#I had to make this or else it would be stuck in my head

[chronicowboy]

bet the house (watch it fall) | 1.2k

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been six months since my last confession," Eddie says, a perfect recital of the line he'd spent all morning in the bathroom rehearsing.

For a long moment, silence. Eddie has to fight the urge to check there's actually someone on the other side. Then —

"Eddie?" It's a familiar voice. One that has the tension seeping out of Eddie's shoulders all at once.

"Yeah," he breathes out. "Yeah, it's me."

"It's good to hear your voice again," Father Brian says, a hint of a smile in the words. "I wasn't sure I would."

"I wasn't sure either, but, uh." Eddie digs his left thumb into the middle of his right palm until flesh yields to bone. "I needed to talk to someone, and I wasn't sure who to go to."

Not true. Knew exactly who he'd go to. Bobby. But Bobby was gone. And Buck would have been his next choice, but Buck was hanging on by a thread, and Eddie wasn't going to be the one to break it. He'd just be the one to catch Buck when it finally snapped.

"You're always welcome here," Brian tells him, and Eddie has to squeeze his eyes shut against the tears.

"This was my captain's church, you know?" he rasps. "That's how I knew about it."

"Captain Nash."

"I, yeah. How did you —"

"He spoke about you a lot. Spoke about all his firefighters, but especially you and a... Buck?"

"Yeah." Eddie huffs a wet laugh. "That tracks." Wonders what exactly Bobby would say about him. Imagines he must have painted a pretty tragic picture.

"I was very sorry to hear of his passing. He was a good man. I find that's increasingly rare in the world right now."

"He was something else alright." Eddie takes a deep breath, gathers up all the grief and the guilt in the back of his throat. "I wasn't here when he died. I found out over the phone." His voice breaks, and Eddie takes a moment to gather himself. Father Brian lets him. "Buck told me. And, God, I've never heard him like that before."

Except that's not true, Eddie thinks. He's heard it once before. When Los Angeles was half-drowned, and Buck was dirty and bloody and soaking wet and shaking, and all he had left was Christopher's glasses.

"I moved back to Texas to be with my son," Eddie says suddenly. Can't linger in that memory for long. Not if he wants to make it out of the confessional.

"Ah, I see." Another smile creeping into his voice. There's something about the way he speaks that reminds Eddie so much of Bobby that he has to turn his thumb, so the nail digs a crescent moon into the soft flesh of his palm. "You followed your joy."

"Yeah." Eddie sighs, drags a hand down his face, laughs a broken noise. "Left a hell of a lot of it behind though." Holds his breath for a moment. "With Buck." Waits for God to smite him down.

Nothing.

"Well, you can only fit so much in a U-Haul," Brian says easily. It startles a laugh out of Eddie. A real one this time. Sharp but real. "I'm sure he took good care of it for you."

"He did," Eddie agrees, just as easily. Then averts course like a coward. "I'm just. Stuck. Now. I'm having a hard time getting myself back to Texas even though my kid's there."

He leaves out the part where Christopher keeps telling him he's not allowed to come back until he's sure Buck is okay. It feels too big for such a small space.

"And why do you think that is?"

"I wasn't here when my team needed me. I don't want to make that mistake again."

"Are you thinking about coming back?"

Eddie laughs again. Another empty thing.

"I've been thinking about coming back since I left. I just. I never thought it'd be like this. Because of this." He shakes his head. Doesn't bother fighting the tears this time. "I wanted coming home to be happy. That's the only reason Chris is still in Texas. I didn't want him coming home to another ghost."

"That makes sense," Brian says not unkindly. "But, Eddie, I have to say, it still sounds like you're denying yourself joy."

And there it is. That fucking word again. The one that's haunted him since the juice bar. Since Buck on his doorstep. Since Eddie flipped that goddamn tablet and it took his whole world with it.

"Maybe." Eddie shrugs. What right does he have to joy when Bobby's was taken from him so cruelly? "Bobby told me once. He said that I didn't have to lose everything before I allowed myself to feel something." Those words have been on his mind a lot lately. Every time he looks at Buck, and he wonders if Bobby had seen something Eddie had never been able to look too closely at. "I didn't know what he meant at the time."

"And now?"

"Now, I know I haven't quite lost everything, but I've lost a hell of a lot, and I don't want to have to lose anything else before I allow myself to feel joy." The words come out hoarse and hollow. Eddie thinks, in another world, he'd get to say this to Bobby. And he tries to imagine the smile he'd wear when Eddie said it. That thing so full of pride, so naturally paternal. It winds him a little.

"What does joy look like to you, Eddie?" Father Brian asks gently.

"Christopher." Eddie huffs a breath, looks up at Bobby wherever he may be. "Buck."

"Mm." Eddie glances at the partition, just for a second, catches Brian's smile as he ducks his head. He loses his breath a little, looks back to the doorway. "What are you gonna do about it?"

And that's the question. The one Eddie's been trying to answer since he left. Since before that maybe. Since a quiet, half-honest conversation in Buck's loft. The one he gave up for Eddie. Since the lightning strike. Since the shooting. Since the well. Since Evan Buckley.

"I've got joy right in front of me." He shrugs, smiles just slightly. "I'm not gonna walk away from it again."

"Alright then." The smile is unmistakable in Father Brian's voice now. The way Bobby's would be in the engine when he was trying to keep them all focused but, instead, found himself getting sucked in. "Your penance —" and Eddie supposed he should have expected it, bringing this into God's house, but he'd thought— "is one Hail Mary."

"Only one?" Eddie blinks. He looks back at the partition, finds Father Brian's warm eyes already there.

"Something tells me it's gonna be a big one," he murmurs. Eddie ducks his head to hide the flush of his cheeks. How terribly easy he must be to read. How many people must have read him cover to cover before Eddie could even bring it upon himself to open the fucking book. How inevitable it all seems now. It's Buck. Of course, it's Buck. "Good luck, Eddie."

[itzpookiepooh]

Inferior

I’m sad so yk what that means 🫵🏾 SAD SHORT STORIES

You stood in front of the mirror motionless. Your eyes run over your features. You sit there contemplating what was wrong with you. You judged everything about yourself down to the last detail. You assumed it was just your monthly coming around and messing with your emotions however, what you were feeling was different than the monthly emotional roller coaster. It was like someone in the back of your mind was bullying you, taunting you.

You spent most nights lately analyzing your looks. You often thought if the people in your life really liked you. It was exhausting to think this way but you couldn’t help it. You blinked slowly thinking to yourself ‘this is really me’. Sylus was running around the N109 zone as he usually does in the night. He often worried about you when you got like this. He helped you in the best way he knew how, being there for you. So imagine his surprise when he walks into the room to see you zoned out in front of the mirror.

“Sweetie? What are you doing awake? It’s 3am.” His deep voice travels through the bathroom knocking you out of your trance.

“I was just…washing my hands.” You mumbled as you washed your hands, slowly zoning out once again. He pursed his lips watching you, his eyes flickering from your face to your hands.

“You’re doing it again.” Your head pops up as you quickly turn the water off. He sighs walking over to engulf you in a gentle hug.

“I don’t mean to.” You mumble into his chest. He kisses the crown of your head reassuringly. He knew you didn’t yet he couldn’t help but worry.

“You are the most beautiful, intelligent and brave person I know.” He tells you holding you by your shoulders. Your waterline began to fill as you looked away so you wouldn’t cry.

“Look at me.” He whispered to you holding your chin up. You sniffled as your hands make their way to his wrists. “You are the most important person in my life and when you hurt so do I.” He tells you softly.

“Thank you for always being there for me.” You whimpered out as he smiles softly. “I’ll always be here for you.” He whispers pulling you in for a tight hug. He would do anything to make this feeling go away.

You felt like you were going nowhere stuck in the same position constantly while you sat back and watched others grow. It was eating at you and making that evil green monster grow. You didn’t want to take it out on anyone because this was just something in your mind. You were happy for your friends and Raf, truly you were but sometimes that green thing called envy reared its head and whispered in your ear.

You had a long day and on top of this annoying little voice, you messed up a mission. It tore your confidence apart so you took it out on your apartment. Breaking glass and swiping tables all in the name of anger. Hot angry tears pour down your face. You ruined everything. In the midst of your rampage, Rafayel walks in with wide eyes.

“Cutie. Hey, what’s going on?” He asks, concern etched on his features. You snap towards him visibly angry. You couldn’t take this out on him. You wouldn’t.

This isn’t his fault. It’s no one’s fault, you’re just having a bad day. He comes over wrapping his arms around you as you fume with anger. You huff and puff until you finally take a few deep breaths. You were still trembling with anger. He just held you letting you breathe until you were ready to talk. He didn’t want you breaking anything else and regretting it later.

“I got you. Breathe for me, okay?” He whispers into your ear. His tone soft, coaxing you.

He was right he’s always been there. You didn’t want him to see this ‘ugly’ side of you. You didn’t want to seem envious or angry around him but he understood. Rafayel understands that humans much like Lumerians get jealous and envious.

“I feel like I’m stuck in the same spot, constantly.” Your voice trembles as your head falls back onto his shoulder. He squeezes you tighter. “It’s suffocating.”

“I know.” He mumbles into your shoulder, waiting a beat for you to say something else.

“I’m jealous of everyone around me. Promotions and other new life achievements.” You spoke solemnly, it was eating away at you.

“Sometimes envy doesn’t always have to be a green thing.” He says lifting his head. You turn to look at him sadly.

“Envy can be wanting something someone has but you don’t feel malicious towards them…like a tealish blue.” He explains looking off into nothing. You listen to him closely.

“You don’t have to be great at everything. You’re working yourself to the bone looking for validation from others.” He tells you, you felt your eyes water.

“The only person you need to seek validation from is yourself.” He spoke sincerely making sure you understood him. You face him and hug him tightly.

“I’ll always be here to support you, no matter what you choose to do.” His chin on your head as you silently cried into his chest. He meant what he said, he’d always be there for you even at your lowest.

Studying was getting harder and harder these days. You’d put the computer down and distract yourself with other tasks, it was a vicious cycle. Your motivation was wearing thin and you had no one to tell this to. At least that’s how you felt. The endless hours were gnawing at you. Did you even want this degree? Was it worth it anymore? Did you waste your time?

Endless questions and no answers for them. You closed out of your work and sigh. You push the bottoms of your hands into your eyes until you see stars. You couldn’t keep doing this, it was stupid.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you continue to do that.” Zayne’s voice echoes off the walls. You don’t move, you can’t face him. He just stands there waiting for you.

“Whatever you’re going through you don’t have to face alone. Lean on me.” He reassures you as he steps closer, crouching down placing his hands on your knees.

“I don’t have the motivation for this anymore. I don’t want to do this.” You whimper feeling tears burn at your eyes. He breathes out his nose before caressing your legs.

“Maybe you need a break. We can go to the beach this weekend and relax.” He tries to coax you, his eyes never leaving your covered face, “Just you and me.” He whispers.

You remove your hands from your face waiting for the darkness and stars to disappear. Zayne’s figure comes to fruition, you stare at him as he stares at you. He grabs your hands rubbing them gently.

“We will go on a vacation and then we can circle back to this, alright?” Zayne waits for your answer patiently, seeing what you’ll choose. You nod and he pulls you in for a hug slowly rubbing your back.

The room was silent as you watched yourself in the mirror as you tried on different outfits. You hated them and didn’t know why. This was the 3rd thing this week that made you feel a certain way. A very heavy feeling. You sighed flopping on the bed, moments later Xavier comes to check on you.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly as he sits next to your limp figure. You peek up at him and sigh.

“I don’t like how I look in these.” You mutter making him tilt his head in confusion.

“Why not? You look beautiful.” He reassured you reaching over to rub your head. You shrug sadly.

“I bought them thinking I’d like them but I don’t.” You explain to him as he thinks to himself.

“I think this is just the straw that broke the camels back. I’ve noticed you’ve been having a rough week.” He explains to you leaning back on his palms.

“I don’t know I’m just feeling inferior lately.” You tell him, your bottom lip pokes out as you think about it.

Xavier listened intently as you explained that work felt different as well as life itself. You were becoming unmotivated as you watched everyone achieve. You felt you could be doing better but what was better? He asked about the new wardrobe and you explained that you thought it would help but it just made you feel worse. You were comparing yourself to others and that was dragging you down.

“You’re yourself for a reason. If we were all doing the same thing it would be repetitive and boring.” Xavier emphasizes, you nod slowly.

Xavier was right, if we all did the exact same thing over and over while acting the exact same way, it would be boring. You stare at the ceiling thinking to yourself. You needed to clear your head. It was just a bad week, not a bad life.

“How about we go for a walk? Maybe grab a snack on the way back?” He convinces you, you smile and nod getting up to change your clothes.

Man did that help. It’s what you needed and a good long talk too. You couldn’t thank Xavier enough.

You felt like you were slacking when it came to work however, no matter how much you studied and pushed yourself—it still felt like it wasn’t enough. Caleb barely saw you these days since you were holed up in the home office preparing for the hunting competition. If you were slacking the way you thought you were, this would make up for it. Caleb was worried you were pushing yourself too hard.

He knocked three times before entering, peeking his head in the room. You were studying the layout and wanderers today. He pursed his lips before fully entering the room. You flipped through pages of guidelines, warnings and such things like that.

“Occupied?” He asks you as he sits on the desk, crossing his legs. You look up at him before sighing.

“Yes, I’m trying to be qualified for the competition.” You replied. His eyebrow quirks up at what you said. Were you not already qualified?

“You’re a hunter. I’m sure you’re more than qualified to join.” He chuckles looking at what you’re reading.

“Not like Jenna is.” You mumbled making him look at you with a sour expression.

“Jenna’s been doing this a while. I wouldn’t compare you to her.” He reassured you. You slump into the chair.

“She got where she is by working hard and she’s not that much older than us.” You explain feeling that familiar sadness. His eyes run over you taking in your expression and body language.

“Everyone works at their own pace, pips. Yours works for you and Jenna’s works for her. You don’t have to compete with everyone.” He assured you as he holds your face.

“I know but I feel so…out of place and behind. It’s not only her either I feel like this with…everyone.” You curl up making him sigh. He was worried.

“Maybe you need a break. A mental and physical one for your health. This competition will only make this feeling.” He points to your chest, “worse.”

He was right, Caleb was always right. You hated feeling like this because it clawed and dragged it way up your body. This wasn’t an extremely rare occasion but it happened enough that Caleb would worry about you. He didn’t want stress to kill you over something so small. He didn’t want you to feel like you were good enough because you were beyond good enough.

“Maybe you’re right. I just feel like I’m not doing enough and I’m not good enough.” You pout making him smile sadly at you.

“That voice is going to be the death of you if you keep listening to it. How about this?” He takes out his phone, tapping away before shoving it in your direction.

“A resort. We can both detox there like at a spa. Mud baths and facials y’know?” His content state was refreshing as you looked over what he booked.

“That sounds nice actually.” You tell him making him feel proud. He cups your face making you look at him.

“I want you to feel like you’re important because you are especially to me. No one is better than you in my eyes.” He affirmed as he kisses your forehead. You melt into it feeling safe and at home.

“You’re important to me too.” You tell him, he snorts before answering you, “Oh I know.” You smack his arm making him laugh harder.

Now that that’s over I can post the funny stuff

This was originally going to be a Sylus stand alone but this was fine too

[starshideurfics]

Ring my bell - part 8

part one…part seven

steddie, omegaverse, flagging/signaling culture, there’s plot now, in the smut, mdni 🔞

After everything he’s heard in the past hour, Eddie is surprised he hasn’t thrown up. A girl he talked to yesterday is dead, in apparently the most horrific way, and the government did a bunch of alternate dimension experiments that fucking worked? It’s absolutely insane.

And yet, all his little twerps are more thrown by the fact that he’s dating Steve.

But they’re more focused on Max now, Dustin digging through the medicine cabinet to look for aspirin, Lucas asking if she’s hungry. Nancy has the notepad from by the phone, making a list of her own questions, while Robin and Steve have an argument with their eyes.

Eddie’s mostly trying to shut it out, give his head time to calm down, sitting on the couch with his knee shaking as Steve stands in front of him. Eddie not-so-discreetly grounds himself with his omega’s scent, face pressed to Steve’s belly, arms around his middle. Steve is playing with his hair, fingers massaging Eddie’s scalp, making a little of his tension melt away.

That doesn’t stop him from startling when Nancy barks, “Okay, break’s over, circle up!” It also doesn’t stop Eddie from tugging Steve down into his lap, needing him close. Robin rolls her eyes, and Dustin gawps for a long moment, but Nancy barrels ahead.

“Okay, let’s start with what we know so far: Chrissy had a regular appointment with Ms. Kelly, Max would pass her on her way out each week. Chrissy was jumpy and anxious, which led to her buying weed from Eddie; she asked for something stronger to help with sleep, but Eddie only sold her weed.”

“I told her to see if she could get her hands on Xanax,” Eddie blurts. He flinches, waits for a scolding or questions, but everyone takes it in stride. Nancy even makes note of it with a nod.

“She may have found Xanax on her own. Chrissy went to the basketball team’s post-game party with Jason Carver, they argued, and Chrissy went off on her own to cool off. No one that we know of saw Chrissy again before the next morning, but Chase saw lights flicker around one in the morning. Jason found Chrissy this morning with all of her limbs broken and bloody eyes.” Nancy pauses and takes a breath. “Is there anything else we know about Chrissy in the past couple of days? Or anything else that might be related to the Upside-Down?”

Max has a hand over her eyes when she speaks up, “Chrissy was crying in the girls’ bathroom yesterday.”

“Did you talk to her?” Robin asks as Nancy writes that down.

“Just asked if she was okay, she brushed it off… It sounded like she might have been puking when I was coming in…”

“Oh,” Steve murmurs, shaking his head sadly.

“Was she sick?” Dustin asks, “What does that have to do with the Upside-Down? Like how feverish people were getting when-”

“She was probably making herself puke,” Lucas interrupts. When everyone just stares at him, he adds, “My cousin got hospitalized last summer for bulimia and my aunt is a talker.”

“Okay, we can’t really speculate on why, but Chrissy was puking in the bathroom,” Nancy says, adding to her notes.

“But that’s part of why they were fighting, Chrissy and Jason. He was trying to get her to drink, she said that she didn’t need the extra calories, and Jason shoved a beer at her and spilled some of it on her.”

“Jesus,” Steve sighs, “Even without the weird stuff, Chrissy needed that weed.”

“And Carver needs a punch in the face,” Eddie mumbles into Steve’s shoulder.

“Did Chrissy say anything else, Lucas? Anything at all that stuck out last night?” Nancy asks.

“She said a few times that she’d walk home, but everything ended with her yelling that she wanted to be left alone and ducking into that room. A few of the guys dragged me away after that.”

Nancy continues to stare at her notes, taping on words with the tip of her pencil and shaking her head. Robin reads over her shoulder, just as intense, eyes moving faster.

“Eddie, did you notice anything else yesterday?” Robin asks, actually looking at him instead of slightly to the side, at Steve.

“She smelled scared. Like, deep terror kinda acrid in her scent. But she didn’t say why she was scared, just that she wasn’t sleeping well.”

“So, nightmares?” Dustin offers. That isn’t new for them, they all have nightmares about the shit they’ve been through.

“Nightmares,” Nancy agrees, writing it down. “And we know the Mindflayer could mess with what people were seeing.”

“But why Chrissy? Why not any of us?” Steve asks, and Eddie tightens his hold around him.

“Opportunity? Benny’s is closer to the old entrances to the Upside-Down,” Nancy says, finally looking up from her list. “Maybe it’s easier to break through there.”

“Or maybe it is coming after us, too.” Max still has her eyes covered, is even leaning against Lucas’s shoulder, something she hasn’t done in months. “Because I’ve been having nightmares, too. Really consistent ones, every night… I feel like I’m being watched.”

“Max,” Lucas murmurs, finally getting an arm around her. “No. We all-”

“These are different! Worse.”

The front door to the trailer creaks open, and Wayne freezes in his tracks. “Ed, why’ve ya got a half-dozen kids stuffed in here?”

[coltermorning]

Your Man (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Drunk at a bar, you and Arthur both give in to your feelings for each other over pool and karaoke.

Author’s Notes: My friend sent me a YouTube link of Arthur singing the song this is titled after (yes it is AI, no I do not condone that, yes I am guilty as sin of loving it anyway), and I couldn’t get it out of my head. So anyway here is a scene I wrote in like an hour that I hardly edited at all. It is a modern au and all fluff, and reading it with him singing in the background had me absolutely dying, thanks 🥲🥰 More notes at the end.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, fluff

AO3 Link

~

Your Man

Word count: 3250

The lights were flashing, bodies dancing to the music, but your gaze wouldn’t part from the man playing pool just across from you. And damn him for it. Karen and Mary-Beth had nagged you and nagged you about your feelings for each other, but you’d refused to admit to anything still. So now, you were stuck staring at Arthur Morgan, wanting him so bad that you blamed half of it on the alcohol in your system and half of it on the way he looked so good casually leaned over the pool table, taking Javier for all he was worth.

“So, just to be clear, you don’t like him, right?” Karen asked, taking your attention but not your gaze. Truth be told, you didn’t give a shit how telling your eyes on him were. But you still weren’t about to admit your feelings out loud.

“Nope,” you said, popping the end of the word on your lips before taking another sip of your drink.

She chuckled. “You’re a damn idiot, you know that? And he is too.”

You finally gave and raised an eyebrow at her.

“What’s stopping you two from being together?” she went on. “Besides being the most stubborn people I’ve ever met.”

You shrugged, losing all the fight in you when Arthur suddenly glanced over at you before looking away just as quickly. “You ever asked him that question?”

Karen snorted. “‘Course I have. And Mary-Beth and Tilly and even Abigail. We badger him like hell every time he flirts with you.”

You felt a rush of nerves bolt through you at the idea that he flirted with you enough for everyone else to notice it. And there was no mistaking that he did. The two of you somehow always ended up together, joking and teasing and giving each other a hard time. All because you enjoyed each other’s company. But the man wouldn’t make a move, so neither would you. He was still hurt over that last girl he’d been with years ago, and you didn’t want to pursue someone who wasn’t interested. No matter how much he liked riling you. Or how he was looking at you again, holding your gaze this time as he raised his beer to his lips and took a long pull from it. Again, damn him.

Karen sighed. “Whatever. Be miserable. Just know, that idiot wants you just as much as you want him. I ain’t seen him this taken with a lady in a long time.”

There were those nerves again. But you had gone quiet by now, eyes back on Arthur, meeting his occasional gaze in challenge. You wouldn’t look away this time. And he began to notice, watching the curve of your lips as you smiled over at him.

When the hour wore on and he eventually turned to you and winked, you were on your feet in seconds. He was too goddamn attractive for you to be away from him anymore. You waltzed over, leaning against the pool table just over the ball he was trying to land in the pocket. His eyes flicked up to you, but he only smiled and honed in on the cue ball, sending it rolling. The ball he was aiming for shot straight into the pocket underneath you.

John, the idiot now dumb enough to challenge Arthur to a game, waved him off in annoyance and set his stick back on the rack. “I’m getting another beer.”

“You’re finishing the game, Marston,” Arthur assured him.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back.” John found Charles in the busy crowd, and the two were soon swallowed by all the people. You were sure then John wouldn’t be finishing the game.

“You’re running them off left and right, Morgan.”

Arthur turned to you, raising to his full height, and something about that masculine way of his made a burning desire shoot through you.

“Care to play?” he asked with a devilish glint in his eye.

“Me? No. I’m so sorry at it, you’d be teaching me how.”

“I can do that,” he said with nonchalance, taking another drink of his beer.

You were drunk, but you knew that no matter the circumstances, you wanted this man to teach you to play pool, leaning over you with his hands on your body. “Do it then,” you challenged. No matter that you very much already knew how to play pool, and he knew that. Maybe he was feeling the effects of his alcohol too.

He motioned to the table with one hand. “Show me what you got then. I’ll correct what I see.”

Oh, you were going to milk this so hard.

You picked up a pool stick and sauntered over to the cue ball, purposely holding the stick too loose in your grip when you went to hit it. As a result, you barely clipped the ball, sending it not even an inch. “Told you,” you said to him, straightening up.

“Try again,” he said, watching you closely. Those blue eyes on you would be the death of you.

You did as he said and bent back over, trying a little harder this time. You sent the cue ball rolling but missing wide right of the last few balls on the table. “It’s useless,” you said, picking up your drink instead and taking a sip.

“No, you just ain’t holding it properly. Here.” He rounded the table and showed you himself—the very act you had been banking on. He showed you first how to hold your hands, then laid the stick on the table and told you to try. You bent over and purposely did it incorrectly, anticipation eating you alive at how close he was to leaning against you.

“Don’t you know how to listen?” he asked. Then he leaned over you, not as closely as you would have liked but still close, and corrected your form. “There. Now try.”

You did, once again purposely mishitting the ball.

He sighed. “Fine.” He leaned over you again, this time much closer. Your heart hammered through you at his touch. Especially when his hand held yours, his front lined against your back, and he said low, “You wanted me this close, you could have just asked.”

You smiled and, to retaliate, pushed your ass against him as subtly as you could. “Show me how it’s done, Morgan.”

The double meaning had him hesitating for once in his life, but he eventually moved with you, making you hit the cue ball perfectly, sending it careening into another ball. The second ball hit the pocket dead center. You straightened up and beamed. “See? You’re a good teacher after all,” you said, turning to him. Only he was still very, very close. And looking down at your lips.

“Seems so,” he said lowly.

You were a heartbeat away from letting the man kiss you for the first time when you heard a squeal of excitement come from your group. You turned to see Mary-Beth pointing to the stage. The music had lulled, and the dj was setting up karaoke. You turned back to Arthur, annoyed you’d been interrupted, but he was looking at the stage now. Frustrated, you did all you knew how to and attempted to rile him.

“You itching to sing us a song?”

He looked back to you, far enough away now that the moment from before had passed. “What, you don’t think I will?” he said on a grin.

That shocked you. “Hell no, I don’t think you will.”

“You ready to eat those words?” he asked, surprising you a second time. No way would gruff, angry, annoying literal Arthur Morgan sing karaoke.

“You’re not serious.”

“‘Course I am. Just to see that ridiculous look on your face last a little longer,” he said with a low laugh.

You shook your head, watching his mouth as he finished off his beer. “I don’t buy it.”

“Care to bet on it?” he said, his eyes glittering with mischief.

“You know what? Yes,” you said, knowing damn well you would likely lose your money. But it was worth it to see him up on the stage. “Twenty bucks.”

“Fifty,” he countered.

That was steep, but again, you were drunk. And wanted to see him sing. You wanted the excuse to keep your eyes on him as he moved that muscle-bound body of his to the music.

“Deal.”

He let out a laugh of surprise and said, “You’re on. Hope you brought your big wallet.”

The comment was so true to him that it had you laughing in fondness. “Go, then. Get up there.”

“Oh, I ain’t going first,” he assured you. “That weren’t the deal.”

You started pushing him. “Go on, coward.”

“Uh uh,” he said, digging his boots in. “I need about three more beers before I get up there.”

Without a word, you took his hand and led him straight to the bar, ordering said beers before turning to him. “There. Drink fast.” Your grin was wicked as you took in the surprise on his face. “Fifty bucks, remember? So these should be nothing,” you said, sliding over the three bottles the bartender had just set down.

Arthur rolled his eyes and paid for them. “You just love to bust my balls, don’t you?”

“Something like that,” you said with the rare confidence to wink at him too.

That had him stalling, unable to throw one of his usual comebacks at you. His blank gaze made you laugh.

“Come on, then. I believe you have a song to pick out.”

With that, you led him over to the group that had gathered—all but Abigail and John who were likely sucking face somewhere. They all lost it when you announced that Arthur wanted a turn on stage. Javier laughed so hard he was bent over, Sean clapping him on the back in his own laughter. The girls all squealed their excitement. “You’re joking!” Mary-Beth said to Arthur.

“Starting to wish I was,” he admitted.

“Awe, don’t go shy on me now,” you said, laying a hand on his shoulder. You were met with pure muscle under his dark shirt, suddenly remembering how all of this had come about. And, feeling a courage you blamed on the alcohol, you leaned in and whispered to him, “I may be willing to raise the stakes of our bet if you still sing.”

“How so?” he said, turning to you fully. You simply looked down at his mouth, and he got the implication.

Surprising you, he downed one of his beers and pushed through Javier and Sean. “I gotta song to go pick,” he mumbled. And for the first time, you were willing to believe that this man actually wanted to kiss you. That he would.

Tilly took your hand with a wide smile. “Look at you two, making eyes at each other!”

For the first time, you didn’t deny it. You just watched him part the crowd with his height, feeling your face go red as the other women surrounded you and cheered Arthur on.

Arthur ended up being second in line by the time he got to the stage. The first was a girl who couldn’t sing to save her life, but everyone cheered her on anyway, the bar packed with people so drunk they couldn’t tell a good voice from a bad one.

You watched Arthur down his second beer, jealous of that bottle on his mouth.

“I saw you two over by the pool table getting personal,” Karen teased, leaning in to be heard over the music.

“I think we’re both a little too drunk,” you admitted. “It’s causing a lapse in judgement.”

“About damn time,” she said on a laugh. And she was right. It was time for this. You couldn’t imagine any better night than this one to finally kiss the man, to admit your feelings for each other. There had been enough flirting and enough denial. You were both through with it, or else you didn’t think Arthur would have ever gone near that stage. But he had, and the current song was ending, and it was his turn to belt out God only knew what.

He took the stage with surprisingly steady feet, going over to talk to the dj. The girls whooped and hollered for him, and you couldn’t help but join in. Something about doing so made you think mine, like everyone here knew you were here with him and he was here with you.

In no time and likely before he lost his courage, Arthur stepped up to the mic. There was a moment of tension before the music played, anticipation making your heart thunder over what song he picked, over what him singing it meant. Then the first notes of the song began, and you completely lost it.

The girls screamed their approval at the song choice, all of you already familiar with its intro. Your face burned red as he held up his beer to you, looking you straight in the eye before starting to sing.

“Baby lock the door and turn the lights down low…” he started, his voice so deep and rich coming through the speakers all around you that you couldn’t contain your smile, your joy, your surprise at his song choice. He wanted to be yours.

Arthur proceeded to sing ‘Your Man’ with pride and a surprisingly smooth voice, every woman in the damn bar losing their minds over him. You could see why. He was hot as hell in that henley and jeans, not to mention his voice, his face, his movement.

When he got to the line that made him smile at you, singing, “I can’t believe how much it turns me on just to be your man,” Karen and Tilly and Mary-Beth all grabbed you and screamed, jumping up and down in their excitement. You couldn’t help but grin like crazy, holding Arthur’s gaze. This man, this perfect man, wanted you of all people. And he had more than proved it.

He pushed on, singing to you with that sureness he always carried, casual and confident. When he sang, “Come a little closer, let’s go over what I had in mind,” the girls lost it again. So did you. You were thinking of kissing him and doing much more than kissing him when they started to pull you forward. There was a brief lapse in music, nothing but his voice filling your ears as he sang the first line again and started smiling when he realized what the girls were doing. It took you until then to realize what they were doing yourself. They were trying to pull you onstage with him.

That must have been where you drew the line, because you clammed up and pulled against their holds on you. They kept on, stronger than they looked, the crowd parting for you when people saw that Arthur had started to beckon you onto the stage. Good God, that did it. He wanted to serenade you up there, wanted you there with him, and just like that, you melted. You gave in. Karen and Mary-Beth and Tilly pulled you along the rest of the way, Arthur singing to you all the while. When you got to the stage side, a bigger man helped the girls lift you up enough for you to reach your feet. Arthur, still singing, walked over, set his beer down, and took your hand. The crowd started shouting for the two of you when he led you back over with him. He eventually got to the point in the song that was instrumental, bringing the mic away and leaning in so you could hear him.

“I ain’t embarrassing you, am I?”

“No, not at all,” you said, though the heat in your face deepened. It wasn’t for embarrassment though. Far from it.

“You sure?” he asked again, pulling back so he could see your face.

“I’m sure. I love it,” you told him, smiling wide.

This must have convinced him, for he brought the mic back up to sing again. He wrapped a hand around your back and pulled you closer, looking down on you as he sang, “Ain’t nobody ever loved nobody the way that I love you.” You heard the distinct screams of your friends as Arthur said this directly to you. You about lost all sanity yourself. “We’re alone now,” he said, pulling you in closer and closer. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to-” And just before you thought he would kiss you, he kept on singing. Damn him for that. But you just laughed and let him finish out the song, your heart hitching when he called you baby. He took your hand and spun you under his arm slowly, looking at you with such admiration you nearly couldn’t stand it. You certainly couldn’t believe it.

The second he finished singing, he brought the mic down and kissed you. Finally, after all this time, he kissed you long and slow, the crowd erupting in cheers for the two of you. You just stood there, held in his arms, and kissed him back with more happiness than you ever remembered having. And when the song finally ended, he pulled away with a sheepish grin. The crowd went on cheering, and you went on smiling, and Arthur took your hand and led you away. He passed off the mic, letting the next fool take over, but all you could focus on was the way your fingers intertwined.

He led you away from the noise as best he could, over to the side of the bar. Luckily, the girls left the two of you alone, and Arthur had his rare chance to speak in peace.

“Bet you wasn’t expecting that,” he said on a nervous laugh, running a hand over the back of his neck.

“Expecting it, no,” you admitted. “Hoping for it…”

He met your gaze and smiled. It was a look so genuine that you could have told the man you loved him right there and then. Technically, he had already said it to you. On stage. In front of a hundred people. But you held off when he leaned in again and kissed you softly, quickly. He pulled back like he was still getting used to it, new as it was. Your fondness for him doubled.

“I’ve been…hoping for the same thing a long time. Been too much of a fool to say something,” he admitted.

“Me too,” was all you could say. There was nothing else for it. The past didn’t matter—all that did was the two of you, right this very moment.

“I’m glad.” He smiled wide again, his own happiness contagious. “Well, Miss,” he said, offering his hand to you. “May I have this dance?”

Whoever had gone behind Arthur was singing a song so fast and upbeat it was impossible not to dance to. So you placed your hand in his. “Lead the way.”

His joy was heartfelt when he turned and led you back into the crowd, into the music, into whatever this was growing between you.

Arthur stopped midway through the crowd and turned to you, yelling to be heard over the noise. “You owe me fifty bucks, by the way.”

All you could do was laugh and swat at his chest, high on your own happiness and on him as he took your hand and swept you away.

_________

End Notes: I spontaneously wrote this one, so it is not the modern au I’ve been mentioning previously. There are actually two more of those 😅 but I just couldn’t resist this one. Hope you enjoyed!

[sirfrogsworth]

This was a very tough conversation. My friend is a progressive on the right side of pretty much every issue I care about.

He is an artist. He was always an artist. When I met him at the age of 16, he had a guitar in his hand and an album's worth of original songs. *Good* original songs. He taught me how to play guitar. He taught me how to be creative in all things. He was a huge inspiration. Every creative act I have accomplished was informed by that inspiration.

He's wrong about all of this. It's clear he's trying to justify something that helps him. And it does help him. I've seen it. And I am not going to tell him to stop using AI. For the first time in a long time his ideas are no longer stuck in his head.

It's unethical. So is driving a car. Every time we drive somewhere we are contributing to air pollution that is killing some asthmatic kid.

But my friend is not who I am interested in fighting. Though his stance on this still troubles my soul.

Bad things can do good things for people. It's inconvenient to the narrative. It makes the fight a little harder. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop fighting for artists just because my friend is being helped.

But I am going to consider him in my opinion.

And I am going to try to see what he sees just because I personally owe that to him.

None of you owe him that. This is a *me* thing.

But I would appreciate it if you cut him a little slack and understand his context. And that you don't try to say his acts of creation are meaningless. They aren't to him. As I said in the replies, his ideas are his art. He's just never been able to show them to anyone else until now. I don't think these images he creates are art. But I think the stories he writes using them are. And I think he is being creative.

It's complicated. And it gives AI art bros ammunition. I've already seen them use the disabled to defend their soulless prompt engineering. I get that.

But we don't need to say "pick up a pencil" and we don't need to belittle the small percentage of disabled people using this technology for creative purposes. We can fight this just fine by shining a light on the myriad other problems brought on by AI. The environmental impact alone should be enough.

Falling into the AI vortex.

Before I deeply criticize something, I try to understand it more than surface level.

With guns, I went into deep research mode and learned as much as I could about the actual guns so I could be more effective in my gun control advocacy.

I learned things like... silencers are not silent. They are mainly for hearing protection and not assassinations. It's actually small caliber subsonic ammo that is a concern for covert shooting. A suppressor can aid with that goal, but its benefits as hearing protection outweigh that very rare circumstance.

AR15s... not that powerful. They use a tiny bullet. Originally it could not even be used against thick animal hides. It was classified as a "varmint hunting" gun. There are other factors that make it more dangerous like lightweight ammo, magazine capacity, medium range accuracy, and being able to penetrate things because the tiny bullets go faster. But in most mass shooting situations where the shooting distance is less than 20 feet, they really aren't more effective than a handgun. They are just popular for that purpose. Dare I say... a mass shooting fad or cliche. But there are several handguns that could be more powerful and deadly—capable of one bullet kills if shot anywhere near the chest. And easier to conceal and operate in close quarters like a school hallway.

This deeper understanding tells me that banning one type of gun may not be the solution people are hoping for. And that if you don't approach gun control holistically (all guns vs one gun), you may only get marginal benefits from great effort and resources.

Now I'm starting the same process with AI tools.

Everyone is stuck in "AI is bad" mode. And I understand why. But I worry there is nuance we are missing with this reactionary approach. Plus, "AI is bad" isn't a solution to the problem. It may be bad, but it is here and we need to figure out realistic approaches to mitigate the damage.

So I have been using AI tools. I am trying to understand how they work, what they are good for, and what problems we should be most worried about.

I've been at this for nearly a month and this may not be what everyone wants to hear, but I have had some surprising interactions with AI. Good interactions. Helpful interactions. I was even able to use it to help me keep from an anxiety thought spiral. It was genuinely therapeutic. And I am still processing that experience and am not sure what to say about it yet.

If I am able to write an essay on my findings and thoughts, I hope people will understand why I went into the belly of the beast. I hope they won't see me as an AI traitor.

A big part of my motivation to do this was because of a friend of mine. He was hit by a drunk driver many years ago. He is a quadriplegic. He has limited use of his arms and hands and his head movement is constrained.

When people say, "just pick up a pencil and learn to draw" I always cringe at his expense. He was an artist. He already learned how to pick up a pencil and draw. That was taken away from him. (And please don't say he can stick a pencil in his mouth. Some quads have that ability—he does not. It is not a thing all of them can do.) But now he has a tool that allows him to be creative again. And it has noticeably changed his life. It is a kind of art therapy that has had massive positive effects on his depression.

We have had a couple of tense arguments about the ethics of AI. He is all-in because of his circumstances. And it is difficult to express my opinions when faced with that. But he asked and I answered. He tried to defend it and did a poor job. Which, considering how smart he is, was hard to watch.

But I love my friend and I feel I'd like to at least know what I'm talking about. I want to try and experience the benefits he is seeing. And I'd like to see if there is a way for this technology to exist where it doesn't hurt more than it helps.

I don't know when I will be done with my experiment. My health is improving but I am still struggling and I will need to cut my dose again soon. But for now I am just collecting information and learning.

I guess I just wanted to prepare people for what I'm doing.

And ask they keep an open mind with my findings. Not all of them will be "AI is bad."

[theseventhdimension]

Hi!

I have a request for early seasons Spencer in a relatively new relationship Sleeping over at readers place the first time. Spencer being nervous about cuddling and affection in general.

Just straight up the fluffiest fluff imaginable.

Thank you! I’ll be waiting

The First Time— Not Like That.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn! Reader

Word count: 1.4k+

DNI: All are welcome!

Author's note: This is such a cute idea, i just knew i had to get to it straight away! Honestly I'm writing this from experience, based on how I acted when i went to my fiance's house for the first time lol. Hope you enjoy!! :))

Idiot.

That's the one way Spencer would describe himself as of this current moment.

Sure, he has the vocabulary of the entire oxford dictionary stuck in his head, but right now? He's an idiot. An awkward idiot. An awkward idiot who's standing in your bedroom doorway as you make yourself comfortable, urging him to join.

And he’d nodded, murmured a quiet “okay,” and then proceeded to do absolutely nothing that resembled any form of movement towards you.

He’s been stiff all evening.

Like, noticeably stiff.

His satchel is still sitting by your front door, half-unzipped, like even his belongings aren’t sure if they’re allowed to stay. He’d perched on the edge of your couch like it was some sort of Victorian chaise reserved for royalty. You’d offered him tea—made it exactly how he liked, with three sugar packets already stirred in and the fourth one left on the saucer in case he wanted to make it obnoxiously sweet, the way you’d teased him about once before. And he’d smiled, almost shy, like the gesture meant more to him than he could put into words.

But the cup’s still full. Barely touched. Lukewarm now. He had just been holding it, fingers wrapped too tight around the ceramic, eyes flicking around your apartment like he was trying to memorize every detail while simultaneously calculating the fastest exit route in case he accidentally makes a fool of himself.

He didn't know where to put his shoes. You had to gently nudge him into taking them off when he stepped onto the carpet like he was entering hallowed ground. He apologised when he used your hand towel. He asked if he should sit somewhere else when you curled up next to him during the movie.

You’re not offended. Not even a little. You know this is new for him—being in someone else’s space like this. Being wanted, and welcomed, and safe. You know he’s used to chaos, to hotel rooms and BAU briefings, to walls that aren’t really his and spaces that don’t feel like home.

So this? This quiet apartment. This night off. This soft bed with the creaky springs and the extra blanket you laid out just in case.

This is probably the most foreign territory he’s had to navigate in a while.

You’d kissed his cheek earlier—casual, sweet—and you felt the way he shivered. Not from discomfort. From something deeper. Reverent. Like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

Now, he’s standing in your bedroom doorway like crossing the threshold might set off some emotional tripwire, and you're here, inviting him to bed— WOAH. Not like that. At least.. he thinks so? No matter how fast he thinks, that's a little too fast for him right now.

But he wants to cuddle. Of course he does. He’s been thinking about it all evening, the way your arms would feel around him, the weight of your hand between his shoulder blades, your heartbeat steady under his ear. And now you’re right here, just a breath away, and he’s… frozen.

He can't. He just can't. What if he starts sweating really badly? Like, from his hands. Or worse, his pits. And then you’ll wrinkle your nose and shift away, and then you’ll think he’s gross and never invite him over again. And what if—God—what if he drools in his sleep?

Woah. He paused. That was a spiral. He needs to take a deep breath, like you taught him. You'd never do something like that.

..Right?

He inhales.

Then exhales.

Then does it again, slower this time—like you’d coached him through after a particularly stressful case, sitting knee-to-knee in your living room with his hands in yours, teaching him how to ground himself. You’d said it so gently. "In through the nose, Spence. Hold it. Out through the mouth. Good."

He should do that now. He really should. Because you're not even looking at him like he's weird. You're just… waiting. Lying there on your side, propped up on one elbow, watching him with the softest little smile. You even patted the space next to you, like some sort of romantic invitation he’s terrified to accept.

Spencer wrings his hands, then stops when he realizes that might just activate the dreaded palm sweat. He drops them to his sides instead and shuffles a little closer, still hovering awkwardly by the bed like a stray cat that doesn’t quite trust the food bowl isn’t a trap.

“You okay?” you ask, voice light and full of affection. Not mocking. Never mocking.

“Y-yeah,” he croaks, which is exactly what someone not okay would say. “Just—uh. Processing.”

Your brows lift, amused but patient. “Processing whether or not you’ll survive cuddling me?”

“Exactly,” he says, pointing at you like you’ve just solved a riddle. “That. Yes.”

You laugh, and god, it’s the prettiest sound. You hold your arms open toward him like a promise. “Come here, you dramatic little beanpole. I won’t bite.”

He flushes immediately. Beanpole? He’s going to think about that for the rest of his life. But he moves, slowly, carefully, like he's approaching some sacred relic. He climbs into bed next to you with all the grace of a baby giraffe learning to walk, knees knocking into yours, elbow accidentally jabbing your pillow, and—

Then your hand finds his.

Soft. Sure.

He shuts his eyes and takes a breath, like you taught him to. In for four. Out for four.

"Spence?" Your voice cuts gently through the quiet. He feels it before he hears it—low and close, humming through the mattress. "You okay?"

He turns his head slightly, cheeks already pink. “Yeah. I just… don’t really know what to do with myself.”

There’s a pause. Then: “Do you wanna lie here?” You tap your chest lightly with a crooked smile. “Just for a bit.”

He blinks. Looks at you. Then nods, tiny and quick, like a secret.

He shifts slowly, like you’re a museum piece he doesn’t want to break. When he finally settles on your chest, it's with an exhale he didn’t realise he was holding. His ear rests just over your heart, and your arm curls instinctively around his back, hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades.

You’re warm. And steady. He can feel the way your chest rises beneath him, the slow rhythm of your breathing, the soft pressure of your palm.

And Spencer?

Spencer dies.

Or at least it feels like it. His heart is racing, and his lungs might have just stopped functioning, and he has no idea what to do with his free hand because oh, God, it’s touching your waist, and you’re warm and your hair smells so good and he’s probably holding his breath again but—

You sigh against him, content and safe, like you want to be here.

And suddenly it’s not so terrifying anymore. His muscles begin to loosen. He dares to stop holding his cheek up, like he's scared that his brain a made of a million sand bags and will crush your heart if he dares to allow himself to relax. You push his head down onto you completely, and hum in approval.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

He nods against you. “It’s… really nice, actually.”

You hum, thumb brushing slow circles into his spine. “Good. 'Cause I was worried you’d combust from overthinking.”

Spencer huffs a laugh into your shirt, eyes fluttering shut. “I almost did.”

There’s a study—somewhere in his head—about how 20 seconds of hugging can significantly reduce stress levels. He remembers reading it on his computer once, the details etched into his eidetic memory. But more than that, he remembers the day vividly because you had brought him a croissant from the bakery across the street!

The study involved nearly 200 participants who were subjected to a stressful task. Those who received a 20-second hug from their partner beforehand exhibited lower cortisol levels, the hormone associated with stress.

Now, lying here with his ear pressed against your chest, he counts the seconds. Not because he wants to leave, but because, for once, the math feels kind. He recalls that oxytocin, the "love hormone," is released during physical touch, promoting feelings of trust and bonding. This hormone can reduce cortisol levels, the body's primary stress hormone.

He thinks about how this simple act of cuddling, something so foreign to him, is now providing a tangible sense of calm. The tension in his muscles eases, and he feels a sense of peace wash over him. It's as if the scientific principles he's studied for years are now manifesting in real-time.

Spencer smiles softly, his eyes closed, and thinks, "So this is what all the research was about."

[mr-crawlings-wife]

Hopeless Idiots

Prologue-9

Previous part, Masterlist, Next part

Warning: nothing much tbh, canon chaos

It's almost evening now. The sun is setting, dipping into the horizon. I'm outside Crowley's office, about to enter to clean it up and retire for the day. As I make my way inside, Crowley calls out to me,

"By any chance, Mao Mao dear, have you heard from Grim?"

"No sir." I get to work immediately, using the collapsible ladder provided to me by him, to reach the portraits hung on the wall behind his desk. I spray a light spritz of the cleaning solution before wiping with a towel.

"When was the last time you saw him then?“

Why was he asking me this?

"Way before class started..."

"Huh...so it would seem you have no idea."

I pause my movements. My hands going still against the glass protecting the antique portraits.

"Did something happen sir?" I resume my ministrations.

"Well...Grim and a freshman set the Queen of Hearts statue on fire. And then they- along with another heartslabyul freshman, destroyed the chandelier in the cafeteria."

I step down from the ladder.

"They made a deal with me... That they would get a magic stone fit for the chandelier within today in exchange for keeping their positions as students...and they've yet to return."

"Do you want me to go look for them?“

"That's up to you."

I remain quiet and don't offer him an answer. Instead, I continue to clean up. A faint sense of haste in my movements.

I head straight to the chamber of mirrors after I'm done. Why am I doing this? I don't know. I have no idea why I'm formulating a plan or why I'm almost running. Or even why I'm slightly crestfallen when I realise that I have no idea how to use a mirror for transportation as I stand in front of it.

Should I just say a command? Like how Crowley did when he tried to send me back home?

But this mirror is designated for only Heartslabyul. It isn't supposed to lead me anywhere else. But what if I end up lost?

I pick at the decorations surrounding the mirror, it's covered in dust and cobwebs. Coating my fingers in a sickening gray colour.

Should I chant? Like the Fair queen did when she spoke to her mirror?

"Mirror, mirror on the wall~! Take me to Heartslabyul." I wait and wait and wait.

Nothing happens and I'm confused. A deep chuckle comes from far behind me. "Hm?" I look back over my shoulder, taking in the figure of a tall green hair spectacled Heartslabyul. He's holding onto his mouth, suppressing a full laugh.

"That's not how you use it."

"I figured." I sigh, I can't deny feeling a slight creeping of embarrassment.

"Why are you trying to get there anyway?" I guess seeing me, the janitor, go to a dorm that's already taken care of is confusing beyond belief.

"I heard that Ace had gone to get a magic stone for the chandelier. Which was after class...and he has yet to return." I wonder if he even went there...

"Oh..Ace and Deuce are at the dwarfs mine."

"Dwarfs mine? How do I get there?"

"You could use the enchanted mirror."

"....Can you show me?"

He smiles and leads me to the mirror that was in the auditorium and had failed to get me home. What is this mirror called?

"Take this poor soul to Dwarfs mine." He commands in a slightly cherry voice, like this was amusing.

In a flash, he's gone from my side and I'm somewhere. Somewhere in the shadows of a wisteria. My back to the trunk and the mirror stuck on it.

I make my way outside. All that surrounds me are woods, foliage and a cottage in the far back. I suppose this is the place in which, the killers of the Fair Queen resided. This place is surprisingly unkempt for a historical location.

I suppose people don't bother with them. They're too busy with Snow White and the Fair Queen. What neglect.

I allow my legs to carry me to the cottage. Now that I'm here...I don't know what to do...

Why did I come here? Not like it was any of my business....

Now that I think about it... it's probably because my chances of surviving this life at NRC would be higher with him by my side. At least in a nutshell. It's better to be safe than sorry. Given how Crowley doesn't give two shits about me. And the students here have actual villains for role models.

I stand quietly, a few feet from the cottage. When suddenly I hear a voice- an annoying pitch-

"Yeaaaaah. Just like the time with the chandelier, right? You "found some way," and now here we are. We just fought that thing and it creamed us. So what exactly is your plan here, genius? Because I sure don't trust you to improvise!" Said the voice of Ace, huffing and puffing on the forest floor and yet still having the strength to blabber on.

"What?! You're the one who-" a Heartslabyul with blue hair stuttered, he looked like he was ready to punch a hole through Ace.

"Aaand they're at it again." Said Grim, tired.

"This is how I feel everyday, dealing with you." I mutter.

Both Ace and the blue haired Heartslabyul gasp.

"Whoa, henchman! When did ya get here??" Grim waves at me, a certain relief in his eyes.

"Anyway...what are you guys doing??“

"Well...you see..." The cyan eyed boy began.

"You lot are hopeless.." I mutter. Truly baffled by their lack of seriousness.

"Agreed, loosey Deucy here sure is hopeless." Ace mutters, a smirk on his lips.

"You little- this is why you're getting expelled!“ Deucy, I presume, shouts in rage.

"Spoken like-"

"You should work together." I mutter, trying to interject.

"Work together... Is that some kinda joke?" Ace has a mocking look on his face. "You always say the lamest things with the straightest face, Maomao."

"Agreed. No way could I work together with him." Deucy's words shock me, I can't help but roll my eyes.

"You two....just get expelled then."

"Huh?“

They both gasp, Grim looks crestfallen.

"Not like I've got any skin in the game..." I mutter, frustrated by them and with myself for bothering to come here.

They both look hesitant, as if sensing that I'm about to leave.

"W-well..." Deuce stutters.

"Gah... Fine. Let's just get this over with, then." Ace sighs in defeat.

I nod.

"Have you considered baiting the monster?"

Both of them seem confused.

"From your explanation, I would assume that the monster is quite slow. Why not making it leave the mine, venture far away and use that opportunity to steal the gem?“

Taglist: @kittycat246 @wutap @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @boredselkie @krysthalina @frostines-blog @anastasia-426 @ghostlysyntaxed @neufora @existingtoreadfanfics

[strzxrin]

cuddling with khesis, I NEED THIS MAN’S HUGS—

you still live down my street, you’re not mad at me !

synopsis. ┆ when you hugged him for the first time, it felt like everything was meant to be. and now, he can’t help but want more of it.

tags/warnings. ┆ gn!reader, a little angsty at the start if you squint your eyes, mostly fluff, mentions of kidnapping, overworked khesis

characters. ┆ khesis ( law and judgement . god character )

a/n. ┆ this was cute to write and i know you’ve been needing this silly. mwah kisses and hugs

masterlist ┆ character wiki

it’s been almost a year since he had kidnapped you during your sleep. you missed your friends, your family so dearly, especially since you were stuck in his domain with no other way to contact them. 

you could only see them through the water fountains, watching them go about their lives in worry for your disappearance. 

when you first arrived here, you were scared. what was he going to do to you now that he has you. being an omnipotent being, you knew that he had the power to do everything, especially since he is the god of law and judgement. so anything that goes by him is law.

but to your surprise, he did nothing to you. he would give you flowers and treats that you had as your favourite every time he returned back from the court. he would treat you gently, as if you were a delicate flower and you grew somewhat attached to him.

stockholm syndrome? you’d consider that you were in the stages of it, yes. but at the same time, you can’t help it when he doesn’t force himself entirely on you.

then again, he is a rather business god. but he would always make time for you. the only thing he doesn’t allow you to do is just leave his domain. other than that, there was a garden that you could go to, a library filled with books that you wish to read and it would obey your command.

yet the people who serve him would give you tight smiles and a gentleness that doesn’t match their body language. you knew it was because he ordered them to, but you also knew that they all fear for his anger.

you didn’t understand why everyone looked at him that way. with how he treats you, you think that he is a rather gentle person. but then again, maybe you’re the only who he treats kindly and everyone else unfairly.

you’ve never seen him angry. stressed? absolutely, but he had never lashed out on you either. maybe it’s because he doesn’t want you to distance yourself from him if he does. after all, he did take you away without your consent.

but to say the least, you find yourself getting attached to him.

one night, you were having a nightmare, one that had you sweating and shaking by the time you jolt awake. and you looked around, the dark room looming over you as if something was going to come out and take you away. 

you ran through the halls in panic, fear in your veins as you try to find a sanctuary, somewhere to feel safe. and when you came to be, you were in his arms with him looking at you, blinking awkwardly.

“o-oh.. sorry, khesis” he shook his head at the apology. his arms were up in the air, unsure where to even put them. but with how you were trembling, he engulfed you with all six arms.

“shh.. don’t worry.. it’s fine.” he whispers words of comfort in your ears, one of his hands running through your hair to try and soothe you from whatever made you run to him.

you stayed like that for a while, feeling the warmth from his embrace when you finally let go. he looked sad at the fact he has to let you go, but he did, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. you stayed silent for a while before whispering “khesis, lean down a bit”

he blinked but did what you told him to, and the moment he did, you kissed his cheek “thank you” you murmured and you see his face turning pink from that. he nodded and patted your head.

“you should go back to your room and sleep—” “can’t i stay here instead?” he paused, the look on his face screamed ‘are you sure?’ and you nodded. 

you didn’t care what he did in the past, why his servants seem to be so wary of him. all you knew is that he is gentle with you, and that’s why you were confident that he wouldn’t hurt you in the end.

he brought you over to his bed, and he was about to go back to do his work when you held one of his hands, looking at him expectantly. in the end, he relented and laid down next to you.

your dreams were peaceful that night, and you could only bask in the warmth, wanting to stay here in his arms forever.

[summerfated]

"i  think  it's  just  a  scary  thought  to  think  about  in  general...  i  didn't  think  what  happened  here  would've  ever  happened.  and  then  i  read  that  this  wasn't  even  the  first  time  it  had,  you  know?"  she  really  didn't  realize  how  much  she  was  talking.  it  was  the  nerves...  it  had  to  be  the  nerves.  felt  like  she  should've  apologized  to  have  him  stand  here  talking  to  her  like  this  when  there  was  probably  better  things  with  his  day  to  be  doing.  "come  on..  you  didn't  think  that  i  was  teasing  you  right  back?  and  thanks,  luka...  "  there  was  a  slight  pause  in  her  answer.  everything  had  hit  at  one  time  and  it  still  stuck  with  her.  "it's  been  a  hard  time  in  my  family  still.  my  brothers  practically  refused  to  let  me  out  of  their  sight  when  sienna  disappeared.  i  still  think  about  it  everyday."  the  end  of  their  relationship  seemed  like  one  that  was  eventually  coming  around.  she  had  a  habit  of  pushing  people  away  rather  than  deal  with  things  head  on. a  habit  skye  wanted  to  learn  how  to  break  out  of.  "things  did  end  badly..  most  of  that  was  my  fault.  i  know...  wow.  who  would've  thought  i'd  ever  admit  to  that?  i  could've  handled  things  better  with  us  and  i  really  wish  i  would  have.  you're  glad  i  stayed,  huh?  i  don't  know..  sometimes  i  do  dream  of  making  it  out  of  this  town."  wishful  thinking  maybe  but  that  was  the  end  goal.  in  a  sense,  skye  had  never  fully  gotten  over  him.  no  matter  how  bad  it  got.  she  used  to  never  be  able  to  picture  being  with  anyone  else  but  him.

"i  should  have  deleted  your  number  ...  normal  ex  thing  to  do.  guess  i  just  forgot!"  she'd  laugh  before  finishing  what  she  was  saying.  "i  kept  it  saved.  so,  you're  still  in  my  contact  list.  you're  not  under  any  names  or  have  any  silly  emoji.  so  don't  worry.  it's  really  just  saved  under...  luka.  and  if  i  ever  told  you  i  blocked  you...  well,  i  lied."  it  felt  nice  to  be  at  a  place  where  her  heart  didn't  sink  into  her  stomach  every  time  the  two  were  around  each  other.  that  they  could  joke  now.  even  if  their  conversation  was  anything  but  light.  awhile  ago  they  may  not  have  been  on  speaking  term.  "i  feel  like  that  would  be  a  normal  reaction  to  it,  you  know?"  it  was  hard  to  have  to  deal  with  the  outcome  of  loosing  a  twin, let alone anyone.  "no,  i  know...  you're  right.  i've  just  been  really  lost  in  my  thoughts  a  lot  these  days.  i'm  not  trying  to  drag  down  the  mood  too  much."  skye  takes  a  deep  breath  in  and  tries  to  steady  the  rest  of  her  thoughts.  "the  festival!  yeah..  the  spring  festival.  i  almost  forgot.  i'll  be  in  attendance  so  it  looks  like  i'll  be  seeing  you  there.  i  was  debating  on  staying  home  but  now  it  seems  like  i've  got  enough  of  a  reason  to  want  to  go."

“i do think that’s scary. especially if i think too much about it but honestly, i don’t think i’m in anyone’s way. you think that’s blind confidence?” he asks, genuinely wanting to know skye’s opinion. having her talk so much to him made his chest flutter. it didn’t even matter the topic of their conversation was rather morbid. “hey, now. i was just teasing you, skye. and look, i don’t think i ever got the chance to tell you this but i’m really sorry about your sister.” luka hoped he didn’t put his foot in his mouth with his poor taste in jokes. especially knowing how hard it was on her when her sister disappeared. how that was possibly the beginning of the end for their relationship. “and i want you to know… even though things ended bad, i’m glad you never ran away from here.” luka feels a little silly saying that aloud. it felt like an admission that he wasn’t completely over her. “well, we both know you can protect yourself but if you’re ever scared. i am just a phone call away.” luka’s lips curve upward when she calls him heroic. easing his earlier worries. he didn’t want to ruin this moment where the two of them were finally talking. no arguing involved. “unless you deleted my number.” he adds, keeping the banter going between the two in hopes to see her smile again. for just a moment, an idea passes his mind that maybe they could go back to the way they used to be but he quickly dismisses the thought. “yeah, you’re right about that… i’d lose it if someone i cared about was killed.” just the thought of a loved one getting hurt scared him. especially if it were one of his siblings. he wouldn’t be able to handle that loss. he didn’t know how skye did it. he looks down solemnly before looking back towards skyler. “enough stressing about all this though. especially since it’s out of our control. just… focus on the moment, skye.” he whispers, hoping to ease her worries about the circumstances. he finds himself moving closer to her. if this was during the relationship, he would have reached out and hugged her. “you going to the festival? i hope i get to see you.”

[squigglesthebunny]

Static helpin out Hotstreak with some spelling!

I rewatched all of Static Shock so I had to make this cuz I can’t stop thinking about the show. 🤧🤧

[addoration]

well i didn’t have the best time tonight but at least my dress was cute :3

[ebbpettier]

simon snow sexy fireman style pinup calendar. is that anything.

[dewgongs]

going through and cleaning out my spacehey a little bit and i forgot about diary entries i made like 2 years ago about how hopeless and upset i felt about my last relationship's struggles and described my ex's issues and behavior as "catastrophic and neverending"... yeah sounds about right

[whitealbum]

nasty space song lip gloss. ignore ringo that’s just the last picture i had saved

[milo-is-rambling]

Me vs confusing gender thoughts vs mental illness

[cosmictheo]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | kang dae-ho

—summary: a sudden closeness of you and player 333 makes dae-ho's usually sweet mood swing in the opposite way, triggered by pure jealousy. why would you ever need anyone else when you've got him right there? —pairing: kang dae-ho/player 388 x female!reader —word count: 4.5k —contains: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, some porn with some plot, really passionate sex, voyeurism, public sex, sub dae-ho!!! (canon), slight praise kink if you squint, he talks to you through it, jealous and possessive behavior, fluff, dae-ho being so in love with the reader.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

Kang Dae-ho had been protecting you ever since he had helped you survive Green Light, Red Light, the first game of all this hell in disguise as a promising new opportunity.

Not knowing you from absolutely nothing, he stepped right in front of you, stretching a hand out to the back to hold yours and guide you across the arena, playing human shield until together, you had crossed the finish line. 

And that basically summed up the kind of person Dae-ho is; kind-hearted, courageous, selfless, caring. He was one of the best people you had ever met and he was making this whole calvary into something much better, something brighter, something to keep fighting for until you made it out of there.

Since that, he had stuck by your side, practically standing as your own shadow, constantly putting you first, looking out for your well-being and safety. Without him, you would probably be dead by now, devoid of purpose.

The other players had already gotten used to seeing the two of you together, always watching each other's backs and fooling around and strategizing. Through thick and thin, you were together.

It was only a matter of time —hours—; before something else began to spark between the two of you, growing every time your hands brushed, or when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders or when your bodies cocooned in each other's warmth at night when you slept. A tension was just starting to build, an emotion that for some reason, would always make Dae-ho nervous and flustered, whenever you'd smile at him or clasp his bicep to be by his side every time Gi-hun related a story from his past experience at the games, or when you'd lean your head on his shoulder or when you'd hug each other every time a game ended.

Whatever it was, out of the same feeling, Dae-ho sensed a heaviness in the pit of his stomach, feeling as if his guts were constricting like a viper, every time you chatted with the 333 player.

He looks at you from the distance, frowning slightly as you laugh at something the guy says, he doesn't even know why he dislikes him so much... he just does.

“Why are you all puckered up?” Jung-bae questions him, pausing his own story to express concern for his teammate's face, following his gaze until he finds you, naturally.

Dae-ho clicks his tongue, shaking his head gently, his tone of voice fluctuating between disbelief and annoyance, "Why is she even over there? It's dangerous"

“Dangerous? Buddy, she's just talking to him. He saved her in the last game, remember?” Jung-bae answers him, confused by the uncharacteristic grumpy attitude of the younger man, used to the sight of him being so cheerful and jovial and optimistic.

“If it weren't for him, she wouldn't be here,” Young-il adds, also glancing at how you whisper with player 333, “She's just being polite.”

But Dae-ho huffs humorlessly, forcing his eyes to drag from you to Jung-bae standing in front of him, his fingers still grasping his fork tightly, not really feeling like eating lunch today, “Bullshit, I would've saved her anyway. She didn't need him.”

Gi-hun rolls his eyes, sitting by his side as he quietly observes the whole scene, chewing a mouthful of rice, “You're just jealous, man, admit it,” he pronounces with his mouth half full, eyes attentively scanning Dae-ho's reaction.

The whole group of men laugh upon seeing Dae-ho's face morph to one of embarrassment and some offense, cheeks blushing furiously at Gi-hun's fake allegation.

“I'm n-not jealous” he tries to defend himself with a stuttering voice, looking frantically around the amused faces of the men around him, his fingers letting his fork drop by his twitching and nervous state, attracting the attention of a few players who were nearby, including yours, which only makes Dae-ho to blush even redder.

Jung-bae smiles playfully, picking up the fork that had fallen to the ground, “And you're being overdramatic.”

“I am not!” Dae-ho squeals, his brow furrowing as he stands up and yanks the fork out of Jung-bae's hand. As the whole group laughs at him, his eyes again search for you in the crowd, finding you in record time, and his whole face darkens again as he notices the way your hand is resting down the player 333's forearm, like you would usually do with him.

He sighs heavily and for the first time, he seriously considers the words of the older men.

Time passes unnoticed within that place, hours perhaps, days? No one really knows.

But the warning that the lights go out in thirty minutes usually means that you should lie down and rest for the next event that the monsters who created this have planned for you all.

The first thing you notice when you arrive at the bed you share with Dae-ho, is that he is lying on his side with his back to you, which concerns you a little, since he never had his back to you when he would sleep.

Something is off.

“Dae-ho?” you call out his name in a gentle whisper, sitting down on the bunk and looking across the broadness of his back with worried eyes, “Are you okay?”

No response.

“Hey,” you try again gently, thinking that maybe he's not exactly having a good day, considering the current situation you're stuck in.

Dae-ho is feeling his chest heaving as he senses your hand laying on his shoulder, fingers delicately squeezing his flesh beneath the tracksuit jacket. 

And suddenly, he's cracking up.

“I'm trying to sleep” and yet, he replies to you curtly, without showing even the slightest sign of rolling over and wanting to actually look at you.

You admire his back with unconvinced eyes for a moment, lying down on the bed and resting your head on the pillow, your hand moving from his shoulder, down his back, across his shoulder blades, before dropping to the surface of the bed.

“You sound off.”

Dae-ho considers his options; whether to just keep talking to you in that oh-so-ungentlemanly way —which made him physically cringe—; whether to express everything he was feeling or just stay quiet and pretend to sleep.

In any case, he acts on impulse, rolling over so he can finally look at you, his eyes softening the instant they meet yours, his heart beating hard and fast, pounding in his ears.

“It's not good for you to associate with players outside our group,” he suddenly blurts out and sees how you just stare at him with further confusion washing over your pretty face, “It could be dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” you inquire, silently urging him to elaborate on his point. You are quick to notice how deadly serious his face is, his lips lightly pursed and his eyes solemn, a look that is unusual on him. You don't like to see him like that, like everyone there usually acted.

“Player 333,” he replies, jaw clenched, his eyes following you as you sat up again on the bed, looking down at him in sheer confusion, as if somehow, you aren't recognizing him, “I saw the way he was looking at you.”

He sounds... hurt? Disappointed?

“Lee Myung-gi” your face turns enlightened, finally understanding what he's referring to now.

Dae-ho deflects his gaze away from yours, slightly rolling his eyes. Whatever that idiot's name was...

“I was just talking to him. He saved me in the last game, Dae-ho,” you explain in an overly naive tone, a little smile curving the corner of your lips, “I went to thank him”

“But I am the one doing that, that's why I'm here. You didn't need him, you have me,” he retorts back to you instantly, your name being pronounced by his lips like a plea for mercy, gesturing to himself with his hand for emphasis on his words. Your brow furrows at the same time as his, your lips turning into a small pout, feeling like a scolded child, “I was going to save you anyway! You only need me, no one else...”

His voice fades the more he speaks, shaky hand brushing through his loose hair. And now you notice it, the betrayed and hurt expression on his face, his eyes hiding something more than friendliness, something much deeper and bigger.

He is jealous.

“Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?” you are questioning him, getting more comfortable on the mattress, your voice keeping low so as not to wake the others, but also firm on your side of the little argument. You had done nothing wrong, “He was just being a good companion—”

“He didn't seem to be performing the good companion role,” Dae-ho interrupts you, spitting out the words as if they were venomous, rising himself up to also sit on the bed and face you, gesticulating with his hands, his tone of voice is fueled by sarcasm and subtle irony now, “I didn't like the way he was looking at you... neither how you were touching him with your hand.”

He crosses his arms and resembles a sulky kid who's had his favorite toy taken away, but you're too pissed off to pause and laugh at him.

Instead, you roll your eyes, starting to unbutton your jacket, feeling too hot all of a sudden, Dae-ho's eyes follow your fingers as they pull down the zipper, “You're being overdramatic.”

"I'm not!" he gasps-whispers, expression offended, he genuinely does seem to be feeling betrayed by what you had done. He leans close to you, so close that you feel the natural warmth of his body, but you stand your ground, looking at him with baffled eyes, his gaze remains soft yet aching, “I'm just looking out for you.”

“You'd rather I touch your arm then?” you raise an eyebrow on your forehead, dropping the jacket by the bottom of the bed, holding his gaze, “Is that what this is all about?”

The effect of your words in instantaneous on Dae-ho, blushing and causing him to pull away from you rather abruptly, brushing his hand through his hair again like a maniac.

“Yes,” he replies with certainty, the word barging into his throat before he could even think of a reasonable response, so he shakes his head slightly, “I mean no— I mean yes—” he cuts himself off, flustered by your attentive gaze, “—that's not the point! The point is that you don't need to go to anyone else when you have me right here.”

He gulps hard, eagerly waiting for your reaction through desperate, sheepish eyes.

“I know,” you whisper, letting out a soft sigh from your mouth, switching to a more empathetic postur. Then you nod your head and stretch out a hand towards him, who wastes no second in reaching out to take it and pull it close to his chest, nuzzling your knuckles with his thumb, “But he just dragged me with him, I couldn't do much,” you offer him a small apologetic smile, “I know you would have saved me anyway, Dae-ho.”

“Of course,” he murmurs your name, bringing your hand to his mouth to press his lips onto your knucles, kissing your smooth skin, “You're not alone, you're with me. You are everything...”

Without saying anything, you move closer to him and hug him. Dae-ho is more than happy to reciprocate your embrace, wrapping his beefy arms around your waist and hiding his face in your neck, breathing in your sweet and comforting scent, the scent he so adores. You feel his warm breath against the sensitive skin of your neck and a shiver runs through you from head to toe.

One of your hands goes up to his head, caressing his hair, fingers sinking into his dark long locks, the soothing and so intimate touch making him sigh.

“You're jealous,” you murmur after a moment of comfortable, heart-warming silence, and he stiffens, his body freezing, you can feel the way his muscles tense against yours.

Dae-ho pulls away from you just a little, far enough to be able to look at you, offering you a sheepish little smile, his cheeks blushing from all the attention and touch and closeness, the way you're talking and looking at him has him breathless.

“Maybe a little,” his expression shifts to one of shame as he dares to confess, valiantly enough to hold your gaze, letting himself fall into the gentleness of your eyes, always so lively and playful, but as beautiful and sparkling as a pair of gemstones, with your long lashes brushing your cheekbones every time you blink.

His hands gently squeeze your waist, contouring your curves and fitting into them perfectly, as if crafted for him to touch and hold.

“You don't have to be jealous, sweets,” you assure him, like a promise, a complicity, leaning into him again.

Dae-ho swallows loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels your beautiful soft lips press down onto his throat, kissing his bouncing Adam's apple. He can feel himself in heaven, letting himself be swept up by the way you are treating him, the way your hands run down his body, passing down his chest until they stop at his midsection, just at the moment your tongue traces across his skin, making him hiss, feeling all the air being knocked out of his lungs.

“Fuck— ngh,” he whimpers, his whole body aching with heat, his heart pumping hot blood into his crotch, heartbeats matching up with each of your wet kisses on his neck.

His big hands wander over your waist, lightly caressing your lower back, fingers barely grazing the curve of your ass above the fabric of your tracksuit pants, clasping the flesh, pressing you helplessly against his body. His touch is needy, but nonetheless respectful, as gentlemanly as ever.

“Is this okay?” comically enough he's the one to ask as your mouth reaches his chin by a wet trail of soft kisses through his skin and he almost feels himself cumming into his boxers by the way you open your eyes to look up at him, pupils dilated in pleasure.

You sigh out a soft chuckle and your breath crashes against his half-open lips, needily breathing in your air, breathing you in. Your fingers fiddle with the edge of his jacket.

“You want this?”

It's stupid that you even had the mere thought of that question.

“Yes, please, baby— please,” Dae-ho rushes to answer, hands squeezing everything they could grab from you, desperately, “Can I kiss yo—”

Before he managed to formulate the question your lips are on his and from one second to the next he pulls you close to sit on his lap, making you feel his erection press against the underside of your thigh.

Frantically, between kisses, tongues recognizing each other and hands grasping what they can of the other, he helps you to remove his shirt, breaking away for just a moment to pull it over his head, looking at you with eyes darkened with desire.

He groans against your mouth as you kiss again, your teeth nibbling gently on his bottom lip.

“Shh...” you coo against his lips, pushing him down to make his back lay against the bed, “You don't want the others to hear, do you?”

A playful smile stretches at the corner of his lips, squeezing your butt once you leaned over him to begin kissing his chest, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, feeling the way your back arches.

“I wouldn't mind if 333 listens—”

“Dae-ho,” you name him disapprovingly, but your eyes are heavy with playfulness and longing.

He gazes adoringly up as you take off your shirt, eyes roaming down your neck, across your chest, down your stomach.

“You're so pretty, fuck— come here,” he tugs you closer to him to kiss you one more time, his hands detaching from your hips to lift his own, pulling down his pants and his now, wrecked boxers, clumsily sliding the waistband of the cloth down his thighs.

His dick springs free and it has you open-mouthed, staring down at it with eyes of raw longing and adoration. His mushroom-shaped, leaking, needy head bumps barely against his lower abdomen, lining up with his happy trail.

Dae-ho blushes under your gaze, one of his hands caresses your hip to attract your attention back to his face.

“Can you handle it, baby?” his tone of voice lowers sheepishly.

Your cunt pulsates around nothing from his words only and in less than ten seconds, you're stripping off your pants too, pulling your soaking wet panties aside. He can actually feel how wet you are when your pussy barely brushes against his bare crotch, he has to resist to keep from cumming right there.

“I can— fuck, yeah— I can handle it,” you babble tremblingly through gentle gasps as he reaches his cock, stroking it three times before he aligns it with your inviting hole, rubbing it slowly up and down your slit to scoop up all of your wetness, and use it as a natural lube.

Dae-ho bites down on his lower lip to muffle a moan that ascends his throat, feeling the head of his cock push up into the tight entrance of your pussy, plunging between your slick folds.

He leans his forehead flat against your chest, nestling right between your breasts, his whole body trembling from a riot of pleasure, muffling his moans and noises against your skin.

“Shit, y-you're— h-hah— you're so wet,” he raspes out into your bare skin, his lips slurring insults and name-calling you like a prayer, a poem through your sweaty skin, his tongue rolls out from between his parted lips, coating your skin with his drool. 

His hands are roaming over your hips, each digit digging into the fat of your ass, never applying weight, giving you all the time you needed to settle onto his size, yet his voice was desperate and eager with anticipation, “So tight— so pretty.”

Your lips are pressed against the crown of his head, breathing shakily as you begin to lower yourself into him achingly slow, drawing a gasp from both of you. Your palms squeeze his broad shoulders, suppressing the urge to cry out with every inch he is pushing his way inside you, your pussy fluttering and squishing him deeper.

“Yeah, just like that, that's it,” Dae-ho is praising you, pressing sloppy kisses all over your tits, fingers caressing your lower back while his other hand pats your ass appraisingly, “just a little more, baby, a little m-more and I'm all yours— I'm yours.”

His words really touch your very core, hand sliding up his neck to sink into his hair and pull it, making him hiss as he licks your nipple. Your pussy swallows another inch of him and you feel him in your fucking guts by now. He feels your squishy walls clench around him like a vice and he refuses to even think about the possibility of a life without feeling like this again.

“Dae-ho,” you whimper his name as the bulging tip of his cock reaches a particular spongy spot and instantly your whole body reacts as well.

“Mh-hm,” his lips lick and kiss your collarbone all the way up your neck and then he kisses your lips, “I'm here. I got you, I always got you,” his eyes finally lock with yours again and you nearly feel every single muscle and organ in your abdomen twitch when you notice tears being held back in them, all from the flood of pleasure and bliss your body is giving him.

He can feel himself in heaven, beneath you, his hips grinding up into yours as his cock is plunged so deep inside you.

Dae-ho kisses you again, intoxicated, a thread of spit remains connecting your mouths once you part.

A few more long seconds and you're all the way down sitting on him, his heavy, throbbing balls pressed flush against your ass. Your pussy envelops him thoroughly, molding into his shape as you breathe a deep sigh and Dae-ho breathes out as well when your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

“There you are, my baby, you're doing s-so good,” he croaks, fondling your backside affectionately, feeling your dampness dripping down his thighs, “Holy shit you feel good... I'm so deep—”

And when you start to move on top of him, he has to close his eyes, his sweaty palms pawing your ass, hopeless for your mercy. 

But you have no mercy, your pussy, your thighs, your fucking hips, the way you look down at him and ride him, giving him whiplash with every bounce. And he can swear he knows you from another life, from the way his cock forms a shape inside you, reaching parts within you that no one else has been capable of reaching before, as if your body was made for him— no, as if he was made to fit your body.

“My God—” he hiccups and you press your forehead against his, seeking his lips with yours to silence you both, pushing him down until he's lying flat on the mattress.

The bunk just barely creaks beneath the relentless sway of your hips slamming into his, ass bumping hard down on his thighs, taking him all the way down and up again, so deep that every time you bottom out you feel him in your fucking throat.

“You feel so good, baby,” you whine, looking down at him and all of his body is reacting to the petname.

You take in the gorgeous sight that is his face flushed with utter pleasure, eyes squinting, sweaty arms wrapping all around you and holding you impossibly close, his lower belly tensed and cramped.

He looks so pussy drunk, drinking and drinking in your body and essence, everything you provide. The tought makes you feel your insides flip, squeezing into a knot. And Dae-ho feels it too.

You bend down, lips falling onto his shoulder, trailing down to the tattoo on his side and when your tongue traces the black ink, exactly when his engorged tip brushes against your fucking cervix and your ass does a particularly powerful bounce on his thick thighs, he starts to feel his body twitching, reaching that exquisite release. He begins to cum, wracked by a rush of erotic bliss that has him seeing stars in the pitch-black.

His hips begin to meet yours in mid-between your wild bouncing and your pussy squelches around his cock, ready to take in all he has to give.

“I'm cumming— hah— b-baby, where—” he babbles through breathy hiccups and whimpers, his body is flushing, seeking your gaze with half-closed eyes, his chest gasping fast.

You kiss his tattoo one more time before answering him, having the nerve to smirk, as if you aren't jumping his bones, “Inside— mhm— fill me up, Dae-ho,” your eyes finally meet his and you squish his biceps, “please,” you beg him, with tears on your eyes.

“Holy shit— you don't have to convince me, love” he growls out hoarsely, and you have never hear him insult so much in such a short span of time. He kiss the corner of your lips messily, “I'm so fucking deep, you take it so well, baby— fuck.”

He chokes on his own voice and squeezes your hips until his palms are molded into your flesh. His tip touches that special squishy spot inside you again and you're cumming with him, both of you riding your own high, sinking into each other's bodies, souls becoming one. Straight into the core of the storm of pleasure.

His trembling fingers eventually loosen his grip on your ass, but his imprint stays right there, flushed. His cock softens deep inside you and you can feel it still spurting hot ropes up into your womb. Dae-ho whimpers flush against your mouth, gasping for breath. And you know you might as well die right there, tangled with his body.

Your head is empty, blurry with him and only him, your hips keep rolling on their own motion, slower. Your pussy squelches, full of him, the friction only makes him chant your name over and over in raspy whispers, like a hymn. Your orgasm is rough and strong, rocking your body like an earthquake. It makes you moan his name and he cuts you off, kissing you senselessly.

“Thank you, thank you...” he mumbles repeatedly against your mouth, hissing once you stop all movement on top of him. And he kisses you again, appreciatively, lovingly.

Dae-ho throws his head back on the bunk, trying to catch his breath, his hands drop to your thighs, always with a possessive hold, groping around for your ass, pressed down on his trembling thighs.

And it's ridiculous how absolutely majestic he looks there under you, in an afterglow that has him breathless, eyes narrowed and lost stare, gazing upwards as if he's suspended in paradise. His entire abdomen is sweaty and you hold back the urge to run your tongue across his cute little tummy, since your body is slowly beginning to give in to exhaustion, your legs wobbling.

You are satisfied with tracing your fingers along his sweaty skin, touching what were strong muscles, now softened under your thumbprints. Your hand makes an appreciative path up his pecs and he comes back to reality with the touch, looking up at you and patting your ass lightly, his gaze softening as he met your eyes amidst the darkness. The look of love.

“Don't do that, I'm about to get hard again,” he murmurs in a playful voice, a little sheepish smile growing on his lips. He is blushing, like he's not balls deep inside you, his cum leaking out of your cunt and trickling down your thighs.

You let out a sleepy chuckle, leaning down and snuggling close into his chest, his arms wrap around your shoulders and he tugs a blanket over the two of you.

“I had to take you on a date first,” Dae-ho blurts out suddenly, sounding more like he's talking to himself than to you, but you do manage to hear him, yet not really understanding what he's trying to say.

“What?” you ask curiously, still a little dizzy, fingers tracing light caresses on his chest, right where his heart is.

He clears his voice, bowing his chin so he can look down at you, gaze full pure love and adoration, his fingertips soothingly caressing your spine as he answers you in a hushed whisper, “I was supposed to take you on a date before.... all of this.”

You smile bashfully against his chest, looking up at him with big, soft eyes, “Well, we're not exactly in a position where having a date is doable, Dae-ho.”

But he is confident on the subject, fingers drawing little circles on the small of your back, “After we get out of this, I'll pick you up at your house and take you to the fanciest restaurant.”

You kiss him tenderly. 

And he smiles like he's actually in love.

“I'll be waiting for you in my best dress, then.”