#maybe ill extend this into something real later

[michanvalentine]

Things about Vincent Valentine that I read around and piss me off. Vol.2

"Vincent was too shy and passive. He is an idiot."

Usually in reference to his attitude towards Lucrecia after the breakup. As if he could somehow save his relationship with her (and thus prevent everything else). I say yes, perhaps he could have sought further clarification, but for me the situation has never been so simple and linear.

Ok, let's start from the beginning. First of all, Vincent is a sensitive and intelligent person, with an above-average education. A person who thinks a lot, even too much. So calling him an idiot, especially in such a context, is really having a superficial reading of the character. Honestly, this statement bothers me a lot even when it is extended to the other part: Lucrecia. But that's another story... Secondly, let's remember that the two had a real relationship. In DoC Vincent was never a sort of stalker fixated on Lucrecia despite the unrequited love, as he might have appeared in the OG (unless the remake wants to tell yet another story.) Even Hojo was aware of their love story, in fact when Lucrecia pronounces the fateful "Yes, doctor" he says: "So you've come to your senses and chosen me." And I don't think Hojo was exactly the type to care about gossip.

That said, I would add my interpretation on Vincent's "passivity". A while ago I read a comment, something like: Lucrecia went with Hojo to gauge how much Vincent cared about her, since she thought he hated her due to the Grimoire's death. So she was waiting for Vincent to react and take her away from Hojo, but Vincent was just too shy and passive to do something so outrageous. I couldn't help but respond to this comment like this: This would be a really sick way of demanding attention. In this case Lucrecia would be truly mentally ill and Vincent would simply be a sane person who behaves properly. I believe there are several biases in this regard. First and foremost, the old-fashioned concept of Prince Charming rescuing the damsel in distress. Which I hate. Secondly I don't think Lucrecia left Vincent because she thought he despised her for the Grimoire incident. Otherwise she wouldn't have needed to push him away, because in that case Vincent himself would have been the one to leave her. No, the reasons are different:

Feelings of guilt led her to think she couldn't be by his side. As if Vincent didn't deserve someone as bad as her in his life.

Every time she looked at Vincent, given the extreme similarity, she saw Grimoire again and remembered the event that had traumatized her.

Obviously Lucrecia didn't put Vincent to the test, she was determined to put as much distance as possible between her and Vincent because she felt it was right for him and too painful for her to continue. Stop. The relationship with Hojo is an addition, but also desired for other reasons. She neither expected nor wanted to be saved. Not to mention that Vincent is not Lucrecia's father and had neither the responsibility nor the duty to do so. She is an adult. Certainly, by breaking off their relationship, Lucrecia has also made a decision for Vincent. He didn't object, he passively accepted and stepped aside. But are we sure he could have done otherwise? Are we sure he could change Lucrecia's mind? How exactly? Young Vincent was naive and introverted, but Vincent's passivity in this case was also determined by other factors. Maybe he could have made his feelings about Grimoire's death and about Lucrecia more clear. But at the same time I think it wasn't necessary, because they were obvious. It's Lucrecia who no longer knows what her true feelings are. And she will only be able to clarify them for herself later, in fact at the end of DoC she will confess to Vincent: "I finally realized my true feelings. Even if you may never understand them".

But let's analyze the facts and see how they unfolded. Given the above, at first Lucrecia was so focused on herself due to guilt that she was numb to everything else. Even to Vincent. In DoC, when Vincent discovers the file on Grimoire, Lucrecia yells at him to "stop it". She doesn't want to listen and at the same time she doesn't give him a chance to express himself. Likewise, after apologizing to him, she ran away without giving him a chance to reply. And let's remember that out of the blue he was left by the love of his life for no valid reason, at least from his point of view. Not to mention that Grimoire's death must have been painful for him too. Reacting is not easy when you are confused, grieving and heartbroken. From that moment on, Vincent Valentine was completely cut out of Lucrecia's life. Lucrecia keeps him at a distance, due to points 1 and 2 above, and as a final barrier she puts Hojo in the middle (of course, the scientist is there too for other reasons). In the scene around the table, when Vincent asks her "if she's sure", Hojo really seems like a wall between the two that still prevents direct confrontation. And Lucrecia appears clearly angry that he has come forward with objections. At the Shinra Mansion Vincent Valentine seems to have no say in anything. Lucrecia doesn't give him the chance to argue, Hojo first rudely silences him because he's just a Turk and then definitively closes his mouth with a bullet. But even if silenced, Vincent's feelings and intentions remain evident. Even Hojo knew them, in fact when he discovers that Lucrecia is experimenting on Vincent's body he says: "How happy this fellow must be. Helping his beloved even after he's begun rotting away." Lucrecia herself, through her data, at a certain point in DoC will say: "I pushed you away, but… now I realize, I never wanted to lose you." And again later: "I made so many mistakes. And I hurt you so, so much. Why did I do what I did?" Deep down Lucrecia knew she had pushed him away for her own personal reasons, and not because he despised her or anything. She knew she had made a mistake, of having been blinded by fear and guilt, that she had mortified his feelings and that she had made him suffer for it, especially because the breakup had been practically forced on him. So I repeat: should he continue to chase Lucrecia, proclaiming his love like a crazy in the hope of changing her mind? Let's pretend he had the opportunity (always excluding kidnappings or ambushes). He could have to, yes, but in addition to reiterating the obvious and saying things already known even to the person concerned (after all, if there is something imperishable, capable of overcoming pain, time and even death, it is the love that Vincent Valentine feels for Lucrecia), she probably wouldn't have listened to him anyway. Because, as Vincent would say, "she was always like that, only believing what she wanted to."

#vincent valentine #ff7 #ff7 rebirth #ffvii #ffvii rebirth #final fantasy rebirth #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii rebirth #final fantasy 7 #lucrecia crescent #final fantasy 7 rebirth

[heliza24]

Being a physically disabled Dimension 20 fan breaks my heart sometimes

I’ve been thinking about this since last Wednesday’s episode when we finally got a real scene with Lydia, one of the few physically disabled characters in the entire canon of the show. It was nice, but it was really just a lore dump. An excuse for exposition. A moment for Kristen to look good by expending sympathy/pity. (I’m a little frustrated about how that interaction went down. Extending the help action was nice but patronizingly touching the neck of a full-ass adult without consent was not. It was weird and not something she would have done to a nondisabled character).

I have watched almost all of D20 (still missing a couple of seasons) and as far as I know here’s where our list of canon physically disabled characters stand: Lydia Barkrock, Jan de la Vega (who feels pretty problematic to me, maybe more on that in a later post), one of the Dwarven statues in the temple in The Seven (who is not given the dignity of being brought to life like Asha), and Pete’s coworker in TUC2 who is in exactly one episode and is so unimportant I have forgotten his name. I guess you could make an argument that Gunny is disabled, but I don't feel that Lou or Brennan really talk about him or play him through that lens. So in terms of canon physically disabled PCs-- that leaves us with 0.

We do a bit better with neurodivergent characters and characters with mental health problems; Ayda (my beloved) is very well developed and Adaine is a PC. There have been some openly neurodivergent players, like Omar and Surena, whose characters also read ND to me. But that isn’t labeled or discussed in canon, so it's hard for me to know where to class that. I am going to focus the rest of this post on physical disabilities, since that is my area of lived experience. If another fan wants to write about their perspective of neurodivergence rep in the show, I would love to hear that, and will happily amplify.

There has never been a character with a sensory disability or a limb difference or a chronic illness (not a fantasy one, a real one) on Dimension 20. The only NPCs we have are nondescript, similar wheelchair users. And there has never been a physically disabled player at the table. On the flagship show of Dropout, a company founded on diversity and inclusion. It feels extremely pointed to me.

In fact as far as I can tell there has only been one (1) physically disabled performer on any of Dropout’s shows. (Shout out to Brett, you were great on Dirty Laundry.) Obviously I haven’t seen every episode of everything they have produced. If I have missed someone, please do let me know in the comments/reblogs. But it’s a problem. And Sam Reich even agreed with this criticism when I asked him directly about.

I do really hope they’re working on it, as Sam says. But why has it taken so long?

Dimension 20 has had trans and nonbinary and queer players. It has had players of many different races. I’m not saying that the diversity here is perfect; there should always be more POC in the dome, more queer people. We should keep pushing for that. (And we should also push for performers at the intersections of these identities!) But we’ve seen the ways this diversity has expanded and improved the different seasons, because diverse players create sensitively drawn, diverse player characters. They add details to their PC’s experiences that make them feel rich and alive. I’m thinking about each of Ally’s PC’s incredible capital G gender and Aabria “all my characters (even the stoats) are Black” and how excellent they all are. D20 would not be the show it is without this input.

And yet. And yet.

There are 1,000 interesting and complicated themes to explore around disability. Dealing with access. Dealing with ableism. Dealing with compassion and community care. Dealing with none of it and just being a cool fantasy or sci fi character that happens to be disabled. We don’t get any of it.

I watch my favorite show and I see myself in the ace rep and the female characters. But I don’t see all of me. I see a silent but ever present message: you aren’t quite welcome here.

I have this fantasy that I play in my brain sometimes that someday I’ll get to talk to Brennan in person, like maybe if I buy a VIP ticket and risk Covid to go to a live show or we run into each other on the street or something. I am able to look him in the eye and articulate why he NEEDS to include a physically disabled player in an upcoming season. I reference the ways he’s talked about inclusion and writing diversely on Adventuring Party. Maybe I hand him a handwritten letter, or hell, a printout of this post. And because he really cares about diversity and his shows and his fans he would listen to me, and cast a physically disabled performer in the next season.

But I think that might be giving that nondisabled man (whose work I adore, who I respect so much) too much credit. Because he’s had Jennifer Kretchmer, a physically disabled actual play performer, on adventuring academy to talk about access in gaming. He’s hired disability consultants. He knows about physically disabled people, enough to give us shoutouts as inconsequential npcs. And he still hasn’t thought to include us at the table. In over 20 seasons. None of that other stuff matters if we aren't given a seat at the story telling table, and the agency to craft our own narratives equal to other participants in the game.

When Lydia was telling her story in the last episode, I kept wishing for a prequel, where she is more than a plot delivery device and a kind but unimportant parent. I want to know about her adventures with her adventuring party. I want to see a talented, wheelchair-using actor play out the scene when she decides to put the gem in her chest. I want to hear about what happened after. I want to know how she survived. I want it so badly it hurts.

I am in the process of trying to find new indie actual plays that feature more disabled talent. I am learning how to GM myself so I can tell these kinds of stories. But it’s not the same as being a fan of something. Sometimes I don’t want to have to make my own representation. Sometimes I just want to turn on my favorite tv show, the one that I have cosplayed from and written metas about and loved whole heartedly, and see myself included.

If you’re another disabled or neurodivergent fan I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. If you’re not, I’d love for you to reblog this. I would love for the absence of physical disability in this show to be a topic of fandom conversation, at the very least.

#dimension 20 #d20 #my crip media reviews #being a fan is hard sometimes #and being disabled means you get left out of “diversity” all the time #I love this show so much it hurts #I wish it could love me back a little bit more #fantasy high junior year #fantasy high #my meta #dropout #dropout tv #Sam reich

[aristrocrat]

Upside Down Feelings 2

Chapter Four & Five: Will the Wise / Dig Dug

COAUTHOR OF THE SERIES: @mitchloveswriting show her some luv bc I couldn't do iw :,)

summary: Eddie and Y/N have a sweet moment the morning after they make things official. Steve asks Y/N for help winning Nancy back

word count: like 5240

tw: sexually suggestive language and not edited (oops)

In the beginning, you’d only come to him when you needed a distraction. When you were angry or upset, the first thing that crossed your mind was Eddie. The way his lips moved against yours was mesmerizing; it was enough to silence your mind if any racing thoughts or overwhelming feelings. The taste of menthol cigarettes mixed with beer made him feel like God’s forbidden fruit: tempting, sweet, sensual and sinful. If your friends and family knew that mouth had kissed every inch of you, or the sounds that tongue coaxed out of you- they’d never look at you in the same way. Maybe that’s what always made you come back in the early days. The danger.

You’d always come over with the prettiest little fuck-me eyes he’s ever seen. What was a boy to do when the girl he’d liked for two years was on her knees begging for him to make her feel good? Even if he couldn’t have you in the way he wanted, he’d take you in whatever form you’d grant him.

Just sex, you’d told him. Nothing more.

One day, you came over with wet mascara streaks still fresh on your cheeks. You barely gave him a second to react to the sight before your lips crashed onto his own. For the first time ever, he pulled away. He couldn’t give you what you were asking for, not in the state you were in.

So he sat you down on his couch, grabbed you a glass of water, and listened to you rant. You spoke of some argument you’d had with your mother. He didn’t know you as well as he used to, but something told him those tears were the cause of a bigger issue. You later revealed it was the anniversary of your step father’s death.

That was the first time you both realized just how much you had in common and how naturally you both spoke to one another. You both had shitty fathers. You both had a beloved parental figure die at a young age. You both seemed to cope in similar ways: steering clear of love and using sex to cover up the pain.

Friends with benefits, you’d told him. Nothing more.

Once a month turned into once a week turned into spending more time with each other than apart. You grew on him in a way that no one ever had before. He loved the way you spoke about your favorite bands with such passion, and genuinely listened and liked the new ones he showed you. He loved the way you always begged him to teach you guitar, and the way you pouted when your fingers began to hurt from the metal strings. He loved the way you always felt the need to sit on your knees and wave your arms around when you explained some big, elaborate story from your childhood. He loved your laugh. He loved your sense of humor. He loved your heart just as much as he loved your body.

He loved you.

And he knew that, although you’d couldn’t admit it to yourself, you loved him too. You showed it in the way you looked at him, the way your lips kissed his jaw when you thought he was asleep, the way you’d laugh at his jokes, no matter how stupid or ill-timed they were. You were willing to ditch your no-relationship rule so you could preserve these intimate moments for just the two of you.

If it wasn’t love, it was as close as you’d let yourself get to it.

You might’ve not been willing to fall in love, but he made a promise to himself to show you what real love is. It was fun and easy. It wasn’t nearly painful as you believed it to be. Even if he wasn’t your last love, at least he could open your mind to the idea of it.

It was the least he could do for the girl that did the same for him.

“You make me feel like a bad influence,” Eddie chuckled, watching his warm breath form into smoky moisture as he placed a cigarette into your extended hand. “You were such a good girl before me.”

“I just wanna see what all the fuss is about!” You laughed, placing it between your lips. God, he hated to admit just how sexy cigarettes looked when they were wrapped between your lips. “Come on, Eddie! Give me a light.”

“Y/N,” He groaned hesitantly, not wanting to corrupt the sweet girl beside him more than he already has. “If I didn’t already have a special place in hell reserved for me before this, I definitely do now.“

“And suddenly he’s afraid of hell?” You teased, making him chuckle. He looked down to play with his black lighter, weaving it around his fingers as he bit his lip in thought. “You look so cute when you’re concerned.”

“I’m stealing your innocence. Of course, I’m concerned!” He shouted playfully. “You used to wear high ponytails and conservative jeans. Now you’re wearing these sexy little dresses with my leather jacket and those damn leather boots with your hair- Oh, my God. Your hair looks so good in those messy curls and-“

“Eddie,” You giggled. “What’s your point?”

“Sorry, what was I talking about?” He shot you a lopsided grin.

“You were about to hand me that lighter.”

“Yeah, nice try,” He chuckled.

“Eddie!”

“What?! Can you blame me for feeling a little guilty?” He pouted.

“Yes, because I’m consenting to all of it. Hell, I’m the one that initiates most of the bad things we do! Now give me a damn light!”

“Let’s count the amount of firsts you’ve shared with me, shall we?” He held out his hand in front of your face before counting on his fingers. You rolled your eyes and sighed with annoyance.

This was not as easy as you thought it was going to be.

“I was the first person you had sex with, the first person you got drunk with. I’m your first real relationship.

“Baby, come on! Just-“

“Ah, ah! Let me finish!” He pressed a warm finger against your lips as he continued. “First time sneaking out to spend the night at a boy’s house. And now your first cigarette?? You are so landing me in the seventh circle of hell for this one, Y/N.”

“I just wanna try it!” You laughed, reaching for the lighter in his hand but he was quick to move it. He chuckled before reaching forward and snatching the cigarette out of your mouth. “Hey!”

“I’m giving it back. Don’t worry,” He put the cigarette between his own lips with a smirk, lighting it and taking a long drag before speaking up again. “Don’t tell your friends about this. If they find out, they’re gonna tell the church.”

Eddie adjusted in the driver’s seat of his van before turning to you. He took a quick look around the school parking lot to make sure the coast was clear before grazing his thumb across your lips and gently forcing them to part.

“Open up. And take a small drag. Breathe it out of your window,” He said before he placed the cigarette between your warm lips.

You looked him in the eye in an attempt to be sexy. Then as you breathed it in, it felt like a punch to the chest. You instantly turned to the window and erupted violently into a coughing fit, making him throw his head back in laughter as he took it out of your hand.

He rubbed your back as you continued to choke on the remainder of the smoke before you began laughing weakly. “Is it me or is the world spinning right now?”

“That, my sweet, innocent angel, is a nicotine buzz,” He laughed, leading you back to sit on a nearby lawn chair. “Pretty great, huh?”

You shook your head in disagreement, face still scrunched up from the burning sensation in your lungs. “Never again. Help, my fingers are really cold now!”

"Cold fingers? Well, we can't have that!" You rolled your eyes fondly and held your hands out. He smiled, bringing them to his lips. His warm breath danced around your palms as he pressed your fingers to his cheeks.

“Better?” He smiled at the way your gaze of pure adoration. Jesus, he could melt on the spot.

“Mhm,” You nodded with a smile. “Better.”

"It's a good thing you don't like it. Disgusting habit." He shrugged and you giggled, a glint in your eye as you stroked his jaw with your thumb.

"Hm, I don't know about disgusting. It's actually pretty hot, if you ask me." Eddie didn't look impressed.

"Really?" He deadpanned and you shuffled a little closer to him. He eyed your movement suspiciously and you simply smiled innocently.

"At least it's hot when you do it."

"Really?" And suddenly he sounded much more interested.

"Mhm…" You nodded, but it was muffled by the soft kiss he proceeded to press to your lips.

He pulled away and pressed his forehead to your own, admiring your bashful smile.

"So you're still coming tonight, right?" He asked and you nodded, causing him to pull his head away.

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it, Eds." Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, he loved it when you called him that.

"Do you need a ride or anything? I mean I'll have all the boys with me, but I could make two trips if you need." You shook your head, your cheeks began to hurt from smiling so much.

That was Eddie though, you couldn't not smile around him.

"No, Eddie, it's okay. You should focus on the show. I expect a top notch performance tonight, understand?" He nodded and brought his hand up to his head in a salute.

"Yes, ma'am!"

———

“Hey, Henderson!” Steve called from behind you as you loaded up the few books you needed for the night into your bag. Within seconds, he took his usual spot beside you, leaning on the locker and peering past yours to look at you as he spoke. “Jesus, Y/N, I’ve been trying to talk to you all day but your freak of a boyfriend kept beating me to it.”

“Harrington, if you want me to keep playing along with the role of ‘close friend’, I recommend you stop calling my boyfriend a freak,” You rolled your eyes as you zipped your bag closed. “Plus, you don’t have to worry about that happening again. He just wanted to stick around today since we made things official last night.”

“Oh, shit,” His eyes widened as you both made your way towards the exit. “You’re being serious?!”

“Mm, as a funeral.”

“No fucking way! There’s no way Eddie Munson just bagged you! Not with that long hair and those weird curtain bangs and tattoos-“

“I happen to like his hair and tattoos,” You interrupted, making him laugh. “What is so funny?”

“I’m not laughing at you,” He chuckled, shaking his head as he opened the door for you. You continued to walk a step ahead of him as you listened to him talk. “I’m laughing because Billy was asking me about you earlier. And I told him the whole rock and roll douchebag thing he has going on wasn’t exactly your type. But I guess I stand corrected.”

“Pft- Oh, please! Eddie is everything Billy thinks he is. I don’t have a type, but you have one thing right: I don’t go for douchebags. I’m not into pretentious boys who think they’re better than everyone just because they’re pretty and aggressive,” You scoffed, watching as Steve smirk. “Why are you smiling?”

“Not a douchebag my ass!”

“You know, he’s a really good guy, Steve. I know everyone gives him shit but those rumors just aren’t true. He’s kind and caring and empathetic and I happen to be excited about my new relationship with him. If you really wanna be friends, then stop teasing me about him and be happy for me.”

“… So it’s not just a phase?” Steve blinked. “You actually like him?”

“You sound like my mother,” You rolled your eyes as you both walked up to his car. “Yes, Steve. I actually like him. A lot.”

You paused and placed your hands on top of the roof of his BMW as you continued your spiel.

“I mean, I’m sure you probably felt this with Nancy, but you know that feeling when you finally find someone that you can be your most authentic self around and get praised for it? Someone to tell your stupid jokes to, to rant to or cry with. It’s like being best friends but with fun benefits.”

His heart sunk into his stomach.

Is that what he was supposed to feel with Nancy?

There was no denying the fact that he loved her, but he felt like he needed to act a certain way to be accepted by her. He often suppressed his sense of humor or desires because he knew she wouldn’t react well. In his experience, every time he began to show her his authentic self or tried to tell his stupid jokes, she’d roll her eyes or groan with frustration. Steve just always assumed everyone was supposed to mold themselves to fit those they loved. He’d done it his whole life. How was a relationship any different?

He blinked in realization as he took his seat behind the wheel. The last thing he expected from teasing you about your new relationship was to have the girl who didn’t believe in love show him what it was like to be in love.

“Did she ever talk about me like that?” He breathed as he reached to turn the ignition. You looked over with confusion. “Nance. Has she ever told you how excited she was to be with me or defend our relationship?”

“She defended it like her life depended on it,” You snorted, making him smile. “Did she ever tell you why we stopped being friends back during sophomore year?”

“Not really,” He shook his head. “I always found it odd that she suddenly stopped talking about you. I asked but she told me it was just a small falling out.”

“Just a small falling out,” You echoed bitterly, earning a look of confusion. You quickly recollected yourself; it was not your place to tell her boyfriend the truth. Not when it shone a bad light on her. “I told her it was a stupid idea to go out with you. I assumed you were just trying to get another notch under your belt. And I said that she was acting like someone she wasn’t just to gain your validation. I told her you’d only break her heart.”

He furrowed his brows, wondering if you were speaking from your own experience with him.

“That argument is what led us to that small falling out,” You sighed. “Even after everything happened with Barb, when we started looking for her with Jonathan, Nancy never hesitated to stand up for you every single time we’d talk shit about you.”

“Really?” He smiled.

“Yeah, really,” You laughed. “God, I remember thinking it was so fucking annoying. Yet, here I am doing the same thing.”

“But, uh…” He bit his lip nervously, as if he almost didn’t want to ask the follow up question. Or he didn’t want to know the answer. “What about recently? Because she said everything changed after what we found out about Barb.”

“I don’t know,” You shrugged. “I don’t really talk to Nancy as much anymore. And when I do, you’re there. And it’s kinda hard to talk shit about someone when they’re standing right beside you.”

“Oh, fuck off,” He chuckled, putting his car into reverse. He placed his right hand on the back of your headrest as he turned around to check for any passersby before he began driving out of the school parking lot.

That was only partially true. The fact of the matter was that, as of recently, you found yourself defending Steve more than Nancy ever has. She constantly complains about his immaturity and his inability to write college admission essays. You were the one reminding her of his big heart and his love for her. Eventually, you got tired of playing relationship councilor and stopped hanging out with them all together. With the exception of dinner with the Pursers.

“So what’s the plan?” He asked. “You got any ideas as to how I can win her back?”

“Duh,” You laughed, grabbing a little piece of paper from the side pocket of your backpack. “Okay, we need to drop by the store and buy some red roses and chocolates. Her favorite flowers are Daisies but she told me she subscribes to the red roses for apologies method. And I came up with a rough draft for a speech but we need to Steve-ify it.”

“Okay, what do you got so far?” He asked as he pulled onto the main road.

“I was thinking something like,” You cleared your throat before dropped your voice to sound like a surfer boy. “Babe, listen. I’ve been thinking-“

“Hey! I do not talk like that!” He rolled his eyes. “You’re making me sound like a character from Cheech and Chong’s Up In Smoke!”

“Shut up! I’m getting into character!” You smiled, making him chuckle and motion for you to continue on with your stupid voice. “Babe, listen. So I’ve been thinking, and I love you. I’m sorry-“

“I’m sorry?!” He interrupted again. “What the hell am I sorry for?!”

“I don’t know! Come up with something to be sorry for!”

“Baby, listen. So I’ve been thinking. And I’m sorry for thinking you love me even after you’ve said it a million times!” He mocked your tone, making you laugh wholeheartedly. He looked over and smiled before continuing. “I was just under the influence that when someone says ‘I love you and I want to be with you’, I should fucking believe them! My mistake. Anyways, here are some roses. Can we get back together now so we can continue to pretend to be in love?”

“Perfect!” You gave him a round of applause to which he pretended to bow down. “I’d also add the word ‘bullshit’ in there to really drive the point home.”

He shook his head and chuckled.

“Remind me why I want her back?”

“Beats me,” You shrugged. “I assumed she was like really good in bed.”

“Wh-” Steve’s smile dropped and looked over at you with wide eyes as a blush began to creep up on his cheeks. “No! We aren’t talking about this!”

“Is she?” You continued. There was something so enjoyable about watching Hawkins High’s It Boy stutter and stammer.

“No! I mean- I-I didn’t mean to say no as in she’s not good- I just m-meant..” He drew in a frustrated breath. “I’m not talking about this with you! You’re her innocent friend that shouldn’t be exposed to-“

“Okay, so that’s a no,” You smirked. “That doesn’t surprise me. You both seem very vanilla.”

“No! No, that is not a no. That is a ‘that’s something that stays between me and my girlfriend’.”

“Ex girlfriend,” You corrected.

“Yes. Thank you for reminding me of that, Henderson. I almost forgot what the purpose of this fucking hang out was,” He rolled his eyes as you threw your head back in laughter. “I’m glad you’re finding pleasure from my pain. Which store sells roses?”

“United on 121st,” You giggled, pointing at the store up ahead. You smiled as you looked down at the list in your hands. “We should also get her some chocolates. Her favorites are the Ferrero Rocher. But she also likes vanilla cupcakes-“

“WE ARE NOT VANILLA!” He shouted with annoyance, making you double over in laughter. “WHAT?! We’re not! We get kinky! We do some really freaky stuff! Like so kinky that-“

“Staying in missionary the whole time isn’t considered to be kinky, Steve,” You managed to get out.

“Okay. Ha. Ha. Laugh away! Steve’s sex life is such a funny joke!” He grumbled. “As if that geek boyfriend of yours knows anything about being kinky..”

“That’s what I thought too,” You shrugged.

“Staying in missionary the whole time isn’t considered to be kinky, Y/N,” He mocked, making you chuckle and roll your eyes. Steve knew you well enough to know that if you weren’t arguing to defend your stance, you genuinely meant what you were saying. His innate curiosity got the best of him. “No fucking way.”

You looked up with an innocent smile.

“I don’t believe you,” He narrowed his eyes

“Then don’t believe me.”

“There’s no way that Dungeons and Dragons freak knows anything about-“

“He likes to play with wax,” You interrupted, frustrated with the mean nickname. Steve’s eyes got wide, like a deer in headlights.

“L-Like candles?”

“Mhm, you know- he lets it drip on me and then uses his pocket knife to gently wipe the hardened wax off of me,” You explained casually as bent over to tuck the piece of paper neatly into your bag again. Steve’s lips part in surprise. He looked over just in time to see your shirt ride up your back. He half-expected to see a tramp stamp after that comment.

He glanced at the road again for a moment before his eyes were drawn back to your body. He couldn’t help but notice the way your back arched slightly as you leaned forward- or how those thigh high stockings hugged your thighs the same way his hand wanted to in that moment.

When you sat back up, you readjusted your shirt and skirt without a second thought. His eyes trailed back to your face to see the light makeup and trace of lipgloss covering those plump lips of yours.

You furrowed your brows, never having seen that look in his eyes before: so dark and lustful that you barely recognized him. You hated how much you liked the way desire looked on him.

But it was only for a split second before he blinked and looked back at the road as if the filthiest images of you weren’t running rampant through his mind. It almost made you doubt you saw it in the first place.

“So, uh,” You began. “Back to the apology..”

Your voice trailed off as his attention continued to wander through the depths of filth that he could usually keep at bay.

Sure, there was no denying the unavoidable chemistry the two of you shared. He wasn’t blind to his attraction towards you but keeping his thoughts about you to a minimum was child’s play; all he had to do was remind himself that you were his girlfriend’s best friend, and his loyalty would shut off the thought of you like a switch. Though he couldn’t keep the thoughts of you from arising, he could always bury them back down as a way to respect his relationship, as well as his blooming friendship with you.

Up until that moment, he’d seen you as Nancy’s sweet and innocent friend- the girl he’d shared his sweet and innocent first kiss with back in middle school. Maybe you were loud mouthed and wore outfits that demanded the gaze of any person attracted to feminity, but he made himself believe it was an act. A facade.

But it felt as if the wall that guarded him from seeing you in an erotic light had melted into a hot pile of wax. All he could imagine were the sweet whimpers that fell from your lips when those hot drops of wax landed on your soft, delicate skin- the quivering of your breath when the sharp knife gently scraped across your skin to relieve you of the hardened wax prison on your pretty stomach, your arched back, and your perky-

“STEVE, WATCH OUT!” You gasped, grabbing his arm and snapping his attention back to the road. He quickly hit the breaks as he saw a jogger and her dog cross the street, stopping just in time to to spare their lives. “Jesus, dude! This whole Nancy thing must really be weighing you down. You want me to drive?”

How could you be so naive? He thought. The thought of you is intoxicating enough to make me drive like I’m under the influence.

“N-No, I’m good,” He breathed as he felt the familiar burning sensation of a red blush tickle the skin on his cheeks and nose. “What were you saying about the apology speech?”

———

“Flowers?” You asked as Steve drove out of the parking lot that you sat at for an hour as you constructed his take-me-back speech.

“Check.”

“Chocolate?”

“Check.”

“And apology speech! Looks like you got everything!” You grinned. “Could you take me home? I need to get ready for Eddie’s concert tonight.”

“Why? You look fine,” He said without a second thought.

The comment took you aback. It wasn’t even meant to be a compliment but the way he said it without even feeling the need to look at you made those pesky butterflies that were reserved just for him come back for the first time in a while. You bit back a smile and chuckled as you took the price tags and calorie counts off of the items. He looked over to see the soft blush on your cheeks as you kept your gaze strategically averted.

How you could go from being the object of his filthiest desires to being the cutest thing he has ever laid eyes on was beyond him.

Fuck, Steve. Snap out of it! He thought. Take her home.

“Besides, I’d really like for you to come with me,” He shrugged.

So much for taking her home.

You looked up in time to see his big brown eyes linger on your own before they were back on the road. You watched as his thumb bounced up and down nervously on his steering wheel. “As like moral support or whatever.”

“You want me to come with you to Nancy’s?” You scoffed. “No way! We’re not exactly on the best terms. Besides, how bad would it look on you if you brought the girl you stayed the night with after your big argument?”

“Y/N, come on-“

“No. Nope. Take me home,” You frowned, watching as he took a left turn instead of taking the the one that led to your house. “Steve!”

“I’ll be quick, alright? You’ve stuck with me so far, what’s five more minutes?” He bargained, looking over to see you with your arms crossed over your chest. If looks could kill. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Then take me home!” You scolded. He looked over at you with a guilty smile and continued to drive towards Nancy’s house. “I will throw myself out of this car if you don’t turn around in three seconds, Steve.”

“You wouldn’t,” He squinted over at you.

“Three.”

“You’d rather die than go to Nancy’s?”

“Two.”

“This is a little dramatic, don’t you- WOAH OKAY STOP REACHING FOR THE DOOR HANDLE!” He gasped, reaching over to grab your wrist and yank it down. The car swerved a bit before he regained control again. He looked over at you with a scowl. “Are you fucking crazy?! Jesus, dude. What are you? Twelve?!”

“Take me home, Steve,” You said sternly, yanking your arm out of his grasp. “I have to get ready. I don’t have time for-“

“Wow! Would you look at that?” He smiled sarcastically as he parked the car outside of the Wheeler’s house. “We’re here!”

“You know, for a moment there, I almost forgot just how much I fucking hate you,” You scoffed.

“Yeah, same here,” He rolled his eyes, angrily grabbing the flowers and chocolates from your lap. “Don’t worry. I’ll take your bratty ass home right after I’m done so you can go to your god damned concert! Stay here.”

“Good, because I’m tired of being around you anyways..” You huffed.

“Good, because I am too!” His pupils dilated from sheer anger.

“Just fucking get in there already so I can leave!”

“I’m going!” He snapped before getting out of the car and slamming the door. “Jesus, I can’t fucking stand her sometimes.”

He began adjusting his hair and clothes in the reflection of his window, making you roll your eyes at just how vain this boy was. You sat back angrily against his stupid passenger’s seat before you saw a familiar bike laying in the Wheeler’s driveway.

“Dustin?” You whispered as you looked over to see him speaking to Mr. Wheeler for a moment before he marched off with annoyance. You got out of the car only to hear Steve call behind you.

“Hey, what the hell did I tell you about staying in the car?” He shouted, jogging up to you. You felt him begin to grab your wrist before you snatched it back and shot him a death glare.

“Don’t touch me! I’m getting really fucking tired of you dragging me around like a fucking rag doll, Harrington!” You growled before you turned back around. He let out a breath of anger before running his hands through his hair with frustration as you turned around again. “Dustin!”

“What the hell is your brother doing here?” Steve breathed as the curly haired boy turned around to face you. His eyes lit up with an idea.

“Hey, are those flowers for Mr. or Mrs. Wheeler?” Dustin asked him as he marched up to the two of you. Steve looked down at the flowers with confusion.

“No?”

“Good,” Dustin said before he grabbed them from his hands and walked towards the BMW. You chuckled at the way Steve’s face fell.

“Hey- What the hell? Hey!” He called.

“Nancy isn’t home!” Your brother said.

“Where is she?”

“Doesn’t matter!” Dustin huffed.

“You Hendersons are a real ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Steve scoffed, noticing the odd look on your face as your gaze remained on your brother. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I know that guilty face all too well,” You muttered before you jogged up to your little brother. “Hey! What kind of shit did you get yourself into this time, asshole? I don’t have time to solve whatever bullshit you’re about to drag us along to. I have an important date to get to!”

“Yeah, and I have an important apology to make!” Steve agreed.

“Oh, my God!” Dustin groaned. “We have bigger problems at hand than your love lives! You guys still have those bats?”

“Bats?”

“What bats?”

“The bats with the nails?” He responded matter of factly.

“Why?” Steve asked.

“Dustin,” You warned. “What the hell did you-“

“No time! I’ll explain it on the way!” He said as he hopped into the passenger’s seat.

“Now?!” You both questioned.

“NOW!” Dustin closed the door.

Steve looked over at you for some sort of clarification only to see you standing with a look of utter annoyance.

“That motherfucker took shotgun,” You muttered. He stifled a chuckle.

“What can I say? You snooze, you lose!” He shrugged as he began walking to the car. “Get in the back. Let’s go!”

“I hate you, you know that?” You narrowed your eyes.

“Right back at you, sweetheart!” Steve called as he hopped back into his car and turned the ignition.

CHAPTER 6 ->

———

PLEASE CHECK IN EVERY MONDAY, WEDNESDAY, AND FRIDAY AT 9:00 PM CTD FOR NEW CHAPTERS! (unless otherwise stated)

As always, please feel free to DM me or leave a comment on my stories! I love to hear your feedback and interact with all of you!! Don’t forget to like and reblog, it really helps me out!

a/n: AND WE ARE BACK, BABY!!! OMG I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH!! ALSO CAN WE JUST TALK ABOUT THE FACT THAT I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING AT THE RETURN OF ENEMY STEVE AHHHHH!!! notice how he only begins to hate her when he realizes how badly he wants her and can’t have herrrrr UGHHHH THE ANGST LADIES I AM IN HEAT FOR STEVIE BOY!!! (but i also adore our time with eddie bc ugh i love that sweet kinky boy more than life)

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#steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #stranger things season one #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagines #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #billy hargrove #billy hargove imagine #billy hargove x reader #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #will byers #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #joe keery #joe keery fanfic #joe keery fic #joe keery imagine #joseph quinn

[dandylovesturtles]

Okay, not sure if this but is under 500 words or not, but it’s probably my favorite snippet in the whole fic and maybe even all the rottmnt fics I’ve read. It’s just so good!

Awww, thanks so much! I'm still really happy with how this scene (and this entire sequence) turned out.

I end up spoiling the fic a bit in this so don't venture into the read more if you're a new reader and don't want spoilers.

Leo stayed on the ground, waiting for a hand to be offered to him. He didn't want to admit it, but his legs felt like liquid. The help would be appreciated.

Since Leo is out of his body, everything he feels is psychosomatic. But of course your brain controls everything about how you experience the world, so does not having a body really matter? It was important to me that while Leo experiences some physical benefits from not having a body (not getting tired, not feeling thirst or hunger, etc), he also experiences the physical effects of stress and dissociation and all the other mental illness he's currently experiencing. Poor guy.

No one extended a hand to him. Rejection twisted hot in his gut, burning him inside out.

This whole sequence, really from the moment he gets separated from Mikey, kicks off the "Raph arc" of the story (intermingled with closing out the "Mikey arc", as it were), and I turned the idea of Leo wanting someone to extend a hand to help him as a running theme for this arc (which is... maybe not the most cohesive since Raph doesn't get touch, but Raph is also his big brother and no matter who is in the leader spot, Raph will always be the person Leo most looks to for help when he's in trouble). I bring this line back in chapter 8 when the two of them talk out their feelings and Raph extends the metaphorical "hand" to Leo, and Raph keeps doing that for the rest of the fic, pulling Leo out of his dark thoughts whenever he sinks a little too deep and being ready to help him however he can.

"There you go, Leo," said Mikey softly. "Take a second."

Mikey ends up doing a lot of the caretaking of Leo in this fic, especially in the first part, because he can actually see Leo and can see how badly all of this is affecting him, even as Leo tries to act strong for them. Leo is Mikey's big brother, and he doesn't exactly love being this vulnerable in front of Mikey, but he doesn't have much of a choice. And Mikey is doing such a good job. Isn't it fine to swap roles now and then?

He looked at Mikey, then opened his arms for a hug. He'd write it off as being for Mikey later, because he looked upset. But he needed to grab something. He needed to know this was real.

Mikey's eyes brimmed with tears. "Leo," he said, and his voice trembled on his name. "Oh, Leo..."

He didn't hug him, and Leo felt the sting of it under his skin. His arms fell.

Ah, the part everyone yelled at me about.

This is actually the moment I got the idea for that inspired basically this entire section, from Mikey getting yanked off the tank all the way through this dissociative episode. In my interpretation of Leo, he doesn't ask for things very often, especially things like affection or comfort. Sure, he'll encourage them to chant for him or call him their champion or whatever, but this is different - it's a lot more vulnerable. To be fair, though, Leo doesn't usually have to ask; we see in the show that he's pretty touchy with his brothers and clearly feels like there isn't much of a boundary there when it comes to touch, and Raph and Mikey especially give hugs easily, so he doesn't really have to do much when he's feeling low to get affection. And the thing about asking is that you can be told no, and rejection when he really needs something is devastating. So if he's going to ask for something like a hug or some other kind of affection/comfort, it means he really really needs it and can't just wait around for it to be offered to him.

And Mikey would definitely know that. Poor Mikey isn't rejecting him on purpose, of course, he couldn't hug Leo if he wanted to (and he very much wants to!). He knows that rejecting Leo when Leo is being this upfront about his needs is something that will really hurt him, but he can't do anything to help.

No one is happy here, that's for sure!

(Well, except maybe me, the person who wrote it. See, the benefit of being the author is that I can write this scene while I also have the ending in my head so I don't have to be sad about it. ^^ )

"What happened?" asked Donnie.

"Nothing. Leo just..." Mikey sniffed. "We need to get him back in his body."

Mikey was trying not to embarrass Leo here, because Leo probably would get a little embarrassed by Mikey telling them he's asking for hugs, and besides, if he said that was what Leo was doing then Leo would have to be rejected two more times. So he's trying to help!

But maybe if he'd answered this question, Donnie would have gotten his act together a little faster later haha.

Everybody's doing their best but sometimes your best doesn't fix it. :c

Thanks for the ask!

#fic: i may be invisible but i still look good #I enjoy doing this actually #I'm one of those nerds who loves watching director commentary

[lorata]

Claudius & Eibhlin for @penfoldx

in which anthropological study subs in for discussing one's private anxieties

(h/t to attractiveness anon & @literallyjustanyurlatthispoint for partial inspiration)

it's @penfoldx's birthday! have some ridiculousness

also found at DW here

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

The notebook lay on the coffee table, half buried under various tomes (that was a new word Claudius learned and liked to throw around, tomes) on rabbit husbandry, one corner peeking out just enough to draw his curiosity.

Eibhlin called them ‘composition notebooks’ and claimed every child in Three used them, which cracked Claudius up — imagine writing enough in school you needed multiple notebooks — but sure, why not. It was the genius district after all. She’d had to make do with recycled paper for a while after the war but now she could finally import the good stuff. Which meant Claudius kept finding them everywhere, experiment logs and local recipes and logical reasons why Brutus should let her keep a Village bear (pending).

This one, worryingly, carried the simple title ‘Observations’.

It could be private, unleashing the wrath of heaven if Claudius cracked open the cover. Or it could be a topic too awkward or embarrassing for Eibhlin to raise on her own, leaving this as the most convenient and least emotionally excruciating way of broaching the issue. The real question, which one?

With Misha, this would be deliberate psychological warfare. With Eibhlin, the lines blurred.

“Eh, fuck it.” Claudius flipped open the book. He could always cave on a fifth rabbit if need be.

Later that evening Eibhlin crept up behind him in the kitchen, impressively silent as always. Claudius resisted the automatic impulse to flip the chef’s knife around into throat-slitting position (years of post-Arena healing undone by ground warfare, now finally uncurling a second time) and laid the blade flat against the cutting board.

“Hold out your hands,” Eibhlin said. Her voice twinkled in a way that those who’d never lived with rabbits might call childlike innocence.

Claudius, on the other hand, shared his living space with several rabbits, and left innocence behind a long time ago. “I am making dinner,” he said without turning around. “Should I still hold out my hands?”

A pause, in which Claudius envisioned the pout growing like fog over the lake in early morning, and yeah, he thought so. “Misha says you are a party pooper.”

“Ironic,” Claudius said dryly, but while he’d acquired several mental illnesses over the years, finding ‘wee little rabbit poops’ endearing was not one he’d picked up along the way, sponsors save him. “I’m sure there will be more cute poops tomorrow. Do I want to know why you’ve been polling people in town about what they find attractive? If we’re hosting an orgy I should go out for snacks.”

Silence of a very different character this time. Claudius spent a long time cataloguing the pauses in their conversations, learning when to send for Beetee, when to backtrack and apologize, when to wait it out. “Ah,” Eibhlin said. “That was careless.”

“I thought maybe it was on purpose,” Claudius said. He slipped the knife back into the block and turned around, risking embarrassing Eibhlin with eye contact just to let her see he wasn’t pissed off. “Like one of those things you hid as a hint or something. I can pretend I didn’t see it if you want.”

Eibhlin’s gaze shuttered. “Don’t be asinine,” she said, her tone acerbic. “You do not need to insult us both. I am conducting — research. Anthropology. Desired physical traits in this district seem to be consistent in a way that extends beyond what I had assumed to be Village sampling bias.”

He’d been pretty good at keeping his expression neutral and non-judgemental, but Claudius felt his eyebrows creep up in spite of himself. “You mean we’re a bunch of lunkheads so you thought we were poisoning your data?”

Her ears turned bright pink. “I meant —“ but oh, looks like Claudius wasn’t the only one to pick up a few tricks over the years. Eibhlin stopped, narrowed her eyes. “You are attempting to distract me by manufacturing outrage. Despite the willfully reductive phrasing, yes. This is a community of athletic outliers. You are not representative. I have made many efforts not to generalize across the population, and so this one has surprised me.”

It felt absurd to have this conversation while Eibhlin stood in front of him with a handful of rabbit dung, and so Claudius ducked down for the compost bin. Stepping out of the way for Eibhlin to wash her hands gave him a second to think about whatever the hell this was. “Is it really so weird? We move rocks around and make guns in factories and kill people. Grr, argh, strong people hot.”

This time the impatience nearly skewered him. “But that is the point, it is not that. Perhaps superficially, for short-term liaisons, but not partnerships. There is a reason why attractiveness in Three is strongly weighted toward intelligence. Physically symmetrical but intellectually bankrupt partners will not create a stable or successful household.”

Claudius blinked. “Ouch?”

“Do not —“

“Okay, okay. “ He held up his hands. Three-stupid was not universal-stupid, they’d had this argument before and reopening it now wouldn’t help anyone. “So you’re trying to figure out what is the … biological imperative … behind what Twos find attractive?”

See, he could do it too.

Now she hesitated. He probably should have moved this conversation to the living room or found her a rabbit to cuddle before starting this conversation, but more fool him, now they had to have it in the middle of the kitchen with nothing to fiddle with but sharp implements. “Leaving aside the question of whether biological or evolutionary imperatives exist other than as excuses for the creation of sexist binaries — yes. In Three we value intelligence because intelligence is how we survive. I could not understand how brawn could hold the same value in your society.”

“Okay.” Claudius leaned back against the counter, hands braced but open, nonthreatening. “And?”

“It isn’t brawn,” Eibhlin said. “It’s — community. Care. You are a district of physical labourers and physical people, so of course you value those who can take care of each other with your bodies.”

“Sounds kind of like cavemen,” Claudius said, amused in spite of himself. “I’m sure Brutus would agree, though.”

“He did,” Eibhlin said, nose in the air with the delicate air of someone choosing not to take offence, as the bigger person in the room thank you very much. “And Artemisia, once she stopped laughing. She went home with many girls, but she wanted to marry Emory when she was young, and now she is with Devon. That speaks to type.”

“Okay,” he said, again. “I still don’t know what — you don’t just do anthropology. You have to have a thesis.”

Eibhlin’s fingers curled in her sleeves, which — Ah, shit.

This was the part Claudius hated. Speedrunning weeks of research and observations to find whatever tangled mess of emotions had prompted Eibhlin to do this in the first place, because while Claudius might mangle onions or spar with his mentor or call up his friends in a total panic when he had a problem, Eibhlin … well, she did science.

“Okay.” A third time, the jigsaw puzzles falling off the table and clicking together into the most terrifying image of a nightmare clown he’d ever seen, but also the clown was right in front of him looking sad and he had to be very careful not to jump. “So it sounds like … we have the best of both worlds? You’re a super genius and I — well, I can sort of fix the roof, if I have help.”

Eibhlin studied him in silence for several moments, eyes intent and searching, but finally she nodded sharply and the knot in his chest unhooked. “Don’t forget the cooking,” she said. “You have become quite adept.”

“Glad to hear it,” Claudius said. “You want to help? I was still chopping when someone tried to put rabbit poop in my hands.”

“Hm,” Eibhlin said, admitting absolutely nothing, and held out her hand for the knife.

#we must be killers: tales from district 2 #my writing #oc: claudius

[hungnitan]

Penacony TB 2.0 Impression

Contain very heavy spoiler so don't click keep reading below if you don't want to get spoil (JP DUB)

I won't talked too much about story here since everyone can read them

Story Impression

I don't know if I miss it but has anyone explain the graveness of someone dying at dreamscape ? From some side mission, I think it's just they will comeback to reality ? So why at TB they made us think like we died for real ?

I only can hopefully think hoyo will explain it at later date ! If not, then it's just Xianzhou Luofu things again...

But I quite like the course of story so far despite above and the fact it's very similar to Flamechaser premise of story. I think anyone who play HI3 should notice these. As now the premise are grouping a very range personality people together in same place -> kill them one by one -> spreading distrust to MC and yeah those same premise already happened in Flamechaser stories...

Remember seeing this flamechaser editing pict ? With current story, I guess it shouldn't be that far with changing March7 to Sunday and now hoyo just killed 2 person easily and with Misha get mentioned too much in 2.0 I can't push him away from picture~

And with just 2.0 aside Family will doing something fishy, I can't grasp the main problem at Penacony plus (literally) everyones have their own morally gray goal which make things complicated especially someone like Sparkle which doing things just to make it interesting or Acheron basically hunt injustice equally.

2.0 Important New Character

Firefly, I kinda had Yuuki SAO impression from her so I can't even sad she's gone since I already know the very same "someone terminally ill dive into dreamscape-like to extend their lifetime" premise (plus she still hiding something important even for Sparkle came to us disguise as Sampo lol) but wow hoyo really kill her in brutal and clean way...

It's just this pict hit my heart of course if she's really dying later don't know though

Aventurine, his JP VA Kengo Kawanishi doing a good job voicing him as calculated tricky but bit mellow person. At most scene I'm suspicious of him since he's sounds very similar to Akira Ishida (but his "my friend" line keeping me laugh lol) but one thing I'm sure after read 2.0 about him is he will become a important character even in future version. Why ? He's having too many background mentioned scene

(1) This "Sigonian" bloodline things get mentioned at two scene, other one from Sparkle after made a comment about his unusual eyes. Seems that bloodline connected to his other form~

(2) This one too direct line came from Ratio (lol) saying about he's just a slave to IPC which he brush it lightly

(3) But weird enough when he talked about his family, Ratio suddenly apologies. It still too early to say this but maybe ten stoneheart are all extinct people got taken/buy by IPC

What's more, just what's happened at the end of stories ? Same like Firefly case with Sam, we can't conclude that Aventurine killed Robin with that scene... fyi, these scene too moreless same as Flamechaser story and in the end suspect isn't killed anyone lol

Why only those two ? So far Acheron and Black Swan only become our bodyguards (lol), Sparkle playing around us in her own interesting ways, Ratio isn't doing things too drastically to us he's too busy to wipe his wife sorry ass lol but those people seems have same purpose, keeping eyes on us in this point too is same like Flamechaser story lol

PS : I kinda had some nauseous a bit while playing at 3d maps but so far it's very fun, I need another weeks for all complete I guess. Well, I had Genshin too but the maps itself really big and too many side things to do (I already saving 15 side mission after exploring half of Penacony)

#honkai star rail #what can I say ? #so far it's similar to flamechaser story #what to expect in 2.1 TB ? #another person dying (lol) #in flamechaser we're having 3 boss #with Sam already on list #with next most likely Aventurine #last must be Duke Inferno then #eh I'm fine with similarity #I'm very enjoy hearing Kawanishi voice #the things I still confused as now ? #maybe firefly playable or not later (lol) #why I say Duke Inferno could become a boss despite the stories goes on ? I just can't believe he dying that easily #like “wow you just kill person who appear twice and important enough for stories that easily ?” #plus IF Acheron really kill him #is that possible that Acheron ONLY killed him ? that doesn't make sense #IF my personality analysis about her are right isn't she would kill everyone ? #in first place I really skeptic to most Aventurine said to us (lol) #and did anyone finish the genius society side mission ? #it basically state that if their purpose align IPC garden of recollection and the family could join forces #which makes me questioning Black Swan more at TB quest...

[auromelt]

since all four are played by idols, who among fujio tsukasa ryo and kohei do you think can sing and who can’t

oh i like this question 👁️ i’ve thought about it before, when the four of them released that ost (which btw is gunning for my soty on spotify wrapped). the actors are all such great singers it makes me feel a bit crazy that we’ll probably never get another song from them together 😒 but anyways onto the question! and i’m gonna add a little bit of karaoke headcanon because i’m mentally ill and i can’t stop thinking about it now.

can sing: ryo, tsukasa

can’t sing: fujio

will not ever sing unless for ryo: kohei

all four actors sing very well btw, so this next part purely refers to the characters. just a disclaimer. i spent some time on godforsaken nct stan twt the ppl there are literally insane.

headcanons

let’s imagine them in a karaoke setting. somehow all four of them ended up in a room together and no fights have erupted. here they’re just friends and not enemies where one side tried to kidnap and murder the other.

this will be a bit shippy because well… hehe :3 if you don’t wanna see that just stop reading at the part about the bill

fujio’s the first to grab the mic and he sqwaks into it. his lack of talent is absolutely incredible. tsukasa’s ears actually bleed a little.

like if anyone’s watched kaguya-sama love is war, it’s like shirogane trying to sing. he simply shouldn’t.

i imagine like… an akb song playing or something. or maybe like yoasobi and LiSA. but whoever it is, fujio is ruining the prestige of their musical careers by singing their songs.

but he’s having so much fun that nobody actually has the heart to stop him and he thinks he sounds great.

“nobody” until kohei snaps and grabs the mic and shoves it into ryo’s hands instead, instead of telling fujio he literally sucks, he just accuses him of hogging the mic and says it’s ryo’s turn

fujio pulls out the second mic and is like great suzaki lets duet 🤩 and tsukasa’s like erm no. and snatches the mic away and tsukasa and ryo do a duet which actually sounds pretty great

fujio: “you guys are just okay i guess :/” amagai: “you’re literally delusional”

anyways back to tsukasa and ryo, they sound incredible alone and together, it’s literally like listening to a live concert. fujio’s always known tsukasa can sing so he’s not surprised but this is all of their first times hearing ryo sing and who knew he possessed pipes like that. kohei might have to nepo him into a singing career at the end of the session

one song later and ryo’s trying to pass kohei the mic and kohei's like hell no. he already had no plans to sing but going after tsukasa and ryo is basically like trying to kill his own pride. he urges ryo to go ahead and tells him he liked hearing ryo sing, which makes ryo blush and tsukasa roll his eyes.

after a few songs, since they’re fair, they let fujio back on the mic before he can start sulking over it. back to torture. kohei walks out for “air” but really he’s just sick of hearing fujio’s voice

meanwhile, ryo seems to be the only person to not realise fujio can’t sing and he enjoys singing with fujio so they do a duet with the two microphones they were provided and fujio is delighted. he decides ryo has to be his karaoke buddy from now on because he’s “finally found someone who appreciates his talent and real music”

kohei ends up with the bill even though he didn’t even sing once and tsukasa and fujio leave immediately like peace out have fun settling that

szam part :3 (separated bc i feel nice today. don’t get used to it. szam are soulmates in my head.)

first, whether they’re dating or not is completely up to u, but there are definitely feelings involved 🙏

since fujio and tsukasa dipped, kohei and ryo are alone now and kohei’s like goddamn they’re finally gone and he drags ryo back to the room and extends their session another 45 minutes and tosses the mic to ryo like okay sing for me

kohei picks out all the songs from the machine that he wants ryo to sing for him and ryo does without a complaint, happy that kohei likes his voice, even if he’s a little shy with kohei’s gaze fixated on him while he sings and there are no more other people to lessen the intensity of the atmosphere

kohei makes sure ryo drinks enough water so his throat doesn’t shrivel up from all the singing and he kinda feels like a manager of a top idol which is not a pleasant feeling because in what world would he ever have to take orders from anyone? but it’s ryo so he just finds it kinda cute instead.

when the final song comes on, it’s a duet and ryo hesitates a little before offering kohei the other mic and looking at him with pleading eyes and kohei cant say no to those eyes or ryo’s hopeful expression. he takes the mic and joins ryo for the duet

kohei’s voice is mid. he’s not awful like fujio but he’s not good like ryo and tsukasa it’s just extremely mid. but because ryo is a bum loser who is in love with him, kohei sounds amazing to him and they finish the duet together with ryo beaming at him and kohei just smiling back, both fond and exasperated.

did i ever mention that kohei is like completely incapable of denying ryo anything in the auromelt cinematic universe? because he can’t

kohei makes ryo promise he’ll go with kohei to a studio he plans to rent and record some songs so kohei can add them to his playlist and he Would offer to make ryo an industry plant in the music industry as well but he doesn’t because he can’t imagine ryo getting fans and him having to share ryo’s attention

anyways big tl;dr ryo is unexpectedly the best singer of the four followed closely by tsukasa and then there’s a wall and then it’s kohei and then there’s 6 more walls and behind them is fujio. on that note, fujio and ryo are now karaoke buddies who go every 3 weeks or so. kohei always joins them just to listen to ryo, but he only sings when no one else but ryo is around.

#high & low #high&low #suzaki ryo #high & low the worst x #high&low the worst x #amagai kohei #amazaki #suzaama #🦙 anons #takajo tsukasa #hanaoka fujio

[lolathelotus]

An Alternate Universe Vignette: Chapter 15, Part 2

"This is Cha-Cha. A friend of mine found him wandering alone by his property, starving and sick. He's just a baby, but he's already experienced so much hardship that he doesn't trust people."

Don went and sat down in his rocking chair, leaving Nina and Cha-Cha to consider each other's intentions.

Nina approached the foal, extending her palm for Cha-Cha to sniff.

Don tossed Nina a warm, full baby bottle, saying, "He's hungry. Do something for someone other than yourself. "

As Nina fed Cha-Cha, she couldn't stop staring into his big brown eyes. His gaze seemed so genuine. He stole Nina's heart a little bit. She would have to come back every now and then to visit. Maybe Don would even let her feed Ch-Cha again.

To Nina's bewilderment, Don then said, "Now the two of you get out of here. I'm tired. There's a bag of hay by the back porch for you to take with you."

Nina smiled. He had to be joking. "I'll see you later, Don. Thanks for the talk."

Twenty minutes later, after attempting to convince him that she is ill equipped to raise a horse, Nina found herself leading Cha-Cha down the road toward Palomino Junction.

Don had given her a reassuring hug and one last bit of advice before sending her on her way: "This is your chance to be a part of something outside of yourself. To find your purpose. To experience real change. Cha-Cha is going to teach you how."

Nina swallowed hard.

"Now take your horse and get out, please." Don remarked as he sat back down in his rocking chair.

The Caliente Ranch Master Post

#the caliente ranch #dina caliente #nina caliente #palomino junction #the sims 4 horse ranch #chestnut ridge #cha cha caliente

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Touring Masterlist

Before It's All Too Much. (ao3) - alxclightwood Michael/Luke, Calum/Ashton G, 3k

Summary: "Luke, what's wrong?" he heard, getting quieter as the room began to spin and darkness clouded his vision, his body finally allowing him to succumb to the relief of unconsciousness.

________________________

AKA Luke likes to be dramatic when he's ill.

“You fainted, straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

greet another door that opens in (ao3) - mockturtletale Luke/Calum/Ashton E, 9k

Summary: The photographer directs Luke to stand between them, maybe to offset the pinching fight that’s broken out, or maybe for some value of aesthetic that Luke can’t see because he’s in the picture.

I don't wanna be alone forever, but I can be tonight. (ao3) - orphan_account Luke/Ashton E, 2k

Summary: Ashton decides, that if he's going to have a wank, Luke awake in the bed next to him, shouldn't stop him. [AKA The one where they both jerk off in the bed next to each other while screaming each others names.]

interlude (ao3) - galacticsugar Michael/Luke T, 36k

Summary: As Michael positions his camera to capture a photo of the venue marquee, it suddenly hits him that Luke isn’t just a name on the sign. His show is tonight. He’s probably here, right now, somewhere in the venue, or at least nearby, maybe hitting up one of the trendy downtown coffee shops or jogging around the lake.

“Michael?”

…or right behind him. His voice sounds the same.

i've got a secret for the mad (in a little bit of time it won't hurt so bad) (ao3) - yellingatbabylon Luke/Ashton T, 2k

Summary: Luke woke up in an odd position, his long limbs tucked up onto the couch, an ache in his neck but also a pair of lips pressed against where the pain began (something oddly poetic, he would reflect on later during a writing session that only he and Calum attended). Ashton's body was half on top of his own, the drummer’s calloused fingers pressing against his ribs under the t-shirt Luke had thrown on after showering in the venue the night before hopping on their bus.

Like the Stars Love the Sky (ao3) - tigerlily_sunshine Michael/Calum/Ashton, Michael/Ashton T, 37k

Summary: Michael can’t admit to Luke that he liked kissing Calum or that he would like to kiss Calum again. He can’t, because admitting it to Luke means saying it out loud, and saying it out loud means that these feelings are real. It means that he loves Calum as much as he loves Ashton, and that isn’t fair to anybody, especially not Ashton who didn’t ask for a fiancé with one foot out of the door—not that Michael would ever leave Ashton, but the sentiment is the same.

(In which Michael doesn't realize he might be in love with Calum until Michael himself is engaged to Ashton.)

Lollipop (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance Michael/Luke E, 3k

Summary: Seeing Michael flustered on stage after dancing against him was a turn on for Luke. He knew he had to get Michael in his bed; he just had to build up Michael's frustrations and wait for the right time to do it.

Loose Tongue (ao3) - jbhmalum Calum/Ashton M, 10k

Summary: 5 times calum wears skirts that keep getting shorter on tour and 1 time ashton does something about it

lucky are they (who live unaware) (ao3) - itsafuckingmess OT4 T, 7k

Summary: Or, alternatively, 5 times the One Direction boys didn't realise 5 Seconds of Summer were dating and 1 time it was blatantly, inexcusably obvious

nurse the shoreline like a wound (ao3) - orphan_account Luke/Ashton G, 1k

Summary: On this tour, the hotel stops have been few and far between and Luke's curled up in his bunk for the third night in a row with his legs bent. There's a burning in his knees that's his legs begging to be extended, but every time he tries his toes hit the wall far too soon to provide any sort of relief.

or, Luke has trouble sleeping on tour but it's always easier when he's close to Ashton.

perfectly fine... (not) (ao3) - lovelymuke Michael/Luke T, 7k

Summary: In which Luke is sick, stubborn and trying to deal with his problems on his own. Michael is unaware, exhausted and honestly kind of, just a little bit, sick of Luke’s shit.

Sausage And Bun (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance Luke/Calum E, 3k

Summary: The boys were back on the road and Calum said something that caught Luke's attention. The wheel in his head started turning and he started having ideas that he never had before. Little did Calum know that a simple statement of his was going to get him into so much trouble.

So Fluorescent Under These Lights (ao3) - whatserusername Calum/Ashton E, 1k

Summary: Ashton shows off his renovations.

Strings Attached (ao3) - jbhmalum Calum/Ashton E, 13k

Summary: It's not smart to start a friends with benefits arrangement with your best friend and bandmate who you're in love with, but love isn't about being smart, is it?

Take My Hand (ao3) - cyclogenesis (addictedkitten) OT4 E, 19k

Summary: In which Michael finds Luke, and then they all find each other. Also, hand-holding is the new cuddling.

trusting you (ao3) - lifewasradical Luke/Ashton, background Michael/Calum E, 38k

Summary: He clutches a sparkly acoustic guitar in one hand, baby blue painted nails biting into the strings as he waves at the crowd and settles onto his stool. “Hello,” he says, voice swaying from a deep register to a higher head voice with one single word, elongated through a crooked smile. “I’m Levi Halloway, and I’m here to play a few songs for you tonight,” he says, plucking a chord as he straightens his shoulders. His shirt strains over the length of his wingspan.

Ashton would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued already, drawn in after only a handful of words. He’s seen more random performers than he can count, mostly no name aspiring artists who just want someone to listen to them. Half the time they’re good enough to get a rousing applause at the end, while the other half of the time everyone has left the sitting area before they finish their set.

Other than Ashton of course. He always stays until the end.

#5sosfanfictioncatalogue #5sos fanfic #5sos #5 seconds of summer #tour #touring #touring masterlist #masterlists

[thekavseklabs]

Apologies for extended inactivity. Some real life shit is happening and will continue to happen, I will explain under the cut but I warn that it's some heavy shit and I've been seeing others on my dash dealing with similar worst case scenarios so tread carefully for your own health please

In short, my Grandma is almost certainly dying. At first, the health decline was slow, something was mildly wrong with her heart, doctors fixed it and sent her home, and then it happened again a couple weeks later, and then it happened again a few days later, and then it started and didn't stop, didn't respond to treatment at all. After some more time in the hospital they finally got it to stop and sent her home, but mere days later something else happened and she collapsed, hit her head and blacked out. She spent a few weeks in the hospital, recovered, and once again went home, but now in a wheelchair.

A couple days ago she made the mistake of getting up, fell again, and this time it was a lot worse. Two ribs broken, one cracked, and one lung partially collapsed and leaking. Will she recover from this specific incident? Maybe. Will she stay ill, will she continue to worsen? Doctors say yes and I'm inclined to agree. I am not alone in this- Grandma is in a bleak state of mind herself, she seems very firmly aware that this is bad. I hope she gets better, but... Yeah.

Please be patient with me. Thank you.

#please do not reblog #negative #family death tw #potentially. likely. idk #ooc

[modgirlyreposts-revamped]

Thank you, I’ve been so down and he’s such a comfort character gjdhf-

Michael is the absolute gayest mf out there prove me wrong

He’s like Will Byers as I’ve heard in later seasons of Stranger Things in that he’s extremely gay but even though he doesn’t like girls girls like him. How does this sad grungecore possum man get bitches? I dunno, ask the sheer amount of simps in the fandom. So much x reader content is female directed don’t ask how I know that don’t ask how I know that

His favorite animal is in fact possums. Fun fact: possums are omnivores and, while they’re not common prey, will hunt and kill rabbits if they need to. Interesting.

Surprisingly he loves slasher movies. He enjoys horror (in moderation because he’s prone to paranoid episodes) but he really likes the campy shit and that especially extends to slasher films.

He once broke a girl’s nose for making a snarky comment about him being an only child following his siblings’ deaths.

Even if his whole tough guy facade fell apart after the bite and he was just totally broken down he kept a bit of an edge. He’s real damaged from the shit he went through.

William quite liked dogs, and had always intended to get a Saint Bernard. Michael has always wanted a pet as well. He probably had a rat or something as a teen tbh

Honestly I think a lot about some of the stuff I saw on this one blog I followed, like, Michael being a lowkey menace, he goes a bit off the deep end after getting scooped, but not in a William way, it’s difficult to explain. He’s the kind of person who’d get described as eccentric because freak is an insult, an old soul because there’s no way to phrase “severely mentally ill” as a good thing, and “resilient” because his choices were either that or dead, also like what’s gonna change if he’s dead now? He’s gonna have a few feet of dirt to crawl through. That’s about it.

Also on that blog was Michael adopting a cat post-scooping so he doesn’t have to be alone. I’ve loved that one since I saw it. Maybe he’ll clean up his goddamn house now. I’ve been thinking for so long about giving my Michael a cat.

He’s actually a little scared of the fnaf 1 animatronics. Not just because they’re trying to kill him, but because Fredbear killed his brother in the most disgusting and gruesome way possible, and he knows now that the other animatronics were involved in the other children’s deaths.

As opposed to just possessing the animatronics, the ghost situation is more of a haunting- think Five Nights at Jr’s or The Walten Files, Battington, uhhhh

Basically the ghosts are most connected to the animatronic present at their death, and they cannot leave the animatronic, but they’re not really just living inside them. They haunt every other part of the restaurant too, and have even been rumored by ex-patrons to appear on videotaping of the pizzeria and on the Freddy & Friends cartoon episodes.

How this plays into Michael I forgot. He takes a lot of video of the restaurant though, hoping to catch the ghosts whenever he can to try and figure out how the hell to stop the hauntings and his father’s experimentation.

He still has serious anger issues, but now they’re topped with a guilt complex. He hates when he gets mad enough to freak out at people and tries as hard as he can to regulate his temper to prevent it.

He kinda hates both of his parents, like William is a given for the extreme and irreversible amount of trauma he caused, but he holds some animosity toward Amalie as well for just up and leaving the family, which caused William to kill Charlie in a reach for control. He doesn’t blame her for Charlie’s death or the following events, but he hates her for leaving and leaving them in that mess.

I think so much all the time constantly every second of every day about novel!charlie and game!mike meeting they would be best friends and mlm/wlw solidarity prove me wrong. This constantly, constantly lives rent free in my head. They’re so similar and yet so distinct and the timelines would never add up unless I found a convoluted way to make both plotlines coexist but this is so self indulgent. This concept has been a massive comfort since I got into FNaF in, what, 2020? I haven’t even read the novels but they’re just like Gregory and Cassidy But More to me. This is so stupid 💀

He spends his free time drawing, watching campy horror flicks and soap operas, and in general he’s honestly just a huge dork.

He still really loves mechanical stuff and loves to doodle concept blueprints for small things, eventually leading to him developing one that’s sort of like a Fazbear animatronic, but smaller and more kind. It keeps the silliness the animatronics have in shows, but it works with a call-and-response type of AI (again, like Siri.) Being this small, it also has the proper center of gravity to emote with its body. He made it first to just be a companion for when he was lonely or bored (the cat would love it) but it eventually became a helper/support AI. He hadn’t called it anything before, but once its purpose was built up like that, he decided to at least try and name it-

Before giving up and calling it Helpy.

Warning: this next one is actually pretty dark.

At the time of the events of Sister Location, Michael was in a really bad place. It took place seven years after Liz’s disappearance, meaning she had recently been declared dead when William sent Michael to go find her, meaning he had not only been more susceptible to William’s manipulation due to his trauma being stirred up, but also just already in a lot of pain. He was extremely depressed during the time around SL, and he kept working there after the kidnapping and all of that shit because he… didn’t really care if he died. He knew he was being tricked into something on night 5, but followed anyway. If Lizzie killed him for her own benefit, he didn’t mind. He didn’t want to live. He came here to be with her again. When Lizzie realized it was him and not William, she was devastated and wanted him to survive. He didn’t want that.

Ok that’s the dark and sad one out of the way.

He’s extremely stressed all the time and basically just uses stupid jokes to break the tension a little bit.

He’s super introverted and has a huge emotional wall. Seems totally chill and stoic but he’s always screaming internally.

Due to necrosis and blood decay post-scooping, when Michael blushes, his cheeks turn black, and it’s weirdly adorable.

His hair is like half-grey for no reason other than that he wouldn’t be bald cause hair doesn’t decompose for a long time but the grey makes him look more decomposed.

He listens to gothic/dark rock change my mind you can’t

Y’know ppl on discord servers who hang around but don’t talk much aside from occasionally reacting to messages with emojis? Mike is like that irl.

Swagless boy swag

MICHAEL WITH A CAT, I remember that I had a concept similar to that in one of my very old AUs, that was later changed to Sammy's dog in an older rewrite of Foolish Parallels

And as someone who tends to do that in Discord, that's the perfect way to describe Mike

#asks #answered #valleyfthdolls

[roleplayacc2020-blog]

DC Roleplays

Here you can find a selection of DC Rp's I'm currently interested in doing. Just a few things to keep in mind!

All characters are aged up accordingly to community standards

I'm primarily looking for Canon X Canon stuff

These rps will feature adult content including romance

Please take a look at my about me section

You can find me at Discord: Traveler217

Oliver/Dinah

Idea 1: Oliver & Dinah meet through crime fighting antics. They hit it off instantly and tumble into bed together. After that, events in the city and the rise of a new supervillain have them teaming up while also navigating their newfound relationship.

Idea 2: Oliver & Dinah meet in the Justice League. Dinah needs his help with something (A lot like the cartoon episode) and they hit it off. They split their time between Star City and the League stuff while navigating their new relationship.

Face Claim For Oliver Queen

Shazam/Stargirl

Idea 1: Billy and Courtney end up in the same college. They have a chance meeting in the library or something and instantly hit it off (NOTE: For this, I’d like Number Eight on my Interested In). They hit it off and the vibes and chemistry are there. At this point neither of them know the other is a superhero. They then meet in costume and there are similar vibes. How long will this go on before they find out about the other? This can go a number of ways (also fine with them finding out right away) and is aimed to be more a light hearted College SOL with superheroes attached.

Face Claim For Young Adult Billy Bastion

Siggy/Diana

Idea 1: So this idea of Sig and Diana does start with a little pre-comic book lore.  Basically, all you need to know is that for a period of time Diana was trapped in Valhalla and that’s where she met Siggy and fell in love with him. After she left but he promised to come and find her. Eventually (maybe a year after this) he manages to convince Odin to give him a boon and let him come back to Earth as the “Wonder Man” representing Norse Mythology. He of course beelines right to Diana so they can be together.

The things they investigate and fight together would be of a more magical nature. I also don’t think their gods forbid them from seeing each other or anything. I’m also interested in seeing SOL stuff. I like the idea of Siggy’s fun loving nature helping Diana embrace the modern world more. I like the idea of them wearing couple T-Shirts, Doing Photo Booth stuff, and other cute stuff. He gives her a reason to live basically.

Face Claim for Siggy

Bruce/Selina

Idea 1: Pure classic Bat & Cat. Three years into his career and people don’t know if he’s real or not. Selina is doing her Selina thing and pilfering ill gotten gains. They cross path and the game of cat and mouse begins! One thing for this, I would like it if it also extended to their personal life. IE I think Selina and Bruce should be interacting as Selina and Bruce and getting further entangled with each other. Dual life’s mean dual romance.

Idea 2: Something later in their career. Bruce has gotten hurt and it’s reevaluated his life or perhaps Selina has? Either way things have changed for one of them and they go to the other wanting to see if they’re interested in not so much settling down but working together. A true partnership.

Idea 3: A Noir take on Bat & Cat. Selina Kyle is a movie star by day and a Cat Burglar by night. Bruce Wayne is trying to open Pandesa Studios in Gotham City and fighting crime as Batman during the night. He decides he wants to have Selina as his leading stars and invited her back to her old home. The two meet and there are instant sparks. They have to contend with that heat, their vigilante lives, and the delicious potential for something real.

Update: I'm kind of feeling the idea of doing something Lovecraftian or mystical with this idea. Something with the Court of Owls and mysterious rituals and stuff within Gotham City. So, expect that to be part of the story.

Idea 4: I would like to do some kind of whirlwind romance between Bruce and Selina. I'm thinking that they meet, something happens to reveal their identities, and then because they have a connection (the chemistry between them is intense) and they're the only two that understand each other, they get engaged. There's also the idea she's doing this to get at him or to steal something (or even hired by Falcone) so that's something to think about as well.

My Face Claim For Bruce

Clark/Lois

Idea 1: My Adventure of Superman showed a really good idea of what a beginning Superman story might be. So, we can either do something like that with that theme and vibe (IE Anime Esque) or we can do something with a more classic feel. If I’m being honest, doing something modern but with a vibe of the 50’s would be a ton of fun. Clark and Lois in their first adventure at the Daily Planet!

My Face Claim For Clark

Barda/Mr. Miracle

Idea 1: The two of them have been through enough. They escaped together. I’m not looking to break them up or anything. These are two people who have been through a lot and I want to do something where they’re settling on Earth and starting a life together. Superhero fun and then cute life stuff.

My Face Claim For Scott

Bruce/Harley 

Idea 1: I’m very particular about Bruce and Harley. That being said, if you know about the White Knight Series and want to do something based on that version of Harley and Bruce please let me know! I love that series so much.

Idea 2: In an Alt World, Bruce Wayne was caught two years into his campaign as Batman. Harley Quinn a criminal profiler was the one who caught him. They were also dating at the time so it was a hard thing for her to do. Especially as she really loved him. A couple of later, she’s working at the FBI and Bruce is in Arkham Asylum. When an imposter shows up and starts killing as Batman (Bruce still didn’t kill) Harley is called back to Gotham and thus back into Bruce’s orbit.

Dick/Kori

Idea 1: Kori had to leave Earth because of things going on back home. She and Dick were dating at the time but they semi broke things off (It can never really be over between those two) since she had to leave. A year later, Kori comes back to Earth because it wasn’t worth being without him. When she comes back, Dick is Batman after Bruce went missing. He also has Damian as his Robin. The two of them will have to navigate their relationship and Dick being Batman.

Idea 2: Kori’s in Florida living her best life as a supermodel and somewhat superheroine. She misses Dick though and extends an invitation he can’t refuse. Dick comes out to see her and the two refind their love for each other in Florida. With lots of fun sexy times in resorts and public places!

My Face Claim For Dick

Dick/Barbara

Idea 1: Barbara has recently gotten her legs back and is trying to recover. Dick comes to her and steals her away from the hospital that she was recovering in with an offer to take her off to a private place where he can help her get her body and legs back up to snuff. They go to an island resort and refall in love (or at least reconnect) while doing practice fighting, being a sexy gym couple, and maybe stopping a crime or two.

Idea 2: Classic (of age) Robin and Batgirl. I still really like the idea of them facing Two-Face or Doctor Freeze. Bruce can know about Batgirl or not know. Perhaps Barbara convinced Dick to run with her in secrecy? That’s an option as well!

Note: Same Face Claim For Dick

Hal/Carol

Note: This one will have kinky ideas like sexual stuff charging her ring, sexual heat from her ring, and the like. 

Idea 1: We all know Hal Jordan can be a bit of a cocky ass. However, there’s something about him that make women tumble into bed with him anyways. Is Carol just the next notch on his bed post? The boss’s daughter? Or does she have something in her that causes Hal to fall hopelessly in love with her for the first time? (She does)

Idea 2: Hal is stranded in deep space after a big battle. With his ring mostly depleted, He has enough to send out a distress beacon of love and desperation that only one person can answer. When Carol comes to him his ring is drained and his battery gone and so he has to rely on her. They can’t get back to Earth or Lantern territory easy so they’re forced to rely on each other, fall back in love, and maybe overthrow the big bad of the region of space they’re in.

My Face Claim For Hal

Garfield/Raven

Idea 1: The Titans are moving on. It’s been a good run but Dick and Kori are married, Cyborg wants to move in with his girlfriend, and the other various members are all doing their own thing. Having danced around their feelings for years, Garfield decides its time to ask Raven if she’ll go on an adventure with him. They get together and end up in New Orleans. Where all sorts of spooky dark magic is waiting for Raven.

Idea 2: Raven and Garfield meet with no Titan involvement. Even though they’re opposites they have an instant chemistry and can’t help being together. They do SOL stuff but they both have powers which means helping with crime in the local area. Perhaps the Titans even form at one point? This is more of a freeform idea.

Face Claim For Gar

Roy/Donna

Idea 1: They’ve both been through a lot together. Roy with his addiction and his daughter, and Donna with the loss of her own family. They rely on each other and deeper emotions have arisen because of it. Titans Tower is no place to keep a secret but they don’t want to. Lian needs a mother and Donna is who Roy wants to fulfill that role. He asks her to mary him and they have a cute SOL (with adventures) in Titans Tower.

Face claim For Roy

Mary Marvel/???

Mary Marvel is a character I don't have anyone set in stone for but am very interested in. So, if you have an idea for her let me know! She's someone I would entertain a villain with maybe Black Adam? As long as it has a story to it and isn't just him corrupting her for the sake of fun.

#dc comics #dc roleplay #roleplay ad #roleplay request #18+ content #1x1 roleplay #rp search #canon rp #rp request

[kazuko-kawakami]

some life updates I guess

Hello it’s been a while.

I don’t even remember the last time I made a post where I talked/ranted to the void. But lots of things have happened in this past year that I just wanted to rant/talk about.

tl;dr: I like to think I’m doing fine, but honestly I feel like my depression is winning over my mind and it feels like my options are quite limited. Also I guess some trigger warnings for suicide/depression if it isn’t clear already.

Believe it or not, I finally graduated college at the end of 2020, and managed to land a job in Pennsylvania. So I moved away from family again and tried to keep up in the real world. Though the training for job brought back my anxiety and depression because the trainer really didn’t have a nice side to her and loved to make you feel like an idiot. However, the team I ended up joining is probably the reason I’m still at this job. Not to mention some of them like dark humor, which has been an enabler for me to get out my dark twisted jokes on depression and stuff of that nature. It’s been a good source for me to get out my twisted jokes without people being too concerned for me. However, me and a coworker have able to relate on how much having a mental illness is just terrible. Even though we don’t have the same condition, it’s good to know that I can talk to someone about these things.

I keep playing games with friends from college on the weekends. Though there is a time where one is getting deployed somewhere, and won’t be on for a few months and that’s kind of sad. However everyone seems to be doing well for the most part, which makes me feel like I’m not progressing through life.

I watched my oshi graduate to only gain a new one a year later. Quite honestly, it still reminds me that I do have some strong preferences from my emo days that still influence me to this very day, which kind of bothers me, but I’m coming to accept it. It also keeps my mind from wandering from this dark path, and gives me some good dopamine releases every now and then.

However, I have also started to self harm myself again. I didn’t do it too much as a teen since I really didn’t have any privacy and played a sport where it wouldn’t be easy to hide scars. Now though, I have my own place and earn somewhat of an ok wage to buy stuff. Honestly, I still don’t know what triggered the thought to come up in my head. All I know was that I dissociated and ended up using some razors to cut myself. I knew I kinda fucked up, and didn’t harm myself for a few weeks, however the urge is there some days. I did end up getting help in the from of visiting a doctor to at least get a referral to get counseling, but I also ended up getting prescribed anti-depressants which I was dubious about, but ended up taking it anyways. At first I thought the anti-depressants were working, but now it’s been a few weeks since then and there are days where I just end up crashing. I have to go to the doctors next week to see how the treatment is working, which will be interesting. Now I haven’t gone to my first counseling session yet, but I don’t know if the anti-depressant will work even with counseling.

This all leads to how I feel right now. I feel like I’m stuck and don’t really have anywhere else to go. Some days, I just feel like not being around would be the best for me, but that would be unfair to my dog that I lost three years ago. I tried to keep going since he kept going even though he probably went through pain with the seizures he had. For the most part, his urn is the only thing I have left of him, and it honestly is what keeps me going. However, it’s also the reason why I can’t leave for extended periods of time. I get nervous just leaving the house for work, not knowing if something terrible happens at home and not being able to recover him. Because the one thing I know for sure is that if I lose him again, I won’t be able to live with myself anymore.

So I’m hoping counseling works, or if not then maybe I’ll be in the psych ward at some point.

Thanks for coming to this rant/ted talk with me.

#ale1152 speaks

[thyon-nero]

- Sarai thinks she recognizes the farangi when her moth lands on his head

- his nose is broken and his face is hollow but something about it is familiar

- she enters his dream and sees a Weep of ages past

- she knows it is Weep because she has heard the stories as well, tales from the ghosts murmured in secrets and ciphers so Minya does not hear

- how does the farangi know what Weep used to look like?

- he turns around

- he opens his eyes

- Sarai recognizes those eyes

- and he sees her

- he sees her!

- she is supposed to be invisible. she is supposed to be safe.

- but here is this man come to Weep and he knows its past and he knows of her and her secret and he is familiar, somehow

- she asks Minya about it the next day over yet another bowl of bland soup. she doesn't tell all of it, any of it really, but Minya both confirms and denies her worst fears

- Skathis is returned, and he is a farangi of brown skin but those same dreadful eyes and he has power beyond her imagining

- how can he see her?

- and down below the citadel Lazlo Strange awakes after seeing a demon

- an angel

- but she is blue, and too real to be just a dream

- he sees her image in the city and she is not wearing her battle dress and she is not wearing her war paint but she is Isagol

- and he knows Azareen and he knows Suheyla and he knows Eril-Fane and he knows he hates her

- and Minya does not know what Sarai saw, but she can guess and she is afraid

- the gods are dead

- she saw them die

- if the gods are not dead then she and Sarai and Feral and Ruby and Sparrow must be dead

- the gods and their children cannot coexist

- and so Minya denies the presence of this farangi with eyes like her father and skin like the mother she must have had

- and once Lazlo learns about the gods and the godspawn and the death of the gods and the godspawn he steals the flying sled and goes up to the citadel

- and Sarai is wearing her mother's dress and Lazlo has his father's powers and Minya cannot deny the truth anymore

- the gods have returned

- and all their destruction with them

- but for all their parentage Sarai cannot torture and Lazlo cannot kill and Minya cannot move the mesarthium walls keeping her out from the gods yet again

- Sarai realizes the truth first

- she may not remember Skathis beyond a vague mental image, but she knows he did not care about knowledge, only destruction

- Lazlo asks too many questions of the blue girl half-swallowed by the blue walls to be a god

- gods are all-knowing, gods are all-powerful

- and Lazlo is young and curious and as scared as Sarai herself

- and whoever he is, he is not Skathis

- but he still does not know who this blue girl is

- Eril-Fane said she could change emotions

- and Lazlo doesn't know what he's feeling

- it's not love, not yet, but he feels something

- and when she says her name is Sarai he believes it

- she is not her mother and he is not his father and Minya is just a scared girl who does not know what is happening

- but the ghosts reassure her that he is not Skathis

- why would the dead lie? they have no reason to lie

- they are an extension of her they tell her what she wants to hear

- and she wants to hear that this is Skathis, that she can be the one to destroy him fully this time

- even gods become ghosts when they die

- but in her plans she lets Lesser Ellen slip, just a little

- and Lesser Ellen does not tremble before this Skathis imposter

- and Minya is less assured of herself

- but at least the gods are still dead

- and she is not, and Ruby and Sparrow and Feral and Sarai are not

- and Lazlo does not want to hurt them

- he can move the citadel, he can help them

- and Minya feels a tooth begin to loosen, and she wonders if she can move on and grow up now

- the gods are dead

- but their children are not

#strange the dreamer #laini taylor #fanfiction #almost #maybe ill extend this into something real later #but i just love the idea of sarai and lazlo confusing each other for their parenta #it has so much angst potential #and you can really have any ending from there #ugh i want to do more with this

[nctsworld]

two nights, one you

✩‌ jaemin ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fuckboy!jaemin | strangers (who f*ck) to (brief) enemies to lovers | ‌10.9k 

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ a last-minute one night stand gone awry is extended into two nights when you’re snowed in at the cute (but rude) stranger’s apartment on christmas eve. [loosely based on the movie, two night stand] // part of the x-mas in ncity collection  GENRES ⇾ crack | smut | fluff  WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌lots of bickering and dialogue, smut, oral s*x (f and m receiving), fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, swearing, bit of angst before the end, jaemin’s an asshole... or is he? RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen​ 

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ it’s late (and long fsldkm), srysry but here it is! i hope the humour comes out in this and look away if falls flat zzz fingers crossed that i can finish the last two installments for this collection asap! 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Maybe it’s because it’s the evening of Christmas Eve Eve and you’re feeling more lonely than usual.

Maybe it’s due to the two glasses of wine you guzzled down in the span of fifteen minutes that get you buzzed.

Maybe it’s your prominent six-month dry spell and you’re in desperate need for some much needed rain in your drought.    

Or maybe it’s just pure impulsiveness.

Regardless of the reasons, you’re aiming to get laid tonight.  

It’s 9:45pm as you make the rounds on Tinder. You’ve used it in the past, searching for a relationship in vain, but haven’t used it much since you broke up with your last partner. Bringing the app alive again, you’re already bombarded by distasteful messages, off-putting one-liners and jokes, and swiping left more than you’d like.

You haven’t had a one-night stand before, but isn’t there anyone on here that is just a little bit attractive, nearby where you are, around your age, and is somewhat chivalrous about the topic besides saying DTF? Maybe you need to lower your standards if you want to get dicked down tonight.

But then, you land on him.

One Na Jaemin, 20 years old, and only four miles away from you.

Scrolling through his profile pictures and Instagram feed, you assume that he’s into photography, is on the athletic side from the various hobbies he partakes in, and he must be at least half-aware of his beauty because there’s the occasional pic that shows off his lean, toned arms, which, if you can be frank, is more flattering than the shirtless ones you constantly see. Oh, and he attends the same university as you.

The cherry on top? His bio is simple and upfront:

“Not up for anything serious, but always down for a good time ;)”

You swipe right without hesitation.

“It’s a Match!” flashes instantly at you. Your mouth swings open in disbelief.  

Usually, you’d wait for your matches to message you and play hard-to-get, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re initiating and leading all the conversations, completely driven by your thirst.  

Messaging Jaemin is a breeze. He types with more than half a brain, and he flirts, but it isn’t overwhelming or repulsive. Segueing the current topic, you drag your bottom lip upward as you send the following message:  

so, hypothetically... if one were to have good time with you would tonight work?

Not even twenty seconds later and he replies with:

-wow, dont you go straight to the point -im impressed -but yeah -tonight works ;)

He’s quick to send his address.

-let me know when ur here and ill come get you out front!

Smacking your lips together, you squeal to yourself in the comfort of your home, excited to meet with him, but then a thought hangs over you—this feels a little too good to be true. Horrible scenarios run through your head, so your fingers dash across your phone’s keyboard:

tbh i haven’t really done this b4 so im kinda new to this is it ok if we video call or smth? gotta make sure you’re real and not a serial killer i’m sure you understand 😛

-for sure for sure -totally get it -ive had my fair share of fake girls and serial killers so i feel u 😛

Grateful for his consideration, you rush to rearrange your hair after you send him a Zoom link, hoping you look decent enough to not have him back off from his initial offer. He appears in the video call on his phone with the front-facing camera on a few seconds after you connect.

“Hi,” you chirp.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey.”  

Okay, he’s definitely cuter in real-time than in his pictures.  

“You know, I’m not gonna lie, but I lowkey expected to see a dick or something,” you joke in an attempt to dispel your nervousness.  

“Same,” he chuckles, running a hand through his black hair.

Oh God, he’s not just cute—he’s devastatingly gorgeous.

“So, this is my place...”

Jaemin moves around with his apartment in the background, revealing his living room first. Envy prods you as you note the brick walls, high ceiling windows, and well-appointed furnishings.

Recalling his address, you ask, “How’d you get a place in the heart of the city?”

“Lucked out,” he shrugs. His phone shakes a bit as he’s still moving. “My friend slash roommate—who is at his girlfriend’s place tonight, so we have the place all to ourselves—his parents own the condo and they gave me a friend discount on the rent.”

He finally stands in one place and turns the light on to reveal a room. “And this is my bedroom.”

Nothing out of the ordinary. A desk table with a gaming set-up, in tow with a gamer chair, and a decently-sized bed beside a nightstand.

“Oh, and here’s my closet.” Jaemin’s on the move again as he opens his closet doors. “Just to make sure you don’t think I hide the skins of my past one-nighters in here.”

A bubbly laugh rises from you. “Okay, I didn’t think of that before, but now you’ve planted the seed in my head. Maybe you hide them in the other rooms.”

“Nah, my roommate would kill me if I did.”

Both of you laugh in unison, and you bob your head with puffed cheeks.  

“Okay, it all seems very promising. I’m going to get ready and I’ll guess I’ll see you in a bit, Jaemin.”

“Sounds good,” Jaemin nods, then winks. Although you’re sitting down, he’s still able to get you weak in the knees. “See you soon.”

You end the call and rush to bundle up for the snow starting to come down outside. A twenty-minute train ride later, you’re at the front door of a rustic, industrial apartment complex. After informing Jaemin you’re outside, you glance up at the snowflakes falling from the dark pink-grey sky, anticipating for what comes next.

Sex with a hot guy, what can go wrong?  

So, you must’ve jinxed it because the sex is...  

Unsatisfying. Finished faster than you’d like it to be. Sadly, overall disappointing. If you had to rate it, three out of five stars, at best.

But hey, he came, and you sort of did, and it wasn’t the worst sex you’ve ever had. It half-quenched your dry spell.

And enough happened that it tired you out, leaving you passed out in the handsome stranger’s bed until morning.

In the morning, your eyes slowly flicker, unused to the foreign, sweet scent engulfing you in your bed. Correction: Jaemin’s bed.

Your eyes flicker faster as you glance through the almost wall-sized window. The snow hasn’t let up from last night. On the contrary, it seems like it’s snowing non-stop. You groan at the thought of going home in this weather.

The bed is without Jaemin’s presence as you reach for your phone on the nightstand. 10:36AM and a few notifications greet you. You rub your eyes and start combing through them, rising upward to sit up on the bed.

“Morning. You’re finally up.”

Peering up from your device, Jaemin’s standing by the door with folded arms. His plain sweater and sweatpants match the colour of his hair. The dazzling smile he gives is so contagious, you’re not even conscious of catching one too.  

“Out you go.”

You blink.

Once, twice, and then you tilt your head as you stare blankly at him, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

After a few moments, because you’re not moving an inch, his smile dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow in expectancy. A serious expression rolls over his face.  

Suddenly, Jaemin strolls to the side of the bed and hitches his thumb towards the door.

You definitely heard him right.

And he’s dead-serious.

You replay the video call from last night, dissecting how you thought he was nice and funny and—

Realization dawns on you.

Why would you expect anything more from a two-faced fuck boy?

Still awestruck by the situation, you’re still solid as a statue, so Jaemin takes matters into his own hands and grasps you by your elbow, casually dragging you from his bed like he’s taking out the trash.  

“What the fuck?!” you screech.

“C’mon, let’s go. Out out.”

“My clothes, though!” you protest in the middle of the hallway. He sighs in frustration, scurries to the bedroom, and returns with a small pile in his arms, then continues to drag you to the front door.  

“Are you always this pleasant with your guests the morning after?” you rage, putting on the rest of your clothes by the door. “You don’t even have the decency to offer me tea or coffee?”

“This was a one-night stand, not a bed and breakfast, sunshine,” he says as he watches you put your shoes on. He’s folding his arms again and leaning against the wall, his attitude dripping with smug. If he wasn’t a stranger, you’d punch it off his face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to this, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a borderline virgin who needs to toodle-loo, get going and gone because you’re overstaying your welcome as we speak.”

Finishing putting on your coat, you’re fuming as your jaw hangs at the personal jab over your skills in bed. Jaemin swings the door open and shoves you through it.

“But I’ll admit, it was still nice having sex with you!” he chimes with a sickening grin and a hand on the door.  

“Aw, thanks asshole, wish I could say the same,” you sarcastically reply, resting a palm upon your chest.  

He scoffs. “From what I heard last night, I think I can confidently say that you had a great time.”

Flashbacks replay in your mind of your screaming fest from underneath him. Little did Jaemin actually know—

“You know, for someone who I assume has many one-night stands,” you spit with squinted eyes. “I’m surprised you can’t tell when girls fake it.”

You must’ve hit a sore spot because he grinds his teeth and you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely the winner in this fight.

“Okay, you know what, Merry Christmas and fuck you. Have a great life!”

“Fuck you, dickface. Wishing you a miserable Christmas!”

With a bitter smile, you flip him off as he slams the door in your face.

Carrying a basket filled with dirty clothes, Jaemin’s on the way down to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment with his shoulder scrunched up, squeezing his phone to his ear.

“Bro, she had the audacity to say that I didn’t make her come when she was screaming my God damn ear off—”

As he steps down the short flight of stairs and passes by the foyer area by the main entrance to the building, he notices you’re still here.

“Shit, uh, Jeno,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats and calls out to you as he strides closer. “Are you resorting to stalking me by my front door now?”

With crossed arms, you peer over your shoulder, eyes full of bitterness.

“Like I wanna be anywhere near you right now,” you grumble. You jerk your head towards the thick, wooden door. “It’s jammed from the snow.”

The laundry carrier shakes his head and places the basket onto the floor. “A little snow never hurt anyone. You’re probably just too weak.”

Stepping aside and holding out an arm, you signal for him to give it a try.

Jaemin twists the handle and, lo and behold, it doesn’t open. His forehead crinkles as he tries again and again, using more force each time.

Glancing through one of the partially frosted windows adjacent to the sides of the door, he notices the snow has piled enormously high, almost to the height of his chest.

“Well, shit.”  

Reluctantly, Jaemin brings you back to his apartment. You’re technically his guest and if he left you in the foyer to freeze, trouble would surely come his way, whether it be in the form of his landlords (also known as his roommate’s parents) or the police.

Without a word, he settles a spoon in a bowl, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal onto the small kitchen table.

At first, you stare at it venomously in rejection, thinking you can easily last a day without any hand-outs from this son of a bitch, but your stomach roars ferociously three seconds later.

As you chew across from him, you enjoy the company of your phone over him, while he does the same but with a cup of coffee in hand.

After finishing your food, you adamantly place your phone down and lean back into the chair, boring holes into his head.

“Why are you such an asshole?” you seethe observantly.

“Why are you such a bitch?” he retorts, not pulling his gaze away from his phone.

“Because you started it,” you say slowly, stating the obvious.

“No, you.”

You sigh defeatedly at his childish behaviour. The weather apps predict the snow will (hopefully) die down by tomorrow morning, thus you’re officially stuck with him for the next twenty-four hours or so. Your hands rake through your hair.

“Whether we like it or not, the snow isn’t going away until tomorrow. Merry Christmas Eve to us, I guess.”

He’s still glued to his phone. You exhale another sigh.

“Since we’re not getting out of this until then, can we just...” You soften your voice. “Start over?”

His eyes are still on the screen, but from the way his shoulders tense and how he stops scrolling, you know he’s considering your proposition.

“At least call a stalemate over this.” You drift your hand in the air, gesturing between you and him.

Blowing out air and shaking his head, he rests his phone onto the table.

“Fine.”

He crosses his arms, imitating you, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other in a long silence.  

One minute, to be exact.

You’re the one to break the silence game by running your hands over your face, letting out a hybrid of a groan and laugh.

“God, the fact that we had sex makes this kinda awkward, huh?”

Jaemin’s exterior melts slightly, letting out a snicker. He shrugs, “Then let’s just pretend that we didn’t have sex.”

“We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex,” you say, holding two upturned palms near your face.

“We did it, it’s done. I’ve seen your penis, you kicked me out, and you labelled me a prude—” You dart a finger towards him. “—which I am far from, by the way. All of those are pretty huge things.”

One of the corners of his mouth raises high. “Are you saying my penis is huge?”

“No, the implication of said penis is huge. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

He stretches an arm, holding an imaginary microphone to your face. “Do you deny that my penis is huge?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his fist away. “What am I, on trial here?”

“Do you plead the fifth then?”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes again. Why do you get the feeling that you’re probably going to be doing this a lot more today? Another feeling tells you that if you don’t answer his question, he’ll probably pester you until you do.

You tilt your head side to side. “It’s... decently sized.”

“Bigger or smaller than average?”

“Perfect...” His eyes light up. “...ly average.” And a frown rolls over.

He squints his eyes accusingly at your sneer. “Are you lying like you did before about faking it?”

You scoff. “I wasn’t lying about faking it, and I’m not lying now about your average sized dick.”

Jaemin releases a disgruntled grumble and lifts his cup to his face. You notice he likes to take his coffee black and bitter, presumably like his heart.

“So, Miss I’m-Not-A-Prude-and-I’ve-Definitely-Had-Sex-Before.” His eyebrows perk up on the word definitely. “What’s your story? Why the last minute one-night stand?”

Shrugging your shoulders to your ears, you reply, “Haven’t had sex in a while.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asks mid-sip.

“Half a year ago,” you respond nonchalantly, perching your chin into your palms.

Jaemin immediately chokes, almost spraying the coffee through his nose.

“Half a year?!” he gasps. It takes him a few hits to his chest to dispel the coughing. “Six months?!”

“Wow, you can count!” you exclaim in a condescending tone. You change the position of your hands so that your chin is now atop of the back of your curled fingers and tilt your head. “Can you also spell?”

“As a premed student, I can assure you that I am capable of doing both,” he says with a slight strain due to the coughing fit. The humble brag brings on another eye roll. Of course he’s a premed student with the attitude he wears.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat and swallows the last bit of coffee stuck in his windpipe. “—The last time I had a dry spell was for like, a month, tops.”

So the fuckboy gets laid way more on the daily than you expect. You’re torn between being envious over how much action he gets in comparison to you, or remorseful, since you’re now just one of the many notches on his bedpost.

No matter, sarcasm is always the best defence mechanism.

“Good for you, Jaemin. I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

There’s an awkward beat. His head hangs for a moment while his thumbs stroke the sides of his cup. A strange pinch of guilt occurs. Did you overstep an unspoken line? But then he drags himself back to reality in a heartbeat.

Jaemin brings the cup to his mouth again, mumbling, “At least the sex on your part makes more sense now; you’re rusty as fuck.”

Completely aware of what he said, you trash your guilt entirely and narrow your eyes. “What did you just say?”

Following a long sip, he hums, “Mmm, nothing.” Soon after, he stands up with his cup.

“I’m gonna go game now. Feel free to watch Netflix on the TV and stay in the living room.”

As if you had anywhere else to go...  

He begins to walk towards his room as you mutter under your breath, “I’m not a dog.”

“Says the bitch,” he pipes up, taking you by surprise.  

“Thought we had a stalemate?!” you shout, leaning your head forward as you watch him entering his room.  

“Doesn’t mean we’re on peaceful terms!” he sing-shouts.

The flinging of the closed door echoes throughout the apartment.

Regret surges through you. You just had to choose a fuckboy fluent in assholery and end up incidentally being isolated with him during a snow storm on Christmas Eve.

You wonder if you can handle being around him for the next twenty-four hours without killing him first.

During the afternoon, you’re on the living room couch, playing a show as mostly background noise while you’re on your phone. At one point, your phone unsurprisingly begins to die and you tread over to Jaemin’s door to ask for a charger and if you can also take a shower. He’s still annoyed by your existence, but at least he hands you a charger and lets you know where the extra towels are.

Stepping into the living room with the towel in your hand as you dry your hair off, you peer out the large living room window and see nothing but white engulfing the streets and buildings as far as the eye can see.

You pray the snow will eventually stop as soon as possible so you can head back home.

By the middle of the afternoon, Jaemin emerges from his bedroom and shocks you by plopping down on the opposite end of the living room couch from where you’re sitting.

“Bored?” you ask, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p as he says it. His slings his arm around the top of the couch.

“Gotta keep an eye on you in case you do something.” Turning away from the screen, he faces you and motions circles with his hand. “You’ve got a little crazy in you, I can feel it.”

You quickly glance over at him, but try to refocus on the TV. “Need I remind you that you’re the crazy one, dragging me out of the apartment right as I woke up.”

That compels him to turn his whole body towards you. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a last-minute one-night stand.”

You match his stance. “As if I’m the first girl in your bed to stay in the morning?”

“Actually, yeah.” He aggressively tilts his head to one side. “Most girls leave before I even get up. The other percentage don’t fight me when I ask for them to go, so it looks like you’re the odd one out.”  

You press your lips together, refusing to admit that maybe he has a point, under the assumption that he’s telling the truth.

Jaemin twists his body back to the screen and adds, “I make it very clear on my profile that I don’t do morning afters, sweetheart.”

And you agree that his profile is clear about his intentions, but that doesn’t mean you can condone his shitty behaviour.

“Well, sorry that I expected just an ounce of respect instead of getting kicked to the curb after you stuck your dick in me,” you grumble, shifting back to the show and crossing your arms.

“Morning afters lead to attachments, and attachments lead to feelings, and feelings lead to relationships,” he says the string of words clinically, as if it’s a mantra that he lives by.

Your eyebrows knit together as you whip your head towards him once more, studying him.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

Deliberately averting your gaze, Jaemin grates his tongue between his teeth, a slight tsk audibly heard, and his chin juts out. There’s definitely a story behind his ways. He huffs and changes the subject.  

“Seriously?” He holds a hand out. “You’re watching this trashy show?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you could probably interrogate him further, but you decide otherwise.  

“It may be trashy,” you concur, looking at the TV. “But it’s my trashy comfort show.”

Following an over-the-top acted out scene between the show’s main love interests, Jaemin shoots up from the couch.

“Yeah, no, I can’t handle this. Can we either put on something else or game or something?”

“Why don’t you go back to your room to game, Mr. I’m-Not-Bored?”

“Like I said, I gotta keep an eye on you,” he says while bending over in front of the TV, already setting up the Playstation. He tosses you a controller as he strides to his side of the couch again.

He mumbles to himself, “Need to make sure you don’t go crazy from the lack of human interaction.”

Either Jaemin is selfish and only looking out for himself, or he wants to make sure you’re not feeling lonely in a stranger’s home.

Likely the first reason, you deduce—because why would a guy like Jaemin care about a mere one-night stand?

Admittedly, you’re not the best at games, especially at fighting ones. You can comprehend the move lists, but you like to live by button smashing the controller and repeating moves over and over.  

So it’s hilarious when you beat Jaemin every round with your surprisingly fruitful technique.

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Jaemin complains, sticking his tongue out in irritation. His ass is currently being handed to him on a plate again since you’re almost done killing his character off. “You must be lying to me; you have to be a pro player or some shit.”

Jaemin’s health bar is dangerously low as your character jabs his with a sword. He winces out loud and you snicker.

“Why do you think I always lie about everything?! Dude, you have serious trust issues,” you joke before you steal the opportunity to slice his character. One more hit and he’s done for.

“I do not! I just—nooo!”

You rise to your feet and pump your arms in the air, turning in circles in joy over yet another win.

Sulking, Jaemin eyes your little dance from his end on the couch, but as he watches you more, a feeling balloons in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Finally coming down from your post-win high, you spot an emerging grin from the corner of your eye, making you pause.    

“What?” you eye him suspiciously.

Your suspicion pops the sensation in his chest and, like a fish out of water, his eyes widen and his grin melts away.

“Nothing, uhm.” He ruffles his eyebrows and palms the back of his neck, quickly facing the TV. “Let’s go one more round and then we can switch to another game—”

Suddenly, the TV and surrounding lights switch off. Both of you waver your eyes, anticipating for them to come back on, but they unfortunately don’t.  

Jaemin rushes over to the window. When he swivels his head towards you, his face darkens.

“Looks like it’s at least the whole block. The streetlights are out too.”

Without another word, he dashes to the linen closet and brings back several blankets. He calmly explains that there won’t be heat since it’s connected to the electricity, so it’d be best to keep warm with the extra layers.

Not wanting to scare you, he doesn’t add the fact that due to the huge windows in the apartment, more unnecessary cold air will come in, but you’re already cognizant of it from your own logic and since the remaining heat dissolves rapidly.

You groan and retreat into the massive blanket over your shoulders, turtling your head.

You can’t believe you’re going to fucking die in this asshole’s apartment on Christmas Eve.

On the ends of the couch in your makeshift blanket jackets, both of you attend to your phones for a while.

From what people and the news outlets are saying, it’s not just the block, but the whole city grid is out. You frantically text your friends, giving updates on how you are and half-jokingly telling them that you’re going to die with your dreadful one-night stand. Some time passes and Jaemin tosses his phone  off to one side.  

“Well, since there’s nothing else to do and we should probably conserve our phone batteries—” You glance up at him from your phone and pout. Slowly nodding in agreement, you toss it aside too. “—why don’t we play a game of ‘I’ll-Give-You-Pointers-on-How-to-be-Better-in-Bed’?”

A smile burgeons on his irritatingly handsome face and your eyes roll. At this point, you wonder if the reaction is conditioned into you. “It’ll be my early Christmas gift to you.”

“Wow, so thoughtful, how could I ever thank you?” You drag the blanket closer to your chest in false gratitude.

You think for a serious moment if you really want to go through with this. Hearing Jaemin run his mouth on you unwarranted is already painful, but to give him the go-ahead to do so? Especially criticizing your skills in bed?  

You blow out a sigh, noting the slightly visible cloud. You’re grateful Jaemin has thick, downy blankets.  

Well, if you’re going to die, may as well know what went wrong, right?

“Fine, but if we’re playing this game, we have to say everything honestly and take the criticism we get.” You point a stern finger. “No rebuttals, just acceptance.”

“Wait.” Jaemin crinkles his face in genuine confusion as his hand peeks out from his blanket.

“You have things to criticize about me in bed?”

Your lips tremble before you burst into laughter. Displeasure is on Jaemin’s tight-lipped face as you laugh for a while, almost keeling over in your blanket ball onto the hardwood floor. “How conceited are you, oh, my fucking God?”

He slices his hand through the air. “I’ve never had any complaints—”

“Because you’re too busy focusing on your own orgasm, you selfish dickwad,” you say as your laughter dies down.  

He sits in his snit for a few more moments until he gets over it.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. Jaemin knows he’s not going to enjoy this, but he’s the one who suggested it. He can’t back out now. “Let’s just get this over with, you go first.”

With your blanket held by your chest, you hop off your end of the couch and shuffle over in front of him where he’s seated. Beaming, you begin.

“Let’s start with foreplay.” Jaemin’s eyes light up with confidence, thinking he’s at least decent with that. You crush his expression as your lips purse and you shake your head.

“Non-existent.”

“What do you mean?! I kissed you as you took off your clothes.”

You stick your free hand out from your blanket, extending your index finger.

“One: you only kissed my lips. You know, there are other parts of me to kiss, like, I don’t know, my neck, my arms, my shoulders.”

You extend another finger. “And, two: it’s weird to not help someone take off their clothes. Like you’re in a super rush to get somewhere or something—”

“We’re fucking!” he cuts in sharply. “This is a one-night stand, not a relationship.”

Closing your eyes and dropping your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh in exaggeration.

“Thought we agreed no rebuttals...” you softly sing-say.  

Jaemin’s head sinks a little into his blanket. “Sorry.”

Removing your hand, you shrug. “Maybe there’s some rule that I don’t know about one-night stands, so this could be on me.”

You start to aimlessly tread back and forth in front of him, dragging the blanket along too. “But fuck, foreplay is foreplay for a reason. You work your way up to the heat of the moment and it makes sex much better, regardless if you’re in a relationship with the person or not.”

“Next point.” You stop walking and direct your focus on him. Pointing your finger and looking him dead in the eye, you ask, “Do you know what a vagina is?”

He snorts with a simper. “Uhhh, is this a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m legit asking,” you say with a raised eyebrow and snarky smile. “Because when you went down on me, all you flicked your tongue at was the outside of it, also called the labia if you didn’t know.”

“I’m premed, of course I—”

“Which is great! But you didn’t go any deeper nor did you go near my clit.”

You thrust your finger again. “Do you also know what that is?”

“Yes...” he groans with the flickering eyelids.

You swipe your arm through the air. “Maybe make use of it, and not only when you go down on girls. Even during sex, touching it is great.”

“And lastly,” you continue. “I’ll be honest here, you have a decent dick.”

Jaemin waggles his finger. “So you were lying before—”

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort firmly. “But anyways, you’ve got the stuff, but why don’t you put it to better use?”

With the following words, you attempt to gesture with your body and execute moves as graphic visuals. Jaemin giggles at the sight.

“Vary the speeds and the angle, don’t just slam it in me and go crazy fast from the get-go. Build up to the climax. Jesus, I couldn’t even get close to coming because you’re like a jackhammer from start to finish.”

When you finally finish, Jaemin’s giggles morph into hollow laughs. Frustration is blatant on your face, pondering if he even absorbed a single word you said.  

After he calms down, he asks, “Are you done?”

You mumble, “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you switch places. He shuffles onto his feet with his blanket while you sit back on the couch.

Jaemin pulls the blanket across the floor as he ambles. “Okay, your head game is decent—”

“Excuse you, my head game is strong.”

“Uh-uh, rebuttal,” he points out.  

You sigh. Pinching your fingers together, you drag the invisible zipper across your mouth, then wave your hand, allowing him to resume.

“Your head game is decent. You definitely can deepthroat, but—” He mirrors you from before and extends his index finger.

“One: this happened only a few times, but your teeth scraped against my dick, which is why I assumed you were a borderline virgin.”

You fume silently at the accusation, attempting to not speak up with a heap of rebuttals. But he wasn’t wrong—if you teethed on his dick, that’s a classic virgin move.

“But that’s okay, because we already established that you’re just rusty.” Jaemin flashes you a fake comforting smile as he continues to pace. You flash him one back.

“And two—” He holds another finger out. “Don’t be scared to use your hands and stroke me. Give my dick some love. If it’s too wet, just wipe your hands on the bed or something.”

“Okay, duly noted,” you hum. “Next.”

“Don’t be scared to touch me.”

“I touched you so much during—”

He shoots you a glare. You roll your mouth inward, your lips disappearing instantly.

“Your hands were mostly on the sheets, which is hot, but guys like to be felt up too.”

The attractive individual peers up for a second, thinking to himself. “Even hotter when a girl feels herself up during the fucking, but that’s beside the point. Baby steps, just remember to touch the other person.”

Jaemin does a full-stop and faces you.

“And just... don’t fake it.” Distress is evident in his pout. You hate to admit it, but it’s a little cute. He raises an arm and jerks it in the air. “Why do girls fake it?”

“Because guys with egos like you can’t handle criticism,” you reply bluntly.  

“What are we doing, having this conversation, hm?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t snow in and keep us here together.” You peel a hand away and gesture to the window. “If I walked out of here this morning, you would’ve just fucked the next girl the same.”

He defends himself, “Faking it just feeds our egos.”

“Yeah, well, if I told you afterwards that I didn’t come, what would you do?”

“Try to make you come in other ways?”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “Guys like you aren’t that considerate.”

“You’re right.” He assents, holding his pointer finger against his chest. “Because guys like me aim to please.”

A brilliant thought leaps in his mind and Jaemin gasps. You can only assume bad things from the wicked smile he sends your way.  

“Why don’t we try it again?”

Perplexed, you squint at him.

“Try what again...?”

“Sex,” he says enthusiastically.

You blankly stare at him.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you deadpan.

“I mean, there’s nothing else to do and it’ll keep us warm.” 

You continue to stare at him until you groan.

“Oh, my God...” Your blanket droops a bit off your shoulders as you drag your palms across your face. “I cannot believe I’m stuck in this snowstorm with you out of all people...”

Sitting next to you, Jaemin persistently reasons with you. “Think of it also as another learning experience for the future partners we’ll have.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die first!” you shriek.

“We’re not going to die,” Jaemin replies in a mocking tone and a dart of his tongue.  

Outside the window, the snow seems to have slowed down, but not by much.  

God, Jaemin better be fucking right because you want to live to see another day.  

“Fine,” you mutter and match his gaze. “But we have to be vocal throughout the whole thing. Say whatever’s on our mind.”

“Fine,” he agrees to your terms. He produces the same wicked smile again. “But can we film it then? So we can study it after?”

You fire him a death glare that melts his face off, even in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says, waving his hand.

They say that jokes are half-meant true, but you think Jaemin fully meant it. Still in your blanket jackets, Jaemin snags your free hand and leads you to his room.

“You gotta give me credit for trying, though.”

“No.” You shake your head with an unwilling smile creeping on the edge of your lips. On second thought, maybe the joke was a little funny, but you still stand by your opinion that he’s the most annoying person in the world. “I don’t think I will.”

“Thank God Chenle has so many scented candles...”

On the edge of Jaemin’s bed, huddled by the blanket, you watch him light up several large jars, placing them on his nightstand and desk in hopes to brighten the room. It’s already late afternoon, but one could mistaken it for nighttime with the muddy sky due to the snow.

“Is Chenle your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers with a slight shiver, igniting the last candle near the bedside. He removed his blanket when he went to nab the matches and candles. “His girlfriend gets free ones from work, so she always gives him a shit ton, even though he never uses them.”

With a glowing hue against his face, he blows out the match. He makes his way to you, a cocky grin plastered on him, as he says, “Guess we’re making use of them now, though.”

Before you can even respond, Jaemin gets right down to business—sitting beside you on the mattress, he palms your face and drags you in for a kiss. You softly yelp, but immediately reciprocate.

The cover falls off your body as you reach to touch him, fingers drifting over his solid arms.

You don’t want to stroke his large ego, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had anyone else on you in a while, but Jaemin’s kisses are something else.

The cushiony pair of lips always executes enough pressure against your mouth, increasing and decreasing on command in perfect tandem and timing. His hands hover over your waist and the nape of your neck, fingers sinking into your hot skin.  

His mouth trails downward the side of your neck. You crane your head back, indulging in his caresses as soft moans trickle out.

He gently signals for you to recline back and lay onto the mattress, moving the sea of blankets aside. Inclined on his elbow, almost atop of you, his cool fingers glide under your top layers, his thumb stroking against your stomach.

Pulling away from your body, he tugs on the ends of your clothes. You rise from the bed to better the angle for him to discard of them.

The hairs on your skin are standing on end from the frigid air, but you’re too focused on Jaemin’s mouth migrating over your upper arm and your bra-covered chest to care. Without notice, he stuffs a cup of the bra to one side and takes your bosom into his mouth.

Air’s seized from your lungs and your core contracts from the pleasure. Your fingers tug on Jaemin’s luscious locks and his free hand squeezes your unoccupied breast.    

After a few twirls of his tongue and a gentle drawing of his teeth on the pointed tip, he mumbles hotly into your chest while he thumbs your other nipple, “Foreplay still non-existent?”

“It’s better, I guess,” you sigh with fluttering eyes. His chuckling reverberates against your cleavage, a sign of amusement from your obstinacy. A gasp pierces the room as Jaemin repeats his actions onto the other breast.

He aids you in taking off the rest of your clothes and, obviously aware of your goosebumps and shuddering, tells you to get underneath the blankets while he strips himself.

Under the toasty ocean of layers, despite how both of you are bare-boned and how easy it is to jump into the main act, Jaemin purposefully continues to prolong the foreplay. Side by side, your lips meld endlessly; your legs and hands are intertwined in an amorous pretzel.

Jaemin ensures he doesn’t leave any part of you untouched—the pads of fingers virtually graze over every inch of your body. Each grip and drag of his digits sends you in a frenzy. Your chest is pressed into him and your eyes are blinded with desire.

In the back of your mind, you think about how you were right about foreplay working up to the heat of the moment—literally, because you’re dripping, he’s hard, and you two have embraced so much that you don’t need the blankets anymore.  

On the other hand, you wonder if Jaemin was right about skipping foreplay, because with every whisper of each other’s name, the intimacy rises immensely. You don’t know him, and neither him with you, but you’re both freely drowning in one another in a plane beyond the lust.

Although the room’s beginning to smell of a mix of all the scented candles, Jaemin hones in and drinks in your sweet aroma and your entirety behind his hazy eyes and already tousled hair. All of a sudden, one drag of his fingers over a particular sensitive spot on your body makes you giggle.

“I’m ticklish over there.”

“You mean right—” He drums his fingers over the area again. “—here?”

With a toothy grin, he generates more suffering from you and you begin to lively howl. Soon enough, you beg him to stop.

“You’re such an asshat, c’mon, let me live!”

When he ceases, his head hangs over yours and your gazes connect.

The same feeling blooms in his chest from before in the living room.

He gulps as his eyes waver over your face, unknowingly tracing your beautiful features and etching them into his memory.

Your starry eyes. Your glowing aura. Your everything.

You barely register the change in his expression because he quickly tramples on his moment of weakness by kissing you passionately.

Jaemin whips the blankets aside as he lowers himself between your legs. Your eyes are fixated on him, matching his stare, until he starts to devour you by swiping against your lustrous folds. Your back bows, and, following a few more licks, Jaemin makes a point of his knowledge of the vagina by spreading your lips and ravishing your pussy, tongue penetrating deeply.

Rippled moans release in harmony with your undulating chest. You swear you’re getting more wet, too wet, likely making it overwhelming for Jaemin, but he’s eagerly lapping every drop up.  

“How’s that?” he inquires with a grin, hovering over your trembling nether lips. His mouth is evidently glossy, even under the dim lighting.

“Good,” you pant in the most nonchalant tone you can muster up. “Very good-ahhh—”

Jaemin kindly interrupts you by tonguing your clit as he fingers your sex deeply, shattering your fake indifference.

“Move your tongue up more,” you direct, creasing your eyebrows in despair. He follows your direction, and droning moans ensue.

Jaemin’s immersed in your pleasure, but also adding to his own. The more he laps up your wetness, the more he grinds his length against the bed, aching to be inside of you.

Your desire pulses faster, contracting tighter against his fingers, body winding tensely by the second.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine, leaning your head to one side with a parted mouth. “I’m close.”

He draws back and temporarily replaces his tongue with his thumb.

“Good,” he pants, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are filled with determination. “Because I’m not stopping until you come at least two more times tonight.”

You exhale a light laugh. “That’s ambiti-ohgodohgod—”

His tongue works wonders on your clit once more, so much that he has to brace your bucking hips.

Okay, maybe Jaemin did learn a thing or two and actually listened to what you said during your critique.

But now it’s time to demonstrate to him what you’ve learned.

You don’t need much of a break to catch your breath, nor do you want to immediately freeze due to inactivity, so you pull Jaemin in for an intense kiss, tongue dipping into the remnants of your own nectar, then beckon for him to take your former place on the bed.

Perched on the bottom of your feet, you’re on one side of Jaemin, lackadaisically fisting his prominence. After a few strokes, you gradually swallow his inches, keeping in mind to relax your jaw and to not rush in order to avoid any potential teething. You do this to prove yourself worthy of giving head, but also in spite, because you absolutely do not need Jaemin to brand you a virgin again.  

You read his quiet groans and his long fingers running lazily through your hair as a positive sign and advance further.

Carefully, you rest your tongue beneath the underside of his cock and bob your head, licking him until he’s sopping with your saliva. His grip in your hair grows in strength as his length reaches the end of your throat, his groans becoming more and more drawn-out.

A needy whimper leaves him as you suddenly withdraw. Dribbles of your spit follow, and you wipe it off with the back of your hand.  

“How am I doing?” you glow in a pant, lazily stroking the doused shaft.

He simply nods with half-lidded eyes, barely able to look at you. “Yeah.”

You snicker at him in his breathless position, a prickle of pride running through your spine over the fact that you blew his mind as much as you blew his dick.

“Use your words, Jaemin.”

Teasingly, your fingers curl around his blunt head, soothing the sensitive tip and sending jolts throughout him.

“Fuck—” he pulls his bottom lip upward. “Awesome. You’re doing awesome.”

“Anything to critique?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head restlessly. You revel a bit more in having the upper hand on him a little while longer. You grip him tighter and hasten your speed, leaving him gasping for air.

“Am I still rusty?”

“Nope, nope,” he croaks, voice rising to a whine. “Definitely not rusty.”

“You sure?” His cockiness has transferred over to you.

“Yes, yes—fuck, slow down, please,” Jaemin begs.    

Granting his wish, you abate your rhythm and free his inches from your touch.

You wipe your hands on the sides of the bed while Jaemin rummages through the drawer of his nightstand and hastily rolls over the rubber over himself before he prepares to enter the body beneath his.  

Recalling your advice, Jaemin mindfully starts off slow. You sigh blissfully in sync to his thrusts. He adjust himself, attempting another angle, and you draw in air between your teeth.

“There, there—“

Jaemin’s quick-witted and keeps at it, plunging a bit more vigorously. Out of habit, your hands grasp onto the bedsheets, but you wittingly attach them to his frame. Hands grazing his neck, his firm pecs, and his taut muscles.  

“Touch-touch my stomach,” he orders in a hush.

You hands follow through and feel up the flexed valley of his abs. Feeling up evolves into desperate gripping and even the slight dragging of your nails.

“Your abs are so fucking hot,” you state thoughtlessly, eyes eating up the view alongside his cock disappearing in and out of you. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he rasps with that devilish smirk of his. God, you want to smack it off him, but not right now—not when you’re reaching euphoria. “You’re not just saying that?”

Oh, you’ve definitely stroked his ego now, but there’s no turning back. Truth spills from you on a whim.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” you gasp acutely.

You’re starting to wither away, yet, as if they have a life of their own, your hands drift away from him and find a new home atop your breasts.

“You make me feel so good, Jaemin...”

Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His mouth hangs at the lewdness of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, holy shit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave your ecstatic face or humming body for a second as you knead your breasts and tweak your nipples between your fingers. Your back arches further when Jaemin deepens his sweet, fulfilling thrusts. He’s holding himself back, not wanting to end this beautiful deed just yet.

The stimulation bursts over your body, both from your own doing and Jaemin’s.  

You plead, “Faster, please, faster.”

And he complies, but he also rubs your bundle of nerves, causing a tight knot in you to build up and your shallow moans transform into heavy screams. You clasp onto his back and claw at the protruding shoulder blades.  

“I’m-I’m—”

You clench, both with your core and your nails digging into him, but Jaemin’s unrelenting, capturing your second peak for the evening.

Instead of coming after you, he shockingly veers lower and closer to you and curbs his pace.

“Was that real?”

You respond with an exhausted nod. Oddly, the smile he shows this time isn’t arrogant, but warm and teetering the line of tenderness. His lips fuse with yours before they stray towards your neck. The passion stews as he sucks your tits, all the while lunging laxly into you.  

With an obscene pop!, Jaemin removes himself from your nubs.

“Ready for the last round?”

His fast thrusts, hitting you precisely in the best spot, cloud your already weakened logic, deterring you from making any response.    

Perspiration is blatant on both individuals. For him, his forehead glistens gorgeously with his damp hair. For you, the back of your bent knees are gluing together. Your bodies are about to pass out, but you both persevere until the end.

As you convulse and perish together in beautiful agony, coincidentally enough, the bulbs in the room and in the streets leap to radiance.

Together, you collapse onto the bed side by side, panting heavily and laughing.

“Told you we weren’t going to die.”

You turn your head to see Jaemin looking at you with a cheeky grin. In retaliation, you stick your tongue out.

By nighttime, it’s finally stopped snowing outside. However, the streets won’t be cleared until morning, at the very least.

But... you’re surprisingly okay with that.

In a turn of events, the sex inexplicably makes the two of you warm up to each other. There still is targeted banter and tension between you, lingering from before, but it’s less hostile and more playful.

During a fancy Christmas Eve dinner of microwavable pizzas, you poke fun at each other’s majors and discuss your respective hobbies in depth, especially his love for photography. Jaemin even asks if he can take a picture of you, claiming that the kitchen lighting actually looks nice on someone for once.  

“Is that how you collect the memory of your one-night stands? Instead of hanging their skins in your closet, you sweet-talk your way and keep all the photos of them?” you joke, referring to the video call from yesterday night. It feels like an eternity ago, but snowstorms tend to do that.

He chuckles behind the camera as he snaps a photo of you scrunching your face cutely.

“Yeah, but you’re the first one who has clothes on,” he says, glancing down at the photo on the camera roll.  

“Ugh, gross,” you cringe and take a sip of tea.

Jaemin doesn’t add anything further. He leaves out the fact that he never keeps any traces of his one-night stands, that you’re the first girl he’s taken a picture of in a while.  

After a few hours of more talking and even some gaming with one another, sleep is much needed. Jaemin offers an extra toothbrush and a sweater and pair of sweats to sleep in. You’re facing each other on his bed, noses almost touching.  

“It’s been a while since I haven’t had sex with a girl before I slept next to them,” he whispers, adjusting himself comfortably. The side of his face rests on his piled hands. “It’s kinda nice.”

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then lay your hand back under your head, reflecting the same position as Jaemin.

“You know, it might be my sleepiness talking, but maybe you’re not the worst person in the world to be stuck with during a snowstorm.”

A lovely chuckle echoes in your ear. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

After a few moments, your eyes are fluttering to a close until he softly calls out your name.

“Hm?” you stir awake, but not by much.

“Do you...?”

Jaemin doesn’t know what’s gotten to him, doesn’t quite understand why the defences he built for so long are crumbling down in only a day of knowing you.  

And yet, something urges him to give it a chance.

Blowing out a shaky sigh, he anxiously intertwines his fingers with yours. You hum softly at the action and a small smile blooms on your face.

“Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Hm?” His question doesn’t take you aback as much as you would be if you were fully awake. But even in your drowsy state, you have quips in hand. “Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, wants to go on a date?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently, brushing your loose hair out of your face.

Another yawn. “I thought you said you don’t want feelings and relationships and all that shit.”

His fingers trace your pretty jawline and shrugs. “One date doesn’t mean we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m sure you know that.”

You pause for a good two seconds, but the two seconds feel like forever for Jaemin.

“Mmm, fine. One date, just one.” You barely hold up your pointer finger. “And only because it’s Christmas tomorrow. ‘Tis the season to be giving...”

Relief washes over Jaemin in the form of a smile. Embracing the blatant feeling in his chest this time, he plants a light kiss on your nose and wishes you sweet dreams, even though you’ve already fallen soundly asleep.  

Sunlight pours over your eyes on Christmas morning.

Déjà vu peculiarly creeps up on you, but the only thing that’s the same as yesterday is waking up in Jaemin’s bed.

He’s next to you this time, deep in his peaceful slumber, instead of waiting for you to leave by his doorframe. The snow has finally stopped, and you think you hear the faint noises of snow plows outside. You inhale deeply and also notice the faded aroma from all the scented candles from last night.

The scenes of yesterday flicker across your mind. The incredible sex. The talking. The dinner. The interlocking of his fingers with yours.

The date he asked you out on.

You stare at him, watching him sleep with a sense of content.

Turning your body, you routinely check your phone, which is charging beside his. You have a slew of Merry Christmas texts from several chats and a few private messages from your friends.

Your attention falls on Jaemin’s phone when it lights up with a notification, likely texts from his friends and family too.

But that’s not what you’re focusing on.

Your heart sinks at the sight of his lockscreen.

It’s a picture of him and a girl kissing.

A twinge emerges in your chest and twists harder and harder.

Jaemin being a fuckboy, you can respect. People can do whatever they want with their lives.

But to cheat?

That’s unforgivable, and a true sin if there ever was one.

You scramble to dash out of there, careful not to make any noises in fear of waking Jaemin up. However, Jaemin’s sensitive to the sounds of the front door, so he rouses awake. His eyes flit open, noticing how you’re gone. He then sees his phone blowing up and adds two and two together.

With his phone in hand, Jaemin rushes to get on a coat and stuffs his feet into his boots, not giving a shit that he’s wearing his thin pajamas in the coldness. He’s bounding down the flight of stairs and onto the bright, white wonderland of the streets.

He swivels his head and catches sight of you almost past down the block, slowly trekking through the thick snow. Jaemin sprints, as much as he can, and hops towards you.  

He yells your name, making others on the street turn, but you don’t. You continue forward without looking back.

“Wait! I can explain!”

You’re trying to gain speed, but cardio isn’t your friend. Thankfully for Jaemin, it’s a close friend for him.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Jaemin,” you grunt, hearing the rapid crunching of his shoes coming closer. “Get lost.”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

The boyish man grasps you by the arm and turns you around. You throw his arm away from you and he holds his hands in the air, letting you know that he respects your space. He drops his hands and sees that you’re seething, even worse than you were when he kicked you out yesterday.

“How are you going to explain your lockscreen with you kissing your fucking girlfriend?! Hm?”

“Ex,” he pants in clarification. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows mesh together in utter confusion.

“Okay? That doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that you’re still hung up on your ex.”

Jaemin shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. You note the large clouds he exhales and how he’s barely wearing any clothes. A tinge of sympathy passes through you, wanting to give him some of your clothes for extra layers, but you smother that quickly in your state of rage.  

“I’m not hung up on her. Remember you asked me yesterday why I don’t want girls to stay the next morning?”

You cock your head impatiently, as if saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to attach myself to girls. I can’t. I...”

He lowers his head to one side. Shutting his eyes, a long puff emits from his mouth.

“She cheated on me.”

The snow plows in the distance can’t compare to the pumping of your heart in your ears. All the feelings you felt in the last day, but especially in the last fifteen minutes, jumble together in your head, making you feel uneasy and unsure of what to exactly feel or comprehend of the situation.  

But you do know one thing, despite the fact that you two barely know each other, the pained look on his face is real—that this is the untold story behind his ways.  

Jaemin lifts his head and holds out his phone for emphasis. “The lockscreen serves as a constant reminder that dating and feelings will and can fuck me up.”

Carefully, he steps a little closer to you and slowly cups your face in his shaking hands. You don’t pull away nor is there the same anger from moments before, so he daintily runs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Until you showed me yesterday that maybe I’m willing to give it all another shot. Risk it all for fuck knows what, but you make it look like it’s worth it.”

He continues his ramble after adjusting some of your hair from the ongoing breeze.

“Sure, it’s Christmas today, but I don’t want you to say yes to going on a date with me just because it is. I want you to say yes because maybe you like spending time with me just as much as I like to spend it with you.”

You’re completely disoriented—your eyes are shifting everywhere but his eyes and your lips are quivering with no words coming out. He sighs understandingly. 

“Look, I know you’re probably having second thoughts and you don’t have to give me an answer right now. Think on it for as much time as you need, but I want you to know that I genuinely like you and I want to go on an actual date with you.”

He peels his hand away from your face and raises it into the air as if taking an oath.

“I, Na Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, will devote to monogamy once again if it means I can date you.”

His hands grab yours, kisses the back of them, and then he presses one kiss onto your icy cheek prior to walking away.

“Merry Christmas,” he says with a sad smile. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Later that evening at your large family’s Christmas party, you take another dreadful gulp of your wine.

It’s the happy holiday season, but why does everyone feel the need to stick their nose in your dating life? Well, really, a lack there of.

“Why are you still single?” Layers of their voices resound the same question in your head. You take another swig.

Potential unsaid answers that you kept to yourself fly around as you swish the drink in your glass.  

Because you choose to be.

Okay, not really, but it’s the easiest answer.  

Because you haven’t found the right guy to get you back in the game.

What does that even mean? What makes the right guy even right?

The right guy? It’s someone who makes you laugh, someone who gives as good as they can take it, someone who wants you just as much as you do.

The cogs move in your head as you take one more sip before you finally come to the conclusion—  

Because you didn’t find the right guy until last night.

Despite the mess of today and yesterday morning, you realize that Jaemin is... actually sort of sweet. Annoying, yes, but he keeps you on your toes. It’s a plus that he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s a bigger plus that he’s even easier to talk to.

And if he can find it in his scorched heart to trust you, you can find it in your heart to trust him too.  

You quickly say your good-byes to your family and let them know you have other plans with friends tonight.

As the Uber rolls up to his apartment building, you realize you probably should’ve messaged him on Tinder, but it’s worth a shot to see if he’s home. Anyways, impulsiveness is a controlling entity, as evident from your Christmas Eve Eve’s adventure.

And in retrospect, perhaps Jaemin was the perfect pick of the crop after all.  

Someone’s entering the building and lets you in behind them. You take the stairs two at a time and hear booming music coming from his floor. At first, you assume it’s from other apartments, but it’s all coming from one—his.

Without a thought, your knuckle taps the door.  

A handsome figure that’s definitely not Jaemin opens the door. Behind him, you see a group of young men scattered around the living room, and some have a few girls tucked under their arms.

The man eyes you up and down with a spark in his eye. He’s not Jaemin, but he surely reminds you of him.

“And who might you be?” he asks.

“Who’s at the door, Jeno?” An unknown male voice hollers in a high pitch from the couch. He’s one of the guys with a girl attached to him.

You blink. “Uhm, I’m—”

“She’s with me!” Jaemin shoves the flirty stranger aside and tugs you by your wrist, making headway to his bedroom. He flips the light switch on and the door clicks shut.

“What are you doing h—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

An innocent one, at first, with hints of alcohol on each other’s lips. Your arms wrap around the other and the passion increases with the mingling of your tongues, each party tasting and confirming the specific drinks you both consumed tonight.  

Jaemin forces himself to pull away and presses his forehead against yours. “Did you just come all the way here to kiss me, or...?”

“Maybe I came over to ask... if I can stay with you for another night?” you playfully ask, fingers intertwining behind the nape of his neck.  

He chuckles heartily. His fingers sink into the sides of your waist. “Is my dick that great? The sex with me that amazing?”

“Mmm, that’s definitely a benefit,” you agree, fluttering your nose against his. “But I want more than that—“ You poke a finger to his chest. “—I want the man behind the dick.”

Your gazes converge, bringing you together as one.

“I want to go on that date with you. I want you, Jaemin.”

He flashes a megawatt smile that could compete with a million Christmas lights, but it fades suddenly and you’re unsure why he seems like he’s about to bawl his eyes out.

“That’s so beautiful, I might cry.” He brings a finger to his eye, pretending to shed a tear.

Oh, yeah—you’re definitely going to need to hire someone to constantly shove your eyeballs back into your sockets if you’re going to date Jaemin.

“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, yanking him in for another kiss.

Three dates later, including a memorable New Year’s Eve, you finally decide to rid of the Tinder app for good.

With his arm around you on his living room couch, Jaemin glances over your shoulder.

“Really? You’re finally deleting your Tinder?”

You snort in disbelief. “That’s gold, coming from the King of Tinder himself. When did you delete?”

He turns to face the television and shrugs coolly.

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you nod, eyes still on your phone.

“Nah, I’m kidding, I did.”    

You sharply turn your head.

“No way. When?” you press with narrow eyes.  

A shy smile emerges on Jaemin’s face as he picks his pants over his thighs.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, after you agreed to go on a date with me.”

#jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin x reader #jaemin smut #jaemin fluff #jaemin angst #nct #nct smut #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #jaemin imagines #jaemin scenarios #jaemin fanfic #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fanfic #nct dream smut #nctcreations

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

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