to squeeze your eyelids shut. He doesn't take kindly to the action, his grip on your jaw tightening and with a slight shake of your head, you finally open your eyes to meet his gaze once more.

"Does it hurt?" He suddenly asks, causing you look at him with confusion.

"W-what?"

"This." He lets go of your face and stands up, towering over you and you carefully watch him as he takes a single step towards you. Your mouth runs dry and you want nothing but to disappear into the wall and to sink into the floor as his intimidating silhouette stared down at you. You don't even see him raise his boot before his foot came to press down onto your fractured leg, sending a rush of blinding hot pain throughout your entire being. Your mouth fell open, but no screams came out. All you could manage was a painful yell before your vocal cords decided to cease on you.

"Fuck!" You screamed out, tears finally pouring out of your eyes, "P-please, wait!" You gasp.

"What was that?" Dazai asked, putting more pressure down onto your leg. You wheeze and under the blurriness, you swear you can see him looking down at you with a great amount of pride and arrogance, his eyes sparkling with intense excitement. Though, he himself would like to believe he didn't like hurting you, but how else would you learn?

"I'm sorry!"

"Say that again, I didn't hear you." What an asshole, am I right?

"P-please, Dazai..I'm sorry!" Finally, he steps off your leg and you didn't even realize that you were holding your breath until his weight was finally off it. Crying, you reach for your knee on the same leg that was fractured, rubbing it up and down to try and soothe the pain as you rocked back and forth, trying desperately to distract yourself from the agony. Fuck, you missed being at home, missed the life you had before Dazai became a lunatic. But, it made you question, was your boyfriend always like this?

"I did warn you that you'd get hurt if you kept the attitude up." It is Dazai's voice that brings you out of your thoughts, but the agonizing pain was still there and honestly, right now you could care less about him being right there. You just wanted the pain to stop. To beg him to kill you, but you knew if you did that, than he's more likely to lash out. 'Kill you? Why? So you can leave me?' While savagely beating the shit out of you. If you had the strength, you would've attempted to kill him, but despite all the shit he's done to you, you still had those vague feelings for him. Or were they really vague?

He sighed and leaned down on his heels, demanding your attention as his hand reached for yours on your knee. You pull your hand away and he doesn't move or flinch, instead, his hand comes to where you were previously trying to soothe the pain.

"All I ask is that you listen to me, ___. Otherwise you wouldn't be going through all this pain if you would just fucking-" Cutting himself off before he could say something offensive. Which was laughable on his part. He surely had no problem using violence against you as a show of power, but when it came to his words? Oh, he was sure to be 'careful' with what he said when it came to you.

"I really don't like hurting you." He said, gently rubbing your knee. It takes a lot of focus to muster up the words through your fucked up vocal cords, but when you do, you dare ask.

"Then why do you do it?"

"How else are you supposed to learn if you can't obey what I ask?"

Anger just swelled within your heart even more. That was his justification for hurting you? Because you wouldn't obey him? He was never this controlling when you two first started out, but I guess it's true that you never really realize that you're in a bad situation until it becomes too late.

"I love you, ___."

"..."

"I love you too, Dazai.."

It's been 4 years(?) since I've posted lmao. This is a rewrite of a previous 'x reader' I wrote awhile ago. I am open to taking requests and it doesn't have to explicitly be yandere, you're able to request anything.

#anime #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs imagines #yandere x you #yandere #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #yandere dazai #Spotify

[ssslime]

nocte solitudo

his mind tends to wander at night.

➥ astarion x gn!tav, ranger!tav, some angst, a lil comfort, mentions of blood

It wasn’t often Astarion felt rested.

Meditation brought him some reprieve, at least, during nights where the camp’s quiet was only interrupted by the distant buzz of insects and the sound of the trees above them. Sometimes silence was too loud — too thick and heavy for him to relax.

Astarion shifted in his bedroll. His ruby gaze was caught upward, piercing into a little coin-sized hole in the cloth ceiling.

Tav would probably stitch that up quickly, if he asked. They’re good with crafty little things like that, all nimble fingers and a brow furrowed in concentration.

He rolled over.

A shard of light caught in Astarion’s eye for a second. The tiniest bit of moonlight bounced off of his daggers, tossed unceremoniously atop his travel bag in the corner of the tent. Smooth silver gave way to crusted, dark blood and grime near the sharpened tips. Astarion’s lips twitched downward.

He was hungry. He hadn’t fed in a while, and he’d need to hunt something down within the next few nights. Things had just felt hectic as of late — why exactly Tav insisted on helping every dripping wet, sniffling fellow they found on the side of the road, he’d never know. It grated his nerves sometimes, how it seemed they were unable to say no to any sad little sob story fed to them. He would know; it’s worked for him before.

But, Tav would probably help him hunt down some wild boar, or maybe even a bear to hold him off for a while, if he asked. They’re quite the hunter.

He sat up.

Outside, he could hear Scratch idling around. The dog’s eager nose gave him away; sniffing and snorting softly, Astarion knew the pup was poking around their trunk of food nearby. With a sigh, he stood to his feet and parted the curtain door. He wouldn’t be settled any time soon, anyways.

The night air felt cool on his skin as he stepped outside. All was calm, as expected. A crackling, dying fire laid in the center of camp, dimly lighting the area and casting weak shadows along the surrounding tree line. Astarion let his eyes wander over to the white dog some yards away.

Scratch lifted his head and peered right back. His tail swayed lightly back and forth and his ears perked up.

“Hungry, are you?” Astarion asked quietly, looking between the dog and the closed chest. Scratch simply tilted his head to the side, his big, pleading eyes working wonders on the supposed stone cold vampire.

Astarion sighed. “Fine, fine — but nobody hears about this, understood?”

He wasn’t sure why he was talking to a damned dog. He reminded himself of how strange and silly Tav looked whenever they would communicate with animals. It was nearly second nature to them, it seemed, and perhaps that’s what it was — a survival technique, like all their other skills, developed out of necessity. He could relate, and that thought alone made his stomach turn a little.

Thoughts like these came to Astarion at the worst times. Moments where he was free from distraction, with countless minutes under his belt to ruminate and dissect, even when all he wanted was to simply close his eyes and let time pass like sand between his fingers.

He tossed the dog a sausage link. He knew what it was like to have a feast right in front of you, and not be allowed to indulge.

In his mind’s eye, Astarion could picture slinking across the stagnant landscape of their sleepy little camp. Working with the shadows to blend seamlessly into Tav’s patchwork wonder of a tent. Watching their chest rise and fall with deep, steady breath — their lashes flickering just the slightest bit over their cheeks. Feeling their pulse thrum beneath his lips, their breath catching, their hand weaving into the curls at the nape of his neck.

Tav would probably let him feed, if he asked. They’d shared their blood before; succulent and sweet and mind-numbingly warm as it slipped down his parched throat. They’re such a delicious treat.

But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t ask such a selfish thing.

He sighed.

Change is difficult. Surely his life was leaps and bounds better than it was before; no longer did he have to prowl taverns and dark streets for vulnerable prey in the form of drunk and lonely hearts. But this… duality inside of him made him sick. He wished so desperately for things to be different.

He wished they could’ve been another name and face to discard the morning after.

“Astarion?”

He wished he didn’t see parts of himself in them.

“Is everything alright? It’s very late.”

He wished he could be selfish with them, because it’d be so painfully easy. But he couldn’t.

He glanced up, soaking in Tav’s tousled hair and squinted expression as it grew closer. They rubbed one eye with the back of their hand and furrowed their brow, watching him expectantly. Scratch, of course, trotted over happily upon seeing his favorite person, and leaned up against their legs. Tav dropped their hand to rub along the dog’s snout and cheek in a show of idle affection.

“I was just… thinking,” Astarion replied finally. “Feeling a bit restless, I suppose. And what of you, darling?”

Tav blinked their bleary eyes, watching him for a moment before opening their mouth again.

“Would you come lay with me?”

It wasn’t often Astarion felt rested. After 200 years, it was something he was used to. His nights were filled with crushing guilt or staggering loneliness, doomed to wallow in the dark and filth of his seemingly endless existence.

But, perhaps change is a good thing. Perhaps this is what it’s like to be born anew, to shed your old skin in favor of a life newer, better than before. It’s unsettling, it’s sensitive.

Astarion pondered this as he settled in behind Tav. The scent of lavender curled around him as soon as he laid down on their bedroll. He didn’t mind — it had quickly become a source of comfort, whether he’d admit it to himself or not.

“Thank you,” Tav whispered after a few moments of quiet, “it feels better with you here.”

Astarion slid his ruby gaze over to settle on the back of their head. He turned onto his side, weaving his arm under theirs to rest on their waist. Tav relaxed easily into his gentle hold, fitting their bodies together like they were shaped from the same clay.

“You don’t have to thank me, dove. I’m just a few tents away,” he leaned closer, ghosting his lips over their shoulder with a gentle kiss, full of all the warmth and affection he never knew he was capable of before, “all you have to do is ask.”

#navi;astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 #and i oop!!!! #i need him….. that’s all #queued

[tainsan]

misfits VII

⇥ pairing: ot8 ateez x fem! reader

⇥ warnings: anxiety, swearing, shit gets revealed :O

⇥ word count: 7.5k

⇥ a/n: this is a crazy chapter buckle up your seatbelts, pookies.

⇢ masterlist ⇠

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--- THIS IS AN 18+ FANFICTION MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ---

“I’ve actually never been to a furniture store before,” you admit, smiling towards Yunho who is driving the car towards your destination. 

When you emerged from your bedroom earlier, you could almost feel the tension in the air, you attempted to go back into your room, yet Jongho saw you and beckoned you over. Just like that, they all dispersed, going their own separate ways. You tried to read the room, seeing as they all seemed to have heavy hearts and sorrowful looks plastered on their features. Yet, they disappeared far too quickly for you to read further or even get a question out, leaving Hongjoong and Yunho in the kitchen. You were amiably surprised when Yunho said he was tagging along, claiming he needed a new set of drawers.

“We have been way too many times,” Yunho admits, his eyes not leaving the road.

“When we first moved to the house there was no furniture at all, so we had to go out and get it all. Plus, we only have one car, so many trips were necessary.” Hongjoong adds, sitting in the back seat, looking at you through the rear-view mirror.

Turning backwards to look at him, you have a baffled look on your expression, causing Hongjoong to give you a questioning stare.

“You know you can deliver the furniture, right?” You ask him, wondering if he actually didn’t know that the company delivers, to make things easier for the customers.

“I know that silly.” Hongjoong pokes your forehead softly with his index finger, “It takes two to three days to deliver, we didn’t want to sleep on the floor for three days.” He explains, an amused grin covering his features.

“Plus, we got to see it looked like, beds sofas and stuff. It was nice to try it out before buying it.” Yunho adds on, informing you further why they didn’t order what they needed online.

Realising their point, you recline back into your chair, feeling slightly bashful that you were wrong about something so confidently.

Glancing to your left, your gaze naturally falls upon Yunho, He is wearing a white button-up shirt tucked in light-washed denim pants. It’s such a simple outfit yet for some reason he just looks so good. He has his sleeves pulled up, revealing the tantalizing glimpse of his strong forearms, tense and defined. Tracing your gaze down his arms all the way to his hands, your mind gets even wilder as you notice the silver rings adorning his long slender fingers, veins flowing from his hands and up his strong arms. The sunlight cascades through the window, casting a warm glow upon his features, accentuating the chiselled lines of his jaw and the gentle curve of his lips. Your eyes scan the contours of his face, captivated by the subtle play of shadows and the spark of determination that shines in his eyes as he steers the vehicle.

A rush of warmth floods your chest, causing your heart to flutter as you realize that your feelings for Yunho may extend beyond friendship. At this moment, every feature seems to come alive, every detail etched in your mind. You can't help but be drawn to the confident yet gentle way he holds the steering wheel, and the subtle movements of his hands as they navigate the road ahead. There's an undeniable magnetism about him, an intoxicating blend of strength and tenderness that stirs something deep within you.

You catch yourself stealing glances, unable to tear your eyes away, as if you are glimpsing at a masterpiece that the world is yet to fully appreciate.

Attempting to calm your beating heart and mute the heat covering your cheeks, you take a deep, silent breath. It’s when you look up into the rear-view mirror and notice Hongjoong’s sharp, sultry eyes already staring deep into your eyes, the sudden eye contact making you feel weak at the knees, and you are suddenly thankful that you are sitting down, knowing you would have likely fallen over otherwise. Hongjoong is staring back at you with mischievous eyes and a playful smirk dancing on his lips. In that fleeting moment, his actions become laden with a teasing flirtatiousness that catches you off guard, sending a jolt of excitement through your veins. He smirks at you, accompanied by a subtle raise of his eyebrow, and playfully runs a hand through his hair. The air inside the car crackles with a newfound tension, and a rush of warmth flushes to your cheeks as you become flustered by his unexpected display. The flicker of attraction between you becomes palpable in this shared moment of connection.

Holding the stare with Hongjoong, you observe as he leans back in the seat he is residing in, his legs relaxing slightly as his body relaxes against the back of the leather chair, bringing his arms up to cross over his chest, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. The smirk is still on his features, and you just know it’s there because he saw you checking out his friend. However, wanting the attention on him, Hongjoong spreads his legs a little further, cocking an eyebrow in your direction he teases you gently, almost as if he is asking, ‘Like what you see?’ 

You hate the way his small actions have such a large impact on you, suddenly realising that you are in a car with truly gorgeous men. Amidst the hustle and bustle of your own world in recent times, you suddenly find yourself grappling with the realization that you haven't truly taken the time to appreciate just how exceptionally good-looking each member of Ateez is. A wave of awe washes over you as you stand in their presence, feeling remarkably small and insignificant, wondering how on earth you could ever be fortunate enough to be in their company. The sheer handsomeness of each member seems to magnify with every beat of your racing heart, leaving you helplessly captivated.

It's as though a curtain has been lifted, allowing you to truly see and appreciate their stunning features. The realization dawns on you that you had only scratched the surface of their attractiveness until now. The more you've gotten to know them, the more their genuine sweetness and caring nature have illuminated their physical appeal. It's as if their inner beauty has enhanced their external allure, rendering them even more striking and enchanting.

Even Yunho, who perhaps hadn't initially caught your eye as much, now seems to possess a charm that surpasses your earlier perception. The subtle nuances in his expressions, the way his eyes sparkle with mischief or soften with empathy, all contribute to an undeniable attraction that you hadn't fully recognized before. As you find yourself drawn to his presence, you can't help but acknowledge the growing appreciation you hold for his unique and appealing attractiveness.

Lost in this newfound realization, you contemplate how lucky you are to have crossed paths with these remarkable individuals. The depth of their beauty, both inside and out, fills you with a profound sense of gratitude and wonder.

In the past few days, a heightened awareness of your roommates has settled within you, penetrating your thoughts and emotions in complicated ways. Each interaction now leaves a lasting impression on your mind, causing your cheeks to flush and your heart to flutter. Despite the inner chaos and uncharted territory of these recent feelings, you dare not admit or even contemplate the idea of being attracted to all eight of your roommates.

It has been a slow process, this changing perspective that has even redefined your perception of Yunho. That fateful night spent together, retrieving your moisturizer, somehow acted as a spark, unveiling a side of him that you had never fully recognized before. In the aftermath of that unexpected encounter, Yunho's sweetness towards you has only intensified, further clouding your thoughts, and stirring unfamiliar emotions. And it's not just him; all your roommates have shown remarkable kindness towards you, further complicating your feelings.

In the depths of your mind, you fight with the realization that it may be wrong to feel your roommates as something more than friends. You understand that their actions are simply from their naturally kind-hearted nature, not from any romantic intention. Yet, despite this rational understanding, you find it challenging to control the growing attraction you feel towards them. After all, it is only human to be drawn to people who exhibit such genuine warmth and charm.

However, the situation becomes more complex when you consider the details of your daily life. These are the people you see day in and day out, your cohabitants in the place you call home. The very fact that there are eight of them amplifies the difficulty of your feelings. How could you possibly navigate these uncharted waters, let alone muster the courage to confide in Jisung, knowing that his reaction would likely be one of shock and disbelief?

You reassure yourself that it is not a mere crush that you are experiencing. It's merely an appreciation for the captivating charm that each of your roommates possesses. It's a recognition of their magnetic qualities, their ability to make your heart skip a beat with a simple gesture or genuine smile. That's all it is. It's nothing more than finding them inherently and irresistibly charming. Or so you tell yourself, as you grapple with the swirling complexity of emotions that have taken root within your heart. 

“Earth to ___?” Yunho breaks you from your thoughts by waving his hand in front of your face, when you zone back into reality, Yunho lets out a chuckle, “There you are.” 

As your gaze shifts towards the window, a sudden realization dawns upon you — you find yourself parked in an indoor parking lot, the likely underground expanse hidden from view. Puzzled, you wrack your brain, unable to recall the exact moment when you entered this parking space. A flicker of concern arises within you as you silently hope that your momentary delay of attention while gazing at Hongjoong did not lead to you staring longingly at the man.

Looking back at said man residing in the back seat, you realise he is no longer in the car. 

“Where did Hongjoong go?” You question, climbing out of the car, Yunho also departing the vehicle and closing the door behind him.

“Went to get a parking ticket,” Yunho explains, pondering what you were so intensely thinking about for the past few minutes. 

Realization prompts a nod from you, and you carefully shut the car door behind you. Swiftly gathering your belongings from the trunk, you hasten your steps to catch up with Yunho, who is already striding purposefully towards what appears to be the entrance of the expansive store. As you approach, Hongjoong appears near the entrance, his expression adorned with a gentle smile that adds a touch of warmth to the scene. 

“So, what exactly do you need?” Hongjoong questions as the three of you walk towards the large entrance of the store.

“I originally needed a bed, wardrobe, and a desk but luckily for me, I already have that. So, I’m just looking for some decorations for my room, it is a little plain. No offence” You joke, smiling at the man walking next to you, knowing the room used to be his. 

Hongjoong chuckles before answering, “I moved all my stuff from the room into the room upstairs, it looks better than you’d think.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

As you step foot into the furniture shop for the very first time, a spark of excitement dances in your eyes, and a contagious enthusiasm radiates from your every pore. The vast expanse of elegant sofas, beautifully crafted tables, and stylish decor unfolds before you. Weaving through the aisles, your fingers gently brushing against the soft fabrics, eyes tracing the intricate details of each piece. The shop becomes a playground of inspiration, where you start to envision the perfect blend of comfort and style for your own living space.

Yunho and Hongjoong, watch from a distance, unable to tear their gazes away. As they observe you, they can't help but be captivated by your genuine excitement. Their hearts swell with an inexplicable warmth, witnessing the unfiltered joy that illuminates your face. At this moment, they are reminded of what you bring to their lives, and their own feelings for you start intensifying, more than they thought was even possible.

Yunho and Hongjoong, their hearts heavy with the weight of unspoken words, find relief in simply witnessing your happiness. Longing to be the source of that joy, to be the ones who can make you smile with such genuine delight.

As the three of you drift through the shop, your excitement only intensifies, the two men accompanying you exchange glances, a silent understanding passing between them. They share a mutual desire to preserve your pleasure, even if it means tucking away their own desires for now. 

As you walk past the plant section, your attention is immediately grasped by a beautiful bonsai tree. Your gaze fixates on the enchanting tree displayed in the shop, a glint of delight lights up your eyes. Its delicate branches and intricate foliage captivate you. Always having a liking towards bonsai trees, you long to possess this miniature masterpiece, immediately imagining the beauty it would bring to your desk. However, as you glance at the price tag dangling from its pot, a wave of sadness washes over you. The realization that you cannot afford such a cherished treasure weighs heavily on your heart, wishing it wasn’t so expensive. 

“Whatever,” you grumble placing the plant back where you found it, reluctantly walking away. Hongjoong and Yunho notice the sudden change in your demeanour, confusion etching across their faces as they wonder why you don’t simply buy the bonsai that has captured your affection. 

“Why don’t you get it?” Hongjoong questions as he makes his way next to you.

“It’s too expensive,” you grumble, starting to peer at other plants that are more in your price range.

“I’ll get it for you,” Hongjoong casually says as if it’s nothing.

Looking over at the man, you give him an incredulous look, not quite believing he would spend such money on you.

“What? It’s a nice plant it’ll fit your room perfectly.” He continues, slightly amused by the expression on your face. “Has no one ever bought you something nice before?” He says as a joke, yet when he sees the saddened gaze cover your eyes, his smile immediately wipes away.

“Not really.” You respond, slightly embarrassed.

“I’m getting it.” Yunho immediately says, walking back to where you left the tree, Hongjoong hastily joining him in his steps

“Yunho? Hongjoong stop, it’s too expensive.” You exclaim as you follow on their heels.

“___, just let us. You deserve it.” Yunho says, a blush creeping up his neck as he sees the wide eyed, adorable look present on your face.

“What do you mean? Put it back guys.” You desperately attempt to halt them spending their money on you.

“You deserve nice things,” Hongjoong says, looking you in the eyes, “you deserve even more than this,”

“Just let us buy it, please?” Yunho adds.

The confessions of your roommates catch you completely off guard, leaving you in a state of shock and disbelief. Your heart seems to race at an almost impossible speed, thumping loudly in your chest as their words sink in, the sudden surge of emotion causing your cheeks to feel fiery.

Their heartfelt admission has an astonishing effect on you, intensifying the emotions you've been trying to navigate. The mixture of shock and warmth that courses through you in response to their words only serves to strengthen the feelings you hold deep within your heart. It's a moment you hadn't anticipated, yet you know it will leave an indelible mark on your memory.

“Okay, fine.” Is all you manage to say.

——

“So, is that all you need?” Yunho questions, as the three of you reach the end of the store, near the cashiers. Looking down at the basket Hongjoong is holding, it is nearly full to the brim with small decorations you found cute or fitting for your new bedroom.

Smiling up at the tall man, you nod shortly, excited to get home and arrange all the objects around. Yunho chuckles at the childish grin plastered on your face, not exactly understanding why it is that you’re so thrilled. Nonetheless, the beam on your face is far too infectious, and even he has a hard time masking the smile that is twitching at the corners of his lips.

“Okay, I will pay for my things quickly and I’ll meet you by the car?” You ask, beginning to stand in line to pay.

“We will help you carry the things,” Hongjoong replies, not moving from his spot, wanting an excuse to stay with you for as long as he can, never really having the chance when you are home.

“Please, it’s okay. I will meet you there,” you reply, when you see Yunho opening his mouth to retort, you stick your finger at the both of them, “I’m not taking no for an answer.” 

They both chuckle at your adorable antics before unwillingly heading towards the car park, where they will wait for you patiently.

Waving at them as they walk away, you turn your attention back to the line that you are standing in, the basket of ornaments held by your hands. Realizing the line isn’t too big, you feel yourself being relieved, not wanting to make Yunho and Hongjoong wait for too long. 

Approaching the cashier, ready to pay for your items, your anticipation mixes with a sense of accomplishment. With each item scanned and placed in a bag, you relish the satisfaction of transforming your vision into actual pieces for your room. 

Lost in your thoughts, you suddenly feel a jolt as a man dressed in black carelessly bumps into you, causing your grip to loosen. The item you were holding slips from your hand, a momentary panic gripping your heart. Thankfully, it lands on the ground without breaking, but you can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at the man's lack of consideration. 

Looking up, you somewhat expect to see him swiftly approaching with an apology, but to your surprise, he continues on his way, heading towards the exit, leaving you with a mix of confusion and lingering irritation. Scoffing, you look back at your items and continue putting them into the bag.

Walking back to the car, you try to remember where exactly the car was parked. You didn’t even know they had a car until this morning, so you still aren’t completely familiar with the model or size of the car, only remembering it is white. Maybe a Ford, maybe a Toyota? You can’t remember. At least you remembered what level of the car park you were at, and that it was next to a green wall. 

Scanning for the green wall, you are delighted when you find it, next to it a white Mercedes. Your guesses were close enough. Happily making your way to it, you are stopped in your tracks when you see the very person who had bumped into you, standing near the car, causing you momentarily stop walking towards the vehicle, knowing hundreds of stories about people being kidnapped next to their cars. When the person notices you, they immediately start strolling towards you, and for some reason, you thought you would be feeling afraid, yet for some reason, the man in front of you looks extremely familiar, way too familiar. It only clicks in your head when the man is about seven feet from you. 

“Danny? What are you doing here?” You question, recognising the man from one of your classes in high school. The suspicion and fright leave your body instantly as you realise who the man is, knowing him as one of the kinder people from your high school. After all the mess had happened, he was one of the only people who still talked to you. He wasn’t particularly one of your friends, but he definitely wasn’t someone you would hate to see again.

“___, I was wondering if that was you.” He exclaims as he reaches you, a smile on his face. 

“How did you even recognise me,” you joke, knowing your looks from a few years ago are drastically different from what they are now.

“I am very good at remembering people’s faces, sorry for bumping into you, I was too busy on my phone,” Danny explains, his hand going up to scratch the back of his neck, a light blush on his cheeks, feeling embarrassed for potentially hurting you.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply as you start to walk towards the car, not having to worry about being kidnapped anymore. Trying to open the trunk, you’re surprised when it doesn’t budge, and you realise that Yunho and Hongjoong haven’t reached the vehicle yet, making you worry ever so slightly.

“So, what are you doing in this city?” Danny asks, curious as to why you are here.

“I’m actually going to college here at the moment,” You smile, answering his question.

Danny has a shocked look on his face, “that’s crazy. You were always smart, but I never thought you were this smart. Isn’t this city's college super hard to get into?” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, and yes it was very difficult, but I made it.” You beam at the man, glad that it isn’t awkward to see him again. “What are you doing here by the way?” You question, realising you don’t know the reason for his random appearance.

“Oh, me and my girlfriend are visiting, I have some distant relatives here who she hasn’t met yet. I wanted to come to this shop because my aunt needed some screws for a broken bed,"

"Are you waiting on your girlfriend now?"

"No she hates furniture stores, so I decided to come quickly seeing as she’s busy.”

“I’m happy for you, Danny! How long have you guys been together?” 

“Thank you, ___. Just a little after we graduated high school, she went to the high school near ours.” 

“I see, that’s great!”

“Yeah, i guess so,” Danny says, with a sorrowful smile on his face.

“Kind of? What’s up, having some relationship troubles?” You question, reassuringly placing your hand on his shoulder, letting him know he is able to confide in you.

Danny sighs before answering, “I don’t know, recently she’s been acting strange, a few nights ago when she found out some of my relatives were living here, she demanded to go and meet them. It just doesn’t seem like her, she has never really been interested in meeting my family. Plus, when I woke up today, she wasn’t even in the hotel room, all she left was a note saying she was out doing something important. I don’t know what it means or what’s happening or if she is cheating, but it’s very confusing. I’m so sorry for ranting oh my God.” Danny exclaims, covering his face with his hands, embarrassed for suddenly loading a bunch of information on you, but it’s not like you care at all.

“Don’t worry, I really don’t mind. It sounds like she’s got some things going on in her head, my advice to for you to just sit down with her and ask her. If she’s cheating, it is definitely her loss, trust me.” You reassure the man, offering him a gentle comforting smile. It looks as if he really needed to talk to someone and you can only hope in this moment that his girlfriend isn’t out being unfaithful, knowing how much of a sweetheart Danny is. 

It’s when you hear Hongjoong’s voice that you’re brought back to reality, “Sorry, ___, the ticket machine wasn’t accepting my card for some reason,” Hongjoong appears from your left, Yunho next to him and you are pleased they are back, wanting some much-needed time to sit down after being on your feet for so long. 

“I was wondering where you two were,” you say, looking up at your roommates who have completely stopped and have bewildered looks on their faces, spiking your interest. They don’t look shocked or confused, but fearful and irritated. 

Hongjoong and Yunho were discreetly observing from a distance, their hearts skipping a beat as they notice you engaged in conversation with a random man. Concern flickers in their eyes, a protective instinct taking hold. The gentle furrow of their brows reveals their shared worry, their minds racing with the possibilities of what might be happening. From their place, they cannot hear the words exchanged, leaving them with a sense of uncertainty. Are you in trouble? The tension hangs thick in the air as they remain on high alert as they make their way towards you, almost sprinting. However, when they recognise the man who you are so happily chatting to, their hearts almost stop in their chests. All they can do is act normal and pretend they have no idea who the man is, in hopes that, just like you, he won’t be able to identify them.

“Oh, this is Danny, we used to go to high school together,” you explain, knowing that Yunho and Hongjoong would likely be confused as to why you are nattering with a random stranger. Instantly, Hongjoong and Yunho regain their composure, acting as if they were never taken aback. The change in their behaviour was minuscule, yet you somehow managed to notice it and you hope there is nothing wrong. Just like that, their cold exterior is back up, as if it never left.

“Hi,” Hongjoong says bluntly, not even bothering to look Danny in the eyes, simply walking past him and unlocking the car, opening the trunk, and taking the bag from your hands. Silently thanking him, he looks up at you and gives a brief smile. 

You expect Danny to bid his goodbyes, yet for some reason, he is staring at Yunho and Hongjoong, with a puzzled look on his features. 

“What’s up?” You question, wondering what has Danny’s attention so deeply, it looks as if he is analysing the two of them very thoroughly.

He stays silent for only a few seconds, yet for some reason it feels like an eternity, when he decides to speak it catches you off guard, “Of all the people I was expecting to meet, Kim Hongjoong and Jeong Yunho were definitely not on that list.” Danny’s words are fast, but they feel extremely lengthy, he continues speaking, “Well it does make sense you’re hanging around the group, ___. You were always with Seonghwa.” 

Hongjoong and Yunho feel their breaths catch in their throat, their world feels like it's crashing down on them, unable to carry the weight. They look at you, hoping that you do not understand and brush it off, but they know you well enough to not let it slide.

“What do you mean?” You ask, looking at Yunho and Hongjoong with a confused expression, before glancing back at Danny, “you know them?” You ask him, extremely baffled as to why Danny of all people would know about Ateez, thinking only people in your college would be accustomed to the group.

“Yes? Why do you sound so confused? Everyone thought you guys died.” Danny points his statement towards the two males, who are looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Let’s go, ___.” Yunho demands, his voice the same tone as how you heard it when you first met, venomous, yet this time it isn’t pointed at you. The two want to, need to get out of here before Danny says anything further, uncovering more information for you.

“Yunho, wait. Danny what are you talking about, what group? How do you know Seonghwa?” you inquire, desperate for answers and fast.

Hongjoong calls your name, his voice desperately wanting you to get in the car and get away from the situation before Danny can answer your questions. Looking, at Hongjoong, you see the desperate look in his eyes, and it confuses you further. Why won’t they let you hear the answer, and why are they so agitated by the man in front of you?

“KQ Fellaz? That group you were always with.” 

Hongjoong and Yunho curse, Hongjoong letting out a loud exhale and Yunho immediately grabbing your arm, softly pulling you towards the vehicle, begging you to get in.

“KQ? What do they have to do with…” Your voice trails off, your mind starts to unconsciously piece together all the parts, the memories, words, actions, everything starting to fit into place, and you suddenly feel incredibly brainless for not doing it earlier. No wonder they all felt so familiar, memories of the few weeks during the final year of high school come flooding back and you rapidly recognise why you were so gravitated to the group you live with now. 

They are KQ Fellaz. Ateez were KQ Fellaz. The outcasted boys you had spent countless days and nights with. It has been almost four years, which explains why they look severely different, but of course, their eyes stayed the same, and that’s exactly why you were drawn into the naturalness of each of their gazes. That explains why the group you have come to know recently, have been so kind, despite their reputation. 

As the truth unravels before you, your world shatters into a million pieces, leaving you feeling utterly betrayed by the eight boys who have seemingly re-entered your life. In the depths of your distress, you suddenly realize that they had known all along. The weight of their deception presses upon your heart, suffocating you with a mix of anger, hurt, and a profound sense of betrayal that resonates to the core of your being.

Memories flood her mind, moments spent together, laughter shared, secrets whispered. The realization that they were aware of the cherished moments while you remained ignorant, cuts through your soul like a knife. The questions multiply, tormenting you with the relentless demand for answers. Why had they chosen to keep this truth from you? What were their motives? And perhaps most agonizingly, how have you been so blind to their hidden knowledge, their shared past?

The emotions burst open, unleashing a torrent of pain and confusion. The sorrow swells within you, an overwhelming wave crashing against your heart. The trust you thought you were building with your roommates, now crumbles beneath your feet. Struggling with a deep sense of disappointment, questioning not only the intentions of your ‘friends’ but also your own ability to determine true friendship.

“I see.” You barely manage to get out. “It was nice to see you, Danny.” The meek smile on your face is clearly forced and Danny feels extremely guilty realising he said information that was unknown to you. All he can do is nod and give you a supportive smile, before heading in his own direction.

Slipping into the car, a wave of discomfort washes over you, prompting you to take a seat in the back, intentionally creating a physical distance between yourself, Yunho, and Hongjoong. As the door slams shut, you hastily retrieve your phone from your back pocket, your fingers typing out a message to Jisung. The urgency in your text is palpable as you request that you can stay at his place tonight, recalling that many of his roommates are currently away.

Outside the car, Hongjoong and Yunho stand frozen, their hearts pounding in their chests like a relentless drumbeat. The weight of the situation presses heavily upon them, and when their eyes meet, within that brief exchange, they can see the storm of emotions raging within each other. It's as if a mirror reflects their own turbulence, a shared understanding of the pain and anguish they both feel.

Taking his place in the passenger seat, Hongjoong turns his gaze back towards you, his expression filled with a mixture of sorrow and desperation. Your hunched form, wounded and distant, tugs at his heartstrings, causing his own heart to plummet to depths he didn't think were possible. Though he has endured his fair share of hardships, the sight of betrayal and resentment etched across your face pierces him in a way he has never experienced before.

Yunho joins Hongjoong in the front of the car, his body swivelling to face you, his eyes filled with an agonizing mixture of remorse and yearning. Hongjoong gently calls out your name, his voice a fragile plea to offer an explanation, to bridge the divide that has grown between you. However, before he can utter a single word, you cut him off, your voice brimming with a mixture of anger and hurt. 

“Drive.” Your voice is the most, hatred filled, venomous and hurt they have ever heard, you don’t even bother to look at them as you speak, afraid if you look in their eyes one more time, you would be destroyed. Inhaling heavily, they both turn around to face the front of the car. Pausing a moment, before deciding they will talk as soon as you get home and give you all the responses you wish to hear.

The car ride home is a stark contrast to the cheerful journey that brought you here earlier. Laughter and light-hearted banter have been replaced by a suffocating silence, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension. The atmosphere inside the car is so thick that it hangs in the air, weighing down on everyone's shoulders like an oppressive burden. Even the most cutting-edge tool would struggle to slice through the palpable tension that fills the vehicle.

In a fleeting moment, your eyes meet Hongjoong's reflection in the rear-view mirror. Within those brief seconds, you catch a glimpse of the profound sorrow and longing that lingers in his gaze. It strikes a chord deep within your heart, causing it to fracture a little more. Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong's mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, spinning in a storm of overthinking that he has never experienced to this extent before. 

On the left side of the car, Yunho mirrors Hongjoong's internal struggle. His hands tightly grip the steering wheel, his chest constricting with every passing second as if he might collapse from the overwhelming weight of guilt that courses through his veins. He keeps his focus on the road ahead, his jaw clenched, tears welling in his eyes, desperately fighting to regain control over the torrent of emotions that threaten to eat him alive.

As the car pulls into the garage of the once-familiar house, a sense of unease washes over you. The once-welcoming ambience has transformed into something cold, foreign, and unrecognizable. Your chest tightens, and the overwhelming sense of utter disloyalty becomes almost too much to bear. You storm into the house, racing ahead of Hongjoong and Yunho who trail closely behind, their footsteps quick and urgent as they frantically try to reach you before you disappear into the solace of your room. 

“__, please stop. Talk to us.” Hongjoong’s voice is desperate as he tries to persuade you to halt your movements. You aren’t sure if it is luck or misfortune as you make your way to the kitchen and see every one of your roommates sitting around the island, chatting, and eating their lunch. Forgetting it is their free day, you curse internally, feeling tears already prick at your eyes when the everyday faces you look at become distorted, your vision only being able to see the men who left you four years ago.

As they catch sight of you, the men approach with warm smiles, their hearts lifted at your early return. They had been looking forward to chatting and sharing a meal together, eager to enjoy each other's company. However, their joy quickly dissipates as they take in the contorted, disgusted expression etched across your face. In an instant, worry floods their beings, their thoughts immediately drawn to the earlier conversation about Ryu that still lingers in their minds. The atmosphere shifts, tension intertwining with their concern, creating an uncomfortable heaviness in the room.

Seonghwa rises from his chair, his brows furrowing with concern as he strides towards you, a mix of worry and determination carved into his face. He watches as you storm past him, the force of your collision causing him to stagger slightly. A sharp pang shoots through his chest, not just from the physical impact, but also from the emotional weight behind your actions. It feels as though his heart has been squeezed tightly, aching with the pain of seeing you so distraught. 

At the island, the other five men rise from their seats, their eyes following the unfolding scene with a mixture of confusion, alarm, and growing concern. Their gazes shift from you to Yunho and Hongjoong, who swiftly give chase, their expressions reflecting a desperate need to stop you in your tracks and understand what has caused such distress. Seonghwa's initial suspicion that Yunho may have been involved in triggering your reaction dissipates, replaced by a deepening worry for your well-being. 

The room is filled with an air of tension and unease as the members of the group stand, their bodies poised in a mixture of anticipation and confusion. Each of them yearns to uncover the hidden emotions behind your furious actions, their senses heightened as they try to decipher the commotion that has enveloped the room. 

“__, stop, now.” Hongjoong’s voice booms around the kitchen, echoing with authority and you once again, realise why he is the leader of the group.

Coming to a sudden stop, you pivot on your heels, your body facing the kitchen once more. A fusion of determination and vulnerability flickers in your eyes as you lock gazes with the eight men in the room. Their varied expressions mix puzzlement, concern, and a tinge of guilt. 

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon your shoulders. This is the opportunity to confront them all, to lay bare the swirling emotions and shattered trust that now consumes your heart. These were the friends you once believed in with unwavering loyalty, the ones you thought you could confide in and rely on with your whole being. It's a bittersweet realization, knowing that the ones you held closest have become the source of your pain and confusion. Yet, you cannot turn away from the truth. You need to face the situation head-on and seek the answers and resolution you so desperately need. 

“No, Hongjoong, why don’t you stop.” Your voice matches his tone and for a second you can see him flinch at the harshness of your expression, never having heard or seen you this serious or mad before, your voice never having reached above a shout before. Looking around at the men who all have dreading expressions plastered on their faces, you feel even more angry at how they could hide something so large, so personal, so utterly heartbreaking from you. 

“When were you planning on telling me?” you speak again, the anger evident in your voice, yet by the way the tears are forming in your eyes, they can tell you aren’t just mad, but betrayed. The tone in your voice is broken and hurt.

“We were going to tell you,” Yunho explains, his voice quiet, feeling incredibly guilty that the way you had to find out was through someone else, not them.

“I’m sorry what is happening?” Jongho inquires, asking the question that all five of the men who were previously sat down, were wanting to ask. Yet, for some reason they have a good guess at what the answer might be, dread filling their hearts, causing an impending sense of doom to fill their gut. Silence falls upon the room, the tension thickening as each second passes that you don’t answer. 

“Answer.” You say, your voice gentle, prompting either Hongjoong or Yunho to reply, explaining what dreadful occurrence has just happened. When neither of them speaks, only looking at you with begging eyes, you raise your voice once again, “Answer it.” You yell, causing all eight men to recoil.

Yunho decides to speak, looking towards his friends who are extremely on edge, dreading the words coming from his shaking lips, “We ran into someone…” 

Yeosang slams his hand onto the island, rage encasing his entire being. Thinking it was Ryu they ran into, his heart stops in his chest and he sees red. 

“It was Danny,” Hongjoong says instantly, recognising why everyone suddenly tensed up even further.

“What else? Hongjoong.” You spit, the emotions of fury overwhelming all the others.

The way you boom his name pierces through his heart, his breath catching in his throat, tears almost threatening to fall from his eyes, his beautiful eyes. Fuck.

“He recognised us.” This is all Hongjoong says before the tears fall freely from his eyes, the sight breaking you in half, muting your anger slightly, it being replaced by all the desolation and gloom you have in your body. 

As the weight of the truth settles in the room, a collective realization sweeps through the eight men. Their expressions shift, revealing a mixture of guilt, anguish, and remorse. The air becomes thick with tension as San and Mingi, overcome with their own instability, resort to desperate gestures; running their hands agitatedly through their dishevelled hair, unable to meet your gaze. Jongho, his face hidden behind trembling hands, struggles to process the gravity of the situation, his breaths coming in deep and uneven. Yeosang averts his eyes, unable to witness the devastating impact of your shattered trust, tears brimming in his own. 

However, amidst the chaos, Seonghwa remains fixated on you, his gaze unyielding despite the cracks forming in his own heart. As your eyes meet him, a flood of memories rushes back to you, an overwhelming explosion of anguish and despair from the darkest night of your life. It dawns on you with a haunting clarity that he must have been the one you encountered on that rooftop, the boy whose vulnerability and brokenness mirrored your own. The weight of that realization hits you with an intensity that sends waves of anxiety coursing through your body, a painful reminder of the shared pain and scars etched deep within your souls.

As the weight of the truth crashes down upon you, your body trembles uncontrollably, the ground beneath your feet becoming unsteady. Your legs give way, collapsing beneath you, and you crumple to the floor in a heap of despair. Sobs wrack your body, each one an emotional release of the pain and agony that fills your shattered heart. Your mind becomes a swirling vortex of torment, entangled with thoughts that are both haunting and devastating—a torment that incorporates the present, the past, and an uncertain future.

In an instant, Seonghwa and Yunho rush to your side, their presence a lifeline in the midst of your despair. They kneel down beside you, their arms reaching out to provide comfort and support, their faces etched with concern and helplessness. The remaining members of the group converge around you. Their eyes are filled with a mixture of compassion and desperation, yearning to alleviate your pain, to ease the torment that grips your mind. Together, they form a protective circle around you, their collective presence a symbol of unwavering support. 

“Don’t touch me, get the fuck away from me.” You almost scream, feeling their hands on your arms, their bodies close to you, the words crushing their hearts. Needing to get as far away from here as possible, you attempt to stand, but your legs give up again, the panic getting too much for you to handle. 

“­Tiny, let us help.” Yunho’s voice is the softest you have ever heard, making you break even more.

“Don’t you dare call me that? I trusted you most, Yunho.” Your voice is raw and hoarse, the emotions spilling through, the sound of your feelings pinching the hearts of the men around you. 

With Seonghwa's gentle assistance, you manage to regain your footing, though you push him away immediately, needing a moment of independence amidst the whirlwind of emotions. The room falls into an eerie stillness, the air heavy with anticipation, as the gaze of eight pairs of eyes remains fixed upon you. Their hearts pound in their chests, bracing themselves for the impact of your words, fearing the repercussions of what you might reveal next. 

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you steady yourself, mustering the strength to voice the thoughts that have haunted your mind for years. The weight of your words hangs palpably in the air, a thick fog of vulnerability and revelation enveloping the room. Each member of the group feels their heart clench in anticipation, their breathing hitching as they prepare themselves for the final straw, the crushing blow to their already battered souls. 

And then, the words spill forth from your trembling lips, carrying with them the raw essence of your pain, your betrayal, and your deepest fears. The room becomes a tempest of emotions, a storm unleashed by your words. Shock, disbelief, and anguish etch themselves onto the faces of the eight men, their expressions frozen in a tableau of shattered trust and shattered dreams. The impact of your confession reverberates through the room, each word a dagger that pierces their hearts with unrelenting force.

“They told me you died; I spent months convincing myself it wasn’t true.”

Yunho's voice quivers with desperation as he urgently calls out your name, the cracks in his tone baring the weight of his emotions that rock on the edge of spilling forth in a stream of tears. The eight men surrounding you, bound by an overwhelming bond, collectively hold their breaths, their very souls entwined in this dreadful moment. Each of them, their hearts heavy with empathy and love, feels their spirits fracture at the mere thought of you bearing the burden of their deaths with no one to fall to.

In the gloomy silence that follows, a distressing realization hangs in the air, intertwining the threads of their unbreakable connection. It is a bittersweet recognition that while their lives are intrinsically entangled with yours, they are also painfully aware of the toll it takes on your spirit. Their hearts ache, fuelled by a profound sense of protectiveness and a desperate desire to shield you from any pain or hardship that may lie ahead. 

“I needed you, all of you.”

------

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[lilyway]

Icarus {Alastor x Reader} Part 1

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Death and canon-typical violence. Please be aware of these warnings going forward.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Sequel

Part 1: The Road Back to You

The town was cloaked in a dimly lit embrace as a young woman emerged from the confines of the jazz club alongside her coworkers. Their rising star, a vision of elegance and charm, illuminated the night with her radiant smile, her presence akin to that of a belle of the ball, her heart as vibrant as the melodies she sang.

As they stepped onto the cobblestone streets, the camaraderie among them blossomed into animated chatter, punctuated by laughter that danced upon the evening breeze.

Tonight was special, a rare occasion when the jazz club closed its doors early to commemorate the birthday of their esteemed boss. The air buzzed with anticipation, the promise of celebration lingering in every corner as they made their way through the labyrinthine streets.

Their songstress was quick as she pulled her purse to her side and started walking away while saying her goodbyes. She had some very important plans with her husband, perhaps she was too excited as she practically skipped her way down the street. 

As she traversed the dimly lit street of New Orleans, she couldn't shake the nagging sense of caution that gnawed at the edges of her consciousness. The presence of a serial killer, a phantom lurking in the shadows, cast a long shadow over the once-vibrant city. 

Each night, as she tuned in to her husband's somber voice on the radio, recounting the grim details of yet another victim claimed by the darkness, she couldn't help but wonder if she, too, danced perilously close to the edge of danger.

The danger that would come and soon claim her own life to their ever-increasing number of victims. But, there would be nothing in the world to stop her from returning to her husband. Her husband said he had something planned for their anniversary and that she would need her best dress. 

She was beyond excited.

"(Name)! Sugar, are you sure I can’t give you a lift home?" Rowan's voice called out from the doorway, his Southern drawl carrying the warmth of a bourbon-soaked evening. (Name) turned, her smile as dazzling as a string of pearls, her curls bouncing with the rhythm of a Charleston beat.

"Thank you kindly, Rowan! My husband will be meeting me halfway," She replied, her words dripping with honey. With a graceful wave, she turned on her heel, the click-clack of her heels blending with the syncopated melody of the night as she made her way toward the radio station.

The dim glow of the radio station beckoned in the distance, the building was a beacon of safety amidst the dark empty city streets. With each hurried step, (Name)'s heart quickened, the anticipation of her husband's waiting embrace urging her onwards. 

As she rounded the corner, her gaze caught sight of the alleyway, a narrow passage veiled in darkness, where the plaintive cries of a woman pierced the stillness of the night. Without hesitation, without a second thought, she veered from her path, drawn by her concern for the unknown woman.

There, amidst the shadows, she found them – a young girl, trembling with fear, and her mother shielding her from a group of thugs that loomed over them. 

She should have turned away, and retreated to the safety of the main street, where she could’ve asked for help. Her husband knew his way around self-defense and they would have a phone to call the police.

But (Name) had a terrible feeling in her gut. If she left them now, these women might not be alive when help arrives. 

"What do you gents reckon you're up to?" That seemed to get their attention as they turned to face her. As she walked towards the two women, she couldn’t help feeling so small as the men dwarfed her in size.

"Turn back, doll," one of the men jeered, his tone dripping with menace. "We ain't lookin' for trouble."

(Name) positioned herself between the two trembling women and the menacing thugs, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. "Leave these poor dames be! If it's coin you're after, I can see you compensated," Her declaration must have seemed like a bluff. Her voice quivered as she placed one hand on her purse. 

The thugs, their laughter echoing in the narrow alley, closed in on her, their intentions clear as the moonlight filtered through the darkness. "This ain't about the scratch, sweetheart," one of them sneered, the glint of malice dancing in his eyes. (Name)'s breath caught in her throat as she took a cautious step back, her resolve tested by the looming threat that surrounded her. "This is about settlin' scores."

"Please, just let them be," (Name) pleaded, but her words fell upon deaf ears, drowned out by their laughter. Their leader pulled out a blade as he approached the crying women. 

Before she could react, one of the men seized her arm in a vice-like grip, wrenching her aside with a savage force. "Just watch, my dear," Another man sneered, his voice dripping with malice as (Name) struggled against his hold. 

With a surge of adrenaline, (Name) pushed his hand toward her mouth, her teeth sinking into flesh with a ferocity that seemed downright foreign to her. As he howled in agony, she wrenched herself free from his grasp, her heart was beating loudly in her chest and she wasn’t thinking straight. 

With trembling hands, she lunged toward their assailant, her fingers grappling for purchase upon the blade. The metal bit into her skin, drawing blood, but she was beyond desperate, driven to protect the helpless young women. 

“Run!” (Name) shouted as they stared at her like deers in headlights. 

Even as she fought with every fiber of her being, the odds stacked against her, (Name) refused to yield. She could feel the sharp sting of pain as the blade cut into her hands, but she pressed on, fueled by sheer determination and the fierce resolve to survive.

Meanwhile, the two women forced themselves to their feet and ran, their cries for help echoing through the alleyway. (Name) couldn’t help but feel a smirk on her lips, before another man pulled her hair back trying to claw her hands away from the blade. 

With every ounce of strength she could muster, she battled against the relentless onslaught, her hands slick with sweat and blood as she grappled for control. But in the end, it was a futile struggle, a desperate fight that meant nothing. As the assailant's blade found its mark, plunging deep into her flesh. 

As (Name)’s body fell to the ground, there was the sound of fleeing footsteps and gunfire. All she could do was close her eyes and pray the pain went away. All she could do was lay there and feel her blood pool around her as she choked on the blade as her blood suffocated her lungs. 

She was so close to seeing her beloved radio host too. 

The sound of footsteps running towards her and her name came after. The voice was too distant to hear as she drifted off and prayed she’d see her beloved radio host when she woke up. 

💟

As (Name)'s eyes fluttered open, she found herself standing before majestic golden gates, their brilliance illuminating the ethereal surroundings with a celestial glow. A wave of disbelief washed over her as she pushed herself up, half-expecting to feel the sting of pain or the weight of wounds that should have marked her body. But there was nothing – no trace of blood, no lingering ache – only a sense of surreal tranquility that enveloped her being.

Clad in a flowing white dress reminiscent of the ones she wore during her performances at the jazz club, her hair cascading down her back like a river of silk, she realized at the start that this was no hospital. It wasn’t a place that could be built by man and that started to make her panic. 

"Where am I?" Her voice trembled with uncertainty as she spoke aloud, her eyes searching the expanse before her. And then, as if in response to her query, an angelic figure with a thick book turned towards her, his presence confirmed her fears. This wasn’t New Orleans. 

"You're in heaven! Congratulations, you're a winner!" His words, spoken with pride and joy, hung in the air like a gentle breeze, filling the space with a sense of awe and wonder. But for (Name), the revelation struck like someone poured ice water all over her. 

"No. No. No, no, no, no." Her voice cracked as felt her legs turn to jelly. This was not a dream, not a figment of her imagination – she was dead. She died saving those two women on the eve of her anniversary. “I wasn’t supposed to die like this! I have to go back! My husband! Good heavens, I’m not ready to leave him yet…” Her begging seemed to have no effect as the angel got up out of his chair. 

(Name)’s tears seemed to touch the man, but it didn’t faze him whatsoever. “This is the end of the road, miss. There’s only joy from here.” 

"Please, let me go back!" Her plea, filled with anguish and longing, echoed through the hallowed halls of heaven, a desperate cry for a second chance, for a return to the life she had been torn away from. As she crumpled to the ground, her hands pressed against her tear-streaked face, she grappled with the cruel irony of her fate – a life snuffed out in the blink of an eye.

As (Name) crumpled before the gates of Heaven, her sobs seemed to never end. "Please, let me return to my old life," she implored, her voice choking on her despair of dying so easily. 

"Shh, my dear," came the gentle reply, a soothing murmur amidst the tumult of her anguish.

"I'm begging you. Let me go back," she persisted, her voice trembling with a fervent plea for a reprieve, for a chance for a rewrite, for her to choose something different. 

"I'm sorry, but that's not possible. This is the end of the road, the culmination of the life you were promised for all the good you've done in this world," the angel explained, his tone tinged with a solemn finality that brooked no argument.

"Let me see my husband! I haven't said goodbye!" (Name)'s words, tinged with desperation, hung in the air like a prayer unanswered, her heart aching for one last embrace, one final moment of solace in the arms of her beloved.

"Again, I'm sorry. But that isn't possible, "The angel replied, his voice tinged with sympathy. "But, may I ask your name?"

"(Name)," she replied, her voice barely a whisper as she pulled herself up off the floor. 

"Full name, please," the angel persisted, his gaze unwavering, as he started flipping through the book and sighed at all the names on the page. 

"(Name) Winters," she confessed, her last name was a reminder of happier days. The day she joined her husband's family and took on his last name. 

With a gentle rustle of pages, the angel consulted the book before him, his expression softening as he found her name inscribed upon its hallowed pages. "There you are, on the list," he confirmed, his voice tinged with reassurance. "Dry your tears, my dear, and come on in."

"But, my husband-" (Name) was quickly interrupted by the angel. 

"He might show up in heaven someday," the angel offered, “As long as he doesn’t end up in hell. There’s a chance he might come back.” 

As (Name) gazed upon the gates of Heaven, her heart was heavy, wanted to be able to greet him with a smile. “Okay.” 

💟

The celestial streets of heaven bustled with the vibrant energy of joyous winners, their laughter and song echoing through the golden expanse. Yet, amidst the revelry, (Name) found herself perched on her rooftop, a quiet observer of the lively scene below. Today, the usual melodies and dance numbers failed to lift her spirits. 

As she leaned over the balcony, the celestial breeze playing with her hair, (Name) contemplated the passage of time, and how meaningless it truly was. There was no sense of actual time in this place. She would’ve been here for a week or twenty years. 

How long had she been in this place of eternal bliss? The passing of time seemed to blur into an endless expanse of moments, each one blending seamlessly into the next. Her parents had found their way here, as had her little sister, their laughter and love echoing through the hallowed halls of heaven. 

And yet, her brothers remained conspicuously absent, their absence a silent ache that gnawed her. Enough time must have gone by for them to show up. They couldn’t have ended up anywhere else other than in heaven! They were around the same age as her husband and would come up around the same time. 

As she leaned over the balcony, the angels below danced and sang of pastries and delights, their voices like honeyed nectar amidst the gentle breeze. But for (Name), their songs felt hollow, their melodies unable to penetrate the veil of sorrow that pulled her under. 

Even in her sorrow, there was a little flame of hope that flickered brightly. Perhaps, she thought, a song could indeed work wonders, lifting her from the depths of her melancholy.

As (Name)'s voice trembled with emotion, her words carried her pain along the wind. "I never needed anybody in my life, " As the notes danced upon the wind, images flickered in her mind.

Her husband's brown fluffy hair, tousled by the gentle breeze, his charismatic smile lighting up the streets as they walked arm in arm. How her days were bright and simple back then. With the minor inconveniences and the small pleasures it held. 

"I learned the truth too late, " she continued, her voice wavered as the tears threatened to fall. With each verse, the distance between them felt like an impassable chasm, one that would pull her into its lonely depths. 

As she pulled herself away from the edge of the balcony, her eyes remained fixed upon the golden gates. How she was starting to despise herself and her self-pity here. 

Her words became a lament, a melody of longing and her pain as she wished for her old life back. " I close my eyes but he's still there, " Her voice trembling as the image of her beloved husband materialized before her. 

He was bathed in a golden light making him appear as a gift from God himself. She craned her neck up to look at him and there was a surge of hope. (Name) reached out to hold him and cry into his arms. Only to watch him vanish in the wisp of glowing smoke at the smallest touch of her fingertips. 

“Even as he fades from view,” Her voice quickly got louder with every passing syllable. 

You’re never fully dressed without a smile, my dear. His voice echoed loud and clear in her mind as she forced a smile on her face as the tears forced themselves out. "He will still inspire me, and be a part of everything I do," 

As she pulled herself onto the balcony railing, her wings unfurled and she jumped off the edge. She watched the other winners sing and dance below her as they enjoyed their eternal life. However, (Name) had another plan in mind. She set out for the gates as she stumbled her landing as she arrived. 

"Wasting in my lonely tower, awaiting by an open door," she sang, her voice rising like a prayer into the heavens above. And as she reached out towards the gates, her fingers brushed against the gilded bars, and her small flicker of hope died instantly. 

There wasn’t anyone at the gates and she was just being delusional. He wasn’t coming up here anymore. That her dear, Al was still back on earth and it was a place (Name) wished he stayed. 

"I'll fool myself and he'll walk right in," she whispered, her voice breaking as she tried to maintain some level of internal harmony. Her hands clung to the bars hoping the gates would open and let her out. Just five more minutes on earth and she would gladly join the rest of the winners.  “Waiting here for evermore…”  

But her solitude was shattered by the harsh voice of an angel, her words cutting through the silence like a blade. "You're pathetic," she sneered, her tone dripping with disdain. "If he isn't here by now, he's in hell."

"That was quite uncalled for.” (Name) spat as she walked past her. She could tell this woman had something up her sleeve and she wanted no part of it. 

“I call it as I see it,” the woman retorted, her voice dripping with disdain. No, that wasn’t right. This woman was downright looking down at her like she was a piece of garbage. 

(Name) scoffed as she tried to keep herself focused on just walking away. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine.” 

“Better than singing her problems,” The woman shot back, her words stabbed daggers into her feet and rooted her in place. 

(Name) crossed her arms, she was getting fed up and there wasn’t a point in picking a fight in heaven. “You're quite the piece of work, aren't you? Do you need something?”

The woman’s response was curt. “No.”

“Okay, I'll be on my way then,” (Name) replied, her steps quickening. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of the woman’s eyes boring into her back. “What do you want?”

But before she could receive an answer, the woman’s voice taunted her, sending a shiver down her spine. “With that obsession of yours, there’s only one place you’ll end up.”

(Name) wished that her voice didn’t shake and give her away. She didn’t want to kiss her place in heaven goodbye for her stupidity. “What are you saying?” 

“You look like you need a purpose.” 

“I don't need a purpose,”

The woman laughed as (Name) felt a chill going down her spine. "The rate you’re going, you won’t need one and burn with the rest of the sinners in hell."

"I earned my place here," (Name) countered, her voice trembling, as she tried to keep herself from shaking. She couldn’t ever go to hell and become a fallen angel. 

"Keep telling yourself that,"

(Name)'s mind raced with questions, her unease growing with each passing moment. "What are you getting at?" she demanded, her voice betraying a hint of desperation. She wouldn’t ever end up there. 

"I'm offering you a deal,"

"I don't want it,"

"Suit yourself, but you'll be back. Come and find me when you've run out of options," With her business done, the woman took to the skies and (Name) shouted for her to wait. 

She didn’t mean to yell her question at her. “If that ever happens. What's your name? So, I can find you.” 

“Lute.” 

💟

Another decade passed in heaven and (Name)’s search for her husband and some clue of his whereabouts were fruitless. Every passing year that she searched a small part of her died, first few years it was her hope and later it was her love. (Name) having to come up empty-handed every single time took its toll. 

In the quiet moments of solitude, (Name) grappled with the bitter truth that her love may never return to her side. The echoes of his laughter and the warmth of his embrace seemed like distant memories, fading into the recesses of her mind like whispers carried away by the wind.

In her solitude, came the truths she refused to face. That her soul was becoming consumed by her envy and prayers to see him again. She longed to feel his presence once more, to hear his voice echoing through the golden streets of paradise. There was something about being condemned to paradise without all your loved ones that was driving her insane. When did he become her world? When did she corrupt her pure unconditional love for him? Why was she so hung up on him even now? 

Alastor,  her dear husband. 

Her beloved husband and her world. He would never come, and her prayers wouldn’t be answered. Alastor would forever be beyond her reach and never be someone she could hold again. 

Alastor would never come, because he was in hell. As much as she refused to believe it or admit it. Deep down? She knew. Her husband was being tortured in hell for reasons that were foreign to her. 

Alastor would never be here. He would never come. (Name) would never hear him play his piano as she sang or snuggle up to him when he read the morning paper. Or touch his hair and wear his glasses. 

He was in the worst place now and that was final. The place that tortured those who lived vile lives. A pit with killers, cannibals, terrorists, and abusers. 

She wanted nothing more than to forget. 

Which lead her here, in front of the Exorcist’s main building with a meeting in place with Lute. She did her homework and quickly learned she was a fearsome fighter. But, more importantly, she was Adam’s right hand. 

She did exactly what Lute said she would do. (Name) would come back for that deal. She would screw everything she had ever hoped to do here. As long as Lute would give her a purpose and a method to prevent her from falling to hell. 

(Name) was going to take that damn deal. 

And so, with a heavy heart and a steely resolve, (Name) made her decision. She would embrace the deal offered by Lute, no matter the cost. She would forsake everything she had ever known, everything she had ever hoped to become, in exchange for a chance at redemption.

Her heart ached as she pushed the doors open and saw Lute and Adam awaiting her. Adam looked bored as she ate his lunch and Lute seemed to have a wicked grin on her face. 

"Took you long enough," Lute might have been grinning, but her tone was anything but one of joy. She seemed more annoyed than anything else.

(Name) straightened her posture as she held her hands tightly.  “You said you had a deal for me.” 

"The deal to prevent you from becoming a loser?" Lute sneered,

"No," (Name) retorted, her gaze narrowing. "Make a deal with me to forget him."

A wicked grin spread across Lute's face, sending shivers down (Name)'s spine. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you," she declared, her eyes glittering with malevolent intent as she extended her gloved hand toward (Name).

With a deep breath, (Name) reached out and grasped Lute's hand in a firm shake, sealing her fate. There was no turning back now, no retreat from the path she had chosen. She knew the road ahead would be fraught with peril and pain, but she was willing to endure it all if it meant escaping the clutches of damnation.

It was a price she’d pay willingly if she could avoid joining the ranks of the sinners. 

"Deal," Her voice was one of determination as her heart wept at her decision. 

"Welcome to the exorcists,"

(Name) offered a silent nod of gratitude as she clenched her hands into her dress for something to calm her nerves. She had picked her fate and would find herself in the care of these two sadistic angels. But, she wouldn’t let herself be down on the first step of her journey. 

“It’s a pleasure to be here.” 

There was no going back now,

No escape that she was willing to take. 

The only escape was forsaking her place in heaven. 

And she would rather have a permanent death. 

This was cross posted on A03!

The song she sings is Evermore from Beauty and the Beast from the live action.

#alastor x reader #Warofheartsseries #radio demon #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin #alastor hazbin hotel #the radio demon #fan fiction

[clarks-letterman]

I think I might've cracked the pajama pant code ™: it's around the holiday season & Wally invites his teammates for a ~guys only sleepover~ but because it's so close to Christmas (which Wally doesn't celebrate, to incorporate Milo being Jewish), nobody else but the reader shows up as a result of having a deep crush on Wally. When the reader arrives, Wally is already wearing those pants (school colors, of course) & the reader can clearly tell nothing else underneath them. The reader tries to brush that aside and the extremely intimate touches from Wally throughout the night while trying to distract him from how much of a bust the ~sleepover~ was, but one thing naturally leads to another when the night winds down & Wally asks the reader to sleep next to him.

the pj pants code™ | wally clark x male!reader

a/n — i want to preface this by saying i am not jewish, and while I did research and made sure to give what i thought was an accurate representation, please let me know if any of what i have depicted is innacurate or offensive. thanks! went light on the smut because i enjoyed writing the build up and having that as the focus more, anon!

summary — check the ask!

warnings — light smut at the end, angst and fluff

words — 7k (i yapped a lot in this one.)

~~~

Wally Clark couldn’t stand December. Sometimes, he literally couldn’t stand it. The snow and ice created a deadly walk to his car in the early mornings and he had his fair share of slips and slides down the path leading to it. Then he had to pray that his rear-wheel drive and manual stick shift didn’t create a nasty combination on the roads, and when he finally made it to school, he parked his car along a line of many others just like his—boxy, dynamically pointed. The same spot, always open, and always so far away from the school itself. Sure, it was right behind the building, but he hated stepping into the cold air after finding comfort in the heated enclosure of his black Chevrolet Bel-Air. The school air wasn’t much better once he was finally inside the building, feeling stale yet fresh with frustration and fatigue from everyone around him. It was a mood he actively contributed to during this time of the year.

He was able to blend in—in so many ways, but December was the one month where he felt anything but normal during it. He started the month feeling different. Everyone complained about the holiday jingles plaguing the radio, and subsequently, their boomboxes and home stereos housing more than half a dozen stations for it, but it didn’t pertain to Wally, so he never really gave an opinion on it. The only holiday songs he ever heard were sung dissonantly by his family for eight nights in a row—there was a reason he was the only Clark in the house to take choir. Then the first half of the month was a slog to get through, having to juggle school and football championships after endless classes and traditions upon returning home. Then, before he knew it, the cycle started all over again the next day. The second half of the month felt a bit better but worse at the same time. Winter break wasn’t filled with the hectic Christmas holiday like so many of his other peers had to endure, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something every year. Thankfully, at the end of the month, he got to slide right back into the crowd on New Year’s Eve. His friends could expect the same old pair of Nike’s falling into the same old spot he took up at their house, watching the ball drop on the television without anyone to kiss when the year reset. 

That’s why he tried to host a sleepover the first night of break—and, coincidentally for him, the last night of Hanukah. Little was left of the holiday, and his parents were out of town for work, so his plate seemed pretty light. “No girls,” his parents said. It was their only restriction besides the usual anti-partying and drugs lecture they gave before they left. Wally wasn’t complaining about that one bit. There was only one guy he wanted to actually see at his sleepover, but he had to be smart about it. He couldn’t invite just one guy, especially if he turned out to not show. He cared about his other teammates, so he decided to invite everyone on the team as they had made it through the entire football season with more wins than losses—that was his alibi. 

You were the last one to hear about his sleepover, mostly because you had one class with him in the morning and only saw him in after-school activities like the weight room and the athletics club. The morning class had a test right before the break, and the extracurriculars officially wrapped up last week in preparation for the week or so in which you wouldn’t see each other. That meant that he had to catch you in passing, and he always saw you on the way to his last class. 

He called your name along with a quick, stopping you in the hall, “Hey!”

You turned and smiled once you realized it was him who had pulled your attention. He continued as you got closer to each other, “I’m having a sleepover hangout type of thing. That makes it sound a lot lamer than it actually is. Trust me, it’ll be super fun. Exclusive, and you’re on the list.”

“And I’m invited because?” You asked, already knowing that you would eventually give him a “yes, I’ll be there.” Eventually. You wanted to get a rise out of him first, to know that he was inviting you for the reasons you thought he was.

“Because you…” Wally trailed, pursing his lips and looking off to your left as he searched for the words in passerby’s face. He couldn’t look at yours because he’d say something dumb. By looking anywhere else, he had a fighting chance to make it out of the conversation alive.  “…you’re part of the team, duh. Everyone will be there.”

“I’m the safety. I basically do nothing all match.” You continued, “The coach benches me during workouts, dude.”

“That’s not true, you’re good when we’re balls deep!” Wally heard himself and corrected it, fast. “Deep balls and goals—I mean. How many goals have you stopped?” 

“Like, two? One, probably.” You averted his gaze, knowing that it would break any semblance of doubt you expressed. He was always good at clearing the moody air, and this time was no different.

He reassured, “Just one time is enough.”

“Someone was listening at the ‘Just Say No’ assembly.” You laughed, remembering how you were caught up in staring at the boy a row down from you during the assembly. They had grouped all of the footballers together, touting you to the other students by showing that success can happen without drugs. But you definitely weren’t bothered enough to listen, hooked on the rush of the boy in front of you. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

He did a quick notion of victory, clenching his fist and pumping his towards himself. “I knew you’d say yes! Okay, my house, tonight. Don’t miss it.”

Wally walked away with a giddy gallop in his step, as if he was about to jump up and click his heels together. He didn’t, but in his mind, he was happily trotting down the hall to his last class. The bounce in his step was nonexistent yet entirely palpable as the soles of his worn-out Nike’s felt like a freshly puffed cloud. Unsalvageable, the night was not.

Only a few hours went by before you found yourself about to reunite with Wally for the second time today, You didn’t count second period because of the test, but this would make up for the lost time you would have gotten to spend goofing off with him in that class. Unfortunately, several teachers decided to rain hell on you and assign homework that would all be due the day you got back, so you had to clear that out of the way first. You hoped that it hadn’t sucked up too much of the night, since you pulled into Wally’s driveway around eight. It was a bad sign that his car was the only one there, a fact now untrue thanks to your hunk of junk coming to a halt next to his. You put it in park, grabbed your bag from the passenger seat, and started your ascent up the small path leading to his front door. 

You couldn’t help but notice the lack of decorations along his front lawn. His parents seemed well off, having a decently sized garage attached to their already big house. You couldn’t imagine the square footage without the garage, it must have been over a couple thousand. The bottom half of his house was covered in red brick, looking darker in the moonlight, and the second story was a calming shade of light blue. The windows were nothing special, ordinary but you were sure that they gave insight into something deeper within the house. All of them were empty and dark, except for the one next to his front door. It had a menorah inside that looked indiscernible from the road, that’s why you didn’t see it initially. Each of the branches had a candle in it and were illuminated. The curtain was pulled back to prevent a fire, but it gave you a brief glimpse into the Clark household. It looked empty, and no noise could be heard from your position outside of the house. Was anyone home?

If it was just you and Wally, maybe this would be the night. The night where everything would finally make sense. For the entirety of your senior year, Wally and you just felt different. There was no explanation for it, you had known him since the seventh grade, when you joined the football team, yet this year had been such a turning point for you and him. You hung out with him several times and went to drive-in movie theaters and found the fun in mundane gas stations, where life is supposed to feel boring. Wally made everything feel okay, at the very least. He made them tolerable, and he even had a force to pull you to his house on the twenty-first of December. The answer to a question burning in your mind could come tonight—did he like you back? You decided to stomach any reluctance and knock. A figure moved past the window, causing each flame to move with it. Then, the door opened.

“Ready to go to bed already?” You asked, looking him up and down. He was in a white tee shirt, blue and white pajama pants, and a pair of white socks. It was so lazy yet carefully reminded you of your history. The blue and white linens alluded to the school’s color scheme, probably something he bought as one of those athlete packages that bundle pairs of sweatpants and exercise gear together. They looked nice on him, loosely swinging from his legs and tightening to fit his narrow hips near the top. His shirt was crisp, unwrinkled, and a perfect blank canvas. Food and dirt had yet to splatter over it in his moments of action, yet it looked like it was small enough to make his movements more revealing. The hem of his shirt just barely covered the waistband of his pants. All of it was tied together with his golden necklace lying over his shirt.

“Being the life of the party by myself is tiring.” He said, acting as if no one else showing up was normal. He didn’t notice your prolonged stare, too happy that you actually showed up. “If only some other people were here to help me out.”

Wally moved to the side to let you in, and you really got to scope out the place. You two were the only beating hearts in there. Aside from the red blood keeping the both of you warm and present, his house was made of cool tones—blue curtains flowing down the length of his windows to block anyone out and a white shag rug filling most of his living room, from what you could immediately see. In front of the door were the stairs leading to the second floor, and to the right was his living room—the menorah finding itself tucked away in the windowsill of that room. On the left looked to be a dining room, but you couldn’t be completely sure, the obscured shape of a table leg and one chair led you to believe there was more to it. The back wall of the living room had a rectangular hole cut out of it, a white stove in view. Everything looked as it was, and Wally seemed to have spent the first night of holiday break lounging on his white couch with brown hairline stripes running along the upholstery and cushions. An Atari rested on the short brown coffee table in front of it alongside some cartridges, cables running to the television set, where more games were stacked inside of the surrounding cabinets. Yeah, he had definitely spent his afternoon alone.

“It’s the holiday. That’s why no one came.” You weren’t about to say something about his optimism. He planned this event with sincerity, so you treated it the same. Nothing about how he had planned a sleepover with only dudes, and how you could easily remark that “this was something only eighth-grade girls do.” Nope, you weren’t going to point that out, no matter how much you wanted to poke fun at him. But you did offer a bit of light to the situation, “Just one guest is enough for a sleepover, anyways.”

You turned to flash him a sign of sympathy, but you noticed that Wally had occupied himself with fixing the blue tinsel lining the inner side of the doorframe. With his hands up high and his shoulders carrying his shirt with them, it revealed his torso. You couldn't tell if the lack of a brief line, something indicated whether or not he wore anything under those loose linens, was because of how baggy they were or because he wasn't wearing anything underneath. He provided the answer to your question almost a second later by reaching higher than he should be in a shirt that small. His shirt rode up and nothing was there, no waistband leading to his boxers peeking out from underneath. Nothing. His pants clung tightly to his waist in the same way that your own eyes wouldn’t leave them.

“There.” Wally boasted. “Now we can get the party started.”

“Yeah, totally. Uh, what did you have in mind?”

He circled back around to you, “Video games, all-nighter, alone time?”

“So I packed pajamas for nothing?” Your bag started to feel heavy in your hand with the weight of pointlessness. Wally was quick to reassure you.

“No, no, no. They’re the entrance fee for this party. The bathroom’s right up the stairs and to the left.” He had placed his hand around your shoulders as he neared you, making sure that the directions he gave with his other hand were clear enough for you to follow. He couldn’t help but think about how he was already giving you directions to go deeper into his house. You didn’t want to leave, you actually made an effort to show up—and stuck with the theme! This was his chance to tip the first domino in his favor, closing in on the gap between his mouth and your ear. Whispering, he lets out, “And… my room’s right next door if you’d feel more comfortable in there.”

Wally didn’t make you say your choice out loud, so you shot him a quick “thanks” and parted ways from his closeness to get changed. Going up the carpeted stairs, you were greeted with the choice of two doors; both on the left side of the hall, the one closest to you was the bathroom door, shut but completely blank compared to the door a few feet past it—the door to Wally’s room, decorated with adorned with several posters about football and famous musicians you had seen the CDs for in his car. Your feet dragged themselves across the carpet, taking the extra steps to reach his bedroom and turning the handle of the door with care. It was less shiny, the gold finish rubbing off to reveal the copper handle underneath. Wally was prone to having his door shut more often, you figured. Pushing the door open slowly, you let yourself take in the room in quick glimpses as more of it was revealed to you. 

The color coordination was nonexistent as everything clashed with itself. It doesn’t feel like something curated, but lived in. It doesn’t have the smell of a department store, it has the smell of a week-old jock in the laundry basket and hastily sprayed cologne to cover the scent. It reminded you of a night where the same smell filled the air of a locker room at an away game. You were sitting on the same bench as him in the same locker dwelling, alone. He was in just his jersey because he needed a second to breathe. Something was tugging at him, making it impossible to finish the night off in his regular clothes. That’s where Wally admitted that he didn’t know where to apply to college to take advantage of his skills, mostly because he didn’t care enough. “My parents will figure it out,” he said. At the time, it sounded like a lazy excuse, but his room proved it to be a surrender in the pursuit of who he wanted to be. Posters plastered themselves on the wall in clusters just like on the outside of his bedroom door. The densest area of the room was right above his bed, filled with drawings to partially cover the posters of famous athletes. At least his bed was an escape from the mess he had to wake up to everyday, the linens on it likely made for the first time in weeks upon your arrival. Blue sheets, like he was caught in an ocean of thought with a grey comforter being his raft to shore. Next to the bed, on the floor, were several sleeping bags strewn out with less care than he had given to his bed. And by the time you got to the last sleeping bag arranged on the floor, your eyes landed on his dresser—painted white but made of brown wood as the paint had chipped around its stubby legs. There were a few windows filling the room, the curtains were closed to stop anyone from peering into the second-story room and getting a view of you changing. While you stripped down to the essentials, you looked around. The rest was all standard stuff you had, a desk with his letterman hanging off the back of the chair slid into it, a smaller television than the one downstairs, and some other random trinkets from vacations and whatnot.

Then, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the full-body mirror hanging on the back of his door. Exposed in Wally’s room without his watchful eye to catch all the things you wanted to show him, but never could. You wanted to give yourself to him, but what if it was a joke? What if he didn’t invite anyone else? The worst question you kept asking yourself was, what would happen if this was real? If it was all fake, you could forget about it—forget about him. But if it was real, you would have to come to terms that things would be different after this one night. After that one move that will finally seal everything inside a neat little letter, addressed to you either way but the contents remained uncertain. As far as you were concerned, the letter was still being written. Maybe you both had a hand in writing something on it, just like how you two drew on each other’s papers in class when you were bored or found the lecture to be unimportant.

Heading back downstairs with a new layer of comfy clothes on, Wally greeted you with a pen and paper in his hand. He was in the middle of scribbling down his order while holding the paper against the wall, pen haphazardly flying through each line on the small sheet. “Perfect timing, I figured that we could order pizza and then do stuff while we wait.”

“What about the others?” Your mind went back to the numerous silky sleeping bags contrasting against his carpet. No one would be filling them tonight, and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness at the thought of it.

“Let’s face it—they’re not coming!” He stated almost happily. Deep down, Wally hoped that others might stop by and show their faces for a few minutes at the very minimum. 

You conceded, “I mean if you’re fine with us having some alone time over pizza… then I’m not going to complain.”

Wally finished writing down his order and peeled the paper from the wall, handing it over to you along with the pen in one pass. You took it, filling out the lines neatly. His writing was scrambled, but if he could read the chicken scratch that was his own handwriting, he could surely read yours. You saved yourself the pain of reading his order, hoping that he didn’t go for something gross like sardines and pineapple. His mouth would have to be kept far, far away from you if that were the case.

To pass the time after he phoned in the order, Wally suggested that you return to his Atari, still paused on what looked to be an intense game of Space Invaders. The pizza place claimed that they would be over an hour, so this was the perfect time to just enjoy his presence and forget about everything else. He plopped himself down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the small table. While you were upstairs changing, he took the liberty of connecting a second controller to the gaming system, abandoning his current progress on a level he worked so hard to get to. The game booted up, flickering on the screen in a harsh quality, but the graphics were so advanced. Your character—the spaceship that looked identical to Wally’s aside from the tip of it having a different color than his—appeared on the screen. Both of you could move around on the bottom to shoot enemies at the top. Only a few matches in, and you were raking in more points than Wally had as he chose the ‘Endless Shooter’ mode to make it more competitive. When he felt like a sore loser, he dropped the occasional comment that you “know how to use a joystick so well because you’re always handling something so long and hard.” 

With his teasing and tense competition, the two of you almost missed the doorbell ringing. On what was probably followed by an annoyed sigh as the delivery guy rang his doorbell for the third time, Wally finally shot up to get the door. His exchange with the pizza guy was quick, the money disappearing from his hands in seconds and being replaced by two large pizza boxes. Each pizza was half-and-half, and it was intentionally done by him to make you have to share one box of pizza at a time. This was how he made his move. You didn’t know about his plan until he opened the boxes to reveal that both pies were evenly split down the middle with toppings on either side, apparently having the competition for grossest preferences. His half had cheese and green peppers, which you told him was the grossest thing ever, and you got the other half of the pizza decked out with your favorite toppings. He returned the compliment and moved his gaming system off to the side to make room for the two pizza boxes. 

“You know… they make movies like Space Invaders? There’s this fucking sick movie I watched called Invasion of the Body Snatchers… fucking wild, dude.” Wally moved over to his entertainment system, rearranging the cords behind the TV to connect to the VHS player sitting on the shelf beneath it. A few moments of silence and shuffling and watching him bend over in those pants, the seams running down the middle—right over his crack—threatening to rip as he forced so much of himself into that taut fabric. It was still a miracle that the pants highlighted everything they needed to while keeping the rest loose and free for him to move without much care. He got the movie playing and returned back to his seat on the couch, the same one he claimed to play video games in and the same one that was so close to you. He picked up a box of pizza and rested it on his lap, his feet finding rest on the table yet again. Thumbing open the box from the slightly protruding cardboard tab, he let the flat cover swing over onto his knees and shins. 

Wally went for a slice, stuffing his mouth carelessly. He looked over to you and gave you the sign that it was okay to start eating, if you had any doubt about it before. You reached over, damning the cardboard box, pizza, and layer of fabric keeping you from his dick to hell.

A few slices in, Wally faced his first predicament while watching the movie. A rogue pizza slice planned to sabotage him, dripping its cheesy and saucy remnants all over his shirt like he was being booed for his attempts to make a move on you by his own plan. “Ah, shit.”

He really didn’t want to miss a second with you, knowing that he was close to something finally happening. So, he pulled at the neck of his shirt and lifted it up and over his head, discarding it to the floor. He figured that he could deal with the stains later when they weren’t the only ones to clean that had a mess left on them. Something he was too afraid to do the night of a successful football game, he was still too nervous to do now—to be fully exposed in front of you. Even after his flat stomach would inevitably be bloated from the pizza, he still wanted you to see fully. Not in glimpses, not in pieces. Him, for all of his faults and worries and good and bad days. All it takes is one look to know if you like him like that, and it only takes one look at your face to know. But, he couldn’t bring himself to lose his pants, not yet.

Instead, he helped you embrace his upper body by moving the box of remaining pizza to the table with its twin’s arrival. Then, he just let his arm go above the couch and fall over both of your shoulders, slightly pulling you closer to him.

You noticed that he had taken his shirt off, but left it to be an unexplored subject of the night. At least, it would be unexplored in spoken words. Rather, you let your eyes do the looking and imagining what was under the rest of his clothes. His socks were a given, but his blue plaid pants held something that even your imagination couldn’t satisfy the image of. The way his legs were lifted up to the table, being pressed together meant that everything good that swung between them had to rest on top, giving you the perfect angle to see him. His length when he wasn’t hard was impressive, and his balls created a pocket in his soft pants that you wanted to see every curve of. But you tried to focus back on the movie, as it seemed that this might be the farthest Wally was willing to go with you. Friends cuddling, friends who are close to each other and care for one another more than anyone else on the team—that’s who you were. So, you kept on watching the movie, waiting for the hours to tick by.

But, a scene from the movie really got to you towards the end of the movie. Body horror was always a hit-or-miss for you, and the scene was graphic enough to make you turn your head. Wally had done the same, abandoning all hope of bravery and turning away from the screen and in your direction. The both of you made eye contact, your eyes staring into his rich brown ones. The warmth of them contrasted with the woman screaming on screen, and the shared silence between the two of you felt impossible to mistake as anything else but the right time. He started to lean towards you, and you moved closer to him, losing sight of him when you closed your eyes, waiting for a kiss that never came. The phone picked up on the woman’s scream on the television, blaring out its own final wishes as someone would have to put an end to its sole purpose by answering the call. Wally turned his head to the phone, then looked back to you with awkward eyes.

“That’s probably my mom.” He rose to his feet and swept across the room in quick motions, leaving you to sit upright without his presence. 

You patted his seat, playing nice with him, “Gotcha, I’ll keep your seat warm.”

Wally went to pick up the phone, “Hello?”

“Hi, honey!” She cheered over the line. Wally could hear the smile forming through her voice on the other end. “How’s everything going? Did you light the last candle?”

“Yeah, I did when I got home. Look, I can’t stay on the phone long, I have company, Mom.” He sighed out in one breath.

“How many of your friends showed up?” She asked, trying to figure out if she should be worried about nine or ten rowdy boys messing up her house. He looked back to you and then turned his head back to the phone, mouth near the receiver like saying the words any closer would make it true, “A lot.”

“Okay, sweetie. I won’t keep you long then, don’t break anything! Love you.” Her voice got progressively louder as if she really wanted him to know about her affection.

“Love you too, mom. Bye.” He placed the phone back on its holder, returning back to the couch just as the end credits started to roll. 

With the movie no longer keeping your attention, you asked him, “Does she know that I’m the only one who showed up?”

“Totally, and she said that you’re a total loser for coming over.” He replied, adding, “How about we move this upstairs? It’s getting kind of late, yeah?”

You agreed, yawning before and after you spoke. “Yeah, maybe a sleepover isn’t good after having school all day.” 

“But now we know for next time,” he finished off with a yawn, infected by your set pair of them.

“Will there be a next time?” Your question sounded eager, not dreadful like you never wanted to do this again. This was probably the best time you had hanging out with someone. A "next time” would be necessary to finish where you left off, unless you happened to be misreading the situation. Though, there was almost no doubt about it as your teasing seemed to amp itself up.

“Maybe, if you don’t snore in your sleep,” Wally bargained, turning back to you as he took charge up the stairs. “But yeah, I’d love for there to be a next time.”

Wally led you up to his bedroom, taking careful time on the stairs to talk about the few family photos he had framed that you must have missed, so eager to listen to his directions and not break anything in his house by simply wandering into the wrong room.

Eventually, he opened his bedroom door for you, stepping over the sleeping bags strewn across the floor, “I’m sure you saw that earlier, that’s when I planned to have more people over. Can’t be too prepared. But since it’s just you and me, we can go halfsies on the bed? Sleeping on the floor is bad for your body and all…”

“And getting crushed by you is so much better?” You crossed your arms and sat on the end of his bed. It was soft yet firm like Wally’s touch—better yet, Wally’s skin. The way he made you feel like you were clinging on to something that was priceless yet easily available for your every whim was magical.

He insisted, “Some say it’s very therapeutic.”

Once you were all said and done with getting ready for bed, taking turns finishing up for the night. Wally shut his door, and you two were left alone to figure out the bed situation. You knew you were going to be sleeping next to him, but you had no idea if that would entail a wall being built out of pillows between you, if clothes would provide an extra barrier, or if something much more tantalizing would happen. But, you didn’t expect Wally to be the one to go first.

“Hope you’re good with me sleeping naked. Guess I should have said that before I suggested the bed…” He was in the middle of toeing off his socks, using his biggest toe to peel each off from the top-down while standing at the foot of his bed. Naturally, the next step to take would be to remove his pants. He left any idea of wearing a shirt at the door to his bedroom, the opportunity to have some restraint between the two of you ready to take the same exit.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll stay in my pajamas but you get comfortable, it’s your house, your bed.” You insisted on him, ensuring that he would feel find in his own skin. Plus, the view you would fall asleep and wake up to just sounded a hell of a lot better.

“If you say so.” He complied, his thumbs tucking into the waistband of his pants. The string keeping them up had been undone since he got back from the bathroom, and he was able to easily stretch out the band with just his thumbs alone. He pushed them down, the fabric fighting a bit as they slid over his thick ass and his dick and meaty thighs. His knees bent as he kept lowering himself down, pushing the pants down to his ankles then returning to his normal height to step out of them. Now, he was only wearing his gold necklace and nothing else. Just one thing remained on him, and you wanted to rip it off with your teeth.

The action never came and the thought went from a boiling idea at the forefront of your mind to a simmer on the back burner of the white stove downstairs. Distant, yet so close. That’s how you felt about Wally when you were both next to each other in his Queen-sized bed, cast in the soft light of his desk lamp on the other side of the room. He took up much of the bed in height, head laid back against a pillow that almost brought his feet over the edge of the mattress, so it was hard to not feel his presence from his radiant body heat to his soft breaths. 

It felt like hours had passed, yet you could feel the moonlight leaning on you as a burning reminder that it had only been minutes since you took up the mantle with your crush. He seemed to be having the same problem, turning and twisting in some desperation to find comfort. That was hard to miss, too. The only direction he didn’t turn was to face you, going from his back to his side so that his pale skin glimmered in the fraction of moonlight peeking through the curtain. The small brown moles and blemishes were visible on him from the years of being kissed by the sun. He tossed himself around again, landing on his back and ruffling his hair just a little more each time.

You spoke to him but didn’t look over, “Can’t sleep?”

“No, I just…” He paused. “Have a lot on my mind with… college and stuff. And I can’t do everything before hitting the hay…” It all came out it half-whines and slowly said statements like he was trying to avoid the instincts of a tyrannosaur, moving ever so carefully under the sheets.

His shoulder lifted slightly, a light bump forming in the waves of gray made by your two bodies under the comforter. It circled down to where his crotch was. There was a light shift on the bed as well as the noise of skin hitting lightly against itself. You could hear it in the silence, breaking with his shuddered breath. He had been so busy, and now, he was next to you. Nothing stood in the way of thinking of you in ways that he could only do when you—or when any of his responsibilities—weren’t paying attention. This was a break for him, so he should be able to indulge in what he wants. 

You, next to him. The thought alone was enough to make blood flow to his dick in seconds. His hand that had traveled down to his inner thigh slowly started to play with his growing length. Fingers wrapped around his shaft and started tugging, ones that he knew all too well from the time he had spent milking himself of every sexual desire almost every night. Only recently had that changed, and maybe for the better this time.

You could feel the light motions of whatever he was doing rocking the bed, it was enough to pull your attention to his side. Turning your head, you saw it—the lifted part of his big blanket shifting as the line went from his dick and all the way up to where his pale shoulders stuck out. You could pretty quickly piece together what he was doing. The way his face fell impossibly further back into his soft pillow, eyes half-lidded as he slipped in and out of fantasy and the reality next to him.

“Help me out with this…” Wally huffed, taking an entire breath to say those words. 

You were breathless just moments later, crawling under the sheets and being trapped in the intoxicating warmth surrounding you. The air was stale in seconds, filled by his musk as the endless sky of grey went over your head and created just enough to see Wally. You found yourself on the edge of the bed, between his legs, your own legs feeling the chill air on the outside of your confines. Heat radiated from him more now that you were pressed against him, and you could feel your face heating up at the intimacy. You were about to blow him… this night really wasn’t a bust.

Your lips met his tip, which was already leaking precum, and used that to guide yourself down him given the darkness that has formed around you. You could see him, but sight can distract from the taste, and he tasted so good. He tasted a bit salty from being in thick winter fleece for most of the night, presumably showering once he got home from school because there was the faint scent of the damp woods and sweet flowers. The spiciness in his taste—and smell—was all him, though.

He arched his back from the bed, parting from its comforting coddle and moaning out into the quiet room. It was willing to curve for him but his bends were sharp, jagged as he fought to keep himself from releasing instantly. He was so worked up that he would have loved to keep your lips sealed to him, taking all of his cum then and there. You had managed to take him down to the base, gagging only once and feeling the heat get to you. Though they were practically invisible, your nose was buried in his dark pubes, the texture of stubble rubbing against your nose. The smell of his had gotten much stronger now that your nose was pressed against him. 

It was another thing taking away your already-shortened breath and you had to pull off within seconds of throating his cock. You kept repeating the motion, taking him into your mouth until you felt like you needed to come up for the stuffy air you were trapped in. Then, you were back on to blowing him until he couldn’t take it anymore. After minutes of work, Wally had enough of fighting his urge to ruin your face and his bed sheets.

“Get on top of me,” he wanted to see you, to hold you. He continued by saying your name and a desperate “please” flew out of his lips. “I need this.”

Fresh air hit your lungs the second you crawled up to him, appearing from under sheets as he helped you get free and gave you matching bedhead. He continued to lay down, watching you kneel just above his hard cock, stripping off your top and pushing down your bottoms so that he could have easy access to the place he planned to dump his load in. Shuffling back, Wally reached around to help stick his dick in. With his so-called “help,” he teased your crack for a second, feeling the way your skin felt against his tip. He put it in after a second of teasing and, suddenly, you felt like a cowboy riding such a big horse. 

You were able to lean back, taking more of him into you and dealing yourself a great amount of pain from the way he stretched you out. The other option was to fall into his arms, chest to chest. Heart to heart. Knowing that he could rock you to sleep like this, you chose to sit yourself upright, letting him push all of his length into you. The inches went in fast but came out slow as Wally’s hands came around to your hips to lift you up with the strength he had to let you bounce on his dick. He did his best to thrust while under your weight, but it was only when you did fall over against him did he really pick up his pace. He rocked his hips back and forth, fucking you tenderly as you used his neck and chest as your own pillow. 

You humped against his lower torso, your hole pulled against his cock as the tight ring worked over most of his shaft with how much you could pull yourselves away from each other, then sink right back into place. You ended up finding release from the friction alone and ruining your own pajama pants and anything else you had on. Wally came shortly after, too pent up to really make a lasting effort. Much to your chagrin, you ended up falling asleep on him, not bothering to clean up the mess until the next day. Wally insisted on holding you close as the only member to show up to his sleepover.

#wally clark #wally clark x you #wally clark x reader #x male reader #x reader #wally clark x male reader #fanfic #milo manheim #milo manheim x reader #milo manheim x male reader #school spirits #school spirits x reader #school spirits x male reader #gay #gay fanfiction

[main-character0]

"I’m Better, huh?” [Pt. 1]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Seo Changbin x fem! reader (poc-coded)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ After your boyfriend of 7 months cheats on you for the second time, you ask his best friend to pick you up from the club. Little does he know, Changbin was the one you wanted all along.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ warnings: No uses of (Y/N), cursing, implied drinking, cheating (since they never really broke up lol), angst, mention of murder (IT NEVER HAPPENS), please lmk if I missed anything!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ a.n: I'm SO EXCITED to finally post this!?!?!?!? Part two will be up when the depression subsides and I start to write again lmao. also minors DNI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ wc: 2.4k (2,429)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ smut warnings: none for this part!!! only making out ig??? and being naked in a shower.... you'll see ;)

“Binnie, where are you?” You groan into the phone pressed against your ear. You rub your other arm with your free hand, finally feeling the frosty air biting into your exposed skin. You rub your thighs to at least create some friction for warmth. You can see a cloud of air escaping your mouth as you sigh into the speaker of your device. 

“I’m turning into the parking lot now. Do you see me?” Changbin’s voice rings through your ear, his words giving you the hint you need to look for his car now. You see the headlights before you see the sleek noir Camaro pull up to the front door of the club. You rush down the concrete stairs as fast as you can in your black one-inch heels. Changbin is already out of the car and opening the door for you. 

You ungracefully clamber into the car, pulling your tight skirt down to cover more of your thighs. You observe that Changbin’s gaze rakes over your thighs once, twice before he closes the door and walks around the car. He raises a hand to the bouncer, and the man dressed in a suit returns the gesture.  

Once Changbin enters the car, he shakes his head playfully, turning his head toward you. A smile plays along his lips as he fastens his seatbelt. “You’re lucky you’re my best friend’s girlfriend.” He tells you, exiting the parking lot. You watch his hands as he turned on his signal to make a right turn. “You should be saying, ‘you’re lucky we’re friends.’” You giggle, covering your mouth with a manicured hand.  

He glances over at you before smirking. “I- “  

Ding, ding, ding! 

A beeping noise startles the both of you, and he looks at you from the corner of his eye. “Put on your seatbelt, bunny.” He commands, nodding his head toward your seatbelt. You scramble to put it on, and as the seatbelt clicks in place, you look at the man escorting you home. Your eyes turn soft as you explore his side profile with your eyes. Yet, you can’t help it as your gaze starts to trail over his arms, his pecs, his hands. Your mind starts to wander, as you imagine his pinning you up against the wall, kissing you harshly with those plush lips of his, holding your hands above your head with one large hand.  

“You good?” Broke you away from your R-rated thoughts very quickly. You blink twice before nodding. “Just zoned out.” You explain. Changbin nods. You return your gaze to the road in front of you, watching as artificial lights blur together. Then, you see it. A singular drop turns into many, and they rush down the window, some merging together. In a way, it represents your relationship with your boyfriend.  

One tear turns into one more, with you convincing yourself it’ll be over soon. But it never ends. They keep coming, so many of them dropping that they seem to blend, losing track of how many have fallen by now. It’s like the sun will never shine again.  

You went through his phone today. He left it open on the couch as he went to get a glass of water. You guess he wasn’t expecting you to notice the constant buzzing of his phone, or perhaps he wasn’t expecting the notifications. Swiveling your head in the direction of the kitchen, you confirm he wasn’t looking, and stand up to grab his phone. You sit where he was once sitting, clicking on the most recent notification. You notice the green icon and conclude someone was texting him. Quite frequently. 

Your jaw clenches as you catch a glimpse of a red heart emoji. The messages load onto the screen and tears prick at your eyes. You grip the device tighter, and your white acrylics dig into the screen.  

My boo: When u comin over hun? ❤ Don't tell me ur still w/ that lil girl lmfaoo 

My boo: Still can’t believe ur staying with her ong 

My boo: She’s cute n all but I'm obv better  

Sent 2 minutes ago 

You were trembling like crazy, trying to stop yourself from murdering your boyfriend in the kitchen. This was the second time. The second time you caught your boyfriend cheating. The first time, your girlfriend sent you a bunch of sobbing emojis and a picture of your significant other holding hands with a coworker. They were walking down the busy streets of the bustling city you lived near.  

You confronted him about it, close to leaving, but his begging stopped you from leaving all those months ago. You wondered if it was the same girl from the picture. You heard an obnoxious yawn approaching the living room, so you hastily locked his phone and threw it to the side.  

“Imma be leaving here in a minute. I’ll be back soon.” He mumbled, stretching his arms over his head. You nodded silently, not a word falling from your lips. He took that as your approval and left to your shared room. You sat on the couch for a few more minutes, and stayed there, even after he kissed your cheek as a goodbye. Does he kiss her with those same lips? The same lips that used to say, ‘you’re my only’ to you?  

Then, it hit you. You’re not worth shit to him. He’ll never care about you like he used to, when you were the only one. Were you ever the only one? You stood up hastily and rushed to your room. 

You were gonna get drunk tonight. And you were gonna forget about that son of a bitch. 

Yet, here you are, reminiscing about what had happened this afternoon. “Bin, I need to tell you something.” You whisper, tears welling up in your eyes. You look down at your thighs, and your sorrow runs down your face and drops onto your leather skirt. You attempt to wipe away said tears, but they just won’t stop. Like the rain, you so long to feel on your face, masking your troubles.  

It seems as if Changbin had noticed your tears and promptly said, “We’re going to my place.”  

☂‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ.  

You clutch a pillow to your chest as you explain what you had seen on your boyfriend’s phone. As you continue to speak, it seems as if he gets angrier the more he processes what you’re saying. “Fuck. I’ll kill him.” He grits out, clenching his fists. The veins in his arms become more prominent as he does that, and it kills you to not tell him how you’ve felt all this time. “Don’t. It’ll just make things worse.” You say wearily, burying your head into the white throw pillow. You hear the man hosting you sigh before you feel a drop on the couch next to you. You lift your head to look at him properly, but he’s already embracing you.  

You gasp softly, genuinely surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for Changbin to hug you like this, but due to the situation, it was unexpected. Your nose wrinkles up as you turn to hug him back, arms wrapping tightly around his neck. You sob into his shoulder, and he rubs soothing circles on your lower back. He easily maneuvers you onto his lap, his hands running up and down your sides.  

Once your sobbing dies down to little hiccups, you pull your head away from the junction of his neck and shoulder. Your mascara is running down your face in black streaks, and you spot black pigment on his neck as well. Changbin stares deeply into your eyes, his hands still rubbing your waist. He glances at your lips, silently asking for permission.  

You bite your lip as he moves his hands to your plush thighs, once again sliding his hands back and forth. After a moment and you don’t answer, he asks out loud. “Can I kiss you?”  

You answer by gently yet firmly pressing your lips against his. It feels as if coals are rolling down your throat as you kiss him, and those coals drop into your stomach and become warmer. It’s as if the metaphorical coals are being ignited by your passion for one another, and after being held back for so long, have since stored more and more heat. 

Changbin’s tongue prods against your lips, and you open your mouth slightly against his, so he can explore your mouth slowly but surely. You moan softly as you kiss sloppily, all tongue battling and teeth clacking. After a few moments, you reluctantly pull away from his soft lips. Your eyes are half-lidded, and your lips are swollen. The bold red lipstick you wore was smudged on your chin and the corners of your lips.  

“Binnie,” you pant. “Can I wash up? I kinda look...uh...” “Stunning?” He finishes your sentence for you. Even though you were the tipsy one, he seemed drunk of your affection. As if he’s been craving it for a while now. Like you. So why stop now? Well, you didn’t want to look like a total hobo in front of Changbin. “Stunning?” You repeat, giggling. “Well, thanks but I think I want to wash up, if that’s okay.” You say, gazing into his coffee-tinted eyes. He nods automatically, then shifts under you giving you the impression he wants you to get up. You move your weight off him and stand up, once again fixing your skirt.  

Changbin starts walking in the direction of his hallway, and you follow him dutifully. He leads you to a large bedroom, cozy enough for you to think it’s Changbin’s room and not a guest room. “You can use my bathroom. I’ll go grab some towels and a washcloth.” He smiles at you, before walking out of the room. You sit down on the bed, waiting for his return. You take in the decorations of his room leisurely, appreciating the 2Pac posters and large computer setup. Maybe for smaller music production jobs? He probably has a larger desk at his workplace.  

Changbin walks back into the bedroom holding a white, soft-looking towel and a similar-looking washcloth. You thank him as he hands you the cloth. “You can use my soap.” He tells you as you walk into the bathroom. You hold up a thumbs up without turning around and shut the door behind you. You decide against locking it because you trust him. More than you realized. 

Only when you step under the steady flow of warm water, ridding your face of the semi-natural makeup, do you start to confront your possible feelings for the man whose shower you were in. Did you like him? He was always a bit too touchy with you. At the time, you were madly in love with your boyfriend. You need to call things off with him, and soon. You’ll only suffer more if you stay with him. Changbin, on the other hand, is probably the best choice for you. He’s humble, loyal, funny, handsome, ripped as fuck, and super sweet. You can honestly see an amazing future with him.  

As you scrub the remnants of the night from your skin with Changbin’s alpine sage soap, you begin to think deeper into your life with him. A small child, maybe two, running around the kitchen as Changbin softly scolds them for causing so much ruckus as mom tries to cook dinner. You giggle and wave a hand dismissively, assuring him it’s okay. He walks up behind you, wrapping two beefy arms around your middle and kissing your neck. “I love you,” he would whisper.  

A heavy knock on the door startles you thoroughly. You squeeze the soap a bit too hard in your fright, and it practically jumps out of your hands. The bar hits the floor of the shower with a loud clatter, and you hear Changbin make an alarmed noise. “Bunny?!” He calls, just loud enough to carry through the wooden door. In your scurry to grab the soap without getting your hair wet, you forget to answer the distressed man. “I’m coming in!” He declares, shoving the door open aggressively. You only notice that he opened the door after you stood up, clutching the soap that got you into this mess in the first place. 

You glance at the door, which is now allowing a gust of cool air to flow into the humid bathroom. Blocking most of the doorframe in girth, not height, is the person you were just fantasizing about. He’s staring at you, way too hard. A vein is popping out of his neck and he’s trembling. But the weirdest thing is the pink flush on his cheeks. It does not occur to you to cover your intimates as your gaze trails lower and lower. 

He’s hard. 

You can see the outline of his dick in his gray sweatpants, and damn, does he look big. He clears his throat, and you look back into his dark brown hues. He is biting his lip, yet his eyebrows are furrowed, as if he’s fighting himself. There’s a lustful glint in his eye, and he looks just about ready to jump in that shower with you. Your mind clouds with the thought that maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way you do. So, with all the confidence your body can muster, you lift your hand up and simply beckon him over with a finger.  

His body sprang into action, like he was waiting for you to give him any hint you want him on you. He shucks his clothes off in record time and slides open the glass door to step in the shower with you. You back up into the shower’s wall, the cool bite of the tile reminding you of just a few hours ago how the cool gust of winter air blanketed you. Only an endless display of a dark parking lot, and nothing on your mind. Comparing that moment to now would be like comparing ice and fire. Stark contrasts to each other. Now, your skin was burning, and thoughts were running laps around your brain. 

Changbin’s eyes lock on yours, the water pouring from the shower head flattening his curly hair. You reach your hand up to push his charcoal hair off his forehead so you can see his eyes better. His larger hand follows yours, and places itself on your own.  

“Do you want this?” he asks, running his thumb across your knuckles. He kisses your palm once, twice, waiting for you to answer. 

#changbin smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #seo changbin #stray kids #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #kpop x reader #kpop fanfiction #seo changbin x reader #changbin x reader #FIRST FIC ON HERE YIPPEE

[lixiepixiedust]

Soft Hours

Hi guys! This is my first oneshot on tumblr! I have been writing for quite a while now but only on wattpad but I found that it might be a good idea to switch to tumblr since i love the community and it's just easier to get around 😭 i'm still getting used to how the tumblr post format works but hope you enjoy!

pairing — idol!lee know x f!reader

word count — 1.5k

warnings — she/her reader, fluff,

summary — Minho, a dedicated K-pop idol, finds comfort and love in the midst of his demanding schedule as he spends a relaxing evening with his gf.

11:30 PM:

With beads of sweat glistening on his furrowed brow, Minho stood back up to continue with the final dance of the day. A brief, pause of merely five seconds allowed him to catch his breath and refocus. The dimly lit dance studio echoed with the rhythm of the music.

The group was in the midst of promoting their upcoming comeback, intensifying their already tight schedules. The pressure was palpable, driving them to extend their practice sessions. As Lee Know danced, he felt the familiar strain in his muscles and the fatigue settling into his bones as his chest throbbed with a dull ache

Every beat of the music seemed to resonate with his heartbeat as he pushed through the routine. During his solo parts, he usually blended singing with his dance, but today, the exhaustion held him back. Despite the physical toll, he powered through, shirt clinging to his body, soaked with sweat.

When the final notes of the song faded into the silence of the studio, Minho collapsed onto the cool floor, breaths coming in ragged gasps. He hated the feeling of wearing himself out, yet he somewhat loved it. He sat up, running a trembling hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

He made his way to the counter, gathering his belongings. He pushed hair back and slipped on his baseball cap. As he exited the dance studio, his manager was waiting, ready to take him home.

"You ready to go?" the manager asked, receiving a nod from Lee Know.

They stepped out of the building and headed towards the car. The cool night air greeted them as they left the parking lot and merged onto the highway.

"Are you going home today?" the manager inquired, and Lee Know responded with a shake of his head. His manager understood immediately that it meant he would be driving to your house instead of his dorm.

They drove through the city, the hum of the engine providing a rhythmic backdrop to their thoughts. Silence enveloped the car, broken only by the occasional sound of tires against the road.

"How was practice?" the manager asked, attempting to strike a conversation. However, the question was met with the quiet embrace of slumber. Glancing at the rearview mirror, the manager saw Minho in a peaceful sleep, head resting against the window.

As the clock neared 7, the familiar turns in the road signaled their proximity to your house. Minho slowly opened his eyes and sat up straight, recognising the feeling of driving in your neighbourhood.

The manager parked the car right before your driveway, and Minho unbuckled his seatbelt, preparing to step out. He looked at the manager and sincerely said, "Thank you for driving me."

The manager nodded, a warm smile on his face. "Always," he replied.

With a grateful nod, he opened the car door and stepped out into the quiet night.

Y/n's POV:

I was laying on the couch, engrossed in my college assignment. As I delved into my studies, the familiar hum of an engine reached my ears, a sound that instantly made my heart skip a beat.

I glanced towards the window, recognizing the sound immediately. It was the distinctive rumble of the manager's car pulling up to the curb. My face lit up with a smile, a mixture of excitement and relief flooding over me. He was here.

Quickly gathering my papers and textbooks, I set them aside, eager to greet him. The engine noise faded as the car was parked, and a few moments later, I heard the front door open.

Minho walked in, his face painted with exhaustion, and it was clear that today had taken its toll on him. Even though it was only 7 in the evening, the day had left him drained. His eyes struggled to stay open, and weariness weighed down his usually lively demeanor.

I watched as he eased himself onto the couch, fatigue evident in every movement. I could see the lines of exhaustion on his face. It was a reminder of the dedication and hard work that went into being an idol, especially during promotions and comebacks.

"Long day, huh?" I said softly, moving closer.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of fatigue as he laid his head in my lap.

"You've been working so hard. I'm proud of you."

He managed a tired smile, appreciating the encouragement. "Thanks, it means a lot."

I decided to make the evening as relaxing as possible for him. "I assume you haven't eaten yet. How about I make you something? It might help you unwind."

Minho nodded, and I got up to make some food, letting him settle and rest. 

I filled a pot with water, set it on the stovetop, and turned up the heat to bring it to a boil.I glanced into the pantry and spotted some dry pasta. I tossed some into the pot, allowing it to cook and soften in the boiling water. In the fridge, I found some tomatoes and ground meat so I quickly chopped the tomatoes and cooked them in a separate pan, letting them simmer to make sauce. The ground meat sizzled as it cooked, filling the kitchen with an enticing aroma.

Once the pasta was cooked, I drained it and combined it with the tomato sauce and ground meat mixture. To add a comforting finishing touch, I grated some cheese and sprinkled it over the assembled ingredients. 

While preparing the meal for about a half an hour, I didn't realize how the time had flown, and I wondered how Minho was doing. With the pasta dish ready, I filled two plates and I made my way over to the couch, where Minho was seated. I got to the couch and noticed that Minho had dozed off. Smiling at the sight, I decided to let him rest. Careful not to disturb him, I placed the plates on the coffee table and covered him with a soft blanket, making sure he was comfortable.

As I leaned down to tuck him in, I planted a kiss on his lips. To my surprise, it stirred him from his slumber. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light, and a warm smile spread across his face.

"Hey there," I greeted softly, a smile mirroring his own.

"Hey," he replied, his voice carrying a mix of sleepiness and joy.

Minho leaned in and gently kissed me back, his lips soft and warm.

As we pulled away, our eyes still locked, there was a warmth and contentment that enveloped us. 

"Should we eat?" I asked him, and he nodded quickly. 

"I'm starving. Thanks for cooking tonight, babe." He appreciated the effort, and a made me happy to have prepared a meal for him, especially knowing that he was usually the one cooking

"We make a great team in the kitchen," he added with a grin, acknowledging that we're both good chefs. It was a nice change for me to be the one cooking, giving him a break and a chance to enjoy a meal I had prepared.

As we chatted and enjoyed our meal, Minho pulled out his phone and started showing me some footage from their practice earlier in the day. We both laughed at the video where he caught Jisung tripped and fell while dancing. He often showed me this practice videos of dancing and singing, knowing that I would always give him honest and constructive feedback.

"I value your opinion a lot," Minho once told me, a sincerity in his eyes that meant the world to me. "You understand the art, and I know you'll tell me what I need to hear, not just what I want to hear."

Whenever he had a new routine or a song to practice, he would come to me, eager for my thoughts. We would spend hours together, dissecting every move, every note, and discussing ways to improve his performance.

After we washed the dishes and tidied up the kitchen, we made ourselves two comforting cups of tea. We went upstairs to my bedroom and changed into our pajamas after placing the mugs on the nightstands. We snuggled under the soft blankets of the bed, the warmth enveloping us, and settled in to watch our favorite show on Netflix.

Minho wrapped his arm around me, and I cuddled against him, feeling the comforting beat of his heart. It was a peaceful and intimate moment, surrounded by the glow of the screen and the biggest light turned off.

As the show played on, our laughter and quiet conversations filled the room. In that moment, we were exactly where we wanted to be. 

In the soft moonlight that bathed the room, I looked up at Minho and I pressed my lips against his, a gentle and tender kiss that conveyed all the love and warmth I felt for him.

Minho responded, his love mirroring mine, as he lowered himself to my level. His hands found their place on my waist, gently pulling me closer as our lips met in a sweet and loving kiss. 

As we pulled away, our foreheads touched, and we exchanged a warm and knowing smile. In each other's eyes, we found the reassurance of a love that was pure and true, a love that made every day a blessing.

"I love you so much," Minho whispered, his voice filled with sincerity.

"I love you too," I replied softly, my heart swelling. 

With those words hanging in the air, we put the laptop away and drifted off to sleep in each other's embrace.

#lee know #lee know one shot #lee know skz #skz lee know #lee know fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #stray kids comfort #lee know fic #lee know imagines #soft #fluff #lee know fanfiction #lee know fanfic

[heartsandhischier]

Breaking the ice

andrei svechnikov x female!reader

summary - 1.2k words. Y/N and Andrei are about to make their first public appearance of their faux relationship part 2 of The Pretend Play

author's note - omd I've already outlined this series to a 10 part series... getting a bit too caught up in this Russian man

warnings - none i think

It was the night of Andrei’s crucial playoff game. The chilly evening air did nothing to cool the simmering tension between Andrei and Y/N as they made their way to the bustling arena. It was their first public outing together since the arranging of their faux relationship. Y/N, despite her visible discomfort, wore Andrei's jersey, the number 37 standing out boldly against the fabric, a symbol of her reluctant role in this charade.

In the car, the atmosphere had been thick with their mutual resentment, their conversation peppered with barbed comments and thinly veiled annoyance. "So, how many hours of my life am I sacrificing to the gods of ice tonight?" Y/N had asked with a heavy dose of sarcasm, her eyes rolling so hard Andrei thought they might get stuck that way.

"Hockey games have three periods, each 20 minutes long, but with breaks and potential overtime, who knows? Could be your whole night," Andrei replied dryly, his focus on the road but his mind racing with the implications of their public debut.

"And it's going to be cold, right? I mean, it's an ice rink. Couldn't you play a sport in a more comfortable climate?" Y/N continued, her complaints a verbal manifestation of her reluctance to be part of this spectacle.

"It's not the Arctic, Y/N. You'll survive. Besides, you're wearing my jersey. Consider it a... personal heater," Andrei shot back, the corner of his mouth twitching in what could have been the start of a smile under different circumstances. "You might actually enjoy it if you stopped complaining for a minute."

Y/N huffed, crossing her arms over the jersey that draped loosely over her frame. "Oh, please, like I'm really going to understand anything that's happening. I just don't get why I have to be there if I don't even follow the sport."

"Because you're supposed to be 'the supportive girlfriend,'" Andrei said, emphasizing the last two words with air quotes, his eyes briefly meeting hers before returning to the road. 

The bickering had ebbed as they neared the arena, replaced by a tense silence that spoke volumes of their current state of affairs. They were two individuals tied together by circumstance and necessity, each bearing the weight of their roles with a mix of disdain and resignation.

As they stepped out of the car and into the view of waiting cameras and eager fans, Andrei could feel Y/N stiffen beside him. He offered his arm, a gesture meant for the watching eyes, and after a brief hesitation, she took it, her grip on his arm surprisingly firm.

The flash of cameras and the murmur of the crowd greeted them as they made their way inside, their smiles practiced and their steps measured. "Remember, just smile and wave. Stick to the script, and we'll get through this," Andrei murmured to Y/N, his voice barely audible over the noise.

"Script? I wasn't aware there was a script for pretending to enjoy watching people chase a puck on ice," Y/N whispered back, her voice laced with a mix of humor and bitterness.

As they approached the grand entrance, Andrei leaned in, his voice low but firm. “Hold my hand,” he instructed, a blend of request and command. Y/N’s initial reaction was one of surprise, her brows knitting together in confusion. Yet, his rationale, whispered in a hurried breath – “You wanted me to step up, right? ‘If we’re going to sell this lie?” – prompted a reluctant compliance. With a soft sigh, she placed her hand in his, their fingers intertwining. 

The red carpet that adorned the arena’s entrance was a sea of flashing lights and eager faces, the fans’ excitement mirrored by the curiosity swirling around Andrei and Y/N’s relationship. Despite the turmoil of emotions beneath the surface, they navigated with grace, their smiles carefully curated masks worn for the world to see. 

As they pause for photographs, the press urges them for a display of affection, keen to capture a moment that would headline the next day's gossip columns. Feeling the weight of expectation on her shoulders, Y/N turns to Andrei, whispering a challenge masked as a flirtation. "Let's see if you're as good at hockey as you're at kissing," she says. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Y/N bridged the gap between them, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was a bold move, surprising Andrei. The cameras flash frantically, capturing the moment from every angle. The kiss, though and part of their act, sends a ripple of excitement through the crowd, and for a moment, blurs the lines between their public facade and private discomfort.

Andrei, caught off guard by Y/N's audacity, can't help but respond to the kiss with a genuine spark of admiration for her boldness. As they part, he looks down at her, a new sense of respect mingling with the complex web of emotions he harbors towards her. The crowd cheers, delighted by the display, and for a fleeting second, Andrei forgets the world watching them.

Following this electrifying prelude, Y/N was ushered to her seat by Andrei's PR manager, ensuring her smooth transition through the still-buzzing crowd. The arena was alive with anticipation, the energy of the fans a pulsating backdrop to the unfolding drama on the ice.

The match was a nail-biter, the Hurricanes and the Flyers locked in a dance of skill, strategy, and sheer will. Andrei's focus was laser-sharp, undeniably influenced by the presence of Y/N in the stand. Her support, whether real or part of their elaborate ruse, fueled his determination.

When Andrei scored, the arena erupted into cheers and applause, a wave of collective joy sweeping through the crowd. Y/N was on her feet, cheering along with the masses, her earlier doubts and pretense of their situation momentarily forgotten in the genuine thrill of the moment. Their eyes met across teh distance, a silent exchange that carried the weight of words and emotions. 

The jumbotron, ever watchful, captured Y/n’s animated reaction, her image filling the screen for all to see. Andrei, glancing up at the replay, was struck by the sight of her genuine smile – a smile he realised he had never truly seen until this moment. The sight of her, so vibrant and unrestrained in her joy, sent an unexpected flutter through his heart, a momentary skip in its rhythm that he couldnt quite comprehend.

As the finals buzzer sounds, signalling a hard-fought victory for the Hurricanes. The atmosphere became electric. Andrei was soon engulfed by his teammates, their shared euphoria palpable in their jubilant celebration. Yet, amidst the chaos of victory, andrei’s thoughts lingered on Y/N. as the team commenced their victory lap, he sought her out in the crowd, their eyes meeting once more. For a moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the arena, her smile is genuine, her applause enthusiastic.

After the game, Andrei finds Y/N waiting for him outside the locker room. The game had transformed the awkwardness of their initial interactions into something more fluid. “You’re pretty good at this thing,” Y/N quipped, her tone light, teasing, yet underscored with a hint of admiration.

Andrei, still riding the wave of adrenaline and unexpected sentimentality, responded with genuine humility. “Thanks for being here,” he said, his voice carrying a warmth and sincerity that reflected his gratitude. 

“Well, it’s not like I had a choice,” her playful retort was met with laughter from them both, a spontaneous moment of unity that felt strangely right.

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