#SHOWING U MY LOVE N SUPPORT ALWAYS!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

s-4pphics · 6 months

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where we meet. (e.w.)

when ur a monsterfucker n its kinktober lol am i right guys

*silence*

…..

thank u 4 the pointers baby :3 ilysm @elliesbelle

wc;cw: 17.8k, baker!oc, demon!ellie, HEAVY ANGST [mentions underage drinking + alcoholism + drunk driving + car accidents + death], oc’s an eldest daughter… yeah, HORROR? [gore + animal death/mutilation? + vomit + idk scary shit like blood n stuff], SMUT!!!!![HEAVY DUBCON + sexual tension + ellie shape shifts LOL + her tongue is barbed and forked and long like a fruit rollup + blood drinking + fucking outside HAHA + splash of sadism + edging + tentacles WOOO THIS BITCH IS SHAKING THE TABLE!!! + pain kink + spit but venomous + lots of cum/squirting + anal/d!p + err restraint? + oral + crazy size kink + dirty talk + masturbation? + dumbification/mind break + dacryphilia + burning/marking

“Alright, my love! A dozen red velvet cupcakes, four slices of carrot cake, and ten brownies!”

You handed two large brown bags filled with desserts over to your favorite regular, Roxanna, “I threw in two complementary cannolis, don’t tell Hattie, please!” You whispered.

The older woman laughed, turning to depart with the sweet treats, “She ain’t getting a word outta me. Thank you, baby. See you soon.”

“Have an amazing birthday! Try not to get too rowdy on that yacht, now!”

“Girl, I’m grown! If one of my guests show up without a bottle, they ain’t gettin’ on, point blank!” You both giggled.

She blew you a kiss and scurried off, the small bell above the door ringing at her exit. You sighed and scurried to the back and into the kitchen, untying your apron and hanging it on the coat rack.

“Now, Miss Hattie— “

“I know you ain’t tryna disrupt my craft right now. You know better!” The elderly woman had her gray hairs pinned back under her hair net, practically squatting near the counter as she perfected the icing job on the three-layered wedding cake, shrouded in gold and sparkly silver. Your heart grew fonder at the slight tremble in her hands as she piped sprouts of buttercream around the cake topper.

Hattie, despite her stubbornness, was reason your… fresh start went so smoothly. Meeting her was a blessing in disguise; It was raining when you stumbled upon the old bakery she worked at years ago. You’d just moved as far as you could from your hometown, in desperate need of a job. She turned down your desperate pleads time and time again, that is until you showed up to the shop one last time, drenched in rain, with your homemade red velvet cake.

She’d nearly cracked you with a broom herself when she saw you standing by the service stand, but you pleaded one last time, and left the foil wrapped dish on the register counter without another word. You’d piqued her interest. Just a smidge.

You’d received a call from a random number — the owner of the shop— days later, offering you a position at the local bakery.

As a dishwasher.

Your victory didn’t last long, however. Turns out your boss was a thieving bastard, cutting all the employee's earnings by a third months after you were hired. You were shocked no one shoved a piping bag up his ass.

Weeks later, you were out of a job. And so was Hattie.

… Did she reluctantly ask you for tips on how you made your cake that moist as you two waited for the bus, hairnets still on? Absolutely. And you shared them on the ride back to her small home.

She swiftly became your support, your right-hand man, your newfound comfort only after a few months. You silently thank the universe for her everyday; You couldn’t imagine opening your spot without her with you, making sure to double — triple whatever shit pay her previous boss gave her.

“C’mon, Roxie just picked up. We needa head out now,” Closing was always a hassle whenever Hattie was in the zone. The extra five minutes she often requested easily turned into an hour if not regulated; Bless her heart.

She sighed and stretched, “Alright,” Reluctance in her tone. “You’re lucky my grandkids are coming to see me tomorrow!” She set her piping bag down and allowed you to stroll the wedding cake into the walk-in fridge.

Hattie hardly ever asked for time off; You practically have to shove her out your bakery doors every Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, New Years! The only request — demand she’s ever made was no work on Halloween. She gave you explicit instructions when you hired her years ago: don’t call my phone during the day of evil!

Her request threw you for a whirl at first. You assumed she was joking because what seventy-year-old woman still cares about Halloween and its lore? When she hadn’t laughed with you, however, you apologized and offered her three days off for the end of October. Everyone deserves to be with their family, regardless of time of year.

You wished you had someone to call during the cozy Fall.

You threw yourself into work the second you got the chance. Opening your bakery a year ago was something you’d been working towards since you made your first batch of cupcakes at ten years old. You and your mother baked until your arms burned from kneading years after that, and the hobby swiftly became your down time. Your shop was small and crowded, but your name was printed on the door.

You never thought you’d be able to own anything after the last decade of being locked up, after the accident you’d caused.

That horrid day and its repercussions continues to loom over you like a dark cloud no matter where you go, filling your life with trails of dread that refuse to be washed away. You lost your family, some friends, a potential partner, and it was all because of one mindless decision during your reckless and dark teenage years.

To put it bluntly, you never recovered. Everyday is a struggle, but you’ve managed to distract yourself with work. Your newfound friends hate that they never see you, but you beg them to accept that you're busy whenever you receive an invitation to dinner.

Sadly, your accomplishments are not companions, and your heart is forever vacant. Nothing — or no one — will change that.

No matter how many times you’ve tried to reach out to your loved ones, your calls go unanswered. You came to terms with the fact that they’ll always see you as the force that destroyed their unity — the disappointment, ages ago, but your heart still longs for their affection.

You wake up and hope for their forgiveness everyday.

“You comin’?”

Miss Hattie’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as you silently walked her to the door, her work bag in hand and ready to go.

“No, ma’am. Still gotta check the inventory.”

She sucked her teeth, “I coulda still been decorating— “

“Enough of that! Get on home!” You waved her off with a smile.

“Uh huh,” She rolled her eyes and left with a nod, “See you next week!”

You waved goodbye, shutting the door fully and flipping the open sign to close.

You stretched your arms above your head, your achy shoulders and neck popping with stiffness. All you wanted was a fucking massage.

You made your way back to the kitchen, clipboard in hand, marking off products that desperately needed refilling. What kind of bakery runs out of sugar? Sugar!

The bus ride home was nauseating; You need your own car desperately.

You politely greeted your neighbors as they left the elevator before heading to your floor. The late afternoon sun was blooming through the hallway windows of your building. You unlocked your door, the waft of cool air from the open window in your living room brushing your skin.

You tossed your bag off your shoulders, and it thudded to the floor, the overworked bones in your arms cracking when you stretched them up at the ceiling.

The small ball of fur rubbing against your leg rejuvenated you in seconds.

Your cat meowed happily when you bent down to plant kisses on her head. She followed you into the kitchen as you heated the kettle on the stove, hopping onto the counter to watch you work.

“You know better. Get down,” your eyes squinted.

She only tilted her head at you before sitting on the granite completely. You were too tired to move her.

Whistles erupted from the small hole in the pot minutes later. You filled your mug to the brim with the soothing herbal tea your friends gave you before heading into your bedroom.

You closed your blinds and undressed completely, plopping onto your blankets, taking sips from your mug as exhaustion and warmth flooded your body.

The last thing you remember was your cat walking all over your back.

THUD, THUD THUD THUDTHUD—

Your body shook awake at the pounding coming from the entrance of your home. Anxiety surged in your gut when the loud knocks against wood came to a sudden halt, only to start up again, even more frantic and aggressive.

THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD—

You kicked your blankets off and sat up, your sweaty form clinging to the sheets as you searched around your room. Everything was where it was supposed to be, but your door was wide open. You never leave your door open. Did you shut your door when you came home from…

Where were you before this?

You called for your cat once, twice, three times, but she never came. Your apartment was always quiet, but this silence… It was weighted, a heavy press on your chest.

You don’t remember how you got into your living room, but your toes were digging into the soft fluff of your rugs, attempting to sketch into the floor. Even the slightest movement felt like a fight against sludge. Like trekking through the rain in drenched clothes. The knocks didn’t cease, and was synced with the pounding in your ears.

The walls were breathing. Why couldn’t you breathe? You swore you were going to throw up.

The painted plaster moved in waves, your door plunging in and out of its frame, back and forth like a pendulum, but you couldn’t see behind it; Your toenails scratched harder into the floor. You couldn’t stop staring at the door. Every nerve in your brain was urging you to run, find a place to hide, but your body wouldn’t allow it. You simply stood, trapped in a cloud of distress.

The banging stopped and you inhaled, air finally filling your lungs. The feel of fabric beneath your toes was no longer there: something softer than hardwood. Something squishy, something sticky and wet with hair. Your nails tore into it, oddly comforted by the sensation.

All was quiet again, the familiar steadiness of your home calming your racing heart.

Until a weak, wheezing exhale came from beneath you; You nearly missed it. Your heart rate skyrocketed when you peered at your feet.

Your cat’s neck and stomach were sliced open, her small organs pouring out of the large slit in her body. Maggots and spiders were crawling all over her, your feet completely drenched in her blood and your nails plunged deep into her decomposing skin. The insects devouring your nearly dead pet rushed up your legs at an alarming rate, tearing into your thighs like desperate rats fiending for a meal.

You woke up screaming.

“Girl…”

“I don’t know why that happened! I’ve never had a dream like that before!” All the lights were on in your home, your kitty purring in your lap as you stroked her comfortingly. “I know it’s late but can you come over? I’m honestly… freaked out right now.”

Your good friend, Celeste, exhaled over the line, “… Yeah,” she resigned. “Gimmie ten minutes. I love you. Just… try to relax.”

You breathed when she told you to, your head bobbing like she could see you, “Okay. I love you too.”

You almost didn’t want to hang up, but you’d already bothered your friend enough tonight. It’s been a while since you two hung out together; You hope she’s up for a sleepover!

Your kitty nuzzled your chin affectionately. You hoped she knew you would never hurt her.

“I’ve never been so horrified in my life!” You spoke around the sugary spoon in your mouth. “Dreams have never… felt like that for me. I swear, it doesn’t matter how deep my sleep paralysis is! I felt like I was really,” you quickly peered around the room for your kitty, praying she couldn’t hear you. “Stepping on her body! My poor angel.”

Celeste shoveled more ice cream into her mouth, “Girl, that’s fucking crazy,” she assured, nodding towards your sleeping baby on the table. “Just remember that nothing actually happened. You love her and she loves you.”

She continued after a heavy sigh. “But you know me. Dreams, nightmares, they’re all from something, and if it felt as real as you say…” Her brow arched at you. What the fuck is she talking about?

Her eyes rolled in exasperation, “Isn’t your coworker, like… mad superstitious? Queen, but still. The devil’s working, girl.”

You took a deep breath like she instructed a billion times over since she’s arrived. A smirk grew on her face.

“Plus… it’s that time of year. ,” she stuck her tongue out and playfully grabbed her tits, “We gettin’ slutty. Gotta show out for Scorpio season. I made my own costume.”

Your nerves calmed at the reminder of your friends' packed weekend. Since your only true time off was during the spooky season, they always encouraged you to join them in their reckless behavior, especially during your time off. You resigned from partying a long time ago, but did indulge in the lively atmosphere from time to time during the holiday season.

“You’re right,” you sighed and placed your hands over the resting ones on her chest.

“Thank you! Take that damn chef hat off!” she scolded. “No more business talk until— “

“Next week, I know,” you mocked, “And I don’t wear chef hats, thanks.”

“Don’t give a shit about any of that. I’m getting pipe tomorrow night,” Celeste fell back on the sofa, giddily kicking her feet in the air.

A hearty chuckle escaped you. Maybe you’d meet someone too.

You were finally able to get some rest— thank god for Celeste — and start organizing your costumes for the… large sum of parties they planned to drag you to.

You still haven’t completely recovered from your nightmare two nights ago. The vivid imagery that your subconscious conjured up still gives you the ick, but for the sake of your friends, you chose not to bring it up again. You silently thanked the universe when you managed to get a full nine hours the night before.

Your friends managed to pull you into the Halloween spirit and take you to… Spirit. Despite the void stares from your friends at your costume choices, you settled on the Zelda outfit that’d been on sale at Party City for the past two weeks. Celeste couldn’t stop herself from… cutting your costume up and making it as revealing as possible. She opted to cut off the sleeves, sew the pants into a skirt that hugged your body way too tightly, and did your makeup how she wanted. You didn’t stand a chance against her.

You despised how hot clubs get; You probably looked like you were melting.

You stayed as far away from the bar as you could, watching your friends down shot after shot as the night progressed. Your surroundings were crowded and stuffy, the bass of the DJ booth rattling from your feet all the way up to your chest. Your moves were sloppy and disoriented, but Celeste was behind you, grabbing your hips and supporting your weight.

Your thoughts were hazy and incoherent as your arms waved around to the beat. The music blasting in your ears turned into white noise; The environment completely entranced you, your eyes shutting at the weightlessness of your clammy body.

The hands behind you were suddenly grabbing tighter, yanking you closer, as you continued to dance.

You pushed back onto them and their arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back, yanking you close, your clammy flesh practically melding with theirs. Their scent engulfed you, rich and deep yet distinct. Your arm wrapped around the back of their neck, pulling them down while their hands explored your hips.

Their lips were on your neck, your head resting on their shoulder. Something hot was stirring in the pit of your stomach the more they swayed you, the arch in your back deepening; You haven’t felt wanted in so long.

You tried to spin to face them, but they held you still, pressing their chest into your backside. Your breaths picked up when they bit the most sensitive spot on your neck, your toes curling in your heeled boots, your manicured nails nearly chipping in your stockings.

Their mouth moved higher and higher, right under your ear, the hand coming up to wrap around your throat to hold you still. Your core squeezed as the grip on your neck tightened… and tightened… your airways were closing, and swiftly, the feeling was no longer pleasant. Your eyes snapped open when they didn’t let up, a shocked gasp escaping your dry mouth. The moment was no longer sensual, but straining and forceful. Almost angry.

Your lust turned to panic instantly, your eyes bulging as your nails dug into their hands, their taut thighs, their wrist, but they didn’t budge. You thrashed and shook with terror. You gasped for air and tried to push them off but it was all for naught.

Nobody came to help you. Suddenly all the faceless bodies around you were gone, heaps of black smoke pooling at your feet as you wailed for Celeste. The hands and lips were replaced with razor sharp claws and fangs as cold as ice against the side of your face, murmuring voices and screaming chants roaring in your ears. The former body grew monstrous, tripling in size and darkening.

The sensation of decaying, bloody skin was at your feet once more, fiery red ants and black widows nipping at your skin as the smoke flooded up your body, swallowing your calves, thighs, waist.

Weak shouts and begs for release went unheard by the force behind you. A faint whisper of your name made you sob harder; You’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to die—

The whisper called your name again. And again. And again, much louder and urgent. Desperate for a response but all you could do was holler for your mother.

One last shout of your name made you drop to the floor, all the sensations surrounding your body gone. Your crown clanked onto the vibrating hardwood as drunk clubgoers gawked at you in confusion and annoyance, Celeste and your friends staring in concern, reaching to help you up.

But you couldn’t be touched. Any brush on your skin surged your heart to your throat. You needed to get the fuck out of here.

Your friends kept yelling about what happened, how they could help, but you couldn’t speak. You swore you were going to vomit.

You pushed yourself off the hardwood and through the crowd, away from your friends, away from everyone. Your smudged makeup stained your wrists, the shouts of your name going unheard as you shoved passed security and ran into the night.

You didn’t sleep at all that night.

You immediately left the club, hauled a taxi, and ran up into your apartment, double — triple checking to make sure all your doors were locked and windows were closed. You tore your costume off your body and threw it into your garbage before hopping into the shower. You desperately wanted to wash your hair, but you refused to close your eyes. The darkness when you blinked was haunting enough.

To put it lightly, you were fucking horrified.

Your body trembled under the steaming water, soft sobs escaping while you scrubbed your skin raw. Especially your shoulder.

Your phone rang off the hook until the sun rose, your kitty refusing to leave your lap. She never failed to comfort you in your times of need, but you barely rubbed her all night. All you could do is cry and think.

Your friends pounded on your door multiple times, but you refused to move from your bed. Their frantic knocking was very reminiscent of the pounding in your nightmare. You couldn’t shake how real everything felt: the comfort, the desire, the destress, the pure, unfiltered terror at the imagery of you being eaten alive by darkness. If you could even call it that: imagery.

Imagery is not enough to describe what you experienced. You were attacked in public, and no one bothered to help you. Nobody… saw anything.

You’re not fucking crazy.

Your friends were sweet enough to stop by the same afternoon with candles and lavender-scented bath bombs after your public breakdown. Their efforts at lifting your spirits didn’t go unnoticed, but your thoughts kept racing, every time you shut your eyes, even for a few seconds. How the hell were you going to explain what you saw that night?

Despite your friends’ skepticism, you were eventually able to convince them that you felt severely claustrophobic and the lack of air sent you spiraling.

… It wasn’t a complete lie, at least.

You were able to get some minuscule hours of sleep after they left before it was time to prepare for your shift. Dark circles were imprinted under your eyes, your skin was dry, and your uniform was not ironed, but you were up and moving. Small victories.

Your hand was practically glued to your forehead in extreme fatigue, your eyes burning at the brightness of your computer screen as you checked the time. Your emails always boomed during this time of year as people prepared for the holiday season; A good night's sleep seemed even farther away now.

You swiftly replied to each request with your availability before grabbing your bag and keys, kissing your kitty goodbye, and running down to the bus stop.

You greeted every familiar face with a polite smile before entering the already packed vehicle, the beginnings of a rising sun beaming through the scratched windows. You plopped onto the only available seat — farthest away from your neighbors — with a heavy exhale, your head falling against its rest.

This week is going to be so gruesome for orders; You prayed Ms. Hattie was prepared for it.

Returning to work was just as draining as you’d assumed.

Your business line has been ringing off the hook all morning, people asking for dozens of gingerbread cookies and wedding cakes layered to the ceiling. You could make a nest for yourself right on the clean tiles of the kitchen and nap.

You’ll never know how Ms. Hattie did it: wakes up at five in the morning and moves through decorating like a walk in the park. You can barely lift your arms and it’s only hour three.

You whipped egg whites and sugar like your life depended on it — it did — with your landline tucked between your shoulder and ear, reciting pick-up addresses and numbers in voicemails. You’re so fucking tired.

Hattie wasn’t, though. Just quiet. A bit too quiet.

She hasn’t said much since you’ve arrived. She got to the shop much earlier than expected, politely saying good morning when she caught you standing by the kitchen entrance. She hasn’t acknowledged you since. You tried to get some laughs out of her, but she only half-smiled before silently returning to her work.

You two continued to carefully wrap and deliver dessert-filled boxes like a well fueled machine up until the last minutes before closing. You stretched before grabbing the broom to sweep the entire shop, making your way into the kitchen where Hattie was staring off into nothing.

“Hey, girl. I can close up, so,” you murmured, wiping the sweat off your brow.

She seemed to be pulled out of her trance, “Oh, sorry hun,” Her head bobbed. “Are you sure you’re good on your own?”

“Yes, ma’am,” You paused. “Umm, are you doin’ okay? You seemed… I dunno, quiet, I guess.”

Hattie nodded, and you took it as an invitation to speak. “Somethin’ you wanna talk about? You didn’t even tell me how your weekend went. How’re the kiddos?” You asked gently, propping your broom against the wall.

A heavy exhale left her.

“I… Something was…” she stuttered.

Another deep inhale. Another lengthy exhale.

“Something felt different, no?” She whispered.

Your brows pulled down in confusion. “What d’you mean?”

“This… this weekend. Wasn’t it different?”

“Umm…” you pondered. “Not really, no. Why, what’s goin’ on?”

More silence before she huffed, “… Nothin’. You know how I get this time of year. Sorry, dear.” She turned and snatched her work bag off the counter before departing with a skittish nod, “See ya tomorrow.”

“W-Wait—“ You tried to stop her, but the kitchen door was already slamming shut, the small ding alarming Hattie’s departure from your shop.

You allowed your tense shoulders to drop, snagging the broom and heading towards the front of your shop for cleanup.

That was odd.

The front door of your apartment shut and you fell back against it in exhaustion. You desperately needed a massage.

You stretched before pushing yourself off the door and wobbling over to your cat’s area, refilling her bowl and cleaning her litter box. You clicked your tongue to lure her over to eat.

You called her name out when she didn’t come. You snagged her filled bowl and shook it, alerting your baby to come and eat. She still didn’t come. You huffed and made your way into your room; She probably took over your softest pillow again.

The bowl in your hand clattered to the floor and your screams nearly shattered your windows. Bile rose in your throat and you heaved at the scene in front of you.

Your beloved pet was dead. Completely mauled, her blood and organs pouring out of the giant slit that went from her throat to her stomach. Sobs wracked through you at the savage attack. The one source of comfort that you looked forward to seeing every morning and night was gone, snatched away from you in the blink of an eye. You've tried to alleviate your anxiety by suggesting that your nightmares are merely that. Dreams. Creations by your subconscious to try and solve issues that occur in your everyday life.

But nothing so heinous would ever cross your mind. You would never harm the precious angel who brought you healing in your times of need.

This wasn’t a coincidence. Someone came into your home while you were away. Someone killed your baby.

“We’re sorry, ma’am,” the county deputy sighed, “But there wasn’t any sign of breaking and entering. You stated that everything is where you left it, correct?”

“Everything wasn’t where I left it,” Anger rushed through you at the officer’s dismissiveness. “My cat was fucking fine before I went to work. I’d never… put her in an environment where she could be harmed,” Tears flooded your eyes.

“We understand that this was an attack done in your home. What happened here’s definitely not normal, but we won’t be able to solve everything in one night,” He consoled, “We’re getting a team here to investigate. I would suggest packing an overnight bag and staying with family or a friend until we get this situated.”

Family. You almost broke down.

When you didn’t respond, he interjected, “We can also find you a room to stay in for a few nights— “

“No, uh, thanks. I got it.”

You dug in your pocket for your phone and dialed Celeste. He nodded and spun towards his partner who jabbered into a walkie.

Your friend’s tone blared through the speakers, “Hiii, baby, what’s up! I haven’t heard from you in a minute.”

Your bottom lip wobbled, “Sorry I didn’t call. Um… can I ask a favor?”

“Of course you can. What’s the matter? Are you good?”

The floodgates that’d been building in your eyes overflowed, pouring down your cheeks and onto your work shirt. You wept.

“Can you come pick me up?”

“I just feel like… I feel like I’m going fucking crazy,” you whispered and picked at your fingers, “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but— “

“Nah, it makes perfect sense. You’re fucking psychic. That’s literally the only explanation,” your friend shook her head at you. “You dreamt about something and it happened a couple days after.”

“None of that shit is real, Celeste.” She sighed in disappointment.

“It’s not real to you,” she pointed from the other side of the couch. “My grandmomma was a witch—“You huffed and adjusted the blanket draped over your shoulders.

“But, hey,” she raised her hands in defense. “I can’t make you believe anything. But coming from the most superstitious bitch in town, somebody is trying to tell you something. You’re not freaked out?”

“Of course I’m freaked out! But I'm not wasting my time thinking about some… fuckin’ ghost— “

“What happened when we were at the club?”

Your blood went ice cold. You couldn’t stop the pure terror that spread across your face at the mention of that night. You’ve attempted to block… whatever happened out of your memory for the last couple days for your sake, but Celeste read you like a book, and you hated her for it.

“Exactly. Are you ready to talk about it now?”

“I… I told you what happened— “

“You lied about what happened. And don’t try to argue,” She leaned closer, eyes comforting. “We tried calling out to you for so long. We thought somebody fucking… laced you, or something, you were so zoned out. We were this close to calling the fucking police.”

“… What do you mean? I lost y'all in the crowd before I started dancing with somebody— “

Celeste shook her head, “No.”

Your throat went dry, the blood rushing to your head almost making you faint.

“We tried to tell you, baby. But we didn’t wanna push you to talk to us about it,” she said gently. “We were with you the entire time.”

The tightness in your chest wouldn’t subside, shuddering breaths leaving your nose with every denial from Celeste.

“No one else came up to us,” she whispered, “and no one danced with you.”

Your head kept shaking in attempts to disprove her claims, in attempts to combat the fear that was attempting to slice you from the inside out, but deep down, you knew she was onto something.

Celeste’s hold sadly didn’t bring comfort, but she held you close anyway, ensuring that you’re not by yourself, but all you could think about was your mother. The smile she used to give you whenever you succeeded never failed to recharge the dying battery in your back. It’s depressing how little impact her grin has on you in adulthood.

The dark cloud of your past cascaded over the two of you; If she were here, your best friend would’ve forced you into the passenger side of her father’s pick-up, already halfway across town by now, set to isolate. To escape.

“Whoever did this is incredibly strategic,” The tall detective stated with a journal in his hand, “They didn’t leave traces of anything: hair, fingerprints, nothing. It’s almost like they never broke in.”

You haven’t been able to get any sleep or go to work for the last week, completely isolated inside your friend’s home. When you received a phone call from the detective assigned to your case, you caught the first bus you could and flew back to your apartment complex. You don’t remember the ride.

Your hope plummeted at his declaration, even with his reassurance, “We’re doing everything we can to find this person. Your safety is our number one priority.”

He gave your shoulder an encouraging squeeze, and it brought you comfort. While you weren’t satisfied with their reports, you could see that he was trying. Was this your first time meeting him?

He seemed familiar, but you couldn’t place it.

He stared into your eyes with a gentle grin and continued, “If we should even call them that. They’re a cold-blooded, heartless fiend that needs to be taken out.”

Your brows furrowed at his sudden determination, but your head bobbed in agreement. Your mind was racing but you couldn’t say anything. Someone killed your baby. Did his grip on you tighten? You couldn’t move.

“The bastards that get away with such vicious crimes need to be put away forever,” his tone was harsh and sharp, and it made your fingers twitch. Your stomach plummeted when his smile stretched higher, his teeth shin

His other hand landed on your other shoulder. You tried to move back, but you couldn’t, “S-Sir— “

“They need to be hung from the ceiling by their throats and slaughtered like fucking pigs! Like the worthless animals they are! —“

His spit landed on your face at his screams. He hollered about how much he hated killers, how they were scum and deserved to be tortured. How you…

“You thought we forgot about what you did?” He whimpered; prior menacing smile vanished.

The bearded man in front of you was sobbing, his gaze pinning you against the wall. He didn’t blink and his eyes were bloodshot, his mouth turned downward, the corners of his lips nearly touching his chin. Your eyes frantically traveled over his form, his uniform replaced with pajamas and slippers.

“YOU’RE A KILLER! YOU’RE A KILLER, YOU’RE A KILLER, YOU’RE A KILLER! —“

Cursed murmurs amplified his pained shouts. Your home was melting away, the walls seeping into the floor before you dropped, the terror weakening your limbs. Your nails dug into the grass and dirt below you, panic electrifying your system.

The man was gone, but you were outside in the middle of the night, decomposing trees surrounding you. You tried to stand but you couldn’t. You were forced to take in the scene that you wished to never see again. The one scene that your subconscious couldn’t eliminate no matter how hard you tried to forget.

Your parents' car— wrecked car. The vehicle was completely destroyed, the bumper and windscreen ran into a tree. You screamed and shouted but no noise left, the sinister chants resounding in your ears. The wreckage seemed to move, closer, closer, your eyes locking onto the two bodies inside completely mangled in the accident.

The two bodies were younger you, thrown over the dashboard and your arm twisted to an alarming degree, blood running down your head and mouth, shards of glass piercing through the skin of your bare legs.

You couldn’t stop yourself from peering at the body beside you. You hollered for help, cried and begged to wake up, all while staring at your best friend — your soulmate, completely maimed from the waist up. It was just as brutal as you remember: her blood splattered all over the airbag, her limbs shattered and broken, large pieces of glass pierced into her skull. You were sick, you were sick.

Suddenly, the mantras that attempted to swallow you whole stopped.

Then there was laughter. Your soulmate’s laughter, but it wasn’t how you remembered. It was darker, hollow, empty. Enraged.

Everything around you went dark.

Sobs tear through your throat the second your eyes open, the comforting scent of Celeste’s lavender candles intruding your senses. Your body was drenched in sweat, and you could hear your friend calling out to you, her cold hands on your face, but you couldn’t think. You just screamed. Her attempts of trying to sit you up failed, your fingers hanging onto her sheets for dear life. You were paralyzed with fear.

Somehow, your biggest regret came to pay you a visit.

Your instincts finally kick in, pushing Celeste off you and bolting towards her bedroom door. She was calling for you; she even reached out to touch you, but you pushed her harder.

She screamed for you to stop, and you lost it.

“Get the fuck away from me! STOP — stop fucking touching me!” you rush out into her living room and towards her front door.

Shocked plastered across your friend’s face.

Celeste whispered your name; Why did she sound like her?

“I gotta get the fuck outta here, I can’t,” heave, “I can’t fucking do this, I can’t, I can’t — “

Distraught mumbles fled your tongue on your way out, not bothering to look back at your friend. You heard her sniffling before the door slammed shut, guilt swarming your chest, but it wasn’t enough to overcast the terror ripping you open from the inside out.

After vomiting outside of Celeste’s apartment building, — multiple times — you took your leave. As fast as you could. You couldn't say a word to her; She desperately tried to get information out of you, but your throat felt like it would crack open at the slightest whisper. The fear you’d been trying to invalidate crashed into you all at once.

You fled without your belongings, only slowing when night goers surrounded you in the city.

Celeste has been worried sick about you this entire time, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care.

Your steps were jerky and quick, and you kept scratching at your shoulder. You felt her everywhere. All over you, but it wasn’t comforting. Not like it used to be.

You walked and walked, your mind racing with moments from your past: the last moments with your best friend. Your kryptonite. The scar in your shoulder was covered in fresh, red lines from your nails.

JUNIOR YEAR: 2012

You frantically shoved your books into your locker, anticipating the alarm that sounded for lunch. You can’t wait to get the hell out of here.

The second it goes off, you're booking it for the door. You hoped Ellie kept her word and brought your birthday present.

You busied yourself in your small cubby whenever security or teachers walked by, politely greeting them with the most innocent smile you could muster. They didn’t bat an eye, wishing you a happy birthday before turning the corner at the end of the hall.

You gave them all fake greetings until the loud tone blared through the hallway speakers, students instantly rushing out of their classrooms to head to the cafeteria. You grabbed your now empty backpack and merged with the crowd, trekking for the exit. You managed to scurry through the double doors of the school and bolted towards your parents’ old car, ducking behind the driver's side as you waited for your best friend.

You texted her a few times but she didn’t respond for minutes. You almost gave up and returned inside the building before two hands pinched your sides from behind. A squeal left your mouth when you whipped around. Ellie snorted at you, her arms wrapping around your neck in a tight hug. You reluctantly hugged her back.

HAAAPPY BIIIRTHDAAAY TOOO YOUUU—

You shushed her shouts with a smile, Shut up! Someone might hear you.

She kissed your cheek before releasing you, No ones fucking here, relax. Open the door, her head jerked towards the vehicle.

You stealthily unlocked it and the two of you jumped in. You shoved the key into the ignition as Ellie cranked the speakers all the way up, your car rattling with bass as you two exited the parking lot and zoomed down the main street.

Ellie belted Cherry Waves out the window, bright laughs leaving your throats as you drove to… anywhere. Times like this always bring you joy; You love being around her.

Ditching class might’ve not been the best birthday celebration, but you were having a ball.

You drove until you reached the end of town. There was a small campground that you and Ellie found on your first couple drives together, and it swiftly became your little get away spot. You’d spend hours talking, drawing, screaming at the top of your lungs until the sun disappeared and your parents demanded you come home.

You two raced to your designated spot by the lake, Ellie’s filled backpack slamming onto the sand, glass clattering from the inside. You mischievously eyed it, I think someone owes me a present!

I don’t owe you shit. I’m a good friend, say thank you, She rolled her eyes. You grabbed her hands and clumsily twirled her.

Thank you, Ellieee! you nearly ripped her bag apart as you inspected the contents.

Don’t go too crazy. Remember what happened last time? her smile was light, but you could tell she was scolding you. You snickered.

Um, yeah. We had a ball. Help me open this, you downplayed, passing her the unopened bottle.

You know exactly what she’s referring to; You might’ve drank a bit too much at your friend’s birthday dinner. And Christmas party… and when you all went to the fair, but it was all in good fun! You’re young and living life; Ellie’s always a bit dramatic when she comments on your drinking.

Ellie snatched the bottle and opened it, taking a large swig from it before handing it back. You followed in her lead, taking three large gulps of the liquid, the burn flowing down your throat and into your stomach. Ellie pulled her speaker out of her bag and queued your joint playlist.

The two of you drank and sang and danced until sunset, your vision blurry and legs wobbly. Ellie was sweet enough to help you back to the car, snagging the keys from your pocket before helping you into the passenger side. You tried to talk to her, but she couldn’t understand. She always looked so cute when you mumbled nonsense, wispy brows pulled down with a light smile. You felt so happy whenever she was around.

She drove you back home and you threw up all over your front yard. Somehow, she snuck past your parent's room without hassle, ushering you into bed. You couldn’t stop laughing; Her bright smile only made you cackle louder before her hand pressed against your mouth.

—

Ellie’s soft palms moved up and down your arm bare, occasionally squeezing your bicep. You couldn’t stop smiling, goosebumps following the drag of her fingertips.

You’re such a dork, she whispered between snickers.

You love me, you said much louder, but she hummed. The look in her eye was suddenly far away. You nervously nibbled at your bottom lip, your eyes dropping to her mouth. Did her lips always look this soft?

You admired every aspect of her face in silence, your index finger continuing to trace over the bridge of her nose, the apple of her cheeks, down to her chin. Ellie’s a sight.

Your hazy mind barely noticed the tint on her cheeks, your bedroom dimly lit by the moonlight cascading in from your window. Her eyes were glued to your mouth.

She inched closer, her moves subtle. You would’ve missed it if she wasn’t right there.

You don’t know what came over you, but your mouth pressed against hers. Her lips were stiff against yours, and it made you pull away.

She didn’t seem… happy, not how you felt. Her expression was gloomy, her eyes flashing with… everything and nothing at the same time. You locked up instantly.

You love me, Ellie… right?

Your tongue felt swollen in your mouth when you slurred.

Ellie didn’t answer, and you held yourself up on your elbow, your brain alarming your legs to get up and leave. To abandon.

Ellie… d-do you love me?

O-Of course I do—

The tremors in her voice sliced through you like a hot blade. Her confirmation was only meant to appease, your drunk brain told you. Ellie doesn’t love you, not like that. Your own parents’ love is conditional; Why wouldn’t hers be?

—

You were never a rebellious kid.

Your parents always praised you for being a remarkable role model for your younger siblings: incredible listener, studious, eager to help others. They never failed to highlight, amplify, pressure your good behavior. But their doting smiles disappeared when you failed to meet their expectations.

The transition from middle to high school was rough for you. Your grades suffered and you were surrounded by other kids you didn’t recognize, and your “star-student” streak vanished in an instant. You’ve never seen your family so disappointed in you.

You broke your back trying to save your academic status for the next few years. You hardly slept, ate, spent time with your newfound friends, and it was all for your parents. They didn’t acknowledge you until that offer to join the early-college program came in the mail during your sophomore year. When you accepted that you needed to have something to show to get their affection, you spiraled downward.

You swiftly replaced the emptiness in your heart with a bunch of seniors. They agreed to let you tag along if you could hang, so you did whatever was necessary to gain their companionship: started sneaking out, staying out late, going to parties that you had no business being at.

Started drinking.

Just one sip, loosen up! Little did you know that’s all it took to get you hooked.

The drink was rancid and a gross, murky color. You weren’t enjoying it, so why couldn’t you put the cup down for the rest of the night? You threw back cup after cup until you were unconscious on the front porch of the house. None of your friends bothered to take you inside where it was safe.

You barely recall being hauled back inside and upstairs, plush pillows under your head as you drifted off. When you woke, you swiftly decided that the pounding in your head and the nausea in your gut was worth it. Last night was the freest you’d ever felt. You almost missed the small sticky note stuck on your arm. Someone gave you their phone number, demanding that you tell them if you made it out alive (i hope so.)

You gained a best friend from that sloppily scratched note.

Meeting Ellie was a blessing. She was funny, smart and kind. She was so nice to you. None of your old friends treated you like she did. Ellie’s friends were much warmer and welcoming when she introduced you to them for the first time. Every time they had plans, you were invited, no conditions needed.

Every vacant space in your heart was filled with something brighter. It’s unfortunate that your brain has already mastered its attachment to something more dangerous.

Ellie… for the billionth fucking time, I don’t have a problem. Can you just let it go? you scoffed from your bed.

I’ll let it go when you cut it out. You can’t do shit without it anymore, She spat, pointing at the McDonald’s cup filled with Tequila. You grinned nastily and sipped your straw. You were so sick of having this conversation with your friends. With her.

Yes, I can. I’m fine. See? You sarcastically rubbed all over your body. Another huge gulp. I dunno why y'all are acting like this. I’m not the only one that drinks.

You’re not fuckin’ fine, first of all! It was fun at first, but you don’t know how to control yourself! You’re scaring everybody off, Her arms flailed as her voice rose. You’re so happy your parents are working.

You weren’t “scaring everybody off”; You did have some outbursts some time ago, but your friends were still around. They always called you for a fun time, and you were always there to show out.

Oh my fucking god, you’re so extra, you got up with your cup, grabbing Ellie’s hand and leading her into the bathroom down the hall. You removed the lid and dumped its contents out; You tried to hide the surge of anxiety as you watched it go down the drain.

See? I can stop whenever I want.

Then stop, she whispered, sadness in her eyes, No more… okay?

The emotions flowed through her eyes like water, and it made you uncomfortable. You already wanted a refill, but you nodded to appease her.

O-Okay, Ellie, I’m sorry, you whispered, and she hugged you so tight. Kissed your clothed shoulder, and it gave you solace, even if it was just temporary.

But when she left, you were alone, comforted by the temptation of your own thoughts. You broke into your parents’ locked liquor cabinet that same night.

—

When you showed up to exam day drunk, Ellie began to pull away.

She didn’t bother to beg and yell when you were entranced by your vice. You simply saw her less, and your heart cracked whenever your calls went unanswered.

Abandonment was the worst feeling, even more so when it’s a result of something you’ve done. Your anxiety spiked significantly when you strolled around campus and your friends ignored you, and it only made you drink more when you got home. The acidic pacifier you discovered was turning you into someone unrecognizable. You were failing, and you were alone. You’d wished your siblings were older so you could talk to them.

Everything came crashing when your parents received an alarmed call from your principal.

You’d been vomiting in the nurse's office for half an hour, and they ended up calling the ambulance. Your stomach was getting pumped hours later.

When you regained consciousness, the only thing you could hear were your mother’s hysteric sobs in the hall.

—

Summer came along, and you were out of rehab. Withdrawal fucking sucked; It took you almost three weeks to fall asleep in the center.

You didn’t expect to see Ellie and your friends sitting on your porch when your parents pulled into the driveway, flowers and your favorite candy in hand. Your best friend cried into your shoulder for an hour straight; You refused to let her go as you sobbed into hers. You’d missed hugging her.

When everyone was seated on your parents' couch, you offered to share the secret to get melty, gooey chocolate chip cookies every time. They couldn’t stop grinning at you; You were finally back to normal.

Ellie spent the night at your house and hugged you to her chest until you drifted off.

You accepted that you were a terrible person when all you could think about was a drink. Just one.

All the promises you made were broken a few months later, crushed into dust by your own hand.

—

Everyone you loved hated you. Liquor always forced you to see the truth in people, melted away the fantasy that you created out of self-preservation. It fueled the rage that you desperately tried to keep hidden from your family; You’re so fucking mad, and you can’t remember why.

Your parents hated you; your siblings hated you, your best friend, the one person you have to confide in, the only thing you had left to love, hated you. Everyone hated you, and it was all your fault. Selfishness was the only way one could be a successor.

The second Ellie climbed into your parents’ car with that soft look in her eye, fury swallowed you whole. You barely said a word to her, her favorite song cranked to maximum volume.

Ellie? Your voice was quiet, but you were seething. You don’t remember why.

Hm?

D-Do you still care about me? your hands were clenched around the wheel so tightly, you thought it would snap in two. She was suddenly tense in the passenger seat, but she whispered without hesitation. Of course, I do… always.

But you didn’t believe her.

Ellie should’ve never agreed to go on a drive with you.

The way Ellie whipped her head towards you was vicious, her hand slamming onto the volume button of your car to silence the noise. You hated how she knew instantly.

… Are you fucking drunk right now?

There it was. All the proof you needed. Confirmation that you were nothing but a disappointment. You hadn’t moved from the stop sign. Self-loathing thrashed from the inside; your teeth are bound to crack like glass with the tightness of your jaw.

She’d whispered your name with so much disdain. A molten tear eased down your face like magma. This was the same residential area you parallel parked in for your driver’s test.

Your eyes were glued onto the dimly lit street as Ellie cried and begged for you to stop the car. She admitted to loving you and apologized for everything she said that could’ve hurt your feelings. All you had to do was stop the car and everything would be fine, she said. You pressed the gas so hard; it nearly touched the floor of the vehicle.

I love you… Please don’t do this… I love you so much…

Ellie’s last scream was haunting before everything went silent.

—

The reality around you never rebuilt itself after that night.

You were able to convince yourself that the accident didn’t happen for a few weeks. Until your best friend’s burial. According to your parents last voicemail, Ellie’s father wanted to strangle you with his bare hands. You took his life away with one decision. No one contacted you after that. Not your parents, not your siblings, not your friends.

You were charged and placed in juvenile detention until you were of legal age, and sent off to prison for another six years after that.

Your habit fed you lies about the people you loved most, and it cost the life of your only constant. The one person who tried to get you to change. The purest form of love you had.

You killed your soulmate, and you never recovered.

PRESENT

You walked until you reached Hattie’s front porch. Your calves were on fire.

Your tightly clenched fist pounded on the wood with all the strength you had left. You could see the shadows of someone walking around inside, but she didn’t open the door. She probably wanted nothing to do with you after not showing up to work for weeks, but you were desperate.

“M-Ms. Hattie, please,” you hollered, “I really need t’talk to you! Please, please— “

The door barely creaked open. You expected her to scream and berate you for disrupting her so late in the night, but she was silent. Didn’t utter a word. She only peered through the small crack in the doorway, her eyes bloodshot. Her voice sounded graveled, like she hadn’t slept in days.

“What the hell are you doin’ here.”

“Ms. Hattie, I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t know where to go,” You harshly wiped your eyes, “May I please— “

“No, you may not,” her glare sliced through you, sharper than any knife. You bawled.

“Please, I’m beggin’ you, ma’am— “

“What…” her voice quivered, her gaze breaking away from yours for a split second.

“What did you do… to that girl?” She whispered like it pained her, and it felt like your chest would concave.

“… W-What?”

The look on her face was enough for you.

She knows. She knew.

“It was you,” tears filled the woman’s eyes, “I had a dream that you… How could you do that… That poor baby…”

Your head shook in denial. It was an accident, you wanted to scream, I don’t know what came over me! Your eyes squeezed shut and you fell to your knees, thunderous pleads leaving your throat as you begged her to listen. You hunched over and miserably tried to grab at her feet.

I loved her, I loved her, I loved her! You couldn’t speak.

“Whatever happens t’you…”

“No, nonono!—“

“I hope God… the universe… whoever the hell,” She spat, “Has mercy on you.”

You couldn’t stop screaming. Your voice was muffled by the concrete floor.

“Get the fuck off my porch.” And the door slammed in your face. You heard the locks click, and just like that, your last inkling of hope shunned you.

You hadn’t realized you’d been screaming for Ellie until you sat up, burning eyes glued to the dark, cloudy sky.

The sun rose from behind as you climbed your apartment steps.

The bundle of police cars and black trucks outside the building were an indication of your case being ongoing, but it brought you no comfort. A constant ache was present in your chest every time you breathed. Murmurs erupted from behind as you dragged your body inside, ignoring the deputies who were urging you off the premises.

Officers and residents stared at you in confusion, shock, bewilderment the second you hopped off the elevator. Exhaustion was pouring out of you, your under eyes almost black and pajamas wrinkly. You can’t recall the last time you showered.

The elevator dung, and you made your way down the hall, police tape surrounding your front door. You dodged it and crept in, the sight of the investigators almost sending you into a panic.

Terror built in your spine as they gawked at you; Ellie’s fucking with you. You’re probably asleep right now.

“Ma’am?”

You shakily turned towards the investigator assigned to your case. “Are you alright?”

No. You nodded, “I came to get some things.”

Some silence passed before you spoke.

“I need a place to stay,” your cuticles were scabbing. “As far away from here as possible… if that’s even allowed.” Your living room felt like it was tipping.

Their brows furrowed, scanning over your ragged appearance, “Um… The farthest we can place you is about a half hour away. We still need to monitor you… Especially now.” You bit the dig with a tilted head.

You nearly leaped into the air at the sudden, distant ring in your ears.

“Will y’all still cover m’stay?” The tremor in your hands built with the shrilling pierces in your drums.

“Yes… Are you sure everyt— “

“I’m fine! I’m fi— I’m fine!” The shrieks overwhelmed you, both hands coming up to cover your ears, your head pounding. Foreign hands were attempting to steady your hunched form, but to no avail. Your body gave out completely, pained wails leaving your dry lips.

I’m fine, I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine—

You tried. You tried your hardest, but you couldn’t convince anyone — yourself that you were okay. Something’s here. When did the air in your home get so cold?

The softest call of your name frosted the blood in your veins.

You’re hallucinating; You have to be. Don’t look up. Don’t open your eyes.

The voice called again, elation enriching her tone. Your head shook in disbelief.

It can’t be.

“L-Look at me. I’m here! I'm okay!”

No, no no no, you told yourself. Sobs wracked through your hunched form.

“Look at me! I love you!”

Shoe-covered feet inched towards you, slowly. Almost… cautious.

“Wake up! Wake up, wake up!” Your whispers were harsh. Urgent. Desperate.

A comforting hand rubbed your shoulder. You flinched and wailed, frantically pinching the skin of your wrists.

“NO! No, no, fucking get up— “

“Shhh,” Her hand squeezed you, “It’s me.”

You’re going to fucking puke. Your eyes stayed shut while she cradled you, your head resting on her shoulder. She felt taller, stronger, but she smelled the same. You couldn’t move, but she hugged you so tight.

Ellie, Ellie, I love you, I’m sorry—

A kiss on your shoulder. Right over your scar.

“I love you more.”

You calmed in her presence as she rocked you on the floor. Your guilt almost made you push her away, but you’re selfish; You need this, for her to hug you.

It felt like she held you for years, right on your apartment floor. She didn’t let you go.

But when your eyes opened, eggshell white hospital walls surrounded you. Kept you trapped in the small hell that Ellie’s created.

You haven’t slept or eaten. You’ve barely showered.

Ellie was with you. Ellie’s with you. You felt her there; She held you! You’re not fucking crazy.

Three days have passed since you were carried out of your apartment by EMTs, according to the investigators that are still terrorizing your fucking home. They assumed you were having a seizure by how still you were. You were unresponsive for minutes, they’d said. Celeste was right. You didn’t have the courage to face her and apologize.

You haven’t left your motel room since you’ve arrived. You hate it in here — it looks like it’s eroding from the outside, the windows are scratched and tinted a murky yellow, the sheets feel like sandpaper, but it’s better than home. Better than being in public amidst your impending psychological breakdown.

Ellie’s here. She’s watching you and laughing at the wreck you’ve become.

You’re slipping; You can feel it. The way she hugged you… You could’ve melted into her for eternity when she said she loved you, never to be seen or heard from again, completely under her control. Not that anyone would care about your disappearance. A gutted huff left you.

Your past finally caught up to you. Tears flooded your eyes for the hundredth time tonight.

The faint shuffling coming from your bathroom didn’t even shock you. She’s here again.

Your eyes overflowed, and they shut in resignation; You’re going to die.

“E-Ellie?”

Silence.

Your eyes squeezed tighter. You have nothing left to fight for.

“Just do it! Just fucking do it!”

That’s all you’ve ever been: a quitter. More shuffling, then silence.

“FUCKING KILL ME! KI— KILL ME, ELLIE!”

You heaved and rose from the edge of your bed. You marched down the seemingly endless hallway, heart cracking in your chest.

“KILL ME! KILL ME, KILLME! —“

Weighted knocks pounded against your room door, shocking you into silence. She’s here, she’s here; She’s fucking with you.

A dark chuckle left you.

“You’re fucking sick,” You spat with a sniffle, “I hate your fucking guts, just like you hated me! You fucking hate me, right?”

You’re awake. And you’re angry.

You tramped towards the entrance and knocked back just as hard.

“FUCK YOU, BITCH! FUCKING — FUCK YOU, ELLIE, YOU FUCKI— “

Heat traveled across your face the second you ripped the door open.

A woman… a motel employee… with sheets in her hand, visibly stunned.

You’re going fucking crazy.

“Uhh… just came to give you new, uh, sheets,” Her voice was high-pitched, clearly uncomfortable. Your eyes flickered with embarrassment, cheeks blazing.

“S-Sorry…” You allowed the shorter woman entry, and she scurried over to the small nightstand in the corner of your room.

You picked at your fingers, “Um… sorry if I scared you. It’s been a weird… fuckin’ weird couple of weeks.”

She didn’t acknowledge you at all. Just silently laid the sheets and pillowcases on the side of your bed.

“Am I,” You huffed, anxiously rubbing your eyes. “Are you gonna report me or somethin’?”

Silence.

Your brows furrowed at the sudden stillness of the woman, her back turned towards you.

“Hey, you okay?” A cautious step forward. “Look, I’m… I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m fine— “

“Fuck you.”

You flinched at her venomous tone; voice filled with spite. The fuck?

“… What?”

“After all this time…” she whispered, the ponytail in the woman’s head shaking in disbelief.

“You’re still the same… selfish, psychotic fucking bitch I remember you to be.”

Your knees buckled at the sudden low timbre of her voice. Goosebumps ran up and down your arms at its familiarity. She sounded just like… She’s… It can’t be. It can’t be, it can’t be—

The one window you cracked for air earlier slammed shut, the clicks from your door signaling your confinement. You’re trapped.

Your nails sunk into your palms; She’s here. She’s real and she’s fucking here and going to kill you.

Her laugh filled the room, low and vengeful, and the one lit lamp on the nightstand flickered off.

Your breaths were shallow and desperate, sheer panic rushing through your body. You took blind, scurried steps towards the door, feeling around for the knob to take your leave, but it wouldn’t budge. You pounded on the wood from the inside, screaming for anyone to come save you.

Something cold and slimy slinked around your ankles and roughly yanked you to the floor, your hands scrambling to grab onto anything on the hardwood as they pulled you towards her. You caught glimpses of her glowing, red eyes with every panicked look over your shoulder.

You were pulled up, up, up by your feet until you were dangling upside down, her glowing orbs piercing through yours. You barely made out her manic smile, fangs bright and as sharp as knives. Something sharp pressed against your windpipe, ready to tear your throat out.

The room she trapped you in disappeared completely, an empty, dark void surrounding her, you. There’s nothing anywhere.

You hollered as your stomach flipped; She’s going to kill you right here—

“Ellie, please, please don’t! —“

A sharp slice right through your shoulder. You released a pained scream before your vision grew cloudy, body growing limp as you swayed in the air. Your screams quieted, your drowsy mind filling with images of Ellie smiling affectionately at you.

Ellie… Ellie, please…

Trees danced with the wind before everything went dark.

Water erupted from your mouth, your eyes ripping open, fingers tearing into the dirt beneath you.

You pushed yourself into a sitting position, more water dripping from your hair and clothes, down your bare legs. Pain shot through your shoulder with every move. You reached to touch it and… ouch. Blood coated your fingertips.

You gazed around. You knew exactly where you were, but it was off.

You and Ellie’s hideout. The campground is exactly how you remember, but it was darker, murkier, less inviting and cozy. Familiar, yet foreign.

“Miss me?”

You jolted, scurrying away from whatever was behind you.

“Aww, don’t be scared,” Ellie mocked, fake pout pulling at her lips. “C’mooon, it’s just me! Welcome to my humble abode!”

What the fuck, what the fuck—

The same appendage from earlier wrapped around your leg, yanking you back, and your heart sank. Your eyes were deceiving you; They had to be.

Ellie, much taller and stronger than you remember, stood over you, pupils pitch black, a devious smile spread across her face, sharp fangs glimmering in the dark. The two horns that swirled atop her head were dark, the protruding veins red and throbbing like they were alive. You saw the sharp edge of her tail glowing behind her head, speckles of red liquid crusting over on the tip.

Is… Did she cut you with that?

Your heart squeezed painfully with familiarity; The small spots that dusted her face and the scars that covered her legs from biking accidents were still there.

“E-Ellie?”

She posed, arms extended, “In the flesh. Kinda. There’s no… actual flesh for the dead… Well, we technically could have skin, but it wouldn’t be ours.”

“I’ve been lookin’ for you. You look good,” she muttered, eyes dark as they traveled over you. You suddenly felt exposed.

Silence passed between the two of you. How was her tone so casual?

What the fuck is going on…

She huffed at your silence, “Didn’t think our ten-year anniversary would be this fucking awkward. Can’t even say hi?”

Her words were hardly registering.

“Huh.” Her eyes flashed back, and the organ around your leg untangled, retracting into the grass beneath you.

“You’ve… you’ve been looking for me?”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, carelessly playing with her razor-sharp nails. “You got outta jail, got a place… bought the bakery you always talked about. Congratulations, jailbird! You beat the system… and were able to outrun the devil for some time!”

She showcased the ashy, decaying scenery like it was a prize. “Here’s your first glimpse into the other side. Is it to your liking? Should I fluff your pending gravestone? Put some roses over it since everyone you love won’t?”

Other side? “… Am I dead?”

“Nope! Almost. You have a purpose before I take you out. Finally, am I right?” Sarcasm sharpened her tongue.

“… You're insane,” your voice was hoarse, shattered. You swore your esophagus was bloody.

“Me?!” She snickered sickly, eyes darkening, “Remind me what happened between us again? Who hurt who? Who killed who?!”

“… I— “

You paused. What the fuck do you say to her? I still love you somehow. Please don’t hate me forever. I’m a worthless fuck up—

“None of the above,” she interrupted… your thoughts? “To be frank, I don’t wanna hear shit from you,” she swayed sassily, circling you like a shark, her tail sashaying around.

“… Why’m I here then?”

She paused, the muscles in her back flexing. Your gut tumbled.

Ellie turned to face you, lips curling devilishly.

“Well… ” she trailed off, voice alluring. “It gets lonely down here. I don’t have anybody to call. Nights are so cold.”

She suddenly dropped to her knees, sensuality practically leaking out of her as she crawled towards you. Your heart was thumping, stomach in knots.

“I need you… to do exactly what I tell you…”

Your breaths shuddered the closer she got.

“I’m so fuckin’ hungry… Just sit there and let me take what I want,” Her mumbles were drunk and lustful. “You fucking owe me. I’m trapped here ‘cause of you.”

She straddled your lap, eyes glued to yours. They flashed red, and an appendage locked around your throat, knocking the wind from your lungs and pulling you flat onto the dirt. You tried to pull against it, but it tightened on your airways. You choked, pain searing in your shoulder, causing you to let up. Another set of slimy appendages clasped around your wrists, followed swiftly by two locking down your ankles.

The burn from your bleeding shoulder made your nipples harden under your filthy sweatshirt. She chuckled above you.

“That was quick,” Her brow arched. “Haven’t gotten any? What, no one wants to drill a felon?” She cooed with a pout.

You shot her a glare. A squeeze on your throat. A clench from your walls.

“Oh!” She exclaimed in remembrance. “Sorry about that club fiasco. I was gonna fuck you then, but seeing you enjoying yourself got on my nerves, so.”

She rambled on about how she made a whole plan to ruin your life the second she found you until you were rotting in the grave, but you weren’t listening. Your eyes moved over her lips, down her neck, over her bare chest, blood burning under your skin. Another squeeze from your cunt. Your face burned with every drop of slick that left you.

“Think I’m cute? The horns doing it for ya?” she interrupted your gawking.

You averted your gaze. She snorted before her expression went lubricious, eyes glossing over.

“You smell so good,” she slurred with fluttery lids.

No, you don’t. You haven’t showered—

“I meant your pussy, you fucking idiot,” her eyes rolled in annoyance. “You’re killin’ my vibe. Shut up.”

Your eyes widened in shock; Don’t think, don’t think—

“She smelled like that in the club. Just needed some lovin’, hm?” Her hand reached back to pat your pussy over your pajama shorts and you squealed. You’re leaking.

“Oh, she’s starving— “

Fear and arousal flurried in your tummy, “What’re you gonna do?”

You could almost see the wires in her head sparking to life. She leaned over you, her cold body pressed against yours, noses almost touching.

“I’m gonna rip that pussy open until I feel better…” The aura around her was smokey and blinding. “And then…” Her nose bumped against yours, almost affectionately. “I’m gonna rip that fucking throat out. Might hang your body from a tree. I needa decorate.”

A choked sob left you, thighs rubbing together as tears plummeted down your temples. Ellie shushed you gently, her forked tongue licking over the droplets before they cascaded down into the grass.

Every swipe of her tongue sent a zap through your face. The sting sent your jolt through your spine, hips bucking into her. A hot, slick line ran up your cheek, grazing your jawline, cat-like spines digging into your clammy skin.

… Is… Is she really…?

You couldn’t stop the shudder that ran up your body, your foot jerking outward at the sensation. The tentacle clenched around your ankles, and you gasped. Ellie was grinding on top of you, whimpering into your neck, marking your skin.

“E-Ellie, El— “

Another swipe, a thick, sticky trail burning its way into your hairline. Your whines are almost inaudible. Pain is burning up your legs when the organ twisted tighter; You’re shocked your ankle didn’t snap in two.

She moved faster on top of you, pleasantly sighing into your neck. Your face is fucking sizzling.

“What the… fuck,” The situation is settling in for you: Ellie’s dead… but, not? And she’s humping you like a dog. You shouldn’t want to watch her, observe the love of your life get off on your fucking stomach, but you — your pussy wants it — needs her.

You missed her so fucking much.

Soft chuckles erupted from her, icy breath on your neck. She sat up, rubbing her bare cunt on your tummy.

“You wanna watch?”

No, no no please—

Your head shook, mind racing with pleads for her to touch you, but she stared back in disapproval.

“I think you wanna watch,” She sat up, lifting her knees and resting her freezing hands on your thighs, her pretty pussy on full display, “Missed me that bad?”

She’s right there, but you can’t move. More tears, more begging from you.

“Wanna see a trick I learned?” She inquired mischievously. You didn’t have a chance to answer before more vine-like organs emerged from the dirt, eager and throbbing, globs of slick dribbling from their tips.

“When you’re sad and horny, answers will eventually fall in your lap,” She watched the appendages sliver all over her shoulders, her back, down her stomach. Her head flew back, her short flyways waving around her horns.

“I bet that fucked up head of yours never expected this would happen, huh? Never thought you’d see me like this?” She moaned out as the suctioned limb traveled over her left nipples, her eyes beaming red, scorching through your chest.

Your walls squeezed down on nothing, desperate groans leaving your throat, underwear clinging to your cunt. You couldn’t close your legs, the members slinked around coming up to suck on your thighs.

Nasty little cuck, her voice boomed through your skull, Wanna watch me get fucked, right?

Your head bobbed dumbly. The appendages scurried down her body. You watched as the veins in her horns glowed brighter, her eyes shading an even deeper scarlet, her lip catching between her teeth when the suctions came in contact with her clit.

The slippery members attacked your thighs with strong suctions, the sensitive skin littered with blotchy, dark spots. A wet slither made its way up your body, under your sweatshirt and in between your tits. The tip teased both nipples, your back arching deeper for more friction. The air was muggy and your body was disgustingly sticky; The sensations made your clit jerk.

You blearily stared up at Ellie, nearly cumming at the sight of her with a thick, throbbing appendage fucking into her pussy, another two attacking her nipples. Her walls were stretched around the dark, pulsing tentacle, her juices filling the open air with sopping squelches.

Her eyes fluttered open and refocused on you, a dark line of drool dripping from her mouth and landing on your exposed torso. You released a pained shout, your skin burning at the contact. Tension built tight in your core, clit throbbing in your underwear. You’re struggling to breathe, head floating further into the clouds with each whimper from Ellie. She giggled hazily, moans sounding between her condescending snickers. She gathered spit in her mouth and allowed it dribble onto one of your breasts.

S’hitting it s’good! Fuck, I can’t—

Finally, finally, the tentacles choking your legs unraveled and crawled up, closer to your drenched cunt. Just one touch — you need one touch and you’ll cum. Just one, just one, please, please—

Slut needs t’cum? Beg some fuckin’ more, c’mon, Ellie’s moans and shouts in your head were somehow bringing you closer to that peak you desperately craved.

“Please, El, please, fuck… me— “

“I’m — oh, fuck, yes— “

Your shorts and underwear were being ripped from around your waist, yanking you in all directions. The friction made your walls constrict tight. The harsh suctions on your clit were instantaneous. Finally, finally, finally—

You and Ellie’s moans melted together, colors floating behind your eyelids. The wet sounds from Ellie’s pussy made your peak build in record time, zoning in on her cries. You’re going to cum so hard. It’s almost there, just a little bit more—

Ellie’s everywhere. In your head, line of blurry vision, on top of you, about to break and shatter. She's so perfect, shrouded in darkness and gloom and desire.

The tentacle suddenly expanded inside her pussy, stretching it wider, massaging all the spots that made her see white.

“M’gonna fucking cum, s’gonna make me cum— “

You’re so close, you’re close, you’re close. You wordlessly begged her to cum with you. Her knees trembled while her legs begged to close, but she forced them open. Forced herself to take everything, all of it. The tentacle pulsed sporadically inside her, and she crashed.

Pleasure was snatched away from you in an instant, the suckles on your clit gone. You cried and sobbed for Ellie to make you cum, but she ignored you, her body wracking in pleasure, heavy globs of black slick dribbling from her cunt, right under your tits.

She rode it out, bouncing on the large appendage before it shrunk to its original size. It jerked inside her a few more times before leaving her completely, more dark, gooey liquid dripping from her pussy.

She came down slowly, giddy laughs leaving her swollen lips as her walls rippled from the aftershocks.

“This is gonna be…” she scooped up some of the substance with her razor-like nails before shoving them into your mouth.

The peculiar twang coated your tastebuds. She continued.

“So much fun.”

You never thought you’d have the chance to kiss Ellie again.

But you are, and you’re so fucking nervous.

When you kissed her for the first time, you were confident, impulsive, reckless. Your regret didn’t come until after, but now here you two were, her split tongue messily sliding over yours, your tongue sizzling from the venom coating her mouth. Ellie’s mess seeped into your skin with each jerk of her hips. You’d give anything to touch her.

Your eyes squeezed shut every time she suckled on your lips, licked up your chin, squeezed her hand over your throat. She’s much more secure this time around; It’s almost enough to get you there.

Almost.

You were suddenly yanked back by your hair, head thudding the ground. Ellie seemed deep in thought, eyes distant.

“You’re a bad kisser.”

Your lip quivered. Ouch, “S… Sorry…”

“Ellie?” Your throat burned.

“Yes, dear?”

Her tone made you flinch. Everything you wanted to say left your brain in a cloud of smoke.

“Am… Am I…?”

“Are youuu…?” She trailed off. Her hand disappeared, lower, before a loud, sticky noise blaring in your head. She sighed happily; Ellie’s touching herself. Right in front of your face.

Your face is on fire and your shoulders are cramping up.

“Will… Can I, can I cum?”

“I don’t know… can you?” She shrugged with a smile.

Your eyes nearly rolled in annoyance; they would’ve if you weren’t so desperate to be fucked senseless.

She sat up fully, her wet hand reaching right in between your legs. They nearly clamped shut on her wrist, but more tentacles appeared to hold them open for her. She wasn’t looking at your pussy, but she knew exactly where to touch you. She rubbed her own juices into your clit, a nasty shhlck filling the calm air.

Tears built in your eyes at the sensitivity, your toes digging into the dirt beneath you. Her thoughtless mumbles were barely registering in your melting brain. Your impending orgasm nearly crashed into you before she stopped.

Your body tensed and your pleasure dissipated. Sobs left your mouth as you garbled, “E—llie, please, please, no more— “

“Don’t close your legs, I mean it. Take what I give you like a good bitch,” Ellie shimmied down your body, resting in between your legs. The tentacles hooked under your knees and forced them up, holding them right against your chest. You can’t see what Ellie’s doing and she’s silent.

You wanted to ask what was taking so fucking long—

A loud crack rang through the heavily wooded area, pain searing through your thigh. The stinging sensation brought tears to your eyes, sobbing softly to yourself.

The sudden flicking against your clit brought tears to your eyes. She’s touching you, finally. Your arms pulled at the veiny tentacles still clamped around your wrist, aches running down to your shoulders at the stiffness.

Ellie’s fingers were replaced with something much softer, and your body turned to mush. The appendages around your thighs twisted tighter, gripped harder, as the barbs from her tongue caught on your clit. It felt so fucking good; her split muscle moved so quick on your clit; your yelps of her name sound into the crisp air. You’ve been on the verge of cumming this entire time, but you can’t.

Suddenly, her tongue is easing downward, brushing against your perineum. Your hips tried to push down into her muscle, but to no avail. You could feel numbness building in your feet from the restriction.

Look at this tight little ass, two of her fingers were massaging your other hole, causing you to whimper.

Yeah? she pressed down harder, Like it right there?

Your head gravely bobbed in approval; you’ve never been touched there, but you crave it now.

Tiny fucking hole… gotta get you ready, huh?

Her voice is thick and haughty; you’re shivering.

A glob of spit lands on your ass, the sensitive skin tingling, numbness spreading across the pulsing area. She rubbed it in quickly and gave your hole one last slap.

Her tongue was back at your cunt; you squealed at the sensation of her tongue slivering past your entrance, walls stretching over her muscle. The soft splinters massaged your walls just right, caressing all the spots inside you and you felt it building —

Suddenly, her tongue stretched wider, expanded, pressed down on your walls, right on your spot; you were squirting on her tongue seconds later. You couldn’t warn her of your orgasm before you bursted, walls desperately milking her as satisfied shouts escaped your lips, your brain turning to goo.

“El — mmh! Fuck, yes, rightthere! —“

Sniveled thank yous were pouring from your lips as Ellie fucked into you, your juices coating her face. Bursts of color exploded behind your eyelids.

You thought you would never come down, but the intensity of your orgasm slowed, eyes slowly blinking open. Your vision was spotty; Ellie slowly pulled out, humming at the squeals that left you. You couldn’t move.

Suddenly all the tentacles were gone, limbs free and weightlessly plopping onto the ground. Your eyelids fell shut in exhaustion, your heart flooding with longing.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” A light kick on your shoulder.

Ellie…

“Get the fuck up. I’m not done,” she snorted coldly.

Ellie… please…

“What the fuck did I say,” The agitation in her tone rose.

I’m so sorry…

“I don’t care,” You were suddenly pushed onto your back, Ellie standing over you, eyes glowing dimly.

I miss you so much…

Memories of your past flowed through you, soft sobs shaking your weak form. Ellie deserved… everything good out of life. The purest forms of happiness were destined in her path, and you took it away. You took everything from her, and all you could do was watch what she’s become. What you caused.

The more you cried, the more disgusted she seemed, eyes growing darker.

She pounced on you in seconds, nails grasping your bunched sweatshirt and sharp tail tip prepped to end you right then and there, speckles of spit splattering on your face due to her shouts.

“DON'T!” The dying world around you shook with the bass of her tone. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

You didn’t fight. You allowed her to berate you, call you every vile name in the book, and digested her wishes of you dying instead of her. Every scream slammed into your chest; you merely laid there, ready to die with love in your chest.

I love you… I love you… I love you…

“FUCK YOU, YOU LYING BITCH! FUCK YOU! YOU FUCKING DID THIS TO ME! I’M GONNA KILL YOU— “

Bloody streams fall from Ellie’s eyes, the veins in her head changing from maroon to coal, the veins in her arms darkening as her voice deepened, razorous teeth baring. She sobbed and screamed from above you, wailing how much she hated you. You’re numb.

The venom from her tail was discharging from the tip. It’s time; it’s your last day alive. You nodded to yourself. You deserve this; You’re ready. You hope your siblings aren’t too saddened by your disappearance.

Is this the final stage of grief? Your body is lax and accepting, heavy droplets leaving your eyes when they shut.

I love you… I’m sorry… I love you…

Another sharp prick went through your shoulder, and darkness enclosed around you.

JUNIOR YEAR: 2012

You’re such a dork!

Ellie swears her heart is going to grow legs and crawl up her throat in the next thirty seconds if you keep staring at her like that. She's projecting; She’s the dork!

The few shots she took at the lake were wearing off, and her nerves were finally catching up to her. She was surrounded by your pillows, your stuffies, your scent; she could barely swallow, her throat was so dry.

You love me.

She does. Ellie never acted on her swiftly developed crush; she’s not built for rejection, especially from you. The smile on your face was so bright; your joy was so apparent whenever she was around. She hoped her own happiness reflected the same way; Please love me back! Please please please—

Her heart exploded, sewed itself back together, only to explode again when your hand came up, fingertips barely grazing her cheek. She’s going to faint; your touch was so soft. Was she crazy to compare the feel of your hands to rose petals? She tried to keep her nuzzles subtle, pushing her face closer to your hand; Is this how cats feel when they want cuddles?

You proceeded to explore her face in silent adoration, and she did the same, memorizing every detail she could. The moles on your face were lined like stars.

She scooted closer to give you more access to her now burning skin, and you kissed her. Ellie was stunned, body stiff; she didn’t have a chance to kiss you back before you pulled away. The scent of alcohol was pouring from you, and Ellie snapped back to reality.

You’re drunk. You kissed her and you’re drunk.

You’re probably not going to remember the entire night when you wake the next morning. Ellie’s eyes nervously searched your now downcast face. Say something, you coward!

But you spoke first.

You love me, right?

More than anything, Ellie wanted to scream, not caring if your parents woke up and kicked her out. But she couldn’t. Her brain was moving a million miles a minute, trying to find the words that would satisfy her feelings, but they were too strong. She’s in too deep; Words aren’t enough.

But you look broken and your body’s tense. She’s putting you on edge and she hates herself for it.

Do you love me? Your begging tone snapped her out of her head.

Of course I do, she gasped, mouth gaping like a fish.

More than anything! More than anything! I love you!

You only nodded, relaxed back into her, and shut your eyes.

Ellie went to sleep with a terrible feeling in her stomach, but she held you anyway.

Ellie’s weight crushed you as she sobbed into your neck, her cries loud and guttural, the sharp puncture of her horn pressing into the plush of your cheek. Her curses grew weak and quiet, mumbles of I fucking hate you cementing into your skin.

You simply laid beneath her, unmoving and stunned wordless at the memory — the truth that Ellie exposed to you. Her body jerked on yours as she wailed.

You hardly noticed the fresh tears rolling down your face. You sniffed, “Ellie…”

She sobbed, her head shaking dismissively.

“Ellie… Look at me…” You couldn’t move.

“Fuck you,” her choked murmur was hushed.

A sad smile grew on your face.

“Almost did…”

Ellie sniffed harshly against the burnt skin on your neck, almost touching your bloody shoulder, “What.” She mumbled flatly.

“Y’know… you almost did fuck me.”

Some silence passed before a wet snort came from below you. Your grin widened.

Ellie’s shoulders shook slightly as she snickered into your neck, arching hers slightly to look at you.

“I should kill you for that, you cunt. You’re not funny.”

Your body jerked with laughter, and you grimaced at the pain in your shoulder. “That's what you get.” Ellie sat up straight, smile slowly dissipating, eyes glossing over.

The light moment between you shifted, and sorrow weighed you down like bricks.

“I fucking loved you,” Ellie whispered harshly. “I wanted you to be happy. And you didn’t fucking care.” Anger was radiating off her, but the dread in her eyes was more telling. “You were… everything to me.”

The wounds in your heart were overflowing; your efforts of repairing your heart were proved pointless, blood and love and suffering filling your chest to the brim. Quiet sobs were shared between the two of you.

“Please k-kiss me,” Ellie’s eyes squeezed shut at your hushed proposal.

“Just one more. You can do whatever you want… just one last time.”

You sat up slowly, ignoring the deep aches in your side, your trembling hands cautiously raising to cup Ellie’s frosty cheeks.

Her face is so close; her lips are right there… just one more, just one—

Ellie’s eyes traveled across your face, lust and years of longing flooding in her tears. Her eyes shut and she leaned forward, her cold lips melding against yours. The kiss was gentle, your eyes squeezing shut as you cried, your tears transferring onto her cheeks.

Ellie’s hushed tone filled your head.

I wish I hated you.

You choked a sob, arms wrapping around her hips to pull her closer, her arms enclosing around your neck, the kiss growing hotter. You needed her closer; so much closer.

Her tongue slid past your mouth, the split muscle messily flicking over yours as her hips bucked down. You heard loud tears of cloth coming from behind you as Ellie shredded your sweatshirt with her claws, discarding the fabric on the dark heaps of grass.

She sighed into your mouth when you laid her back onto the grass soaking, crawling on top of her. Her legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you down to reconnect your mouths, her fangs cutting into your bottom lip. She sucked the injured skin, humming at the metallic taste; your hips bucked down harder to meet hers, and she whimpered.

Her hands were freezing as they slid down your bare sides, claws pressing into your hips. You could feel your heart pounding in your throat as you kissed down her neck, soft noises of satisfaction erupting from beneath you. You suckled on her throat, tongue sliding down to her jaw and back up again.

“Can I, fuck, let me do something— “

You moaned in approval, thighs shaking at the sound of her voice, coming back up to press your mouth against hers.

A heavy gasp left you at the feel of slime dripping onto your thigh. Ellie dug her nails into your hips to steady you, and you whined at the sting. You stared down, entranced at her gleaming eyes, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

“Hold still.” Ellie’s whisper was strangely comforting, your body relaxing into hers. The light suck on your thigh made you squeak, chuckles releasing from the girl beneath you.

“And you’ve been doing this for how long?” you jokingly snarked, voice shaky.

“Meh, six years, nothing crazy,” she replied, shrugging sarcastically. “Just don’t move.”

Ellie’s hand moved lower, pressing at the end of your spine to deepen the arch in your back. She shushed your eager whimpers, slowly easing your hips back until your cunt brushed against the serpent-like organ. You shuddered and attempted to jerk away at the strange sensation, but Ellie held you still, snorting to herself.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips at the feel of its tip swirling at your clit, your head dropping onto Ellie’s shoulder. It took mere seconds for the suction to attack your sensitive clit, pleasured moans huffing from your mouth. Ellie’s mouth was right by your ear, her chilled breaths sending shockwaves down your spine. Your clit throbbed under the pressure: how were you already on the verge of cumming?

“Feels g-good? Yeah?”

Your walls were squeezing down harshly, desperate to hug and milk something hot through your orgasm. It takes all your strength to lift your head and kiss Ellie, but she does all the work; licking into your mouth, sucking on your tongue, bruising your lips with every slice of her fang. Every pass of her tongue is a pull in your gut, your clit pulsating with vigor.

She pulled back, just barely, to whisper how excited she is to fuck you, to turn your pussy out, to make you cry. Your moans were loud and eager, your head bobbing dumbly in compliance with anything she wanted. You’d give her everything you could in this moment.

Ellie’s in your head, in your senses, in between your thighs, and you’re losing it. She’s reaching at you, tugging at your body in any way she could: scratching at your tits, pulling your hair, clawing into your skin with intent to scar. You’re sure your back is bloody. Her touch is painful; why does it feel so good?

Your thoughtless head drops yet again as your orgasm is forced out of you, your walls choking the hot air surrounding the two of you. Your wails are muffled along with Ellie’s spat praises, your hips bucking back for more. The pleasure is almost too much and you’ve barely started; She hasn’t even fucked you yet.

Your juices are pooling out of you, knowingly making a puddle on Ellie’s tummy, her affirmed moans pulling more and more out of you. Your peak is unrelenting, draining every last bit of energy your body has left. Your limbs gave out, your weight crashing on top of Ellie’s.

She hastily maneuvered you onto your back, the spines of grass puncturing your skin from beneath you as she climbed on top.

“Your stamina’s fucked.”

Her winded snide remarks didn’t bother you; you need her to fuck you. You’re sweaty and desperate to feel her everywhere. She wasted no time, reuniting your mouths in an eager kiss as her hands ventured anywhere they could. Your body’s aching, but for some reason, you crave more. More hurt, more pain; You need her to use you.

The world around you moved like water; unlike your first dream, the waves brought comfort. Ellie’s touch felt like the ocean washing you away, all with effort to finally bring you peace.

But it didn’t work. You love her; You deserve pain, and you love her.

Her mouth is on your tits, biting and sucking at your nipples. It feels so good to have her this close; your body’s wet and ready for her to ravish you.

Ellie scurried down your body, sat on her knees in between your legs, her hands pressed under yours to hold them up. Your thighs are resting on your chest as Ellie dribbles a line of slobber over your soaking lips. Hums fill the space between you as it slides down, right over your entrance.

Seconds pass as Ellie stares at your cunt; You call out to her by mistake.

“What.”

Fuck. “No-nothing. Sorry.”

“You want something. Say it.”

You shake your head, and she smiles. Raunchy imagery of her fucking your pussy flash across your mind in an instant, and her grin widens.

You jolt at the sudden slap on your cunt before Ellie presses your legs even higher, knees almost next to your head. You ignore the aching stretch in your limbs and reach to grab your ass cheeks, holding them open for her. Heat spreads across your face when she moans at the sight.

Oh fuck, Ellie’s whimpering to herself; whining about how good your pussy’s going to feel, how you’re going to swallow her whole, choke her out. Juices are oozing from your cunt with each jerk of your walls.

A tentacle emerges from the ground, and Ellie’s expression darkens. It’s lecherous; the way she eyes your pussy as the organ slivers closer to your entrance. You couldn’t hold your moans in anticipation of the stretch. It’s right there, swelling and twitching.

Your head falls back against the sopping grass when your hole grasps the wide, leaking tip, eyes rolling into your head as Ellie’s moans ring deep in your skull. The tentacle is practically melting between your walls as they spasm.

Ellie’s so loud above you, completely hunched over your form as her body shudders, her lip trapped between her sharp teeth. They must’ve pierced the skin, a thin trail of black liquid dripping all the way down her neck.

You take it so fuckin’ good, Ellie’s slurring, tongue swelled in her mouth. You’re already peaking, your legs attempting to slam shut at the tight hug of your walls. The organ is suddenly swelling, walls stretching around the girth to trap it as deep as it can go. Tears are running down your face, groans of Ellie’s name melding with your harsh breaths.

Seconds pass, and the tentacle’s shooting inside, and your head goes blank, your orgasm slamming into you. You're silent as it wrings your body. The intensity is almost painful, like it’s being forced from your body and your cunt’s drained dry: it’s hot inside you where the fluid pools, and your walls are sucking it deeper.

You didn’t register Ellie falling forward, her body convulsing on yours, screams of how good your cunt is leaving her in a flurry. Her words are gritted and deep and her nails are in your bicep, but the pain only makes you cum harder.

It’s been minutes, and you’re deadweight, walls twitching around the still jerking organ planted deep inside your guts. No time to recover, though; Ellie’s pulling out, a nasty sound echoing at her departure as cum seeps — drenches the grass under you. It’s never-ending and sticky and you need more.

Ellie’s already up and moving you onto your stomach, your cheek pressed against the dirt. She’s hasty, spitting on your cunt with a fiery just a dumb slut, huh? You nod, squeezing your walls to push more cum out. There are heavy suctions on your back, forcing blood to the surface at the curve of your spine. Followed by a sharp stabbing on your ass cheek.

Ellie’s mouth is on your supple skin, and the blood in your ass rushes to the surface. Her fangs are locked into you as she empties the veins in your ass.

You couldn’t even scream, eyes squeezing shut at the searing pain as your walls release more cum. Ellie hums: another bite. More blood’s leaving you, being sucked from your ass, your thighs, the end of your spine, but it’s not enough. You need more. Ellie’s draining you but it’s not nearly enough.

Another tentacle presses in once more, and your vision’s blurring; there’s another tentacle sucking at your ass, your eyes crossing at the stimulation of both your holes. Ellie’s nails are breaking the skin of your back, dribbles of blood sliding down your sides and into the dirt. You love her and you love it; everything feels so warm and full and good.

Ellie’s chides are making you wetter; your thighs won’t stop shaking, she sounds so sexy. Every shockwave in your brain is memorizing every word, every syllable. She's babbling about how she might spare, keep you trapped here forever so she can drain your blood through your pussy, suck you dry, and it gets you there again.

Ellie — m’cu—cumming!

You don’t know what you’re saying; voice muffled against the dirt, tears and snot running down your face while you squeal like a pig. Ellie’s calling you one as you squirt on her, just a dumb, worthless pocketpussy; The smile on your face is stupid as your walls drain her while she throbs inside you. You’re so stuffed with her cum already, but you need more inside you. You feel so fucking good and the pleasure won’t seize.

It picks up again as the thrusts get faster, hitting you deeper, just where you need it. You don’t get to recover before you’re slung into another mind-numbing orgasm, your body wracking without rest. Ellie’s massaging every spot that makes your spine break, dirt collecting under your nails as they puncture the ground. Your groans are cracking in your throat; You can’t even swallow.

The tentacle’s swelling again, and Ellie’s hand is on the back of your head, pressing your cheek against the grass, nails scratching at your scalp as you beg for her cum. Her moans are picking up again, demanding that you beg some more, that you fucking cry for it, be a good girl a bleed for me. And you do.

As messily as you can; slobber pooling at your mouth as you sob and choke for her cum, eyes crossed in your skull as your tongue lolls, and Ellie’s shooting in you again, stuffing you to the brim as she cries your name from behind, grunts leaving her with each rope of cum seeps in your womb.

Your pussy’s melting around her when the sucking at your ass pauses, only to push in the incredibly tight space, to stretch your virgin hole open around its girth. It should hurt, having both holes filled to such a wild degree, but it doesn’t. Your weak arm is reaching behind, desperately grabbing at Ellie. You expect her to smack you away, to hit you, to slice your hand clean off your wrist, but she doesn’t; You almost miss the light touch, her pinky lacing with yours.

You’re joyous, head dropping as you sob from pleasure and happiness, heart filled with a love that you never thought you’d feel again.

She’s drilling your ass, fucking you so hard and good as she holds your smallest finger with hers, kissing down your bloody back, licking up the scarlet that leaks from your skin. Suddenly, another tentacle — much smaller than the ones tearing your holes up — emerges from the ground, right in front of your face, its juices leaking onto your cheeks.

It wiggles in front of your open mouth before shoving in; the taste is salty and metallic, but your lips work it, sucking and licking all around the length. You feel so filthy and it’s making your tummy tug, another orgasm building in your pussy and ass. It’s going to shatter you completely from its strength, you can feel it.

Your body’s aching for more cum; you’re surprised it’s not coming spilling from your throat and onto the appendage in your mouth. But Ellie’s close, every whisper becoming more frantic as she rides that edge.

You’re mine, she whispers in your ear, Fucking mine, you understand? You’re not going anywhere.

You get it, you get it! You’re never leaving her again. Fuck everything you’ve built for yourself! Your life is pointless without Ellie next to you. You’re going to cum so hard for her.

Your body’s hers; Your heart is hers; your soul is hers. You love her, you love her!

Baby likes that? I own this fucking pussy?

She knows she does: whispers so gross and conniving and you’re twitching under her. You’re babbling around the swelling appendage, telling her — screaming that you belong to her, you always have. You always will!

You feel her teeth as she grins madly in satisfaction, sloppily mumbling mine mine s’ my pussy against your skin as she swells inside you. You’re stretching, gaping around her and you snap, head planting into the dirt. Both sets of walls clamp down sporadically around the large digits between them, the tentacle slipping from your mouth as you scream.

Ellie’s exploding inside both holes, the tentacle above you spraying all over your face, heavy globs of cum landing in your hair, the back of your neck, splattering on your mouth, anywhere it could reach. Juices are spraying from between you, and Ellie falls forward, her freezing chest on your back as she jerks on top of you. Hearing her just as destroyed from the pleasure sends another surge of euphoria through you, somehow stronger than the first.

You can barely take it, but Ellie makes you, continues flooding your holes until they’re overflowing and sticky. You’re both sent to another plane as you convulse together, her pinky still locked with yours as you lose consciousness.

When you wake, there’s warmth.

You’re still filled to the brim with cum, but your form is blanketed. Small, tired huffs hit your back as Ellie shivers on top of you, barely audible noises alerting her satisfaction. You smile.

You can't move; all your strength is used to wiggle the cramped muscle of your interlocked finger. Tears well in your eyes when Ellie’s finger hugs yours tighter with every small movement.

Ellie’s the blanket; Ellie’s warm.

Suddenly, everything around you is pink, the formerly empty spaces in your heart filled with affection. You missed Ellie so much; You’re finally reunited, and in love. You can’t stop smiling, and neither can she.

—

‘BREAKING NEWS: BAKERY OWNER FOUND DECAPITATED IN MOTEL BED’

Today marks one of the most heart-wrenching, horrifying days that our community has ever seen, the local reporter stated. We have never witnessed a case end this disastrous.

To the loved ones of this individual, we share our deepest condolences. The victim made such a large impact on our tiny town with her small business. Nobody… the reporter sighed, Nobody could’ve seen this coming.

Please be on the lookout for any updates regarding the suspect. Investigators are putting as much effort into this case as they can. Police suggest staying indoors with your loved ones this holiday until further instructions.

May God be with her family. Have a blessed night.

idk how to use picsart sorry yall LOL

taggiesss ily thank u 4 being patient :D :

@digit4lslut @hrtmal @sawaagyapong @starologist @shurisbigtoe @iamtootiredtopost @elliew-illiamsmissingfingers @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @slutty4abby @chrry1ovr @moonchild184 @womenofarcane @ohlawdthebirds @ellabsprincess @inf3ct3dd @aouiaa @dropsofs4turn @masclover111 @dyk3ang3l @zzzlove @jayy2inlovee @aandersonsbackpack @jade-posts-sometimes @elspeanut @elsbunny222 @alittlextrahoney @ultraviolenceellie @shamelessparty @0verthebluemoon @yuckyfucky

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams angst #ellie williams au #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #the last of us 2 #kinktober #lesbian #demon!ellie #works 𖧧࣪

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forlix · 6 months

Text

𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative, alternating perspectives

warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia. again, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WITH THIS POST WILL BE BLOCKED.

warnings (cont'd.)・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack. alcohol is consumed. lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication. latter half is just kind of sad in general tbh but what do u expect from a fic based off alex turner lyrics

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?”

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path.

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.”

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there.

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.”

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour.

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

“Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?”

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall.

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze.

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter.

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds.

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session.

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete.

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person.

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe.

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels.

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you.

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand.

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system.

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod.

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?”

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane.

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

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lewisvinga · 1 month

Text

i wanna show u off | lewis hamilton x fem! reader

summary; fans couldn’t help but love the interactions between their favorite driver and favorite singer

fc; kali uchis mi otra reina

warnings; reader is lowk implied to speak spanish/be latina lolllll but other than that, none i think ?

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minkyungseokie @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri

notes; requested ! KALLIIIIII also ignore the dates on every tweet i always forget to change them/i make the date so off from the tl

masterlist !

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

liked by lewishamilton, alexandrasaintmleux, and others !

yourusername: orquídeas [orchids] is finally out on all streaming platforms, my luvs. tysm for all of your support n luv💗 and even bigger thank u to my lew who supported me throughout writing n recording this album 💗🫶

lewishamilton: 😍😍😍😍

username: simp

username: he’s just like me fr

lewishamilton: amazing as always , my love ❤️ it’s been on repeat all day❤️

yourusername: my luv💗💗

georgerussell63: i can confirm, been hearing your angelic voice all day in the garage! ( lewis even got toto hooked on orquídeas )

yourusername: LMAOO, even toto lewishamilton ??

lewishamilton: i wanna show u off😁

username: STREAMING ALREADYY

username: SHE HAS DONE IT AGAIN😫😫

username: she always eats

mercedesamgf1: streaming rn🎶💙 liked by yourusername !

carmenmmundt: so amazing! liked by yourusername !

alexandrasaintmleux: cha and i have been streaming all day😍😫

charles_leclerc: te mata has been ON REPEATTT

carlossainz55: his ‘villain’ era as he told me 🥸

yourusername: LMAOOO but i’m glad ur enjoying it alex and cha🫶🫶

username: ugh the hair, nails, makeup, and the fit??? i adore

username: mother when are u going to a race we miss u😞

yourusername: soon !🤞🤞

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

liked by yourusername, yourbestfriend, and others !

lewishamilton: there’s no place like home !! every year i’m blown away by the love and energy here. without it or without my y/n, the team and i wouldn’t have had the result that we did. still a ways to go, but silverstone i love you deep~

yourusername: lew you’re so amazing 💗 always so proud of u, i love you sm🥹🫶

lewishamilton: i love you💙

username: LEWIS P3!!!!!!

username: this race had me on the edge of my seat fr

username: HER FITT??? SHE EATSSSS

username: she’s rlly mother 😫

username: they’re both fashion icons 😍😍

username: lewis in silverstone>>>

yourbestfriend: you were amazing!🤩🤩 ( or however it is racing world, y/n won’t shut up abt u lol )

lewishamilton: thank you! ( and oh ? )

yourusername: ( i just wanna show u off 😁 )

username: i love them so bad pls

mercededamgf1: 💙💙

username: lewis how does it feel to be dating the baddest bitch 🎤🎤🎤

lewishamilton: pretty amazing 😁

username: LEWIS REPLIEDNALDKS

username: never beating the simp allegations LMAO

username: the way he never fails to mention y/n, IM WEAK IM IN TEARSS

username: the 🐐

username: not both of them saying ‘i wanna show u off’ to comments where they were exposed for yapping abt each other, they’re so goals😣😣

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #lewis hamilton smau #lewis hamilton social media au #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton scenarios #lewis hamilton imagine

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hannieehaee · 3 days

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SERENDIPITY (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: jungkook, god of love and son of venus is given the task by his mother herself to rid the world of you, known as psyche, as your beauty begins to rival her own. unfortunately for all parties involved, jungkook becomes enamored by you upon accidentally pinching himself with his own arrow.

content: cupid!jungkook, psyche!reader, an extremely simplified and smutty version of the og story, afab reader, side character deaths, mentions of attempted suicide, the dialogue is not super fitting of the times, angst(?), fluff, smut, they have sex where she doesnt know who he is multiple times but its consensual, penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 841 (teaser); 8.6k (full fic)

release date: may 3rd

or you can check it out on my ko-fi or patreon today by subscribing to either one!

a/n: i decided to do my first jungkook full fic in celebration for hitting 4k followers!! i hope u guys enjoy<3

masterlist | kofi/patreon

support me through a one time tip<3

"Why did you call for me, again?"

"Jungkook, pay attention!", hissed his mother, holding her fingers to her temples in stress as one of her many servants walked in with the fruit she'd requested, "I need you to use your arrows on someone."

"What? Why? I thought you didn't like me meddling with people's love lives."

"This is different. This one needs a little help," Venus frowned in sheer annoyance, "She is known as Psyche by many, Y/N by her loved ones. She has become quite a figure among the Roman population. Some have begun to worship her beauty. They pray to her, they bring her offerings, they kiss at her feet, completely disregarding the true Goddess of Beauty."

"And where does this concern me?", Jungkook was beyond bored by his mother's ramblings. On a usual day, he would be out and entertaining himself with the many mortal maidens found around Rome, always guaranteeing himself a partner for the day.

Venus shot Cupid a look as her servants fed her by mouth, making him straighten his back and begin paying better attention. Even as the Goddess of Beauty, Venus was known as one of the most menacing Goddesses to exist, holding far too much power among all Gods and Goddesses. Jungkook couldn't help but feel intimidated by her, even as carefree as he was known to be.

"She has far too many admirers. Even Gods are beginning to show interest in her, yet she is lacking in suitors thus far. I need you to shoot your arrow and tie her off to the most hideous creature you can muster. She may seize from being a disturbance this way."

"Okay, so you want me to doom her to an eternity with a monster?", Jungkook tilted his head in curiosity.

Despite being considered the most beautiful entity, Jungkook knew Venus to be one of the least amicable creatures in all of the land. Mortals were blissfully unaware of her cruelty, thinking her to be the most perfect among all Goddesses. However, Cupid, as her son, knew of the misery that awaited anyone who crossed the Goddess of Beauty.

Venus halted her movements in frustration, scaring the servants nearby before turning to Jungkook in annoyance, "Cupid, my son, you will obey my order without question. I gave you those wings, I gave you that bow., and I gave you that arrow. I don't care how cruel you may think me to be, this is an order. You shall not utilize your powers for your own endeavors until you finish your task," she demanded, "Now, go rid me of that wench before I find someone else to do the job."

With a sigh, Jungkook nodded in defeat, fully aware of the type of punishments his mother could deliver should he disobey her orders. Walking over to the window through which he had originally entered, he pulled his bow and arrow from his back, beginning to fly off with his wings as he embarked on a journey to seek out the mighty Psyche that had his mother so worried.

"Y/N, there's another letter from one of your admirers," announced Psyche's mother, placing the letter on the huge pile of gifts provided by the many civilians who came visit their castle with the hope of getting a glimpse of the beautiful girl.

"Mother, what shall I do with all these? There's so many letters yet not a single suitor," you sighed, frustrated at the lack of prospects you'd had so far, "My sisters have both married, yet I am left alone with no one to seek my heart."

"Child, you should be grateful," said your mother, "You are admired through all the land, vied for as if you were a true Goddess. Someone will come for you one day, rest assured," affirmed your mother, petting your hair as she landed a soft kiss on your forehead and took her leave once more.

It was easy for your parents to grow used to the love and admiration you received. Endless people would come and dedicate themselves to their servitude if it meant as much as receiving your blessing – which was absolutely worthless as a mere princess in a land filled with mystical deities.

Your elder sisters had both been married off months back, finding old yet respectable husbands to take them away and care for them as any and all husbands should. You, however, remained alone with your parents, always hoping that a man would be brave enough to court you.

It was unfortunate, really; the way in which your beauty prevented you from receiving any suitors. You had not chosen to be blessed by Venus herself, nor did you ever hope to become her contender in the title of the most beautiful entity in all of creation. Unlike you, she had found a God to sweep her off her feet, gifting her with the fruit of love himself – her son Cupid. Oh, how you wished he'd shoot his arrow and allow you some rest from this endless search for a husband.

...

please reply if u would like to be tagged when the fic is released!!

OR read today on ko-fi or patreon by subscribing to either one<3

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine

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notiddygxthgf · 7 months

Text

1/2

★ pairings: choso kamo x f!reader

★ synopsis: Yuuji Itadori truly was the best friend a girl like you could ask for, but he wasn't the only reason you came to visit. (His older brother, the devilishly handsome Choso Kamo, had always been the apple of your eye).

★ c.w.: slow burn, friends to lovers, eventual smut, childhood sweethearts, kinda, mutual pining, choso with a tongue piercing, rough sex, cunnilingus, backshots, unprotected sex, regular people au, two year age gap, PWP.

★ a/n: hi pookie dookies!! ive been wanting to write choso for a while!! this is a one shot I split into two chapters bc its like, 11k words.... but! if u guys request it, I might add more chapters!!! thank u for ur support as always, muah muah!! (btw if u like tokyo rev go check out my other shit teehee).

★ w.c.; 4.5k

best friend's brother ; chapter index

YUUJI ITADORI WAS truly the best friend a girl like you could ask for. The two of you were kind of like childhood friends, though you hadn’t been close for a good portion of it. You didn’t remember the exact day Itadori had invited you into his home – though you knew it was some time in elementary school. The two of you had been practically inseparable ever since.

There was one thing about the pinkette’s home life in particular that seemed to catch your young eye.

His older brother, Choso.

He was two years your senior – dark hair, dark eyes, he looked nothing like his brother. He had this scar over the bridge of his nose from an accident that had happened when he was younger. He was an elusive figure, something of a mystery to your young mind – he was always there, but never there.

He was content to dwell in the background like some sort of side character.

The first time you’d ever met him had been at one of Itadori’s baseball games. He’d invited you to show up – and at this point you had to have been no older than 8 or 9 – and show out for him. And show out you sure did.

You had your mother do your hair up real nice in those cute little pigtails you used to love wearing. You had scribbled his jersey number onto a plain white tee the night before, donning some hot pink leggings beneath.

And you screamed for Itadori, cheered as loud as your little lungs would allow you to. He won, of course, but that’s not the point here. You’d gone up to him after the game, wrapping your short arms around his frame – and at the time he was no larger than you were – and telling him he’d done great. Itadori grinned at you, faint blush dusting his cheeks, and thanked you. His smile was a thousand suns in one.

A hand on his shoulder had shaken the two of you out of the moment. A bigger hand.

It was his 11-year-old adoptive brother, Choso Kamo. An angel of the darkness, as corny as that sounds, but in that moment you swore the gates of heaven resided in those dark eyes of his. He stood out against the bright backdrop of the September afternoon. The sunlight filtered through his short black hair, reflected off of his pale skin, shooting rays right into your stomach and sending a horde of butterflies fluttering.

“This your girlfriend, Yuuji?” He commented with a half-grin.

You remember turning red at his comment, waving your arms around wildly. You remember the way his eyes creased as he laughed at you, one of the few times you recall seeing him laugh.

So what if you had heart eyes for your best friend’s older brother? It was harmless, just a little crush you had formed on the guy you felt had stolen your heart away. Harmless.

At least, it was until the two of you grew older. You started junior high, you started puberty , and as your body changed, so did his. So did your feelings, morphing from a butterfly crush to something more akin to desire as you began to see him in a different light.

He lost the baby fat around his face. His eyes had darkened, shoulders broadening. His hair got longer, falling into his boyish, scarred face in a way that rendered you entirely breathless.

He was becoming a man.

You were 13 and 15 now, stealing sneaky glances at him whenever he would pass by his brother’s room. Yuji, who had just been boasting about how he was starting to get taller than you, would pay it no mind.

It was just a crush. He was two years your senior, after all. You had no chance.

You were 13 when he would poke fun at you and his brother. He was 15 when he would laugh at the way your face would go red. He didn’t know that it wasn’t his brother you wanted.

14 and 16 when you first began to notice the subtle slope of his shoulders become more pronounced, more defined. When you began to notice the way his muscles would strain against the sleeves of his tee shirt.

He had always been a large guy, having hit quite a few growth spurts along the way. He had to have been about 5’10 at that point, practically towering over you. But lately, you thought he must have been hitting the gym. He would walk past Yuji’s open door – and in their house it was a family policy to leave the door open when you came over, even if Yuji was only a brother to you – with gym gear on. He would come back with sweat-slicked hair plastered to his forehead, chest rising and falling steadily.

Something about that made your hormones go wild for him. Inappropriate thoughts began to chew away at you from the inside, images of what he could do to you with such strength, even if you weren’t too certain what ‘doing’ even entailed at that time. The scent of his pheromones, something like that – or maybe it was the way his gym clothes hugged his body while he marched towards the bathroom to take a shower – it made you feral for him.

He was so much bigger than you now. It made your head spin with feelings you didn’t quite understand. It was just a crush… so why did you stay awake at night imagining him panting over you, sweat trickling down his bare chest? The way his muscles might ripple under your hesitant, inexperienced touch? The warmth that would bloom over your face when you imagined his lips on yours – this man who you had never gotten close to.

A man who you remembered having a late night conversation with in the kitchen while Yuuji slept right down the hall one night.

He was ransacking the cabinet for snacks when you found him. He relaxed once he’d noticed it was you, the two of you eventually falling into sugar-fueled conversation after he cracked open a pack of double-stuff oreos. A conversation about the taboo , about the things you had been told to keep quiet.

“You don’t have to be all flustered ‘round me, y’know,” He had told you rather softly. The two of you were separated by the kitchen island, but it felt like he was way to close to you. “You can ask me anything you’re curious about.”

“I’m not curious!” You had whisper-shouted back with a roll of your eyes. “I don’t want to know about your sex life, you whore.”

“You just asked me what it felt like, liar,” He noted, quirking a brow at your outward reaction. He loved to get under your skin. Lived for it. “And for the record, I’m not a whore. Most of the times I’ve been touched have been with my own hand.”

“I’ve never tried… that, ” You mused quietly, head low. Your face burned with the heat of your admission.

He popped an oreo into his mouth, dusting his hands off carelessly. “What, masturbating?”

Your heart did a weak somersault. “Quiet!” You hissed at him. “Now what if Yuuji heard you talking to me like that?”

“Calm your shit,” he told you. “You’re too young f’me. Relax.”

He only chuckled at your words, shaking his head quietly while he resealed the oreos. Still, if he was thinking anything about your reaction, he didn’t voice it. You were glad.

But it hurt. It hurt, hearing him talk about you like you didn’t have a chance. Like none of the effort you put into your appearance around him had any effect on him because you were too young to steal his attention away. None of it mattered – the push up bras, the low cut tanks, the cherry lip balm.

In his eyes, you were only a kid.

“I’m a virgin,” you had blurted out, for some odd reason you still didn’t quite understand.

The pause that befell the two of you was one that you remembered years later.

“I can tell,” He had said, slim waist swinging side to side as he walked around the kitchen island, towards the exit behind you. He sauntered over to you with a smirk on his face and a plate in his hand, dark hair pulled back into a bun while his layers fell around his face. He was breathtaking, handsome, tantalizing build towering over you.

16, A man whose voice had dropped again in the last few months whispered those words, the ones you would never forget, “‘S fun. You should try it.”

You didn’t know what he had wanted you to try – having sex or performing it on yourself.

Either way, that night when you went home was the first time you ever tried to touch yourself. Fantasized about him whispering in your ear, holding you down, talking you through – while your pink-manicured fingers worked you up to your first orgasm.

Two years had never felt so far apart.

Choso had a girlfriend at one point. It was only for, like, four months – he was 17, you were 15. You only found this out when he’d come home after a pretty rough night with her. He looked pissed, lips pressed into a thin line, arms crossed over his broad chest.

You knew he was too old for you, that you weren’t old enough for him, more specifically – but, still, you batted those lashes of yours up at him while you asked him what was wrong.

You didn’t tell him about the way butterflies erupted in your stomach like a hundred angry guisers when he told you his girlfriend had cheated, left him for another man.

You hugged him instead, telling him that it would be alright, telling him that she never deserved him anyway. You were the one for him, and one day he would see that.

Instead of turning to you – who had been right there all along, he had just been too blind to notice – he took his anger out on everyone else. He became cold, emotionally closed off. He became a serial heartbreaker.

For a while, whenever you came over to Yuuji’s, his bedroom would be vacant. Open, dark, just as he had left it. For a while, he would spend his nights with faceless hookups and meaningless dates. Itadori would call you to complain about it, about how “we’re home alone for dinner tonight and Choso just walked out”.

Your heart broke, too. He just didn’t know it.

He didn’t know you were waiting for him to come to his senses, for him to see you as a woman .

You were seated in the kitchen across from Itadori enjoying another late-night snack, sharing some hearty laughter. You had always adored your conversations with him, the ‘After-Hours’ talks, as you would often refer to them.

Your night had taken an unexpected turn when Itadori’s brother burst through the kitchen door with a giggling girl in tow. The late hour suggested that this was no ordinary visit.

Still, even though you couldn’t pry your eyes away from her, you didn’t say anything. You stayed quiet while your heart shattered into one hundred million pieces inside of your tight chest.

Itadori’s laughter had died down, giving way to an awkward silence. He greeted his brother with a smile, “Hey, bro. Who’s she?”

Choso shrugged, dark hair shifting over his eyes that seemed to glint beneath the dim lighting as he replied, “Company.”

His mischievous tone and the girl at his side left little to the imagination. Your cheeks flushed as you exchanged another quick glance with Itadori.

You felt frozen in place. You couldn’t move. No, all you could do was sit there like a dumbass and stare at him, watch the man you loved liked guide her by her hand up the stairs.

Of course. You had been naive to think that he would wait for you. He would be 18 next year.

He was out of your league.

Feeling the need for a momentary escape, you had excused yourself, muttering something about needing to use the bathroom. You had stood up, heart racing, and made your way up the stairs and towards the bathroom.

Conveniently, of course, it was located just down the hall from Choso’s room.

You crept down the hall slowly. As you passed by his door, you caught a sound. Something unmistakable – two people in hushed conversation uttering words in between kisses.

“Choso, baby.”

Another quiet kiss. Their lips separated.

“I’m ready.”

“You brought protection?”

Your embarrassment grew as you realized the intimate nature of the encounter happening on the other side of the door. Quickly, you averted your gaze, face burning, and ran off to the bathroom.

It took you a moment to catch your breath. You couldn’t believe the awkwardness of the whole situation. Shit, you didn’t even know how to approach him after this.

Worst of all, you didn’t even know why you were still only able to imagine it was your voice behind that door instead of hers. That it was him pressing butterfly kisses to your lips. Him asking you if you were ready for him.

With your cheeks tinged a rosey hue, you resolved to keep yourself locked away in the bathroom until the thoughts subsided.

It seemed like it was a new girl every time you came to visit. A blonde, a brunette – he didn’t seem to have a preference. Every time you would watch him walk another girl to the front door, bidding her safe travels on her way home, your hope would wither away.

But the feelings never subsided. No, even when you would spend a little more time walking past his room on your way to the bathroom to eavesdrop. Not even when you would hear hushed whispers and quiet moans from the other side and imagine what kind of lover Choso would be. Would he leave marks? Talk dirty to you? Was he a giver or a taker?

Not even when the two of you would cross paths in the kitchen after his plans for the evening went home. He would turn to you with a knowing smirk, hair down and messy even though it did nothing to hide the red and purple love bites that littered the valley of his neck.

And he looked so good that you often found yourself wishing it was you who had left those marks.

It was as if he knew you were dying inside. Like something was beginning to change inside of him after all of these years. Like he took some strangely cruel pleasure in showing off to you.

No, you would have to remind yourself in vain. I’m too young for him.

You were just a girl in his eyes. That’s what you maintained.

So you went out and retaliated by losing your V-card to some kid from your class. Well, in your head it was retaliation. He was none the wiser about it, but it gave you a sense of satisfaction knowing you were able to fuck people who weren’t him.

Take that, Choso.

Yuji groaned, laying spread eagle over his carpeted floor, arms spread out on either side of him. He had grown so much – you could hardly contain the way your eyes wandered from his pretty face to his new physique. Like his brother, Itadori was a well-defined man.

God picked favorites, and it wasn’t you.

There was an open notebook splayed over his face. He gripped the spine, tossing it to the side.

“I’m over this chemistry shit,” He sighed.

You couldn’t possibly have agreed more. Still, you continued to sketch the rough outline of a circle onto the sheet of construction paper in your hand. You would need to make it perfect, just right, so that you would be able to incorporate it into your group project.

You turned the pencil over between your fingertips. “We’re gonna need more supplies.”

"Like what?" Yuuji asked, his frustration still evident. "I’m pretty sure we’ve purchased, like… every craft supply on the market."

You quirked a brow at the thought. "Scissors…?"

Yuuji pursed his lips, his brow furrowing. "I don’t have those."

"Of course you don’t," you sighed, shaking your head. "Who the hell doesn’t have scissors?"

"I lent them to Choso," he retorted with a hint of annoyance.

Your heart dropped at the mention of Choso. You couldn't help but picture his face, his body, and wondered if he was asleep. You didn't want to disturb him.

Yuuji sat up, nudging you with his foot playfully. "Hey, why don't you go over there and get them? Make some goo-goo eyes, bat your lashes. I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to you."

You hesitated for a moment, considering your options. "I'm sure I can find some in my backpack," you said instead, trying to avoid the suggestion.

"Come onnnn, you know you wanna go over there," Yuuji teased with a sly grin. He leaned in closer, cupping his hand around his mouth, and whispered, " He just got back from the gym. "

Another nudge from Yuuji finally made you relent. "Fine," you said with a playful roll of your eyes. "I’ll be back."

Only moments later, you found yourself standing in front of Choso's door, a mix of anticipation and nervousness coursing through you as you raised your hand up to knock. You rapped twice against the wooden surface. There was a shuffling sound on the other side of the world, one that made your heartrate pick up, and then the door cracked open.

He had one earbud in his ear, the other dangling over his chest. He wore a black wife pleaser and some grey sweats that hung loose over his hips – leaving little to the imagination. He looked so strong, muscular arm braced against the doorframe while the other held it open. His waist was thin, toned, so much so that you could see it through the fabric of his shirt.

He smelled like he had just hopped out of the shower – like cherry and musk. His wet hair was done back into a messy bun. His eyes raked over your trembling form.

With a gentle, familiar grin, he said, “What’s up?”

Your throat felt dry. You swallowed anyway, with a great deal of discomfort, averting your wide-eyed gaze. Ignoring the way your eyes lingered over the pale skin of his toned navel revealed where his tank had ridden up, over the v line that dipped down into his waistband, over the neatly trimmed trail that led down south .

“Do… Do you have scissors?” You asked him. You didn’t like how timid you sounded, or the way your stomach churned at the sight of him.

He paused for a moment, and somehow you knew he was looking at you. You were suddenly very glad you had worn a fitted v-neck tee shirt today, one that would have provided him with a bird’s eye view of your cleavage.

He’s looking at me.

“Yeah,” he muttered quietly, stepping away from the door and into his room. You had only wandered into Choso’s quarters a few times with Yuuji, usually to steal something from him while he wasn’t home. You had never really taken the time to notice the band posters taped up over his walls, the black sheets on his bed, the clothes scattered over his floor in typical teenage boy fashion.

You poked your head in, taking a quick look around while his muscular back was turned. Ultimately, it was him you wound up gawking at, hungry eyes following the well-defined curve of his back into his slim waist, the curve of his bubble butt.

You looked away just as he had turned around. If he noticed you staring, he didn’t say anything. A red pair of scissors dangled from his curled finger.

“Here,” was all he said, offering the tool to you.

You didn’t know when conversations between the two of you had gotten to be so tense, so strained. It used to come effortlessly. These days, however, it seemed as if you were always trying to run away from conversation with him.

You took it from him gently, dying a bit more inside when his large fingers brushed against yours, offering a slight nod in return. “Thanks.”

16 and 18, now.

You had texted Choso asking for his help on a particularly difficult math assignment. He was older, after all, you didn’t doubt that he was better equipped to complete the homework than you were.

That was the first time you had ever hung out alone with him. Without Itadori.

You would never forget the way the atmosphere changed when he sat close to you at the kitchen table. The way your skin prickled with electricity beneath his hesitant touch. He poked fun at you and your incompetence. You didn’t even care, not when he was sitting so close to you.

Alone.

The possibilities that filled your mind were less than holy.

Tensions were at an all time high. He had leaned over to help you, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, when it finally snapped.

When you met his gaze with uncertainty in your eyes, making no real effort to put any distance between you and the man you had been pining after for so many years. In that moment, you saw it – saw him, saw that he finally looked at you as something more than just a girl.

Saw the way his gaze softened as he leaned into you. You let him get closer, close enough that his nose brushed against the tip of yours.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” You remarked, even though you ached to be trapped in this moment with him a while longer.

He licked his lips, murmuring, “You’re probably right.”

Nothing compared to the delicate brush of his lips against yours as the two of you finally met in the middle, The way fireworks blew up in your gut. The way he cradled your cheek gently in the palm of his hand, crossing that unspoken boundary that the two of you had been toeing for so long.

Though you had made out with a few guys before, in your eyes, you had shared your first kiss with Choso in the kitchen that night. The first of many to come .

The summer between 16 and 17 was spent sharing secret moments with him behind doors, between appearances.

You sat on the couch next to Itadori, trapped in the second installment of a film series the two of you had been watching yesterday. You were wearing a zip-up hoodie over your school uniform.

You had come over to do homework. Just like yesterday, though, you wound up fucking around.

Itadori was far too engrossed in whatever was happening on screen to notice his brother leaving the kitchen just a few feet off to the side. He looked you up and down, dark eyes reaching into your soul and picking you apart at the seams. With a barely noticeable motion, he nodded towards the stairs.

You nodded back, heart thrumming wildly in your chest.

Choso gripped the meat of your ass in his hands, throwing your legs around his waist while his mouth danced against yours. You tossed your arms around his shoulders, head reeling from how effortlessly he had picked you up. He walked the two of you backwards until your back hit the door.

He continued to ravage you against that surface, too, tongue slipping in between your lips and exploring your mouth. You trembled against him, trying your best to keep up with him.

It felt so good – being pressed up against him, being given his attention. You wished it was more than secret kisses here and there, of course, but you would take what you could get.

“Missed you,” he hummed against your lips.

You didn’t even care if that was the line he used on all of the other girls. In that moment, all that mattered was his lips against yours, his hands on you, his attention.

You snaked your hands up the back of his neck and into his hair, twisting some of the dark strands between your fingertips. “I should really get back soon,” You gasped, relishing in the way his kisses felt up and down your neck.

He relented, letting you down. You pressed one more chaste kiss to his lips.

“Didn’t mean to keep ‘ya,” he chuckled lowly, breaths still heavy from the makeout session you had been having only seconds before. He nodded towards the door behind you. “Get back out there.”

You nodded wordlessly, opening the door. With one final smile, you slipped behind it. You felt like you were floating as your legs carried you down the stairs and into the living room. You didn’t even care how disheveled you looked.

Thankfully, Yuuji didn’t notice the way you were wiping your mouth on the back of your hand as you plopped onto the couch beside him. He also didn’t notice when his brother wandered down the stairs a few minutes later, or the way he smiled knowingly at you before disappearing into the kitchen.

You were 17 when Choso left for college. He was 19 when his brother had thrown him a going-away party.

There were 10 of you in the living room, a few of Yuuji and his childhood friends all gathered around the coffee table. A movie was on. Some of them were engrossed in a card game in the corner of the room.

You and Choso lingered behind the group, situated comfortably on the couch behind all of the action. He was sitting so close that your thighs brushed against his, so close that it felt like he, too, wanted to savor the moment before interacting with you became a rarity. Before he moved out and started a new life somewhere hours away.

He didn’t voice any of these feelings, keeping his dark eyes unreadable and steady on the movie that Yuji had put on in the background. Selena Gomez was playing from a speaker somewhere behind the couch.

You almost wanted to lean your head on his shoulder. Almost. Never mind the fact that everyone would see it.

You distinctly remember the way he shifted closer to you when you pulled out a blanket. You let him make the bold move, seemingly unfazed by the potential audience only feet away from the two of you.

He tossed the plush blanket over his legs. The lights were dim. Dim enough that they wouldn’t see the way your face flushed at the proximity.

Sixteen minutes passed. You felt like you were going to explode.

Somewhere along the way, though it’s all a bit fuzzy now, you remember feeling his hand creep down beneath the blanket to rest on your thigh. You fought to remain composed, even though the darkness undoubtedly shrouded whatever it was that Choso was planning to do.

He lingered over the skin on your thighs left bare by the shorts you had chosen to wear. His finger traced over you, igniting fire in your nerves. Again, you said nothing, letting him go about tracing shapes on your thigh while his face remained stoic and composed.

You glanced between him and the blanket. You couldn’t see the imprint of his hand moving, somehow, but you could practically feel the heat radiating from beneath it when his index finger slipped between your thighs.

19 years old. Two years had never seemed so far apart. When he was the age you were now, you recalled his voice being quite a few pitches higher. The same voice that had dropped even lower over the last year, now drawing you closer to him as he murmured into your ear, “Can I touch you?”

Parting your legs infinitesimally, you wordlessly granted him entrance. His fingers dipped down, ghosting over your cotton panties in a way that had you wondering how well of a disguise the dim lighting really was.

“What if they see us?” You had whispered back, even quieter. None of them had bothered to turn back. Even still, you wondered if one of them had X-Ray vision.

His voice seemed even deeper as it vibrated against your side. “You’ll be quiet for me, won’t you?”

The moment his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your panties, you knew you were in no position to disagree.

Yuuji and his friends were none the more wiser. Yuji didn’t notice when you whined quietly, letting him slip two fingers into your aching cunt, or when his brother worked you open on his fingers.

He didn’t notice when the two of you had left to make out heatedly in the pantry, right against the box of assorted chips, right where anyone could walk in, turn on the light, and see you there pressed up against him disappeared to the pantry for ten minutes.

Though the moment you returned to see him glancing at you with a curious brow raised, you knew he had finally caught on. Even if he didn’t say anything about it.

It would be another three months before you would see Choso again.

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @missphanosaur18 ,

wanna join the ' choso kamo ' taglist?| bfb; chapter index

#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#choso kamo #kamo choso #choso #choso jjk #choso x reader #choso kamo xreader #choso kamo x you #choso x you #chousou #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #yuuji itadori #itadori x reader #geto x reader #gojo x reader #choso smut #choso fluff

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rosyblooom · 11 days

Text

tick,tick... boom! | ln4 smau

"i was in the winter of my life, and the men that i met along the road were my only summer"

PAIRING: lando norris x wild fem heiress!reader (born in 🇿🇦) SUMMARY: y/n was always trouble—pushing buttons, crossing lines. She was a loose cannon. But people were drawn to her, so it's no surprise when y/n and lando norris meet, they hit it off instantly, for better or worse. WARNING(S): slut shaming, mentions of alcohol + violence, toxicity A/N: we're just going to pretend tyla's album dropped in '22 pls & ty 😌 i'd really love to hear from you guys—thoughts and all!! <3

creds to the lovely @classiclitfreak for proofreading!!! <33

part 1 |

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▯

5th of August, 2022 (📍USA 🇺🇸)

landonorris added to his story!

[ caption: let's go 🤙 ]

yourusername added to her story!

[ caption: don't u know? girls just wanna have fun ;) ]

[ tagged: yourbestfriend, yourfriend + more]

tmz_tv

liked by username, username, username and 12,092 others

tmz_tv The self-crowned party girl and heiress to the multimillion-dollar jewellery boutique chain, à la famille, Y/LN, has been spotted clubbing for the 5th consecutive time. And lo and behold, it isn't her first visit of the night.

Y/N and her usual rowdy group of friends were seen arriving at the club, showing no regard for rules as they parked in prohibited areas before disappearing into the famous celebrity hotspot.

view all 573 comments

username ugh she's so hot

username oh to be a rich heiress living it up in hollywood

username why does she always dress so skimpy omg she's such a slut

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yourfan god the chokehold this woman has on me😩 no one's doing it like her

username and thank fuck for that

Like a hungry tiger, you're on high alert. Sure, you're also a bit drunk, so maybe not as sharp as you'd like to be, but they don't call it liquid courage for nothing. And tonight, that liquid courage is fuelled by the presence of a hot DJ in a booth above you. You've had your eye on him ever since you stepped into this club, waiting for the right moment to make a move.

"Y/N," BF/N slurs, stumbling into you and nearly sending both of you tumbling. You manage to steady yourselves, her leaning heavily on you.

This isn't the first time you've witnessed your best friend like this; she's always been a lightweight, and as usual, it's everyone else's problem.

You slap your hands onto her cheeks, pulling her face close to yours. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Here," she says, squirming out of your grasp and thrusting two half-full shot glasses towards you. You hesitate, but she presses one into your chest, spilling some of the liquid. "Take it."

"Okay, that's it. I'm cutting you off," you declare, snatching both drinks from her and downing the burning liquid in one gulp.

"Aw," she pouts. "Boo, Y/N. You can't cut me off; my card's on the tap tonight."

"Well, that's too bad."

Standing on your tiptoes, you scan over the dozens of heads until you spot a familiar face in the crowd—one of your guy friends. The moment you make eye contact, you wave him over.

"She's completely out of it. Can you please get her home?" you yell over the music, summoning your sweetest smile and fluttering your eyelashes for extra effect. "Pretty please."

"I am not," BF/N interjects, prompting an eye roll from you before redirecting your focus back to your other friend.

He leans in close, his voice barely audible over the music. "We're all thinking of leaving, actually. This place is kinda lame."

Your shoulders slump as you pull back, peering up at the mysterious DJ you've been eyeing all night.

"Sorry, can't do," you shake your head, meeting your friend's gaze again.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," you sling your arm around his shoulder and gesture towards the DJ booth where the DJ is engaged in conversation with two other guys, "I want to know who that guy in the middle is. He's hot."

"Yeah?" F/N looks at you unimpressed. "Hot like the guy from last night? Or the one from two weeks ago?"

"Ouch," you rub your chest. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Yeah, actually," he nods. "I'm telling you that we're leaving, Y/N."

You shake your head and gently cup his face. "Correction, you're leaving."

Before he can object, you quickly add, "Give everyone a kiss from me, please. And don't worry, I'll text you when I get home. Pinkie promise."

You hold out your pinkie finger expectantly, but when he doesn't respond, you sigh and grab his hand with your free one, linking your fingers together.

"See, that wasn't so hard," you say, releasing his hand. As you spin on your heel, you give him one final glance and yell, "By the way, you might want to get BF/N out now. She really can't handle her liquor, if you catch my drift."

A sudden surge of energy courses through you, sending goosebumps down your arms. Whether it's from the earlier shots or not, it gets your heart pumping as you make a beeline straight for the DJ booth.

"Now or never," you mutter under your breath, stretching your neck from side to side.

Once you catch sight of the back of the DJ’s curly dark hair, you tap his shoulder.

The moment your eyes meet, your lips curve into a smile. "Hey you."

The guy offers a wide grin, exposing the small gap between his front teeth. "So she speaks," he says.

You chuckle. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing much," he shrugs, scratching his nose. "I was just wondering if staring was all you could do or if you'd actually come and say hi, you know? I don’t bite."

"Well, I do," your voice rings out huskily as you appraise him for a couple of seconds. He's wearing a loose blue shirt unbuttoned almost all the way down. "I had to make sure you weren’t the type of person I'd eat alive." Extending your hand to him, you add, "Congrats, you're not. I'm Y/N."

"Happy to have made the cut," he laughs, clasping his hand around yours and pulling you slightly forward so that your hands are the only thing separating your bodies. "Lando," you feel his warm breath against your face.

A trail of tingles shoots down your spine as you simply gaze up at him with an unwavering smile. "I think we're going to have lots of fun."

"Let's," he nods, dragging his finger over his bottom lip.

landonorris added to his story!

[ caption: 📸 ]

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, tyla, landonorris and 382,050 others

yourusername never had a pretty girl from joburg see me now and that's what they prefurrr 💋

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username guys pack it up we've lost him😭 first lando's story and now he's in the likes??? i feel sick

username Y/N AND LANDO???? SAY IT AINT SO username that man cannot handle a baddie pls be serious lmaoo

tyla hottie

yourusername u xx username i need you both expeditiously😩

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yourbestfriend mami

yourusername bbg xx

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username nurse he's out again

6th of August, 2022 (📍USA 🇺🇸)

f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username and 14,085 others

f1gossipofficial Lando Norris appears to be thoroughly enjoying his summer break, as he was photographed leaving the popular celebrity hotspot on Hollywood Blvd with the wild child Y/N L/N last night. Earlier, he had shared a photo to his story, featuring a woman fans presume to be Y/N.

Witnesses claim they seemed to be very close throughout the entire night, "practically glued to each other." Could there be a new WAG in the paddock soon?

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username he should redirect all that energy into winning races smh

username I see nothing but facts username he's on literal break rn lmao r u ok?😭

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username 😕

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username iktr😌 (hello my fellow south african🤝)

9th of August, 2022

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: europe bby ]

[ tagged: yoursister ]

11th of August, 2022 (📍France 🇫🇷)

yourusername

liked by landonorris, ayanakamura_officiel, lando_jpg and 401,957 others

tagged: yoursister, yourfriend, yourfriend + more

yourusername au revoir france, you've been v fun mwah xx

view all 3,975 comments

yoursister love you little sis ❤️❤️

yourusername ily more <3333

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username MY WIFE ❤️😍🤞

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landonorris finally

(liked by author)

username crying and throwing up😭😭 username i thought you'd be different. turns out you're just a man☹️ username now what are y'all up to hmmm???

username ARGHHSH NOOO NOT LANDO LIKING FROM BOTH ACCOUNTS???? SICK BEHAVIOUR

username rip to us🥲

ayanakamura_officiel 😍

yourusername missing u already xx

12th of August, 2022 (📍Monaco 🇲🇨)

landonorris added to his story!

[ caption 1: (I told her to put the finger down☝️) ] | [ caption 2: 👅 🤙 ]

[ tagged: yourusername ]

yourusername added to her story!

[caption: here's to new friends in monaco 💋 ]

[tagged: landonorris, yourfriend, + more ]

19th of August, 2022 (📍Monaco 🇲🇨)

24th of August, 2022 (📍Monaco 🇲🇨)

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, yourfriend, landonorris and 395,003 others

tagged: yourfriend, landonorris + more

yourusername august '22 with some favs xxx

view all 5,825 comments

username lando yeah MOVE from my girl

username 🤣🤣

landonorris again soon ✈️

(liked by author)

username can y'all slow down like I've still not recovered from 2 weeks ago😮‍💨 username ugh why lando she's literally such a slut username right?? he can do sm better

username oh to be an unemployed rich girl living off my parents money😩

username wdym lmao she does brand deals and she's a brand ambassador for loads of things username well it aint quite the same as working 9-5 at walmart is it?? like I'd fucking swap any day bffr😭

username is- is this a launch??? is the single era finally over omg

username y/n we miss u in the states baby😢

username fuck no. the paparazzi there are so fucking horrible, she's better off in monaco username ig you're right I'm still sad tho😭

username when are u coming back home???🇿🇦🇿🇦

yourbestfriend ugh stop being so hot (pls come back home the kids miss u😞)

yourusername 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

10th of September, 2022 (📍Italy 🇮🇹)

f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username and 13,054 others

f1gossipofficial Just confirmed by Italian F1 fans: Y/N L/N, currently linked with Formula One driver Lando Norris, has landed in Italy. Pictures above were sent to us by individuals present at the airport during her arrival.

Speculations are rife that her presence might be related to the upcoming race tomorrow. Could we witness their official debut as a couple and Y/N's debut as a WAG tomorrow?

view all 1,077 comments

username I don't get the hate she seems nice enough

username she is!!! she was so sweet, she literally took a picture with all of us even tho the paparazzi were so fucking annoying username yh bc it's an act and u're falling for it smh she has a weird aura

username 🤢🤢🤢🤢

username ik lando's dj era was gonna be troublesome wtf

username he has very questionable taste...

username how? she's hot username yeah cause it'd be much better if he dated u lmao y'all are delulu

username is it just me who's concerned?🥲 I feel like ever since they started hanging out he's just been partying every single day

username yeah his last two races were pretty shit ngl...

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: bottoms up baby 👅 ] [caption 2: late night pizza in italy?? FUCK YEAH ]

[tagged: landonorris, damianodavid, yourfriend + more ]

11th of September, 2022 (📍Italy Grand Prix 🇮🇹)

f1news

liked by username, username, username and 25,892 others

f1news As we all know, Lando Norris has had quite a rough start to the second half of the 2022 season. When asked about his feelings regarding his P15 finish, he said, "Yeah, it was a rubbish performance, no excuses for that. I'm very disappointed. We have a good car at McLaren this year, so I definitely put my hand up and say that this is 100% on me [...]."

He ended the interview with a hopeful message to his fans, "The season isn't over till it's over, and I'm going to keep my head high and push even harder."

view all 2,749 comments

username hey y/n if u're reading this, thanks a lot 🙃

username she's such a fucking red flag omg. and then she doesn't even fucking show up to his race?? what a bitch username lando isn't blameless here tho. he's a big boy lol if he wants to drink on fucking race night then he's an idiot

username **rubbish performanceS lmao the other 2 races were shit too🤣

username laughs in red bull girl🤭🤭

username aw you could see the tears he was trying hold back😭😭

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username I just know he'll be beating himself up for this for soo freaking long omg☹️💔

username onward and forward guys!! I believe in him💪💪

username this!!! we love u lando 🫶🫶

6th of October, 2022 (📍Japan 🇯🇵)

lando.png

liked by yourusername, yourfriend, danielricciardo and 137,056 others

lando.png ok you look good, can I have my camera back now?🤨

view all 2,984 comments

username babe u know how there's these things called lucky charms well, y/n is the opposite of that🙂 hope this helps cause ur races have been shit

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yourusername 😋

lando.png 😐 username love you both <33

username day 2936 of neither y/n nor lando confirming or denying the dating rumours 😫

username SICK PEOPLE. THE BOTH OF THEM SMH

8th of October, 2022 (📍Japan 🇯🇵)

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: i heart japan ] [ caption 2: cheers x ] [ caption 3: bby tonight the dj's got us falling in love again 💋 ]

[ tagged: yourfriend, yourfriend + more ]

9th of October, 2022 (📍Japan Grand Prix 🇯🇵)

The heavy thud of the door falling shut jolts you upright on the bed. You'd let yourself in with a spare card—both of you having each other’s—and simply sank into the bed, waiting. Hours have passed, and your fingers are raw from the incessant needing, twisting, and pulling—a bad habit.

Amidst the pulsing headache tormenting you, another ache tightens your chest: guilt. You pride yourself on your loyalty to friends, so consistently letting them down weighs heavily on you.

"Hey, can we talk?" you whisper as Lando enters the narrow entryway and steps into the hotel room.

He startles, not noticing you at first as his head was bowed. Fixing you with a disappointed look, he sighs, dragging his hands down his face.

"Not right now, Y/N," he says after a moment.

"Come on, I don’t want us to be like this."

“Well, it’s not about you right now,” Lando snaps, dropping his bag onto the ground. “You don’t get to break your promises and then get mad when people get upset about it. That’s not how it works.”

"Alright, fine," you raise your hand in the air. "Be like that then. Be fucking sad and miserable, but without me."

A heavy silence descends upon the room, one you're not inclined to endure. With a groan, you rise from the bed and make a beeline for the door. But just as your hand grips the cool handle, Lando's voice halts you.

"Wait, no, I'm sorry. Don’t go. I shouldn't have snapped at you, please just...don't go."

You ponder his words for a moment before releasing a sigh and spinning around, heading toward the dresser opposite him. Crossing your arms, you perch on its edge and simply wait, eyes fixed on the floor.

For a while, neither of you speaks until Lando breaks the silence. "You didn’t miss anything, you know? The race was shit." You tilt your gaze up, noticing the disappointment etching his face as he adds, "Again."

Your mind goes blank—you're not good at handling emotions. It's why you prefer the single, ready-to-mingle but never-more life. It's why you and Lando are whatever the hell this is. You flirt, and while you would have gladly torn his clothes off the first night you met, now it's different. There are strings attached now, so he's off-limits—your rule.

It's just friendly flirting, you'd say, but you don't even remember the last time he's had someone over on a romantic level. Come to think of it, neither have you, and it makes your skin crawl.

"Uhm," you finally respond with a shrug. "I think that calls for a night out. What do you say?"

"What, celebrate the fact that I’m a pathetic F1 driver? That people think I don’t deserve a place in F1?"

"Well, no," you cock your head sideways, walking up to him and intertwining your hand with his. "Just come and have fun, take your mind off things."

"Okay, fine. For you," he sighs, his warm breath brushing against your skin as he brings your hands to his lips, planting a gentle kiss on each, causing a chill to run down your spine.

Although you don't indulge in emotions, you're no stranger to recognising them: his eyes, fixed on yours, dance between your lips and your eyes, a confession hidden within them. It makes your heart drop.

Naturally, you withdraw your hands from his grasp, forcing a tense smile. "You should go ahead. I'll just get changed and text the others to meet us in the lobby."

Without waiting for a response, you hurriedly exit the room, craving air free from the weight of unspoken emotions.

15th of October (📍USA 🇺🇸 )

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, landonorris, thegr8khalid and 530,802 others

tagged: landonorris, yourfriend + more

yourusername we're back in the states babyyyyy 🦅🦅

view all 6002 comments

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yourbestfriend ABOUT��DAMN👏TIME👏

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tatemcrae so hot

yourusername i want u xx

landonorris I think I'm fucking falling in love with you (this comment has been deleted)

landonorris so beautiful

username I SAW UR COMMENT LANDO 🫵👀 username lando pls drop her she's not it🙏 username the way she didnt even interact😭💔

username we're just gonna pretend his comment never existed orr

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18th of October, 2022 (��USA 🇺🇸 )

tmz_tv

liked by username, username, username and 31,755 others

tmz_tv In the early hours of the morning, Formula 1 driver Lando Norris was allegedly involved in a club brawl in Austin, Texas. Multiple witnesses claimed to have seen him engage in a physical altercation with an unidentified man, who was reportedly seen with party heiress Y/N L/N.

According to reports, the altercation occurred after Y/N L/N was seen in a close encounter with the unidentified man. Security guards then escorted Norris, L/N, and their friends out of the club, barring them from re-entry.

Once outside, Norris and L/N were observed engaging in a heated argument, exchanging strong language. After the altercation, they reportedly went their separate ways. L/N and a friend lingered in the area for some time, smoking and chatting, before eventually hailing a cab to depart.

Meanwhile, Norris left the scene in his car, departing from the group he had originally arrived with.

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username *pretends to be shocked* y/n has been a slut smh

username no wonder they never confirmed or denied their relationship lmaooo they don't even know themselves🤭

username MY LANDO???? nah y/n needs to stay tf away wtf she's literally changing him 🚩🚩

username I feel like they're toxic for each other...🙁 username no bc ever since they started hanging they've literally just been partying and spiralling I fear (e.g. lando's career) username it seems like lando likes her more than she him😢

username this is crazy omg? I hope the man who got his shit rocked is fine🙏

username sry but the wording of this is sending me💀💀

username 5 days before the austin gp? papaya girls pack it up he's done😭

username 😣💔

16:38 ───────────ㅇ─ 18:20

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arminsumi · 8 months

Note

22 with toji? >___< i love mamaguro but sometimes i be thinkingggg..

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦

A/N: ughhh ikr 🤤😔 ik this goes without saying (hopefully) but y'all don't cheat 😵‍💫 read fiction about ur fave anime boys cheating with u instead lmao

Wc ≈ 800

Pairing: TOJI Fushiguro x f.reader

Summary: you and Toji getting up to no good in your favorite hotel room

Warnings; 🔞 mdni, smut, infidelity, pns (baby, slut, bitch) cheating kink, slight size kink, nasty dirty talk, slightly mean/rough Toji, taking condom off (mutually consensual), breeding kink, slight hairpulling, one ass slap (why is it always just ONE lmao), kinda rough/manhandling but not rlly, daddy kink, prone bone/from the back, lmk if i have missed anything <3

♪ i keep going back to this hotel room...

Damn you, he thinks while squeezing himself into a condom that’s very slightly too small for his size.

You’re to blame – to blame for being spellbinding, bewitching, entrancing, irresistible, alluring… he never thought about straying until you showed up one day in the office, pretty smile and naughty glint in your eyes.

“Fuck me…” he seethes when he sinks into your tight pussy – so happily spreading your legs for him on the hotel bed. With how many times you two have come and gone through this room on weekends, you’re pretty sure the receptionist has figured out what happens behind those closed doors.

“ ‘s so fucking sexy when you arch your back like that for me, pretty thing.” Toji grunts, splitting you wide open on his cock. “ ‘missed me?” he asks cheekily, feeling how much you’re gushing for him after such simple touching earlier – he had kissed you like he was starved of the taste of your lips, touched you like he’s never laid hands on a female form before. It made sense why he acted so needy, you hadn’t seen him for two weekends straight after all.

“Mhm! Missed you so much…” you moan into the pillow, bringing your hands down to spread your pussylips so you can take his cock better.

His cockhead always glides in so nicely, but halfway in his length got so thick that your pussy just spat his cock out. He always chuckles when it does.

“ ‘been too long, baby, ‘gotta stretch out that pussy all over again. Make it remember daddy’s cock.”

Toji tightly pins your waist down into the mattress, just feeling a fraction of his strength turns you on. Yeah, you’ve met strong guys before – but Toji was fucking strong. He could toss you into any position he wanted, he could make you feel weightless at times.

Those calloused hands know your body better than your own. He knows which sweet spots to his to make you cream, what pace makes you claw at his biceps, what dirty talk makes you cum. He knows everything about your body. He almost doesn’t wanna admit it, but he knows your body better than his own wife’s.

“Fuckin’ slut, look at you going dumb on my dick already. Keep it together, we just started.” He chuckled meanly, giving your ass an encouraging smack to bring you back to earth. “What? ‘This position too much for you?” he asked rhetorically – because he knew damn well that you couldn’t handle him pressing his weight onto you from behind like this.

“Nooo, I can take it!” you squeak, biting the hotel pillow as you hug it for support. He always feels so good that you need some form of comfort. The feeling of his fat tip nudging against your sweet spot and throbbing there makes you say some nasty shit that makes him smirk. “Fuuuck – just fuck me alre – fuuuck, mhm! Like that! Like that!” you sob into the pillow when he fulfils your wishes and pounds into you from behind like an animal.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and gently pulls your head back, making his lips meet your ear – scar grazing against your skin. “Don’t go all quiet on me. I know how fucking nasty you are – what’ve you been wanting to tell me huh? I know you missed me bad.”

His cockhead hits the spot that makes you spill the truth. “Fuuuck – daddy fuck me like I’m yours.” You said, “F-fuck me like I’m your wife.”

“Shit… dirty fuckin’ bitch, you talk like that and you’re gonna make me cum.” He breathes heavily into your ear, sweat already beading off his abdomen with his intensely he’s rutting into you. “You really like me, huh? Haha, yeah, I know – it’s so cute. So cute that you cum so much on this cheating cock. Uh-huh, don’t get shy on me now – we both know we get off on that. Just be honest with yourself – there we go, that wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?”

He groans, big arms entangling with your body. You can feel his muscles twitching, you can smell the scent of his cologne and sweat and sex all mixing in the air. And him? He’s burying his head into the crook of your neck to inhale your scent. Your perfume drives him nuts, it makes him dizzy like he’s some lovesick teenager.

Everything he holds back from telling you, he admits when he’s pussy-drunk and about to cum. “Fuck, sweet thing, ‘wanna give you a baby. D’you want that? Yeah? F-fuck really? You sure? You want my babies? Shit alright, I’ll give you a fucking baby t’night. Don’t tell her it’s mine.” He said, tugging his cock out of your pussy despite your walls hugging him like they were trying to keep him in there forever.

You reach behind you and pull off the condom yourself, and he just watches, half-drooling at the sight, before plunging back inside you and doing what he promised – giving you his babies.

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cat-toess · 8 months

Text

🂡🂡 LOVE SICK 🂡🂡

Summary ✄: In which, Lyney is unbelievably, heads over heels with you.

Tags ✄: fluff, strangers to lovers (soon hehe), mid-length (sort of) one-sided pinning (for now...) gn!reader (intended, I sincerely apologize if not, please message me if you find any mistakes in terms of this topic! I will do my best to improve my writing :D)

Notes ✄: Lyney come home, please. I beg of u. come home at 15 pity (on my knees sobbing and crying rocks) pspspspspspspsps

P.S: I will be revising this even after this has been published, so if you find any grammatical errors then it might be fixed the next time you check <3 might even add paragraphs- so if you want, make sure to check in regularly!

Ft Lynette, being the best wing woman in the history of teyvat.

PART 2 ✄: Lovesick pt.2

Lynette was always supporting Lyney. Whether it was behind the scene or in front of the audience of their spectacular magic shows. Always wanting the best for her brother, silently looking out for him (although she may not show it directly on her face).

But there were some situations where she could not back up her dear brother.

Said ‘situation’ being her brother's ridiculous one-sided crush on you, a stranger turned friend that Lynette had met while shopping for some new tea brews. You, a fellow tea enthusiast, passing by recommended her some of your favorites. Which ended in a lengthy conversation between you and her about the teas of the world.

Now this wasn’t the usual silly crush Lyney would have that only lasted (at best) 1 week. No he was horrendously down bad. Even Lynette, who had no experience in the romance department mind you, could notice her brother's admiration to you immediately. Hell she could probably spot his stupid heart eyes all the way from Celestia.

It was only a matter of time until the entirety of Fontaine and their grandmothers and children knew of Lyney’s infatuation with you.

This led her to her current predicament.

“Lynette please, do your lovely, wonderful and majestic brother one favor! Introduce me to your ethereal friend from earlier!” Her brother dramatically whined. Clinging to his sister's leg like it was his lifeline.

“I would if you weren’t being such a creep about them, you’ll scare them away if you meet them in such a state.” Lynette grumbled.

Even Freminet, who usually kept to himself started to feel bad for Lyney.

“Lynette, it wouldn’t hurt to introduce Lyney to Y/N, would it?” He asked. Looking down at Lyney who was close to tears.

“Thank you Freminet! See Freminet sides with me!” Lyney exclaims, gesturing to Freminet, who is quietly sitting in a chair minding his own business.

“Fine, I’m meeting them today at Café Lucerene. I’ll introduce you to them there, okay Lyney?” Lynette sighed in annoyance (though she was a little happy since she’s never seen her brother so mesmerized with someone.) As soon as she says those words, his face lights up almost immediately, the signs of sadness are long gone from his face. Lyney jumps up to Lynette to go in for a hug. A hug that she swiftly dodges with a sour expression.

“I truly owe you my beloved sister! But before that mind helping me pick out a few strategies to greet Y/N? I can’t fumble my charming first appearance with my future lover, can I?” Lyney giggles, like a young school girl in love Lynette thinks.

“Fine…” Lynette murmurs.

——

By preparing, Lynette thought her brother would only ask her opinion on how to greet you or what to compliment about you first.

She didn’t mean to agree helping out her brother immaculately plan a custom-made show for you.

“Lynette! Which bird should I pull out of my hat? The classic magician favorite, the pigeon? Or the epitome of love, the dove? Or maybe my dearest may prefer one of those weird exotic birds from Sumeru? What were they called again?” Lyney pondered for a second before Lynette interrupted his thinking.

“You mean the dusk bird?” Lynette quips.

“Yes that one! Or maybe something bigger? Like a sumpter beast? Or even better a Phantasm-“

“Lyney! You are not summoning dangerous beasts through your hat, also what if they attack Y/N?” Lynette says as she rubs her head. Maybe Lyney's stupidity was finally starting to rub on to her.

“Hmm, you have a point a suppose, however would I marry them if they were buried 6 ft below me.” Lyney dramatically exclaims placing his hand on his forehead.

Lynette sometimes worries about her brother these days, ever since he met you, he keeps feeding himself delusions that you two were meant to be. He even had a whole life plan for the two of you, he decided that your first child should be named Lyney/Lynette jr (depending on if they were a boy or girl, her brother had said) .

“Wait a moment… Lynette I have the most spectacular idea, listen closely.” Lyney blurted out, an imaginary light bulb appearing on his head.

——

Now here she was, hiding at a nearby table at the Café she and you were supposed to meet. Originally you two would meet here to exchange tea brews you found over the week and have a brief talk about them. But this time it was different.

The first part of the sibling's elaborate plan was to tell you that Lynette was sick so her brother Lyney came to pick up the tea instead.

So here Lyney is standing near the table, patiently waiting for (his soon-to-be) love of his life to arrive. As if on cue you arrive and Lyney is already enchanted with your appearance. Ogling at you like a hopless person in love. Lynette had never cringed so hard in her life.

Lynette has to stop the insane urge to groan at her brother's antics.

“Hi Lynette, the green tea this time is- Oh? You’re not Lynette? “ You say in confusion, staring at the young man in front of you. You had seen him before on posters and the front page of The Steambird and all that, so you were surprised at the least to see a famous face instead of Lynette (who was also famous, but that aside)

“Greetings, exquisite friend of my sister.” Lyney bows, but as he tips his hat a swarm of doves fly out of his hat. “I am Lyney, Lynette’s brother.” He says as he magically makes a bouquet of rainbow roses appear in his hand, and gives them to you.

Who knew Lynette's brother was such a charmer.

“Oh hello, nice to meet you Lyney. I’m Y/N” You say politely flashing him a smile (one which made his stomach do flips)

“No need to introduce yourself, I’ve heard so much about you from my sister.” He says, revealing a charming smirk of his own.

“ I see, if I may ask where is Lynette today?” you ask out of curiosity, looking around searching for your fellow tea lover. (sorry if you don't like tea)

“Ah, sadly my darling sister is sick today, so I have come instead of her to pick up the tea. I accepted the offer as soon as she mentioned it. Who would want to miss the opportunity to meet a person as beautiful as yourself.” He comments, gently holding your hand as he brings it up to his mouth to kiss the front of your hand.

Lynette was praying to Celestia and all the beings above that her brother would choke on his own spit.

“Why, thank you.” You say, not expecting to be drowned in compliments by this stranger. Your demeanor goes from calm to slightly flustered in a matter of minutes. (I mean who wouldn't with Lyney around, honestly)

Lynette internally wonders what could you ever possibly see in that obnoxious brother of hers?

For a while you two engage in a friendly conversation about simple things like the weather and so on. Soon enough you two get more comfortable as Lyney starts to show you a variety of magic tricks.

"No way you're actually getting my card-"

"Is this your card?"

"You weren't joking-"

Lynette sighs as she starts preparing for phase 2.

The second part of their scheme was to get Lynette to conjure a strong gust of wind to knock you off your feet so that Lyney could catch you and scoop you up. Like in those popular plays.

This much should be enough. Lynette thinks to herself as she summons a gust of wind headed straight to your direction. Aimed at you of course.

But what is this? The wind blows a little off track and hits Lyney instead.

The next few seconds were like they were in slow motion, Lyney has a surprised expression on his face as he plummeted down to the floor. Lynette is laughing at her brother. Holding her stomach and rolling on the floor (an unusual sight for the people watching the scene unfold, only used to the cool and composed Lynette.)

That is until you grab Lyney into your arms last second and suspend him a few centimeters above the ground.

Would you look at this? Lynette thinks.

The plan had completely backfired.

Oh well, her brother would be delighted with the results either way.

“Are you okay Lyney?” You ask concern lacing your voice.

Lyney thinks his name never sounded prettier than when it came from your lips, with your voice.

“Yeah I am, sorry about that.” The usually flirty and confident magician is nowhere to be found. His cheeks were tinted with a rosy hue of pink as his mind went in spirals.

“No problem, it was nothing.”

An awkward yet (sort of) romantic silence envelopes both of you. The two you staring at each other's eyes and shyly glancing at each other for a few minutes.

Lynette was a hair away from barfing up all of her breakfast and possibly her internal organs.

You were the first to snap out of the trance like state.

“Well, I have to go soon… I’ll see you later I guess?” You ask, waving your farewells to the blonde. Slowly heading back home.

“Yeah, see you later.” Lyney waves back, a smile adorning his gorgeous facial features.

Lynette pops out of her hiding spot, and takes a metal note of her brothers' expression.

“You’re down bad, aren’t you?”

“Lynette!”

@cat-toess 2023 please do not plagiarize or copy on other sites <3 Reblogs are appreciated, but please give credit :D if you have feedback please refrain from being offensive <3

The amount of horrible grammatical errors I found in this is crazy- I sincerely apologize 🥲

Some of my other posts with Lyney...

❁ Lyney Hcs

#lyney #lynette #lynette best wing woman fr fr #lyney x reader #genshin x reader #Genshin #genshin impact #x reader #gn! reader #cat-toess writes!

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neptuneiris · 9 months

Text

detachment (02/03)

did Aemond Targaryen truly loved you?

pairing: prince!aemond × niece!reader

summary: aemond not only breaks your heart after so many love promises, he also breaks his betrothal to you without any justification and announces his betrothal to a baratheon girl. now you will be married soon too.

word count: 7.9k

previous part • next part • series masterlist

hello beautiful people, finally here is the chapter you have been waiting for so long, im so happy, I hope you like it a lot❤ thank you very much for reading🥺

comments and reblogs are always appreciated, thank u, you are all awesome❣

—TWO MOONS AGO.

"I'm so sorry, my sweet girl."

"No, it's all right, mother. Do not worry."

"I know this is not what you wished for but—

"It is my wish."

You interrupt your mother with a small smile that she instantly knows is neither genuine nor convincing, to which she watches you for a few moments without saying anything, watching you intently.

She takes your hand and places the other on your right cheek to come closer and leave a sweet kiss on your left cheek that you allow to feel that love that only she transmits and comforts you.

She then pulls away from you a little without letting go and watches you with a small smile on her lips and a slight gleam in her beautiful lilac eyes.

"You know you have my full support, my love. And don't even think that I will leave you alone in all this," she assures you, "But I know you and you must not lie to me, Y/N."

You know that at this moment your gaze gives you away, as well as all the true feelings you are conveying but you still want to show your mother that you are willing to do your duty.

And it really is your relief that it is this person you are going to marry when it could have been worse.

"Mother, you must not worry about me."

"But of course I do," she tells you instantly, "You're my daughter and I love you."

"I love you too. But this marriage to Cregan Stark couldn't be better not only for me, but for the whole family," you remind her, "He is a respectful and honorable man. I know there will be much respect between us and eventually affection will be born. And we will have all the support of the North when the time comes for you to become queen."

She smiles softly again with that warmth and affection, gently stroking your cheek with her thumb, looking directly into your eyes with all that sincerity and love.

"But he's not the one you wish to marry, is he?"

So all those pent up feelings, they want to come out at that moment. And even more so because of the way she is talking to you and understands you completely.

"Even with all that your marriage to Cregan Stark offers…. it's not him."

You swallow hard and press your lips together, starting to feel the tears want to come out of your eyes, as well as all that feeling for everything that happened and thinking about everything that could have been.

You remember how a while ago everything was fine, how everything seemed fine, how you thought you knew certain things and knew certain people.

However, he broke your heart.

Worst of all, you never knew why. You really wanted to know what had happened, what had changed his mind and if you had done something wrong, but… nothing.

He left you totally in the dark with his reasons. He preferred you to suffer and forget everything as if nothing had happened from one day to the next to accept his sudden betrothal to Floris Baratheon.

And you truly wanted to understand at the time, feeling completely broken and shattered… but he never gave you an answer.

"It doesn't matter anymore, mother. He is betrothed and now so am I. I do not doubt that after my wedding with lord Stark, his with lady Baratheon will happen soon after. He made his decision moons ago and now so have I."

"Very well," she nods at you, "You learned quickly, my sweet girl. Just as I had to when I accepted my fate."

You smile.

"You mean my father?"

"Our story was in short times, always with a lot of duty involved and inconveniences. Until we could finally be together after that horrible night," she tells you softly, "But when you truly love a person, you can't help it and you just want to join your blood with them, no matter what."

You nod, lowering your gaze, understanding.

But really understanding.

You know that feeling and you know exactly who you used to feel that way with. You were even close to being able to bond forever. But now… you're about to do your duty without that person.

"Then, my sweet girl…" your mother says to you, getting your attention again, "I'll just make sure to arrive at King's Landing a day before the wedding, as you asked. Everything will be ready by the time we get there."

You smile softly in her direction, feeling very relieved at that and nod.

"Thank you, mother."

"Anything for you, my love."

After spending part of your afternoon with your mother, you head to another of the great rooms of the Dragonstone castle, where your brothers are practicing High Valyrian and your younger brothers are being cared for by the maids.

You immediately join in caring for your brothers, listening to Jace and Luke's Valyrian, correcting them on some pronunciations and helping them to formulate words correctly.

Then Rhaena enters the room as well to look after and keep little Joffrey company, letting you know that Baela has flown to Driftmark.

Normally as the night draws in, your mother and father also spend time in this Room, all together as a family, a time when Rhaenyra wishes she could freeze and stay all together like this forever.

And that's exactly what she thinks when she enters the Room and sees all her children, or almost all of them, together attending to different duties, with a little smile and loving look on her face.

Daemon is writing something on the large table, to which she turns to him, stroking her barely noticeable two-moon belly, with a new member to the family coming into the world soon, the prince or princess.

"What are you writing, my love?"

Daemon raises his gaze to her, with the seal of House Targaryen about to embed it in the letter.

"The word to Kings Landing with the news of Y/N's marriage to Lord Stark."

"Ah yes, I forgot to do that."

"And that's why I do it for you, ābrazȳrys."

Rhaenyra leaves a soft and loving kiss on her husband's head to continue on her way to her eldest sons, listening attentively to the High Valyrian, just like Y/N, ready to correct them.

Not long after, considering that the distance between Dragonstone and Kings Landing is not too much, the raven arrives at the Red Keep with the new and unexpected news, with Queen Alicent and her father Otto Hightower reading the message.

The Heir, Princess Rhaenyra returns to King's Landing in less than two moons with her prince consort Prince Daemon and her entire family to celebrate the wedding of Princess Y/N Velaryon to Lord Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell.

"This is vile and disgusting news."

"Father—

"With Lord Cregan Stark?" inquires Otto, "Do you know what this means, Alicent?"

"It can't be that bad, still Daeron's wedding to Lady Lannister adds soldiers and ships to us for Aegon's claim. So does Aemond's wedding to lady Baratheon."

"Rhaenyra will have the whole North on her side by the time the time comes and you know it. The whole fucking North fighting for her and her bastard daughter!" Otto exclaims in annoyance, "We can't let that wedding happen."

"Rhaenyra must already be getting everything ready at Dragonstone. And to try to stop her the wedding, she could easily marry Y/N to Lord Stark somewhere else," says the queen, "It will be useless."

"Call the Maester. Call the entire Council, immediately," Otto quickly orders one of his guards, annoyed and desperate.

The guard immediately complies with the Hand's order, so that very soon all the members enter and take their respective seats in the Council Chamber.

But not long after, Aegon and Aemond Targaryen also decide to burst into the room, Aemond mostly noticing that something is wrong and Aegon simply following, his grandsire surprised to see him in his five senses.

"What's the matter?" asks Aemond serious, approaching his mother.

But before his own mother can answer him, his grandsire does, only without answering him.

"Your wedding to Lady Baratheon will happen by the end of this month."

Aemond immediately observes his grandsire without any expression, hiding his surprise well, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room.

"We will send word to Storm's End's, Lady Floris should already be here by in less than five days and prepare everything immediately," Otto continues, "Not too soon after, we will send a raven to Oldtown and Prince Daeron's wedding to Lady Cerelle will also happen."

"May I ask, my Lord Hand, why so hurriedly?" asks lord Lannister.

"Yes, why?" inquires Aemond of his grandsire as well, with a tone of voice and a menacingly serious look.

But Otto Hightower deliberately ignores his grandson.

"Are you not pleased with the news, Lord Jason?" he inquires condecently, "After all, it is your daughter who is to marry a prince of the realm, my grandson."

"Not that I am complaining, my Lord, in fact I have been waiting to hear this news ever since we agreed to join our houses. But I was also hoping, just like my daughter, that the wedding would be relevant and not too attached to another wedding also of another prince of the realm. It certainly would not draw the attention of our people."

"This is not about getting people's attention, nor how attractive the union is, Lord Jason," Otto tells him seriously and clearly annoyed, "You should feel grateful that the union is going to happen, because I remind you that this is about Prince Aegon's claim to the Throne, or have you already forgotten?"

"I asked you a question and I'm not going to repeat myself," Aemond speaks again in his grandsire's direction, serious.

This immediately gets everyone's attention, but in the end it is Queen Alicent who responds in a soft, cautious voice.

"Y/N is going to be married."

This immediately gets Aemond's attention and also Aegon behind him, who was disinterested and even annoyed to hear his grandsire's words about his claim to the Iron Throne.

But this definitely gets his attention, he even watches his brother cautiously, waiting for his reaction, just like his mother.

However, Aemond keeps his usual neutral and at the same time serious face, hiding his true emotions very well, starting to feel how those true emotions run through his whole body and want to explode.

Otto watches him attentively, annoyed and serious, instantly knowing very well what he must be feeling. And that is what he, Otto Hightower, does not want.

"Yes, Aemond, with Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell," he tells him seriously, "You too have already forgotten why you are marrying Lady Baratheon precisely?"

Aemond clenches his jaw, immediately this getting his attention and watching his grandsire with a deadly and threatening look, all this together with his posture showing that he is losing his patience.

And that everyone notices.

"Aemond," Alicent calls out to him, rising from his seat.

"When?"

Aemond's voice interrupts him, in the direction of his grandsire, his whole posture tense and his hands made into fists, his jaw clenched and his gaze like that of a dragon about to burn everything to the ground.

"I told you, by the end of this month your wedding—

"No, when will Y/N's wedding to Cregan Stark be."

He interrupts her in a firm, menacingly serious voice.

"It doesn't matter when it will be," Otto tells him in annoyance, raising his voice higher, drawing everyone's attention, demanding, "What matters right now is that these two weddings happen before the wedding of Rhaenyra's daughter to Lord Stark so as to invite all the great houses, even Cregan Stark and form alliances before Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon."

"In two moons, approximately."

Alicent replies to Aemond, noting how his anger grows more and more as his grandsire speaks, not giving him an answer.

"That's what they said on the raven they sent this afternoon from Dragonstone."

Aemond lowers his gaze, beginning to think about it, about how the wedding will take place here, at King's Landing, where he will have to be present and witness it all…to Y/N, his Y/N, getting married to Lord Cregan Stark.

Lord Cregan fucking Stark.

"I doubt we can do anything about it, my Lord," Jasper Wylde speaks, "The wedding is already a done deal, we will not succeed in convincing Lord Stark to change his allegiance."

"And this is a great advantage for Princess Rhaenyra and her claim," says Jason Lannister, " Her daughter, Princess Y/N and Lord Stark together is an excellent and convenient match."

At the words of some of the council members, Aemond can't help but feel downright sick, thinking of Y/N and Lord Stark.

As you should.

His own mind tells him, feeling the fire and anger coursing through his veins, unable to control himself, thinking about what is really going on here.

"We will do whatever it takes to still have as much support as possible. King Viserys will not last long and by now we would have to secure all possible alliances for when the time comes. If war falls upon us and if we pull this off… fighting Rhaenyra and her alliances won't be so hard."

"She will have the entire North fighting for her, my Lord."

One of the members tells him cautiously, thinking about the number of soldiers Princess Rhaenyra will have at her disposal, also all the people supporting her claim, that adding up to the whole Valley.

"That's why we need to be more clever," Otto Hightower insists, "My grandchildren's weddings will be paramount in this. We need to send a raven to Oldtown, now," he turns to the Maester, "I need Daeron here at King's Landing and your daughter as well, Lord Jason. After Aemond's wedding, he—

"No."

Aemond Targaryen completely interrupts his grandsire in front of the Queen and the entire Council, drawing everyone's attention, surprised by his boldness and deadly behavior in the direction of his grandsire, who also gives him a threatening look.

"You had plenty of time to plan my wedding with Lord Borros' daughter. It's not my fault that until now you are acting when your job as the Hand is to act since you knew the threats," he tells her seriously and completely firm with his words, "If you want a wedding, plan Daeron's, not mine. I will not be a part of your incompetence when I have already given you too much."

"You are forgetting your place, Aemond," Otto warns him in a careful tone and one in which he fully tells him that he does not want to contradict him now.

But Aemond has had enough.

"You are forgetting your place," he replies in kind.

"Aemond, that's enough," his mother calls to him instantly, letting out a long breath, "You don't want to get married now, that's fine. But don't forget that eventually you will have to," she reminds him earnestly, "After all, Lady Baratheon is still your betrothed and she along with Lord Borros expect the wedding to take place soon."

Again Aemond feels sick to his stomach as he listens to his mother's words, thinking of his betrothed, Lady Floris Baratheon. The very thought of marrying her makes him feel unhappy.

But it is the truth… she is still his betrothed and whether he wishes it or not, he will eventually have to marry her, because his family swore an oath with hers, not him, but his family.

And he has to live up to the weight of that oath.

"We should continue to discuss the marriage of Princess Y/N to Lord Stark, my Queen," says the Maester.

"There is nothing more to discuss, the chances are slim with Lord Stark and we will have to focus on bringing the marriage of my son and Lady Cerelle to the attention of the great houses."

Queen Alicent begins to lead the entire Council, as Otto Hightower continues to watch Aemond with daggers in his eyes, serious, furious and incredulous at his behavior.

He thought he already had everything under control, but Otto forgot that he is not a dragon and the blood of the dragon in anyone who possesses it, especially in Aemond, is chaotic and reckless.

"Congratulations, brother."

Aegon catches Aemond's eye, watching him over his shoulder as he gives him a friendly clap on the back, almost whispering his words.

"You said you hoped our sweet niece would soon outgrow you? Well, now she's marrying the lord of all Winterfell," he says with a small smile, "She's definitely outgrown you."

And with nothing more to say, Aegon leaves the Council Chamber, not interested in the matters of the realm, much less to plan a fucking wedding and have his grandsire take it upon himself to form alliances for his claim to the Throne, as if he cares about such a thing.

As Aemond stands still for a few seconds, watching him go, his words repeating over and over in his mind, anger again coursing through his body, fire, hatred.

He wishes he could prove his brother right, but the truth is that he is very wrong.

Unable to stand it any longer, he quickly heads out of the room as well, not wanting nor caring at all to discuss these matters, this room really displeasing him by bringing back bad memories.

And as soon as he faces the corridors of the Keep, again Aemond remains static for a few moments and his mind again thinking about things he really doesn't want to think about.

But he can't help it.

Like that time he also rushed out of this room, leaving the woman he loves behind, tearing her apart in the worst possible way and pretending not to care.

Even as one of the fiercest and most brutal knights of his time, Prince Aemond doesn't know where he found the courage and strength to break Y/N's heart… his Y/N.

He has always characterized himself as an honorable and respectful man, especially to Y/N, but what he did to her… was out of his nature and highly unpleasant.

And once he was in the safety of his chamber, the first thing he did was sit in one of his chairs near his fireplace, wanting to feel the fire, with the realization slowly starting to become clearer to him, realizing what he had done.

Aemond remembers the last time he cried, it was when he was a little boy in one of his episodes over his lost eye.

A terrible migraine kept him awake for a whole day, he couldn't even get out of bed and couldn't bear to see the light of day. His mother held him tight and was there for him all the time, not even leaving him alone for a second.

Alicent tried and ordered everything to make him feel better, but the Maesters couldn't do much and all he could do, all he learned to do since he was a little boy, was to have to endure the pain.

And since then, the first tear falls down his right cheek.

Aemond, upset, angry and disgusted with himself, cries. And he actually allows himself to cry as he remembers his Y/N's precious face completely shattered and red from her crying, her whole look confused and in need of explanations.

And he couldn't even give her that, an explanation.

And the worst part was that they already had it all. It was all said and done, they were going to be husband and wife finally, as they had asked for so much.

But he finally snatched away her illusion and simply left her without explanations. And that's what makes him lose control completely.

Furious, feeling like a coward, an idiot and annoyed with himself, he lets out a growl and starts breaking everything in his room, with despair and anger in his body.

He screams and blames himself for that weight on his shoulders, a weight that does not belong to him, a weight that he had nothing to do with from the beginning and a weight that he had to let go of the woman he loves when he almost had her because of his family's ambition.

That night the servants had to silently clean the room of Prince Aemond, who, unable to bear it any longer, went for a ride in Vhagar, wanting to forget everything and everyone.

And now, in the present, him in the middle of the hall with the thought of Y/N marrying Lord Stark soon… it's too much.

And he knows it's the same feeling she must have felt when he broke her heart.

He couldn't agree more that he deserves it, but he didn't want to let her go either. Nothing he did was really his choice, but that was the right decision.

And now…he still has to face the consequences of his own actions: Y/N's marriage to a man who will not be him.

"There you have it, my princess."

"Thank you, Emelly," you smile at one of your maids, who leaves you a tray with your almost every night tea so you can fall asleep, "You can rest now."

" You don't need anything else, princess?"

"No, I'm good, thank you. See you in the morrow."

"Of course, princess. Get some rest."

The maid leaves your room, who looking at you in your mirror you continue brushing your straight, silver hair, preparing for sleep.

You've already gone to your siblings' and Rhaena's rooms, especially the little ones', to wish them good night.

Your mother and father have also already come to speak with you and have your usual conversations of the night, where they talk about your wedding to Lord Cregan more than anything else, Daemon and Rhaenyra making sure nothing else haunts your mind.

They know that a wedding can cause too much stress, especially when you're marrying the one you didn't expect from the start, talking about duty and what's expected next from you and your husband.

Your older brother Jace had told you it's a stressful but very necessary conversation, considering the next wedding in the family will be his and Baela's.

You let out a long breath, leave your brush on your dressing table and head off to drink your tea, needing to sleep.

You take the cup from the tray in your hands when the napkin catches your attention. You frown and notice how there is something sticking out from under that napkin, hidden but wanting to be seen specifically by you.

You set the cup down on the table and pick up the napkin, curious and wary, realizing that it is the small envelope of a letter, definitely catching your attention more than before.

You analyze it and there is no indication of who the message might be from. So you decide to open it, finding a small sentence and an addressee that makes your heart jump in your chest and your lips parted.

Meet me at our place by the Hour of the Wolf. I need to explain everything to you, please. I will be waiting.

A.T.

Your pulse starts to race, your whole body starts to shake and you read the message over and over again, your system making you feel more emotions and feelings as you read who has sent this to you.

You think to yourself that this must be a joke or even perhaps some kind of trap, thinking that this can't be. But you know it's him.

It's his handwriting, you would recognize it on any piece of paper, as well as the signature he always uses in all his messages, short and subtle.

Now you understand why so much mystery. But you honestly don't understand how he could have gotten his message to you. It's practically impossible.

Unless he hired or paid irrelevant people, because Emelly is extremely loyal to you and would not have done this considering your history with your uncle, as well as anyone else knows it.

Your uncle who right now must be waiting for you.

Your mind tells you as you look at his message in front of you, surprised with your parted lips, with a feeling starting to invade your chest that you don't know exactly what it is but… it causes you some emotion.

And you can't. You truly can't do this.

You remember everything that happened, what he did to you, what his grandsire did to you too, and how broken you felt, how he broke your heart and left you without explanation, only to become betrothed to Floris Baratheon.

You swallow hard, walking to your huge windows, looking out at the night outside and barely lit by the fire torches that light a little of the roads around Dragonstone, looking out beyond the sea, in the direction where that island is and where you and Aemond used to meet.

You press your lips together, feeling a sharp pain in your chest, as well as that uncertainty and beginning to take into consideration what he has written to you on that little piece of paper.

But again… you can't.

You are both betrothed. You are betrothed to Lord Cregan Stark, you will marry him soon and then… probably he will marry Lady Floris Baratheon as well.

You know you shouldn't even consider it, you know you shouldn't feel that curiosity and longing, because he doesn't deserve it.

That's why you make your decision just as he made his moons ago.

Even though you admit that it hurts and even costs you, you still think of yourself, because he doesn't deserve you to feel this way about him, not after all the damage caused.

You don't know what Aemond really thinks, but it certainly isn't entirely wise to ask you to meet in the hour of the Wolf as if nothing had happened.

And what a coincidence that he does this just when your wedding is in a few more weeks.

You stare out over the sea for a few more moments, thinking, but having already made up your mind. You let out a long breath and without hesitation, you head to your fireplace and throw his message into the fire.

Then you head back to your table to drink your tea and drink it all down so you can finally sleep and forget this ever happened.

While on the small island in Blackwater Bay, Aemond Targaryen keeps Vhagar close by, watching as he sits on a huge rock on the sand of the beach towards the direction of Dragonstone, waiting for you.

He doesn't really find much to entertain himself with, beginning to feel anxious with each passing minute and still not seeing any dragons approaching in the night sky, getting up and pacing back and forth, letting out long breaths and trying to calm himself.

He would be a fool not to have thought that maybe you would ignore him and not even in your greatest madness, the other side of the Targaryen coin, would you agree to meet him after all that happened.

Of course he had thought about it. But he still decided to risk it.

But the minutes pass and pass, with Aemond waiting for you, disappointment and reality coming at him like a strong wave every moment he is still there alone on the island.

He feels frustration beginning to course through his body, also anger but not for you, but for himself.

He thinks of your soon marriage to him, Lord Stark and feels more despair coursing through him, not even bearing the thought.

He asks the Seven to you please show up, really wanting to explain himself.

But he knows it is too late. He was never going to get this chance, because he really hurt you too much and he knows it, he knows it and he has the memory more vivid than ever.

But even though he knew it, he can't help but be disappointed as he continues to wait for a dragon in the night sky that never came.

—PRESENT

The days go by too fast after the conversation with your mother and after so many preparations and requests for the wedding.

When the wedding day finally arrives.

Your mother overlooks her pregnancy, considering she is barely four moons pregnant, to ride Syrax and take her with her to King's Landing while you ride Silverwing so you both arrive in the capital a day before the wedding, as you wished.

You try to suppress all feelings along with the nerves of returning to the Red Keep, where there are many buried memories and people from the past. However, you are here for your wedding.

You know that this visit is brief just to get the wedding over with and nothing more, then your family will return to Dragonstone or probably your mother will decide to stay again to take care of your grandsire, while you will go to Winterfell.

You really want to know the North. It was one of the few conversations you had with Lord Stark and he agreed, as well as both of you being present at Court after spending married moons.

And you really have no intention of anything else happening and just let it happen as it should. And just before the sun sets, you and your mother arrive at King's Landing.

You meet your father, your brothers, sisters, also your grandmother Rhaenys and your grandsire Corlys, even also Queen Alicent welcomes you both back and also gives you her congratulations for your wedding.

If you didn't know her, you wouldn't know that her smile is fake. Clearly Alicent didn't want you to marry her son but neither did she want you to marry a person as influential as Lord Stark. But honestly you don't care.

She is the one who directs you and your mother to the king's chambers, to whom your mother wishes to speak and also in case she wants to dedicate a few words to you for your wedding.

On your way back to your room you meet your aunt, sweet Helaena, who welcomes your mother with a charming look and smile, also you, congratulating you on your wedding.

Fortunately you don't meet any other relevant people, just as you didn't see him or his betrothed anywhere, which you are thankful for.

Because the sooner this could happen, without distractions and unexpected inconveniences, the better.

The only thing you remember about that night when you arrived at King's Landing is that you had to drink a large and considerable amount of your tea in order to sleep, not being able to fall asleep because you were thinking about tomorrow.

And honestly also for thinking a little about him.

You were afraid that he would suddenly enter your chamber through the secret door, because surely he hasn't forgotten his request to meet you on the island to explain everything and you never showed up, but fortunately that didn't happen.

And when you least expect it, you are already at the celebration feast with all the guests present, you looking like a bride, waiting for your betrothed, everything going according to your mother's plan.

The common thing in a wedding is to get married at the Septon and then move on to the feast, but in this case, your mother chose the other way around, just like her wedding to your father, Sr. Laenor.

You learned that Alicent had questioned this, but your mother didn't care much, just reminded her that this was how her wedding had once been and that this way, you would feel less overwhelmed, knowing you perfectly well.

When it all begins.

They have already announced the king, also all your family, only the Hightower-Targaryen and also your betrothed are missing.

Your grandsire is seated at the large table next to his wife on the right side, while your mother is seated on his left side, followed by your place and then your betrothed's place. Your father takes a seat at the head of the table on the left side along with your brothers and sisters.

All the lord's and lady's present are spread throughout the Throne Room, as the food will soon be served and the musicians are already in position to begin at any moment.

Your mother at your side holds your hand to give you her support and her soft, sweet smiles in your direction to help with your nerves. Although she also makes sure that your entire appearance is intact.

It was always Rhaenyra's wish that her daughter, her first daughter, would have a wedding like hers was.

She would also prefer a Valyrian wedding, in fact that was her illusion when the king gave his blessing for the wedding between Y/N and Aemond.

But now, things are different and considering that Lord Stark is not Targaryen, clearly, a Westerosi wedding was the best option. And you did not complain at all.

In fact, it filled you with excitement and affection that when your father and grandfather saw you entering the Room, with your appearance for the occasion, they instantly told you that you wore them many years ago, when they were also in this same place and your mother married your father, Laenor.

A white dress with shoulder-length sleeves draws attention with golden details and some chains adorn around your waist with dragon figures.

Your hair falls in elegant waves, reaching above your waist, with some very subtle braids adorning the top of your head.

Your mother wanted some golden pins to be placed between your hair, also jewelry such as gold necklaces, rings and bracelets, to look more and properly like a Targaryen princess.

When at that moment, they announce the missing people at the big table. The people or rather the person you most expected and never wanted to arrive at the same time.

"Prince Aegon Targaryen, first born son of King Viserys Targaryen with his lady wife, Princess Helaena Targaryen."

The doors directly in front of you allow you to see the entrance of your uncle and sweet aunt who together make their way over to you to take a seat beside Queen Alicent.

Aegon's appearance is appropriate, however, due to all the rumors that keep spreading to Dragonstone, his condition is far from the best for a prince of the realm. His tired face with large bags under his eyes and his clear boredom and disinterest in being here is clear.

However, after all he seems to be willing to drink wine and enjoy himself.

But your sweet aunt by his side completely overshadows him once the view is on her and her beautiful sky blue dress with light silver tones and all her bright and sweet look that characterizes her so much.

When they announce the next people and you try not to make a big deal of it once Aegon and Helaena take their seats.

"Prince Aemond Targaryen, second son of King Viserys and Prince Daeron Targaryen, the third and final son of the king."

So both of them, he, now enter the Throne Room and you avoid looking too much, as well as feeling too much.

You try to distract yourself with the fact that you hadn't seen Daeron in a very long time, nor had anyone else, not even your mother or father. You thought he would still be in Oldtown because he wasn't even here for Helaena and Aegon's wedding.

Maybe he really wanted to fly here, but he was not allowed to, maybe because of his age, knowing that Queen Alicent does not like dragons and is very overprotective in that aspect.

But now that you are looking at him, he is tall, very tall. Not as tall as he is, but for his age, he's definitely growing into a man. But even though you want to focus on Daeron, you don't as you focus on him, inevitably.

His walk hasn't changed, neither has that determination, that confidence and that kind of power he possesses just by looking at him, also that fear and respect at the same time.

And his appearance… hasn't changed either.

Maybe his continuous training has made him look a bit stockier of his arms and his body in general, but his hair, his face and his eye patch is the same.

But he gives you the impression that he's even more handsome.

You look away from him in an instant, as everything that happened comes back to you in a matter of seconds, which is inappropriate. But all you can think about is him.

His hugs, kisses, caresses… all those words of love, all those wishes and all those promises… all only to end in an unexplained broken heart. You swore that he and you were destined to burn together. You swore that you would marry in the tradition of your house.

You swore it would be him and you.

But he made his decision.

And now here you are. He's betrothed and so are you, where by the end of the day you'll be married.

You completely avoid looking at his face once he starts to walk up the steps to take a seat next to his brothers, just like Daeron. You don't feel his gaze at any moment, just as you don't dare to look at him either.

When you ask yourself; where is his betrothed?

She must be here for such celebrations if they are betrothed. And you are sure that Floris Baratheon would not want to miss such an important celebration at the Red Keep.

However, he is all alone and his betrothed seems to be nowhere to be found. Doubt lingers but the feast gives you something new to think about when they announce your betrothed.

"Cregan Stark, lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, the future lord husband of the bride, Y/N Velaryon."

At that moment, everyone at the table rises to greet your betrothed who walks towards you with a kind and respectful smile, looking very well for all this celebration. Or at least most of the people at the table stand up….

You can notice out of the corner of your eye how on Queen Alicent's side some people are still seated, but you don't dare look at them, though you get an idea of who they might be.

Still you focus on your betrothed who bows to the king once he arrives at the table and then makes his way to you to take a seat next to you.

Not before taking your mother's hand to plant a gentle kiss on the back of it, which she accepts with a kind and sweet smile and then turns to you and does the same with more affection.

You smile in his direction as you return his gesture by placing a soft kiss on his cheek and then both of you take a seat, as well as everyone else. When your grandsire, the king, gives a short speech before the feast begins.

And once everything has been said, the feast begins. The music starts and the food is served.

You feel his gaze for a few seconds, not long enough, but you don't notice him at all and continue to enjoy the feast. You talk to your mother from time to time and also to your betrothed, that is if your father and Jace are not talking to him asking him about Winterfell and the Wall.

Your sisters also ask you from time to time if you are feeling well and you can only nod, telling yourself that this is really happening and you have to completely ignore his presence.

When the time comes for the opening of the dance.

Cregan rises from his seat first and offers you his hand to lead you to the center of the Room, which you gladly accept and together you walk to dance in full view of everyone, a traditional Westerosi dance.

It is a simple dance, nothing difficult and you really enjoy it, while you focus your gaze at all times on him, Lord Cregan, who also smiles softly in your direction and does perfectly the right steps, all under the watchful eye of all the nobles present and also of your family.

Both of you stand back to back, and then both of you slowly raise your arms to shoulder height, while you can't help it and turn your gaze towards him, already feeling since the dance started his burning gaze.

Aemond has a meaningful look on his face when your gaze meets his, acting nonchalant, watching you intently, raising his wine glass to his lips.

You can only smile really ungracefully and turn your gaze to the front, continuing to dance and focusing only on your betrothed.

While Aemond at all times… wants this to be over and done with. Though I'd prefer to think this isn't really happening.

He feels like an alluring force, as he can't take his eye off of you, looking at you so beautiful in that dress, knowing in an instant that this is not the dress you would have worn for their wedding. But you still look really beautiful.

A true Targaryen beauty.

A warm feeling envelops him every second he sees you there, so perfect, dancing, smiling and catching everyone's attention, his especially at your every move, not realizing that his face gets softer every second as he watches you.

However… everything is replaced by hatred and anger when those smiles are directed at Lord Stark. And by the way he looks at you too… he wants to burn everything to the ground, clenching his hands into fists.

"Easy, little brother."

Aegon murmurs behind him, over his shoulder, amused, his breath smelling very strongly of wine.

"Everyone can sense how you're starting to wake up. You don't want to cause a fucking scene at our niece's wedding because of your jealousy, do you? Grandsire won't be too pleased."

Aemond can only feel that rage come over him more, knowing full well that Aegon has no intention of calming him down, but to provoke him further and do exactly as he has told him.

And he is succeeding.

Especially in the moment when he again focuses on you, smiling at Lord Stark, glowing and looking this beautiful but for him, Lord Stark, not for him, the one she was supposed to marry and be completely his.

And he regrets it so much, he regrets it so much that he called off their wedding and also leaving you without explanation, knowing that this is exactly what he deserves, to see you happy without him.

As the dance of just the two of them ends and a new song begins, in which he watches as Y/N, his Y/N, places one of her hands on Lord Stark's shoulder and the other intertwines with his, his other hand on her waist, this only making him angrier.

A more choreographed dance begins and the nobles in pairs also begin to join the center of the Room to dance, beginning the real celebration.

And Aemond sinking in his own misery, thinks that he could have survived watching Y/N dance with Lord Stark at an appropriate distance. But now they are both chest to chest, smiling and talking about something with all the nobles also dancing around them.

He doesn't understand that important thing that the two of them are talking about, but he doesn't like it at all, neither does the closeness. In fact he doesn't like any of it.

All he wants is to get her away from him, away from all of this and make her his, finally, no matter what.

His breathing starts to get heavier by the moment, thinking that by the time this is over, she will already be married to him and they will go away together, where they will have to consummate the marriage.

The very thought makes him only feel more enraged and more courageous to snatch her from his arms, not caring about her family and his, not caring about his grandsire and his words, not caring about his mother's words either about "you have to control yourself and think of us."

Not only does Aegon notice her state, so does his grandsire, who watches him intently and cautiously, noticing the look on Lord Stark's face more than menacing, about to do something foolish even though he was very clear with him before attending this feast.

He also catches the eye of Rhaenyra, who watches her husband and subtly points to her half-brother, instantly Daemon knowing exactly what is going on.

And how could he not know?

It reminds him of him many years ago, also watching the woman he loves, about to marry someone else who is not him.

He places a small half smile, bringing his wine glass to his lips, watching his nephew attentively and amused, almost expectantly, wondering even though Aemond has his full attention on you, if he will finally do something about it or what.

"Aemond," his grandsire mumbles to him.

But Aemond, beginning to go into his madness, doesn't watch or listen to him, watching you intently.

"Aemond, I'm warning you," his grandsire insists.

"Oh come on grandsire," Aegon tells him amused, "You know it will be useless. I can tell you don't know him."

And even though Aemond is immersed in his madness, he still thinks and remembers the words of his grandsire and mother.

"I will overlook that it was you who prevented the raven to Storms Ends from arriving when you knew perfectly well that your betrothed should have been here days ago."

His mother tells him seriously and annoyed.

"Now you will attend this wedding alone and I expect you to behave yourself. Just as I expect you to come to terms with the idea that you will marry Lady Baratheon by the end of next month, without protest."

"And you are not going to commit any of your foolishness at the Y/N wedding, do you understand me?" Otto immediately threatens him, "You're not going to talk to Y/N, you're not going to threaten Lord Stark either, and you're going to let the wedding happen in peace, is that clear? "

Aemond feels a bitter feeling, continuing to watch you attentively and him watching threateningly, with the fire in his body about to explode.

"You know what your problem is, grandsire?" Aegon says to Otto Hightower, who watches him seriously and on the verge of losing his patience, "You question the blood of the dragon too much."

And in that same instant, Aemond rises from his seat in a confident movement, with his gaze firmly fixed on you, who are completely disinterested in what is happening with him, completely focused on Lord Stark.

And Aemond's movement completely catches the attention of his grandsire, his mother, also your mother and father, who in an instant look at each other, definitely remembering the past.

Aemond makes his way towards you, not caring about anything.

He doesn't care about his mother and grandsire, he doesn't care about the war that will probably befall them when his father dies, the only thing he cares about at this moment is you.

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