#I hope that you have found that person for you

[skyenish]

Seventeen - Heathers | Scarabia animatic 🐍☀️

———

I love thinking about what JamiKali’s dynamic would’ve been if things had gone differently. I feel like both Jamil’s and Kalim’s personalities would really shine in ways we haven’t seen before of them (though maybe later, who knows! There going through a lot of development in the main story so here’s to hoping 🤞)

Ramblings/analysis under the cut

——

——

This song, Seventeen, speaks of a desire to JUST be seventeen years old, to be normal, to not have damage and scars dictate all you are. I found this song very fitting with Jamil and Kalim, because they’re seventeen, but neither had the opportunity to ever just be normal teenagers. They’ve both gone through a lot, they’re “damaged”, but that doesn’t make them wise, or special, or different. They’re still just teenagers, not yet emotionally developed, young, and not capable of carrying so much weight on their shoulders. The line “we don’t choose who lives or dies” I find particularly applies well to Jamil’s whole, ahum, incident, but also in general to Jamil’s desire to be in control of things (which of course stems from his desire to be in control of his own life, so one could argue that he wants to be in control of whether he lives or dies).

Sometimes I feel we tend to forget how young the twst characters are. Even Leona, sitting at 20 years old, I’d consider relatively young, which just makes everything they go through that much sadder. They’re so young, and though there will never really be an age where it’s easy to handle this sort of stuff, as a teenager it’s even harder because life is already so complicated and difficult for them (speaking as if I’m not a teen myself lol).

Kalim in this song/animatic pleads to just be normal, to do normal teenage things, to set aside all the complicated feelings that have been bubbling under the surface for both of them, all the stupid things their lives have thrown at them, and to just be seventeen. Not the Housewarden and Vice-Housewarden, not Master and Servant, not an Asim and a Viper, but just Jamil and Kalim, just two seventeen year old boys.

———

Soooo it’s been a month… I promise I’m not dead and I also haven’t lost interest in twst, I’ve just been hyperfixating on other things, plus I’ve been really busy with school. Drawing can be really hard sometimes :(

I kinda pulled a Wiege (Alien Stage) by including some weird AU of some sorts huh! What a fun episode Wiege was, I totally didn’t sob violently! Also!!! The Scarabia manga has FINALLY released and its so cool!!! Well worth the way. The new Yuu is a Gyaru, and she’s so cool! I had my doubts on the artist they chose, but honesty they really delivered, I’m really happy with how the manga looks :)

[poisonf0rest]

Poison I am on my hands and knees BEGGING PLEADING IMPLORING for some more teacher Rafayel i did not know I needed it until you made me see the light godbless biggest fattest kiss for you MUAH

(I hope you don’t take this as me demanding you to write anything, definitely only if you want of course!!)

teacher's pet?

♱⋅── a/n: 3k of Professor! Rafayel. It's not his fault you're so easy to tease, to rile up, to get you right where he wants you when you're being a brat and not listening to your dear professor. art credit to @/sugarqiyu on x

Rafayel is a world-renowned artist, known for his masterpieces communicating all the rage and depth of the ocean, a devotion so palpable apparently you could drown in it. A rumor second only to his notorious reputation of having the face of an angel and personality of the devil. 

You can vouch that both these rumors are damn near true. 

Linkon University jumped at the opportunity when the Rafayel offered to become an adjunct professor for the senior year art capstone.

From the first day, the entire lecture hall was captivated under Rafayel's siren spell, his voice like sweet poison as he first introduced himself to the class, words a careful balance between arrogant and playful— that is, until you introduced yourself. 

It was barely noticeable, something you almost swear you imagine, but those sunset eyes light up when you say your name, his smile becomes a little less hollow, and something in his gaze arrests you so violently you nearly forget to look away. 

Little do you know Rafayel has been looking for you in this lifetime for nearly seventy years. And finally, finally he’s found you. So what if these circumstances are a little less ideal than usual? 

He’s not letting you go again. 

Professor Rafayel gives you impossible standards to meet, critiques that cut deep enough to make you want to scream, and grades that keep you shackled to his office hours.

He’s careful, though. His feedback is always just shy of unreasonable, his authority unchallenged, his reputation untouchable. And when you come storming into his office demanding an explanation, he just smiles, leaning back in his chair with the air of a predator who knows his prey walked right into the trap.

“Poor thing,” he drawls, feigning sympathy as his eyes slowly trace your figure from behind his glasses. “Maybe you’re just not cut out for this. But I suppose... with the right guidance...”

He lets the offer dangle, his gaze heated and unwavering. You hate that your heart races, hate that you need his approval, his help. Hate that he looks so damn smug knowing just how to make you beg, just how to make you come looking for him instead. 

Professor Rafayel savors every insult you hurl behind his back, every time you grumble to your friends about his impossible standards and arrogant demeanor. He listens, silently cataloging each biting word, each curse muttered under your breath.

And when he finally has you moaning his name, his mouth wicked and merciless between your thighs, he can’t help but remind you of every cruel thing you’ve said.

“You’ve got such a filthy mouth, cutie. Didn't you call me a sadistic asshole last week?” His fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place as he flicks your clit with his tongue again, smirking as you writhe in overstimulation. “I suppose I am... but you love it, don’t you?”

The way you choke on a sob only makes him smile wider.

Private lessons with Professor Rafayel become a blur between you learning and losing your mind. 

Half of the time, Rafayel is a masterful teacher, and his passion for art is as mesmerizing as his paintings. He speaks about color theory with a fervor that none of your other professors have come close to, his eyes alight as he explains the emotional weight of each shade, the way hues can whisper secrets or scream rage. His knowledge is boundless, and his lessons on storytelling through art are so captivating you almost forget to breathe.

But it’s the tales of Lemuria that leave you spellbound, like something out of a fairytale or tragedy. Ancient techniques lost to time, rituals where pigments were mixed with seashells, and spells hidden in brushstrokes. He speaks with such reverence, his voice low and haunting, and sometimes, just sometimes, you catch a flicker of sorrow in his gaze, as if he’s lived through it all.

He shows you his personal collection, paints richer and more vivid than anything you’ve ever seen. Reds deeper than blood, shimmering blues that seem to ripple like water. He teaches you to paint underwater landscapes that feel eerily familiar, scenes of ancient temples swallowed by the sea, fragments of a forgotten and drowned world.

You convince yourself it’s just Rafayel’s eccentric genius rubbing off on you, a byproduct of his intoxicating charisma. But then he watches you with that knowing smile, his eyes gleaming as if he’s waiting for you to remember something you’ve long forgotten.

The other half of the time, Professor Rafayel’s lessons are nothing short of madness. He invades your space, his body always too close, his mere presence overwhelming.

His hands are always on yours when he shows you how to sketch the curve of moving muscle, the delicate slope of a hip, fingers guiding yours with agonizing slowness. His touches linger, featherlight in ways that make you shiver, his breath brushing your ear as he murmurs instructions, his voice addictive and velvety.

You try to stay focused, try to be professional, but his scent wraps around you, warm and heady, and your mind spirals. You spend far too long watching the way his hands move, the lithe grace of his fingers, the gentle strength that could so easily ruin you.

Your paintbrush trembles, your breathing uneven, and you can’t help the way your heart races when his chest presses against your back, his hands guiding yours as he whispers, “Just like that... perfect.”

Your professor knows exactly what he’s doing, of course. Rafayel feels the way your hand trembles around the paintbrush, sees the way your pupils dilate, hears every shaky breath. Rafayel drinks it all in, his smile infuriatingly smug, his sunset eyes heavy with satisfaction.

And when he finally touches you—really, truly touches you—all your remaining morality crumbles.

Of course, it’s punishment when you fail to turn in your twenty still-life practices by the end of the week. 

You’re slammed down on his desk before you can think to protest, paint-stained fingers clutching the wood as he presses you down, his body caging you in. He kisses like he paints, with passion and devotion, stealing your breath and sanity in one fell swoop. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your hips, your thighs—touching, gripping, claiming.

You gasp as he pushes your skirt up, his fingers slipping beneath your underwear, babbling nonsense about how dare you wear something so cute, so sinful to his class and how he’s been thinking about ripping it off your slutty little hips all day long. 

“All that complaining, but you’re rather obedient now,” Rafayel teases, his voice mocking as his fingers curl, instantly finding that spot that makes you scream around his fingers. “Maybe if you weren’t so stubborn, you’d learn faster.”

You curse him, or at least you try, but the words dissolve into a broken moan as he curls them up again, his thumb circling your clit with maddening precision. Rafayel laughs. “You’re very cute when you’re frustrated.”

He doesn’t stop until you’re crying his name, apologizing for being a brat, every stroke and curl of his fingers calculated to drive you to the edge, to make you lose all sense of time and reason. And when Rafayel finally lets you come undone, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, he watches you fall apart with that infuriatingly smug smile, as if this was his plan all along.

And maybe it was.

Later, you’ll try to paint again, your mind hazy, body aching. But every brushstroke feels too intimate, every color too vibrant, too alive. You’ll stare at the canvas and swear it’s moving, the paint shimmering, swirling, forming shapes that look hauntingly like his eyes. You’ll feel his presence behind you, his hands warm on your shoulders, his voice velvet-smooth as he purrs, “See? Was that so hard?”

Private lessons were always his trap. And now, Rafayel’s got you exactly where he wants you.

When Professor Rafayel suggests you sketch him nude “for practice,” he’s already won. 

You know it the moment his lips curl into that wicked, knowing smile, the kind that makes your pulse race and your stomach flip. You should have said no. Should have refused, made up some excuse, anything to avoid this situation.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. And now you’re trapped, heart pounding as he begins to strip in front of you.

He’s maddeningly slow about it, drawing out each movement with practiced ease, and you’re hyper-aware of every single detail. The way his fingers deftly loosen his tie, the silk sliding from his collar with a whisper that makes your breath hitch. His eyes never leave you, watching every nervous fidget, every time you shift in your seat pretending to be unaffected. But you don’t fool him. Not for a second.

Rafayel’s hands continued down to the buttons of his shirt, his long fingers working methodically, one by one, exposing more pale skin with every pop of fabric. You can’t help it—your gaze follows the path of his fingers, tracing the lines of his collarbones, the lean muscle beneath his skin.

You swallow hard, mentally debating if it would be worse to watch him or worse to chicken out now, practically surrendering and acknowledging what watching your professor does to you. Not that you could think at all when his shirt falls open, slipping off his shoulders to pool on the tiled floor, leaving him half-naked, so casually beautiful it makes you ache.

Rafayel’s enjoying this far too much. There’s the same smug glint in his eyes as he watches you struggle to maintain your composure. He begins to thumb at his slacks and you whip your head away, your entire body going rigid at the sound of his belt unbuckling, the click of metal on metal echoing through the empty lecture hall.

You don’t dare look, eyes glued to the blank canvas before you as heat floods your cheeks. But your traitorous mind cruelly fills in the details, painting a picture more vivid than any still life you’ve ever drawn. You hear the rustle of fabric, the soft creak of the pedestal as he positions himself, and when you finally gather the courage to glance back the sight makes you forget the canvas entirely. 

Rafayel lounges on the pedestal like he belongs there, all long limbs and lazy grace, his body on full display with a confidence that borders on obscene. His skin is milky pale, the delicate arch of his ribs leading to the defined lines of his abdomen and fuck of course he has a six pack, his muscles lean and corded beneath flawless flesh.

Rafayel is every bit the masterpiece you expected, unfairly beautiful even like this, his glasses still perched on his nose, that infuriatingly smug smile playing at his lips.

“Well?” he drawls, arching an eyebrow as he settles into a pose, one arm draped artfully over his head, his body a careful composition of sharp lines and curves. “I thought you were supposed to be drawing, not gawking. Not the best student, are you?”

Your cheeks burn hotter, and you force yourself to look back at the canvas, gripping the charcoal so hard it threatens to snap. You try to be professional, try to focus on the technicalities—the shapes, the shadows, the proportions. But it’s impossible when every angle of him is so utterly mesmerizing, when every stretch and shift only highlights the elegance of his form.

Your strokes are shaky at first, charcoal dust smudging your fingers as you outline his figure, but it’s hard to stay steady when his ocean dual-toned eyes are fixed on you, gleaming with mischief and something far more dangerous. He knows exactly what he’s doing, each subtle change in his posture designed to make you squirm. When he stretches, his body arching like a cat, you almost drop your charcoal, your mouth going dry at the ripple of muscle, the unapologetic sensuality of it all.

“You’re tense,” he comments, his voice soft, lilting with amusement. “Your lines are stiff. Rigid.” He shifts, his body unfurling as he sits up, one leg bent, his arm resting lazily atop his knee. You make a sound in protest, frowning as you lose your reference. “Heh, you won’t capture the fluidity of the human form like that. You need to relax, loosen up.”

You bite back a retort, teeth grinding as you force yourself to adjust your grip, trying to follow his advice. But then he’s standing, moving toward you without a semblance of shame or modesty, his fingers curling around yours, guiding the charcoal along the paper. His completely bare body is too close, his skin too warm, the faint persistent seasalt and driftwood scent of his cologne too intoxicating as he presses against your back.

You don’t even realize you’re leaning back into his touch, one hand still shading the muscle and contour of his body as the other blindly reaches out for Rafayel’s body, hitting the edge of his abs before sliding downwards ever so slowly. 

“Don’t stop there, I’ll help.” And Rafayel’s hands come to meet yours, encircling the charcoal with one as the other wraps your palm around his dick. “You have to move your hand like this…” Gently flicking his wrist to show you the proper shading technique for the lighter areas, groaning into the back of his neck as you repeat the movement around his base, already leaking down to your fingers. 

“Just like that, nice and fluid.” His fingers guide yours around his shaft, setting a pace that makes his breath hitch, his head dipping to rest against your shoulder as his hips roll forward, chasing the friction. “Good girl.”

You can barely focus, your vision blurring as he curls his fingers around yours, moving the charcoal in slow, fluid strokes over the paper. But your other hand is trapped—held in place by his, wrapped around the velvety heat of his cock, his hips giving the tiniest, most subtle thrusts into your palm as if he can’t help himself.

He’s so hard, so hot, already leaking onto your fingers, and your breath shudders as he groans against your neck, his lips ghosting over your skin.

“You’re sooo tense, cutie. Why is that, hmm?”

“Professor…” His title slips out before you can stop it, your voice trembling, your fingers tightening instinctively around him. His laugh is breathy, wicked, and he nips at your ear, his teeth sharp, his tongue soothing the sting. 

“Remember, it’s just Rafayel when we’re together.”

You can’t breathe, can’t think, not when he’s so close, not when he’s touching you like this, guiding you, molding you. His thumb rolls over yours, smudging charcoal across the page, and you realize you’ve accidentally traced the same curve over and over, lost in the rhythm he’s set. You’re not even drawing anymore, just following his lead, letting him control every movement, every sensation.

“Rafayel.” You repeat, and he swears he loses his mind just a little. 

“That’s it,” he urges, his voice shaking slightly, rougher. “You can be braver than that. This is your art, isn’t it? You decide what to do with it.” Rafayel’s teeth scrape along your neck, and you shiver, your eyes fluttering shut as he ruts against you, his cock twitching in your grip, his moans muffled against your shoulder as he loses himself to the pleasure you’re giving him. 

When suddenly, he pulls away. 

You’re entire body goes rigid. Did you do something wrong? Did he change his mind? Has he finally realized how utterly inappropriate this is and chose to save himself the scandal and embarrassment of being caught with you? 

Mind still racing a mile a minute, it’s Rafayel’s gentle touch on your tense shoulders that has you breathing again.  “On second thought, maybe I’m not in the right condition to teach you. Maybe you also need to…” Rafayel’s arms come to wrap around you, fingers slipping under your shirt as lips trace the shell of your ear, and you swear you feel a light nip. “get comfortable.”

The charcoal hits the ground with a hollow crack. 

Your back hits the wall of his office with a muffled thud, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless. This was supposed to be a professional meeting, it was supposed to end with you getting that damned A back on the last assignment. But not like this. Not this.

It’s reckless, dangerous, stupid. But Rafayel’s hands are already beneath your shirt, those stupidly gorgeous and talented fingers caressing bare skin, and each heated touch makes it harder to remember why you were fighting in the first place.

“Wait,” you gasp between kisses, your voice trembling as his mouth trails down your neck, “People might see...”

“Shh, it’s okay, cutie,” Rafayel laughs, his voice a low purr that vibrates against your collarbone. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide with desire, a wicked grin playing at his lips. He’s already ruined you, already got you drunk on his touch, and yet you’re still worrying about silly, inconsequential things. That means he’s not doing enough. “No one will know.”

Not that he’d mind. In fact, the thought of someone catching you like this—of someone realizing that you’re his, completely and irrevocably—only excites Rafayel more. After all, he didn’t lock the door. Anyone truly could just walk in, and his cock jumps at the thought. 

Teeth grazing your pulse, Rafayel’s tongue soothes the sting as his fingers tease below the waistband of your jeans. “You’re so cute when you try to be good,” he teases, his voice mockingly sweet. “Too bad you’re not really the model student you pretend to be.”

Your protest dies in your throat as his hand finds your clit with practiced ease, stroking slow and deliberate through your panties, drawing out a needy whimper that you can’t quite swallow. His mouth is on yours again before you can think to be embarrassed, the kiss possessive, consuming, swallowing every last protest you can think of. 

“See?” he whispers against your lips, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You don’t really care who hears, do you?” Rafayel then curls his fingers, thrusting deep in as you scream, clawing at his shoulders and desk as your knees go weak.

God, you hate him. You hate the way he knows your body better than you do, the way he unravels you so easily. You hate the smug look on his face, the cocky confidence as he drives you to the edge. But you hate yourself more for how desperately you crave him, how much you want him, consequences be damned.

Because he’s right, nothing matters here. Not anymore. 

Nothing besides your dear professor.

[fireinmoonshot]

soft hearted | joaquin torres x fem! reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: You're not the type of person to go clubbing – but Joaquin is pretty good at convincing you to come along with him when he goes. Yet, when an interaction with another man at the club goes badly, Joaquin is there to pick up the pieces and make sure you're okay. Warnings: Mentions of drinking/clubbing/eating/food as well as a guy at the club being creepy and physically grabbing the readers wrist, causing a bruise. Word Count: 4.1k A/N: Here I am with another Joaquin fic! I really love how this one turned out. I honestly wrote it just this afternoon in a few hours, I started it and I couldn't stop working on it. I'm really happy with it so I hope those of you who read it enjoy it, even though it's longer than my last Joaquin fic! Please let me know if you liked it and if you'd like to read more Joaquin from me! 💗

“Did I ever say thank you for coming out with us tonight?” Joaquin says, placing a hand on the small of your back to help guide you as the two of you make your way through the crowd, heading back to your booth where your friends are waiting for their drinks.

He’s been texting you all day trying to convince you to join them tonight – but you are the one member of your friendship group that isn’t into partying and clubbing. It’s always difficult to convince you to leave your house once you’re there. 

It never stops Joaquin from trying though. He always enjoys clubbing more when you come out with them. Even just being in your presence is something he loves – whether he’s at a club or anywhere else.

“Oh, just about ten times,” you flash him a grin, trying to avoid bumping into anyone and spilling the drinks. Your friends had been waiting long enough considering how busy the club was. 

Joaquin laughs, the sound audible above the loud music in the bar. It’s a familiar sound and one that instantly comforts you despite your unease at being in such a crowded place. “Definitely room for me to improve, then, angel. What do you think?” 

“I think, pretty boy, that you could probably benefit from inviting me out somewhere other than a packed club sometimes, simply so I can talk to you without having to yell!” You joke, flashing him a look as you finally get back to the booth where your friends are waiting, placing the tray with all of their drinks on it on the table. They all take their drinks, yelling thank you’s at you and Joaquin as you take your seats again. 

“You guys made it!” One of your friends, Cruz, yells out at the both of you.

Joaquin meets your eyes from across the table with a grimace. Cruz is incredibly drunk by the sound of his slurred voice. Joaquin is only a few drinks deep and he’s nowhere near as far gone as Cruz is. You both share an amused smile as Joaquin takes a swig of his beer.

Clubs are not your thing, never have been. It just so happens that you’ve befriended several people that love them – Joaquin being quite the enthusiast. He’s dragged you out to many clubs over the city in the time since you’ve known him. If it were anyone else, you were pretty sure you never would’ve gone… but with Joaquin, you don’t mind it. His presence is comforting, even in such a busy and chaotic atmosphere.

Joaquin is the kind of guy that all the girls and guys in clubs like these like, and on nights like this, you can understand why. The way he looks, a smile on his face as he laughs at something one of your friends says, the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead from the warm air. He’s effortlessly attractive to anyone that looks at him. He’s so comfortable here. You’ve always found Joaquin attractive, but even you can admit that he looks even more attractive when he’s in a place like this – if that’s even possible.

You take a long sip of your drink – water, having decided early in the night that you were gonna be the designated driver for your friends so that they could all enjoy their night properly. 

“I’m just going to the bathroom, okay?” You lean into your friend, Katy, sitting beside you to tell her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll take my phone with me if you need me!”

She nods, a little pre-occupied in a conversation with the guy beside her – someone she’d met earlier in the night at the club and had been with you guys ever since. Your eyes fall on Joaquin briefly, still laughing at something he’d heard, as you stand from the booth.

It’s difficult to make your way through the crowd without Joaquin guiding you, making you feel safe with his hands on you, but you manage. When you see the door to the bathrooms you almost let out a sigh of relief. They’re empty when you finally make your way inside – another relief. Girls at clubs can be nice, but they can also be the entire opposite and it’s nice to have a moment completely to yourself to have a second to breathe.

Once you’re done, you take another long breath before leaving the bathroom, preparing yourself for the walk back through the crowd of people dancing so you can get back to your friends. You walk past the bar first, finding it to be a little less crowded than the dance floor.

It’s louder over this side of the room, the music thudding and thumping since you’re closer to the speakers. It’s probably the reason you don’t hear the voice of someone beside you at the bar trying to talk to you as you attempt to make your way past. You only realise when a hand grabs your wrist, tugging you backwards. You stumble a little, bracing yourself on the edge of the bar, eyes falling on a light haired man sitting on a stool at the bar. The way he’s looking at you already makes you feel uneasy. 

“Do you often ignore people who are trying to talk to you, honey?” He says, voice raised enough for you to be able to hear him.

“I’m sorry?” You furrow your eyebrows. “If you said something before, I didn’t hear it. It’s pretty loud in here.” You point towards the roof of the bar where the speakers are. 

He laughs, a sound completely opposite to the sound of Joaquin’s earlier. This mans laugh immediately unsettles you and if he wasn’t still holding onto your wrist, you would be gone. But he has an uncomfortably tight grip on it and you doubt he’s planning to let go.

“Yeah, sure,” he scoffs, then picks up his drink and takes a long sip of it. “Listen, I don’t appreciate being ignored, okay? I put myself out there to talk to you, so I’d appreciate it if you gave me the same energy in return.”

You swallow, heart in your throat, and attempt to take a deep breath. This is not good. Why had you gone to the bathroom by yourself? Especially on such a busy night in a busy club.

“Okay,” you start. “If you let go of my wrist, I’ll sit down here and we can talk for a bit.” You figure it can’t hurt to try and bargain with him, even though you have every intention of trying to get as far away from him as quickly as possible when he lets go.

“How can I be sure you won’t run away? Nah, I don’t think I will let go.” He adjusts his grip on your wrist, pulling you a little closer to him. Your heart starts beating faster as the fear starts to set in.

You risk a glance across the bar in the direction of your friends booth and feel your stomach drop as you realise you can’t see them from here, meaning they can’t see you either. Surely Katy would notice that you hadn’t come back yet and would come looking for you… you aren’t too far away from the bathrooms, so there’s a chance she’d see you on her way… but you know that she’s too occupied with her new man to come looking for you. 

This is why you don’t like coming out. This is why you always say no when Joaquin or your other friends ask you to come out with them. And the one time you say yes, this is what happens. You should’ve told Joaquin where you were going as well but you figured it’d be okay – it was just a quick trip to the bathroom, what could go wrong?

Panic starts to rise in your stomach and you try your best to push it down and not let it get the better of you. You know you need to keep yourself calm in a situation like this, especially around a man like this, or things can go south quickly. 

“I promise I won’t run away,” you lie, trying not to let your nerves come through in your tone of voice. “But you’re actually really hurting me right now, so I’d appreciate if you let me go. Can we make a deal? I won’t run and you’ll let go.”

You can tell by the look in the mans eyes that he isn’t going to give up this easily. The longer he keeps holding your wrist, the more your breathing starts to get heavier. How can you get out of this situation when he’s not willing to make this deal with you?

A hand gently lands on your lower back and you flinch, just as you hear a soft voice in your ear. “It’s just me, you’re okay,” Joaquin whispers, calming you immediately.

It’s impossible not to let out a breath of relief as your eyes fall on him. He’d come after you. He’d noticed you were gone or Katy had told him you hadn’t come back yet. He’s here. You’re not alone with this man and you know Joaquin isn’t going to leave you.

Joaquin’s hand gently rubs up and down on your back.

“What you’re gonna do right now is let go of the ladies wrist,” he says simply.

You watch as the mans eyes flicker towards Joaquin but then fall back on you, his grip still tight around your wrist. You attempt to step a little closer to Joaquin but it’s impossible to move with him still holding onto you.

“Hey! Eyes over here, man. Not on her.”

The man sighs. “Listen, man–”

“No, you listen to me,” Joaquin steps in-between you and the man, his voice forceful and loud above the music. “What you are going to do right now is let go of her wrist or I am going to break yours right here, right now. And that won’t be all I break either.”

“Okay, sure. You definitely look strong enough to do that, pal,” he scoffs.

You inwardly wince. You know Joaquin is strong enough to do that and worse. He’s a Captain in the Air Force and he’s The Falcon. You’re pretty certain that he could inflict a lot more damage than a broken wrist.

“You wanna find out?” Joaquin asks.

The look on Joaquin’s face must be intimidating because the man finally relinquishes his hold on your wrist. You immediately wrap your other hand around your wrist, holding it to your chest and trying to ignore the pain throbbing through it from his grip.

The man throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes before standing and walking away, further into the crowd of people. Before he’s even disappeared from your view, Joaquin has turned around, his hands moving to take your arm and carefully examine your wrist.

“It’s already starting to bruise… that bastard,” he mutters, his eyes dark. You can hear every word despite the loud music around you simply because of how close he’s moved into your space. “You okay? I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I only just noticed you were gone a few minutes ago and Katy mentioned something about the bathroom so I went there straight away but I couldn’t find you.”

The fear and panic in your stomach has gone, now replaced by nausea. You can feel yourself starting to shake, the adrenaline of everything starting to wear off. “Can you take me home?”

Joaquin doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your waist, hold you close and leading you out of the bar. He figures he’ll just text your friends once you’re both safely in a cab to tell them where you’d both gone – that and he’s a little annoyed at Katy for letting you go to the bathroom alone. He’s annoyed at himself for not noticing sooner that you’d disappeared. 

“I’d drive you home myself but I’ve been drinking, angel,” Joaquin says as the two of you wait for a cab on the sidewalk just up the street from the club. His arm is still wrapped around your waist, holding you close. It’s comforting to you, helping you to remember that he’s still there beside you, not going anywhere. “My place is closer, but we can go to yours if you feel up for a longer cab ride.”

You shake your head. “Your place is fine.” You’ve stayed over at his apartment before, several times, both alone and with other friends. His bed is much more comfortable than your own, you’ve learned, since he never lets you sleep on the couch.

“Okay,” he says, rubbing your back gently as the cab pulls up in front of you.

He lets you in first before sitting beside you and telling the cab driver his address. One of his hands holds yours, his thumb gently sweeping back and forth over your skin in an attempt to help calm you down. He can see how uneasy you still feel after it all. Why had he not gotten to you sooner? Not realised you were missing sooner? 

The cab ride back to his apartment is silent, as is the elevator ride up to his floor. You wait beside him, arms crossed over your chest as he unlocks his front door and lets you inside first. 

“You wanna shower or something?” He asks, closing the door behind you.

“Yeah, I think that’d help,” your voice is small. The sound of it makes Joaquin’s heart hurt. 

“You remember where I keep my clothes? You can help yourself, angel.” 

You nod, reaching over to gently squeeze his hand again before heading towards his bedroom to get some of his clothes to change into before heading into the bathroom just off of his bedroom. 

While you shower, Joaquin kicks off his shoes, steps into the kitchen and starts working on making you something to eat. Something warm, something comforting. He’s become a pretty decent cook over the past few years and cooking for you is one of his favourite things to do. He’s always inviting you over for dinner, which is exactly the reason why you know where he keeps his clothes – you eat, you stay late talking, Joaquin refuses to let you go home when it’s so late at night and he has a perfectly comfortable bed.

His heart almost stops in his chest as he sees you walking out of the bathroom, dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and a shirt. “I know I’ve said this before, angel, but you look damn good in my clothes,” he flashes you a grin. 

You teasingly roll your eyes at him as you walk into the kitchen, arms crossed over your chest as you try and suss out what he’s cooking you. “Bet you say that to all the friends you let stay over and borrow your clothes, Torres.”

Joaquin snorts. “Bold of you to assume I have other friends staying over.”

He doesn’t. Even out of your friendship group, you are the only person who’s stayed over in the last several months and especially the only person he’s let sleep in his bed and borrow his clothes. He’s not willing to admit to himself what that really means. Not yet.

“What are you cooking?” You ask, peeking inside the pot on the stove.

“Pozole,” he says, coming up beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back. He’s apparently incapable of keeping his hands to himself when he’s worried about you. “It won’t be ready for another hour and a half at least, but I figured cooking you something comforting and warm might be nice. I was already gonna cook it for dinner this week so I had everything in the fridge ready to go.” 

“Joaquin, you didn’t have to do that,” you glance over at him. “Really, I would’ve been fine with a cup of tea or a pack of cup noodles. And it’s so late.” You mean it honestly, even though the fact that he’s been prepping everything for this while you were showering sits heavy and meaningful in your stomach. No one ever does things like this for you… except Joaquin.

He shrugs his shoulders and moves away from the stove, hands on your waist so that you move with him. He directs you over to the couch, waiting till you sit down before he puts a blanket in your lap and attempts – badly – to tuck you in. 

“What are you doing?” You can’t help but laugh. 

“You are gonna sit here for the next hour and a half, till the pozole is ready, put on a movie or something, and just try and relax. And I am gonna sit beside you, once I get changed out of these sweaty ass clothes,” he says, standing back up straight. “I’ll be two minutes, angel!” He calls out, hurrying away from you towards his bedroom.

You smile to yourself as you grab the remote to the TV and try your best to curl up under the blanket. It’s amusing, how quickly things can change. An hour ago, you were in the club with Joaquin, who was having the time of his life, and now here you are, curled up on his couch in his clothes. Your eyes drift down to your wrist, where a bruise is already starting to form, and you wince. That’s going to be painful when it fully forms.

Joaquin comes back out a few minutes later, wearing a similar pair of sweatpants and a muscle tank that causes you to focus on his biceps for much too long. You barely even notice that he’s carrying something in one of his hands. 

“Uh, what’s that?” You ask, motioning to the tube.

“It’s cream that’s meant to help bruises,” he says, lowering himself down onto the couch beside you. “I forgot I had it but I bought it for myself not long after I became Falcon. Will you let me put it on you?” 

You nod, letting him take your arm in his gentle grip. He squeezes some of the cream onto your wrist and gently massages it in. It hurts already, even with just the slightest bit of pressure, but you try your best to ignore it and focus on the look of concentration on Joaquin’s face. He looks up at you afterwards, catching you staring. 

“See something you like, angel?”

You look away, a little flustered, and pull your wrist out of his grip. “Thank you.”

He grins and stands up, heading back towards the bathroom to put the tube away and wash the cream off of his hands. He knew it might not be the right time to be teasing with you, but he had to be – this was the Joaquin you knew, and he could tell that right now, the last thing you wanted was for him to treat you like you were something breakable, like what had happened at the bar was something you couldn’t move past. 

“All right, what are we watching?” He says as he walks back to the couch, climbing over the back of it and settling down next to you, resting his arms up on the back of the couch and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “You pick somethin’ good?”

You surprise him by passing him the remote. “You choose. I can’t find anything.”

He almost freezes solid when he feels your head lean down on his shoulder. He lets his arm fall around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest so you can rest comfortably. 

“What if I pick something you don’t like?” He asks, trying his hardest not to stare at the top of your head and hope to hell you can’t hear how fast his heart is beating, even though you’re laying on the opposite side of his chest.

“Nah, you won’t,” you say. “I like everything you like.”

Joaquin clears his throat and huffs a laugh. “Yeah, what if I put on The Conjuring or something?” 

“You wouldn’t,” you mutter, knowing him well enough to know he’s joking.

“What if I’m being serious, angel? What if all I want is to put on a scary movie so you get all frightened and have no choice but to cuddle up to me in search of safety?” He grins. 

“Joaquin, I’m already cuddled up to you.”

He pauses. “Okay, well that’s true.”

“Just pick a movie, Joaquin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You’re thirty minutes into the movie by the time you speak again. Joaquin is invested in the story but the second you speak, his entire attention is on you. 

“Thank you for saving me tonight, Joaquin,” your voice is quiet.

Joaquin gently rubs your shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. You don’t have to thank me for anything, angel. You know that, right? I should’ve noticed and come after you as soon as you left. Katy should’ve never let you go to the bathroom alone either.”

He can’t help the bitterness in his tone. 

“I didn’t meant to ruin your night, Joaquin,” you mutter, seemingly ignoring everything that he’d just said to you. 

Joaquin is quick to sit up straight, making you move from your spot on his chest. You look at him, eyebrows furrowed at his sudden movement. He gently cups your face in his hands. 

“Ruin my night? Angel, you did not ruin my night. Did you not hear anything I just said? In fact, you probably made my night even better than it already was. I mean, c’mon, pozole and being curled up on the couch watching a movie with you is a hell of a lot better than being out in that club without you,” Joaquin admits, his honesty getting the better of him. 

You frown a little, eyes clouding with tears. Joaquin is quick to wipe one from your cheek after it falls. His heart hurts at the sight of the tears in your eyes. 

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you into his chest again, wrapping his arms around you and letting you cry into his chest. Your arms wrap around him, gripping the material of his shirt. One of his hands rubs up and down on your back in an attempt to relax you. “I always ask you to come out with us cause I enjoy it more when you’re there. I thought you knew that. And I know the clubs aren’t your scene, but I figured you didn’t hate them that much if you said yes to me every now and then. I promise I won’t ask you again, angel. Especially after what that prick did tonight. I almost knocked his jaw in then and there.”

He smiles as he hears something that sounds like a sob like laugh come from you. 

“If I ever see him again, I can’t promise I won’t break his wrist, believe me.”

“No, you won’t,” you mutter, pulling away from his hug. 

His hands immediately move to your face again, clearing the tears off of your cheeks. 

“Maybe I will,” he shrugs.

“You’re too much of a sweetheart for that, Joaquin Torres. I mean… look at everything you’ve done for me tonight. You telling me you’re not a soft hearted person?” You ask.

Joaquin smiles to himself. “Angel, I’m just soft hearted for you,” he confesses. “Now, I’m gonna quickly go check on this pozole okay?” He stands up from the couch, stretching his legs and padding over towards the kitchen – mostly just to make it so you don’t feel obligated to say anything in return. 

He’s standing in front of the stove, stirring the pozole with a wooden spoon, when he feels your arms snake around him from behind, surprising him with a back hug. “Uhhh, what’s happening right now?” He asks, pausing his stirring.

“Thank you,” is all you offer in answer.

“Angel, what’s going on?”

You remove your arms from around him so he can turn around and face you again. He’s about to ask you what you’re thinking when you lean up and press your lips to his cheek before bounding back over to the couch without another word. Joaquin stands, staring after you in shock. He feels like his cheek has been burned – in a good way, if that’s even possible.

“Hurry up and finish stirring that pozole, pretty boy!” You call out from your spot on the couch. “I wanna finish watching this movie and my pillow has gone missing.” 

Joaquin lets out a small laugh, gives the pozole another small stir and starts walking back over to you. “I suppose I’m the pillow?” He asks, shaking his head. “I’m comin’, angel. I’m comin’.” 

[ash-alder]

It’s exceedingly weird to /be/ that old person, but I hope to god I can be this for someone who needs it.

Also, inversely, talk to people a lot younger than you! I have found so much hope for the future in the young people i know. They are exploring things I didn’t even know i was allowed to think about at their age, and approaching both the world and themselves with a kindness and… a /respect/ that is beautiful to watch. The world’s kind of shit, but have you seen the values that the young people bring to it? I think we’ll eventually be ok because of them.

it’s so important for your health to regularly interact with people at least a decade older than you who aren’t family, especially as a young person.

When my 45 year old teammate gives me advice on mental health and I know she understands because she’s had a tough adult life.

When my 32 year old friend tells me his life started improving for the first time the year she turned 30.

When the 60 year old man at the soup kitchen gives me permission to grieve by telling me I’m ‘just a baby’ with only gentleness in his voice.

It’s so much easier to abandon and break out from the cultural idealisation of youth when you surround yourself with wonderful people in all stages of their lives.

[meganegatari]

regret & saudade; loose threads ⭑.ᐟ

Made to attend a basement party in your heartbroken state, you come face to face with Ellie—your ex, the one you can’t forget. Tension lingers in every glance, every remark, as saudade thrums between you, a love lost but never gone. In the haze of liquor and longing, the night may unravel—and even reignite.

☆: this a collab with the loveliest of lovely people, @bloodstainedsapphic ♡ musing about this with you was the most fun thing ever, i don't know how i'll ever be able to express just how talented you are, and how thankful i am for all your contributions here!! ...i mean chat, all the credit goes to lyss. i'm serious!! thank you sm lyssbug, and i better see yall thanking her too!! hope y'all enjoy :) ellie's m.list.

◇: 18+ mdni. alcohol consumption, ellie’s a little mean (she's hurt), reader as well + tension, tension, and more tension. whiny sub!ellie x mouthy dom(ish)!reader, oral & nipple sucking (e! recieving), and she has hip tattoos lol. also contains angsty themes and a purposely ambiguous ending. ++ 3.6k word count.

Getting dragged out of bed for a basement party hosted by a friend of a friend was the last thing you wanted tonight. Yet, here you were, begrudgingly getting ready—much to your dismay—to indulge your friends’ wishes.

Parties weren’t exactly a common occurrence in Jackson, at least not ones that didn’t involve the community church. Hardly anyone bothered to put energy into organizing gatherings for the young folk to get drunk and act recklessly when survival took precedence. Still, once in a blue moon, someone made an effort, and word spread fast.

Yes, you understood why your friends insisted. They meant well. This was a rare chance, and they were worried about you, trying to pull you out of the misery pit you had plummeted into recently. Woe is you for having people who care, even if their grand solution included shuffling you into a crowded, musty room with cheap booze for a few hours.

But this was also the last party you wanted to be at for one crucial reason: your ex, Ellie, was bound to be there.

Your ex wasn’t any more of a party animal than you were, but you were sure the extroverted mutual friends who had adopted you both had undoubtedly coaxed her into going, just as they had with you.

There was simply no sugarcoating it. You had been drowning in the throes of heartbreak hell in the weeks since you and Ellie broke up. The decision itself was “mutual”—whatever the fuck that meant. Anyone with half-open eyes could recognize that unresolved feelings were lurking beneath the surface.

But still, you were somehow convinced that Ellie was coping with the heartache better than you. Mainly because you were managing it so terribly, it’d be difficult for her to be in worse shape. The thought of seeing her and proving your suspicions either way made your stomach churn.

Conjuring up the will to act like a functioning human for the night, you finally joined Hesse half a block away from the house and made your way over.

The space wasn’t anything special. Just another grungy basement, stuffy with age and ever-rotating crowds of partygoers. The wallpaper peeled, curling inward on itself, and the flooring was adorned with decades’ worth of spills and stains. A decent time hinged on the hope that everyone would get wasted enough to forget the unsavory details.

The liquor was crowdsourced—meaning passable but plentiful. Your beeline to the booze might have earned a few raised eyebrows, but you couldn’t be bothered to give a damn.

Ellie’s eyes found you just as you were taking in the low-lit room.

Already nestled in a corner and nursing her umpteenth drink, she was just intoxicated enough to sharpen her spite but not enough to embolden her to speak up—yet. You didn’t take long to find her either, carefully coordinating fleeting glances and using purposeful posturing to feign indifference.

Ellie tracked your every move, attentive to your every step and person you conversed with.

There was some mutual delusion: Ellie misread your avoidance as proof that you were doing just fine, and you misread her detachment in a similar vein. You both assumed the other was moving on when nothing could have been further from the truth.

Ellie had opted for a darker outfit than usual, all black, practically wearing the heartache on her sleeve. Her loosely buttoned cotton shirt hung amply off her frame, adding to her almost ghostly appearance. Her auburn hair, slicked back and muted, due for a wash, looked much less lively than it used to. The speckled ivy green of Ellie’s eyes had dulled, something far more monotone. Her undereye bags lay heavier, cheeks hollowed, a gauntness that was concerning for a girl already thin. Maybe you’d make a snide comment for Dina to pass on just to get her fed—not that you cared. You just didn’t like seeing the girl look like a husk of your Ellie- err, the one you used to know.

And—fuck. that necklace. It looked an awful lot like the one that had vanished from your nightstand months ago.

Wearing it was all but a confession of Ellie’s true feelings—that her apathy was merely a poorly executed act.

You slammed back the first drink too quickly, the burn hardly registering in your throat. The second glass didn’t fare any better. After a few more pours, the alcohol softened your edginess enough to lax you into joining conversations, to dance, to let your friends pull you into something resembling fun—even striking up idle chatter with a few pretty girls, acting as if it wasn’t just to dull the ache.

An indiscernible span of time passed, your focus clouding into a haze that lets you briefly forget the grievous weight in your chest, even if it didn’t wholly undo it.

Then, a brief yet audacious tap on your shoulder.

You already knew who it was from the distinct way her pointer fingers pressed into your skin.

“You’re out tonight?” Ellie bit out as a greeting, her suffering more pronounced now that she had closed the distance. Her stare, once dimmed, had reignited, brimming anew with an irate temper. Ellie wasn’t the jealous type, but the combination of alcohol and the sight of you mingling with other girls stirred something unfamiliar and ugly within her.

“I am. are you?” You asked snarkily, starting with the obvious of this tense reunion.

Ellie’s eyes twitched, brows furrowing. Your response went unappreciated but was understandably deserved. She wet her lips to buy another second before spitting out another question, too quickly to be casual.

“You come with anyone?”

Your eyes glossed over with irritation, this being the first conversation Ellie had dragged you into after weeks of silence. Her question seemed like a placeholder for everything else she wanted to say, though it came out too bluntly. The people you’d been distracting yourself with blurred into the background now that Ellie was here, her nerves showing with every crack in her composure.

“Nope,” you snipped. “You?”

“Nope,” she replied, exaggeratedly popping her lips at the ‘p’ sound. It sounded forced, like she was trying to make herself sound more confident than she felt.

Ellie shifted her weight onto one hip, her gaze raking a slow once-over of your form. Pretending she didn’t already have your every dip and curve memorized. Your eyes flicked across the room, grasping for any excuse to escape this friction, but naturally, the friends who had dragged you out tonight were suddenly nowhere to be found.

"Didn't know you were the type to move on so fast, getting cozy with a few girls over there..." Ellie remarked, her voice hung with bitterness, not even trying to hide her hurt there.

Your jaw clenched, miffed by the implication behind her words. "Dudn't know you were the type to care. Or even notice..."

“Pfft. I don’t. Just funny watching you act like you’re over it,” Ellie replied, trying to play it cool, but her voice cracked, betraying her defensiveness.

You narrowed your eyes. “That right?”

Ellie shrugged, drawing another lazy sip from her glass. “Yeah. s’cute, really. Watching you pretend.”

Your blood boiled at the way she said it, like she wasn’t just as much of a wreck as you. Like she hadn’t been staring at you all night.

“Ellie, you’re not cool enough to act like this-“ you rip into her with a sneer. You never pictured you’d speak to each other in such a way, but harshness felt like the only language you shared left, especially in tandem with her own cruel barbs.

Ellie’s tongue poked the inside of her cheek, a tell she’d never grown out of. The callout cut deep, knowing you still saw right through her. Ellie’s fingers started to tap the length of the glass, keeping a rhythm to compensate for the fidgeting she often did when nervous. Another tell she couldn’t hide.

“Yeah, okay,” her voice wavered, but then she turned her attention to finishing her glass swiftly, struggling to cling to that false bravado that was irking you past your breaking point.

“Ellie—” you spat her name venomously, shielding your sadness with anger. “If you have something you want to say, we can go somewhere else.”

Ellie’s cheeks roseated, the weight of you threatening her to put her money where her mouth is sinking in. The liquor had clearly obscured her foresight into the risks of confronting you so impudently.

Not letting Ellie another chance to deflect, you grabbed a fistful of her onyx-colored shirt sleeve and tugged her from the foggy crowd to an isolated corner, into a dark hallway, finally ducking into a cramped, dingy storage room long left unfinished. You shut the door. no working lock. Just great.

In the time you had fiddled with the old, janky handle, Ellie had already slipped back into the jaded facade she wore at the start of your encounter. The awkward, needy girl was buried deep, but not deep enough. The blush on her cheeks, the stutter in her words, the way her breath hitched when you got too close—proof enough she wasn’t as composed as she wanted you to think.

You just had to figure out how to crack her open.

Stepping closer, you caught that false smirk creeping back onto her lips. You wanted to smack that cheshire grin off her face, but the fragility you could see in her eyes—despite her best efforts to conceal it—only fueled your fire.

“You’re so goddamn frustrating,” you snap, voice raw with irritation. “Thought maybe for once you could talk to me like a normal person-or, imagine, like the girl you claimed to love-”

Ellie swallowed thickly as you came closer with every word. Hell, she looked so good, even in this state. The scent of alcohol on her breath, the sliver of skin peeking through the buttons of her top, the closeness of her rouge lips—it was causing the last of your composure to slip. Your heart raced as the room seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of you.

If words weren’t enough, maybe a more physical approach would crumble her defenses.

In that moment, a sly grin spread across your face. Time for a bit of mischief.

Nearly chest-to-chest, breaths merging together, you reach up and begin toying with the hem of Ellie’s cotton shirt, and descend to the gleaming buttons on her jeans. Right as you make contact, you hear her hiss out a sharp breath, the derisive edge in her voice sends a chill down your spine.

“Missed me that much, huh? You were always so impatient.” She clicks her tongue. But you knew Ellie, you knew this was all a “tough-guy” act. She was not going to let you get under her skin so easily, not without a fight.

The chuckle that passes your lips is a scornful sound, her ears perk up in curiosity as to what you're planning.

After a moment of wrestling with the skin-tight denim—she's free. Ellie takes the liberty to pull her shirt up a touch, and the mere sight of her dark, wisplike happy trail leaves your mouth watering. Your eyes flicker up to hers; keenly, expectantly scanning her delicate features.

Most unfortunately, Ellie returns nothing worth celebrating, her facade still clambering to stay mighty. Just observing, cool fern eyes low—almost kubrick-esque—everything still under control. For now.

You continue undressing her, undoing her shirt and exposing her pale torso. Fuck, what a specimen. Eggshell and cinnamon skin, soft and supple as far as the eye can see. The thin fabric clings to her shoulders, and you push it aside to look upon her chest.

Luckily for you, she doesn't believe in bras, letting her dusty pinkish nipples harden when the air grazes her skin. Ellie lets out the quietest sigh, almost inaudible, but you still catch it and throw her a smirk. Her eyes roll, she's still acting unimpressed.

“Keep going then,” she drawls.

You ghost your mouth over her skin, before taking her nipple in between your lips and sucking. You snake your tongue over the bud and gently pinch the other one with two fingers. Still determined to break her, you look up again. She makes no noise, just tilts her head back until it hits the wall supporting her with a dull thud. You had to do more, you needed to.

Moving to press hot kisses in the valley of her chest, you drag your mouth lower, lower, and lower, until you end up on your knees with her still-clothed crotch an inch from the tip of your nose. With her help, her jeans are discarded into a heap to your right. The tight boxer shorts she was wearing hugged her lean thighs in such a way, you couldn't resist lurching forward and sinking your teeth into the flesh.

Above, you hear something resembling a startled gasp—there you go, the beginning of the end.

Making quick work of her undergarment, Ellie leans against the wall, bare before you. You look up once more at her, but in the perfect moment in time to spot a scarlet flush spread from her chest, up her neck, and decorate her cheeks. There's a crease forming in her forehead as well. You spot her hip tattoos, the ink was striking. Running your tongue along the linework, you taste her skin—salty-sweet.

Simultaneously, you drag your hands up and down the sides of her legs, feeling goosebumps rise as you pass over. Her breaths quickly go shaky, her primal need for your mouth on the crescendo of her thighs overtaking her. Slowly but surely, you were achieving your goal.

“God Els, you're so wet. Seems like you missed me more, hmm?” You titter, voice smooth as syrup, to which she grunts almost in annoyance, neither confirming or denying your tease.

“Sure you weren't so desperate, you came here just for me? Because you wanted to get eaten like a slut?” You hear her exhale shake. Your degrading words—like clouds of miasma—infected her entirely, she didn't know whether to be embarrassed or even more turned on.

Fucking finally, your tongue parts her folds; silken and dripping for you. Smoothly moving forward in and pushing her thighs apart, you take more of her into your mouth. The taste of her arousal makes your head spin, and you don't even register the fact you're lightly moaning into her core already. You missed this. You missed her. You missed the feel of her hot skin, her signature Ellie attitude, her sweetness and how she reacted to your touch—even more than you'd like to admit.

Your eyes close instinctively, and you lick a stripe from her needy hole up to her puffy clit, feeling the bud twitch on your tongue. You wrap your lips around it, and she almost wails. Although Ellie, as clever as she is stubborn, stifles her whines with a clenched fist. When you hear the cut-off cry, your gaze snaps upward. she's biting down on her own flesh, hard, her teeth causing the knuckles to discolor. The blush on her cheeks is approaching maroon, obscuring her freckles, and her eyes are screwed shut. She can't hide the tremors or the panting breaths, though.

You keep devouring her, getting more and more drunk the longer her essence invigorates your senses. She pleads for you some more, albeit impolitely, “Hurry- ah—harder, more…”

Your grip on her hips intensifies, nails leaving marks right next to her tattoos, adding to the artistry already there. She begins to whimper, the small, pathetic sounds of an impending defeat causing heat to spread in your own abdomen.

You tongue fuck her into oblivion, pushing the muscle inside her until you feel her walls pulsing around you. Your nose bumps at her clit, eliciting high pitched pleas from her.

At a glance again, you see there's nothing hiding her mouth, and the hand that was aiding her has moved to join her other one—bracing against the wall. You had Ellie utterly wrecked.

She teeters, rickety legs trembling and struggling to hold her upright. A gush of slick runs down your chin, and she squeals. Unable to hold back any longer, she starts begging you to cum.

Her voice is strained, wobbly. “Please, fuck-!! Ah…c'mon…come onnn.”

Music to your ears.

Smiling against her thumping clit, you continue to suck until her rhythmic pants are all you can hear. The climbing volume was more satisfying than you could have ever envisioned and you never wanted to let up.

“Ah, ah, ah— m'so close, pleasepleaseplease.” She pleads with vehemence, damn near calling on divinity to finish. It was ironic really, there was nothing holy about this.

Her pussy seizes and her body tenses before she's hit with the most forceful orgasm she's ever felt. Silent moans choking in her throat, you messily lap at her folds until you feel the flutter, and hear the most beautiful cry of pleasure.

She's loud, unabashedly so, the pornographic nature of the scenario before you making your face grow hotter than the sun. You lick up every drop of warm cum from her, savoring both the ambrosial taste of her, and the sight of her coming undone like this.

Low groans and mumbles transition to high-pitched squeaks, a telltale sign you were entering overwhelming territory. She's sniveling, all semblance of composure long gone. Babbled cries ring through the small space, all she can muster falling out of her, “Fuck, fuck, shit..okay, hahhh—”

You dont let up and fuck her through her high until she shakes above you, seemingly brought to tears by the sensation. You drag your tongue through her folds one last time, just for the hell of it, and to solidify all this in your memory, before kneeling back to examine what you made of her.

Her chest was steadily rising and falling, she was leaning against that solitary wall, legs quaking and about to give, completely out of it.

The blissed out look on her face was ethereal, she was still so pretty. Through everything, you'd always find your way back—lost in those springlike, agate-ringed greens.

You jump up to her level and yank her towards you by her—your—necklace, making her jolt and snap out of the post-orgasm euphoria. Roughly, you crash your lips onto hers. Ellie’s lips part to let your tongue in, and a guttural moan rips out of her when she tastes herself on you.

You gingerly pull away, trying to ignore the ache in your heart that blossoms when you notice her chasing your lips.

The pair of you are winded and still looking at each other with saucer-wide eyes, the intensity of what you did catching up to you as the bliss wore off. Automatically, you reach to hold her hand, but she pulls away and avoids your sympathetic stare. She looks up and down, side to side, pretending to be interested in the peeling wall behind her.

Seeing her uneasiness, you clear your throat. “Ellie, um…you okay?” Your voice is mellow and gentle, the complete opposite of what it sounded like earlier.

Ellie sighs and briskly nods, brushing any and all concern away. She meets your eyes, and you notice the vibrant green dulled once again—almost appearing gray, like wilted leaves amidst a drought.

Her expression was hard to read. Her cheeks are flushed and her skin is glossy, indicating physical satisfaction, but there was a certain longing there too. The way she fidgeted with her fingers, the way she pursed her lips ever so slightly—she misses you.

You absentmindedly begin to collect yourself, wiping the remnants of her from the lower half of your face, all while readjusting your shirt. You turn towards her, buttoning up Ellie's shirt and straightening the collar—you give her a meek smile when she lets you fix her up, both of you unsure of what to say. The air feels odd, not quite heavy, but cold. “Let's go back, play it cool.” You chuckle and attempt to crack a joke to lighten the awkward mood. Ellie simply huffs.

Accepting that it’s time to snap back to reality. You breathe in a sharp breath to compose and ground yourself. “I miss you, come back to me", was sitting just behind your teeth, but you steeled yourself and pushed those old feelings away.

It was too soon to unpack anything right now. Not to mention both of you still being drunk—in more ways than one.

Ellie starts, “We should leave separately, y'know, so no one suspects anything.”

“Oh for sure, yeah. Go- go, before everyone starts asking questions-“ you usher Ellie out with an instinctive hand pressed to her back, all but throwing her out of that cramped, now-suffocating space for the sake of avoiding becoming the town’s gossip. In Jackson, rumors tended to spread faster than a wildfire.

Ellie left, and you were all alone in the space. Your body's framework crumples weakly against a corner, overcome with emotion. You couldn't help but reminisce—silently lamenting for her in the dim, stuffy room.

But there was still a party going on, if you stayed in there any longer, it would become suspicious rather fast. You push thoughts of Ellie away into the abyss where you made sure the padlock was not planning on breaking. You threw the key away, but for good this time, you vowed to yourself.

Ellie had likely whisked herself away into the kitchen to get a light snack—you remembered that sex always made her hungry afterward.

You hear a familiar song start playing from the main room, something you could try to sway along to and you put on a faint smile—as genuine as you could muster, hoping to rejoin conversations as casually as you had left them. You slip out of the small storage space, closing the door behind you, hoping it’s not symbolic of where things stand with Ellie.

thanks for reading! tell us what you think <3

taglist: @vifilms @ch6douin @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @littlefallenangel111 @witchyblade @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ne @marsworlddd @mascdom @angelynn-nicole @melsmunch @e11williamsgf @imdrowningindespair @nightcityaliens @sevyscoven @culuvr @meow4510 @flowrmoth @liddysflyer @fortune777 @brunaedn @funclebunni @infiniteinquiries @mimasroom2 @thekill3randthefinalgirl @kissyslut @autisticintr0vert @mellifluousgirl @uhhscarr @kaykeryyy @spncrrdlvr @thatgyalfisher @vahnilla @ally-all-around @viscupcakezz @ustakesis @lovelyy-moonlight @abbysunderwear @cheyisagirlkisser @i-dont-know-00

[kissylec]

TO THE PLACES WE'VE BEEN AND THE NIGHTS WE'VE HAD.

directed by love you goodbye...

pairing . . . rafe cameon x pogue!reader in which . . . the bonfire always has surprises, but you never thought that one of those surprises would be ending up in tannyhill with the kook prince warning .ᐟ . . . (18+) smut, alcohol consumption, curse words, enemies to lovers, tension, dirty talk, praise kink, making out, oral (f), unprotected sex (wrap it up), p in v, first time writing smut and english is not my first language, so please, bear with me w count . . . 1.5k (NO PROOFREAD) kissylec says . . . write this in 3 days and i dont really know if i like it or not. my frist time writing smut! im tweaking! thanks to @rafesheaven for the tips you gave me, i hope this is okay i love u. and thanks to @rafeysbabydoll for the idea of this first extra! i also love u. hope you guys like this 😭

masterlist .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 navigation .ᐟ

YOU WERE DOING THIS FOR JJ, and you repeated that to yourself over and over again. the bonfire was the last thing on your mind after the day you'd had, having to put on makeup and get dressed made your head hurt and your feet felt tired just walking to the vanity. but everything went to shit in a short time, which you expected, but at least you had that slight glimmer of hope that it won't happen.

it all started when topper – because of course it was topper – started bothering sarah. your and your friends' irritation was instantly aired, creating a tense atmosphere that was not lost on anyone. and between john b complaining, jj trying to fight, and kiara trying to calm down everyone who came near, you couldn't take it anymore.

the overstimulation ate away at you to the point that you left without warning, a habit that was ingrained in you. the sound of voices grew farther away with each step you took, and the cold and salty breeze became more and more present. that's when you thought about the beach, and that maybe it would be a good idea to stop by there.

the sand on your feet felt colder than usual and the wind was a caress on your exposed skin. you took long, deep breaths, making circles in the palm of your left hand as you tried to maintain a calm that you were afraid would slip away. the sound of the sea was in the background, and a relaxation alien to you had found you. until.

you okay?

the thick, familiar voice startles you, causing you to bring a hand to your chest and open your eyes, your gaze traveling to the direction the voice came from.

rafe cameron.

"you scared the shit outta me," you say, your gaze traveling all over rafe's body. a bottle of alcohol in his hand, his brow furrowed. His curtain bangs were gone, replaced by a neat buzz cut, which made him look more... mature, older.

rafe continues to scowl, looking away from you. "yeah well, it's creepier when a girl stands next to you and closes her eyes and all that shit you were doing just now." his lips take a sip from what appears to be a bottle of whiskey, his eyes fixed on the water.

you just rolled your eyes, mimicking his action of looking away. you never gave rafe much importance, but your annoyance for him was no small thing. he was nothing sacred among pogues, as if his name were a curse. "i may be creepy but you're sad" you started saying. "drinking by yourself on the beach? not really a very fun activity."

rafe takes another long sip from the bottle, his muscles flexing as he raises his arm. “shouldn’t you be there?” he asks, still not looking at you.

rafe knew about you, not much, but he knew enough. he always insisted that you stood out from any friend sarah might have had, you were not overlooked, you always left a mark. you had that something that takes a person a while to figure out. you were different, and it sounds corny and repetitive, but you were, and rafe liked that.

for a split second you considered telling him why you left the bonfire, but you didn't. "i got bored," you said simply, feeling rafe turn his head and his eyes burn into your cheek. "what's your excuse?"

rafe swore his heart stopped for a second when you turned your head to make your first eye contact of the night, his lips felt dry but he didn't have the balls to lick them in front of you.

he just shrugged. "i don't want to be there" he says.

you slowly nod your head, your eyes locked on rafe's blue ones, who didn't seem to want to take his eyes off you. the sound of clothes rustling and him handing you the bottle of whiskey caught your attention, raising your eyebrows.

parting your lips you take the bottle, the contact with rafe’s fingers leaving a rough feeling on your skin. still looking into his eyes, you took an unexpectedly long sip, your throat burning instantly, making you grimace in disgust and drop the bottle. he couldn’t help but laugh.

“what was that?” he asks, following with his gaze as you spit the amber liquid into the sand.

“that shit is disgusting” you say, wiping your chin, which had dropped drops of the drink.

you shake your head, your eyes falling on his face. you allow yourself to analyze the small details, how his eyes close when he smiles, the occasional mark on his skin, his hand wrapped around most of the bottle as soon as you handed it back to him.

rafe parts his lips, you could see his eyes drop to his lap, as if he was hesitant. “i have more bottles in tannyhill, of… other things,” he says, hesitantly. "if you want."

your eyes widened, letting out a laugh you couldn’t control. “are you serious?” you said, your smile taken as mockery by rafe.

rafe frowns, his gaze going to you, making you erase your smile. a tension began to be felt between you two, that tension which anyone who was there could feel, that tension that makes your stomach hurt and your heart race.

"did you really just ask me what you just ask me?" you asked, your eyebrows raising as you looked at him.

“what’s wrong with what i said?” rafe asks, his tone of voice harsher than he intended.

you frown, careful not to fumble with your words. “no, absolutely not.”

“why not?"

“because it’s you,” you simply reply, looking at him. “and i would never do anything with you.”

your words seemed to trigger something in rafe, who raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, as if he were studying you. you felt your pulse quicken, his jaw suddenly looked attractive, and his challenging eyes made your lower stomach feel warm.

"never, huh?"

those were the last words you could remember coming out of his mouth, because all you were focused right now, was him. on his tongue expertly moving between your wet folds, on how he flicked it against your clit. his fingers gripped your thighs to keep you from moving, the pressure was so strong that you knew there would be marks, but you didn't care.

you had tears starting to form at the corners of your eyes, your o-shaped lips letting out moan after moan, babbling every now and then as you felt his tongue fucking you as if it were the only thing he was useful for.

"prettiest cunt" he grunts against your center, placing open-mouthed kisses over your clit.

"fuck–rafe" was the only thing that could come out of your mouth.

you start to rub your pussy against him when you feel close, that delicious pressure in your pelvis growing as does the burning in your clit, your moans turning into soft cries, desperate to cum, and rafe notices it, but that wasn't going to happen.

his mouth leaving you, automatically going to the level of your face. his lips, chin and nose glistening with your arousal, his pupils dilated with pleasure, his breathing accelerated, all so sexy that you could have cum just from him.

before you could even protest he crashed your lips against his, moaning as you tasted yourself. your tongues danced deliciously, making everything more disgusting.

"wan' you to cum on my cock" rafe manages to say between kisses, and you never wondered when he took off his pants, but he did. "you're capable of doing that? huh?"

he wrapped his hand around his heavy cock, pumping it slowly, guiding his tip to your puffy and achy clit, teasing it, coating his length with your slick. "fuck–could you be any more fucking wet?"

the tip traveled to your center, gasping as it entered inch by inch to the brim, forcing you to take him all. your eyes rolled back in your head, feeling his cock caress your insides. you could swear you felt him kiss your cervix.

"so tight, all f'me, isn't that right?" rafe purrs against your ear, his hips moving almost instantly after filling you.

your brain blanked out, letting him handle you as he pleased, your legs on his shoulders as his pace quickened. “rafe,” you stammered, your eyes squeezing shut.

"grippin' me so tight, you gonna cum?" rafe murmurs condescendingly. "this sweet pussy gonna cum? huh?"

it was ridiculous, almost pathetic, but his words and the way your sweet spot was hit over and over again had you cumming on his cock, your back arching and a small cry came out. rafe groans, his face hiding in your neck, his cock twitching and painting your insides with his cum.

you felt kisses on your neck, the thrusts fading in rhythm, his hands caressing your sides. your eyes slowly opened, your lips dry as the light from the nightstand made its presence felt beside you.

then, and just then, it clicked.

"we can't do this again" was the first thing that left your lips.

but rafe had already taken you over. and there was no escape from that.

taglist . . . @lil-sparklqueen @pillowprincess4him @ihydeja @drewstarkeyslover @angelicameron @stylestarkey @frankoceanluvr11 @thepopcultureaddict @luvrclub @wtfisastiles @faephoria @maybankslover @yktayy9669 @bucksbvck @bee-43 @drewrry @harryzcherry @bsenpai @dreamybabbyy @ggyuslovie @magicalflowerstranger @wintercrows @rafeysbabydoll @starsval @maddiebaddie1 @mrsdrewstarkeyy @giouvarlakia @jjmaybankmylovee @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @sleepiibunniiii @lolasangelz @bananaminn @glitterandviolence13 @scream4mami @delayeddrabbles @niaunffical @ijustwanttoreadlols @ethanthequeefqueen @emmiesummers @arianagreenblattfanxx10 @vanessa-rafesgirl @kaiparkerwifes @enchante-starkey @drewsdirtyslut @hannieskzzz @dontknow3m @rafesdrew

© KISSYLEC. 2025 — please do not plagiarize, repost, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

[niwaart]

See what I can do.

<Part1> <part2> <part3>

Spoiled idiot Bruce Wayne decided to adopt another child and Jason had only been dead for a few weeks... And what did Y/N do? She burned every Robin suit in the cave except Jason's old one, to remind spoiled idiot Bruce of his mistake.. The new kid only came out as Robin twice.

Y/N stands in the park throwing all of Robin's new outfits into the fire she started. Needless to say, Bruce comes running from work to stop her. Alfred has failed and is getting tired of trying to stop Y/N. No matter how hard they try to stop her from getting in, no matter how hard they try to protect the new suits by locking the doors, putting up new codes, and putting the suits in unbreakable glass, it doesn't stop Y/N.

“Stop!!” Bruce grabbed Y/N’s wrist “That’s enough you crazy girl! You’ve crossed the line!!” Y/N smiled at Bruce’s words, angering him was her goal, and she succeeded. Richard stood silently behind Bruce… Oh yeah, Richard came home after hearing the news of Jason’s death, and decided to train the new kid to be Robin, but first they had to stop Y/N.

"Oh please tell me what are you going to do now? Are you going to hit me? Kick me out of the house? Punish me by not going out? Give me what you have, because I won't stop until you cry more pain and regret than you did over Jason, he died because of you so you have to take responsibility for your actions... so act like an adult and take what comes your way..." Y/N pushed Bruce's hand off her wrist then patted his shoulder and walked back inside the mansion, on her way back she saw the new kid hiding behind one of the walls looking at her angrily with tears of frustration filling his eyes. Y/N simply gave him a wicked smile and continued on her way without any regrets.

The next day, Bruce was standing in front of her room door telling her that he had booked her an appointment with a psychiatrist. Y/N pushed Bruce out of the way and ignored him and went to make breakfast. But Bruce stopped her by grabbing her shoulder. Y/N was about to turn around to break his arm if she hadn't felt a needle prick her neck and everything went blurry and she lost consciousness. This was Bruce's plan with everyone... Richard, Alfred, and the new kid, they all planned this...

As Y/N tried to move and wake up, her headache was severe and the room was spinning in circles. When she tried to move her hand, she found that she was tied to a chair, her hands and feet bound. She tried to speak, but her tongue was still heavy... "I see you're awake, very good. Do you need some time to get your bearings or should we start right away?" Y/N lifted her head up, the voice was familiar... Who else but that doctor who claims to know how to treat mental patients... Leslie the devil... digs lies into people's minds so that they believe her... Pretending to be a victim... But she is a devil in human form. Jason went to her several times, and every time he came back from the sessions, he came back a different person... Someone who wasn't Jason, a stranger, so she forbade Jason from going to her...

Y/N bit her tongue to speak. “I see that spoiled brat had no other solution than to send me to the devil… right?” Leslie’s eyes narrowed at Y/N’s words. “It’s not appropriate to talk about your father that way. Bruce brought you here for your own good, you have anger issues.” Leslie said as she scribbled notes in her notebook. Y/N was silent for a moment before she smiled and said, “Well… show me how you can change for the better… just to let you know before we start that me being here now is going to cause a lot of problems so I hope you enjoy it with me.” Y/N laughed as she relaxed into chair, she couldn’t wait to see Leslie Thompkins fail at her job.

And so three days passed while Leslie kept asking Y/N questions and Y/N answered them with complete honesty.  This surprised Leslie.  “You answer the questions with such confidence.  I thought you would be stubborn and not answer…Are you planning something?”  It was already the fourth day, and Y/N had been in a good mood since she arrived until now.  Y/N laughed at Leslie’s words and said, “I thought you would never ask, and since today is the fourth day I will answer you. Actually, Bruce’s plan to bring me here… I knew about it before he drugged me.”  Leslie was surprised by Y/N’s words but she did not believe her.  “No way-..” Y/N interrupted Leslie and said, “Everything that’s happening now is part of the plan I made. Of course that spoiled brat put up security cameras all over the house, so I took advantage of that to monitor them… I had all the security cameras at my disposal from the beginning, so I knew what you and Bruce planned to do to stop me… Aren’t I a good actress?  Maybe I should get an award… What do you think?”  Y/N smiled mischievously at Leslie who was terrified.  Leslie picked up her phone to call Bruce and confirm the matter, but Bruce wasn’t answering the calls or even the messages.  She tried calling Richard, Alfred and even the new guy, but no one was answering.  Leslie turned to Y/N in fear and found that Y/N had been freed from the handcuffs.  “Leslie Thompkins..It's your end now.”

@crazycaoticsimp @randomlyappearingartist @ninihrtss @lovebug-apple @artistwithcreativeburnout @itsberrydreemurstuff @bellethesleepypotato @hopingtoclearmedschool @eyeless-kun @s4raahi @roseytheteacup @jsprien213 @uu-uuu

[clubsoft]

⠀

⠀ ⠀ PARTY 4 U ⠀ ⠀ CH . 01 ⠀ ⠀ JOAQUIN TORRES A . K . A FALCON / F ! READER⠀⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀

SUMMARY ⋆ joaquin finds love on a dating app && does anything he can to get her closer . WARNINGS ⋆ fluffy for now / next chapters will def have smut / not - a - superhero ! au / wealthy , lowkey sugar daddy ! joaquin / mutual pining / they r in luvvvv lowk / awkward convos / banter / joaquin has some dirty thoughts / 3rd person POV ; no use of Y/N WORD COUNT ⋆ 2 . 8 k NOTES ⋆ i made a tiny lil playlist to go with this , u can listen to it here !! all my love for danny ramirez came flooding back n i couldn't stop thinking of him as lover boy mcgee ... dreamy sigh ... enjoy !!

A swipe of her thumb changed the trajectory of the summer for the better. What was meant to be a slothful three months of taking it day by day, hoping, praying for any excitement to befall the lazy crawl of time became late nights tapping away at her phone, and endless conversations with a boy in another timezone: Joaquin. The dating app had been a distraction, uninstalled as soon as his number made its way into her contacts, texts traded for images. Innocent, as it always starts, he sent himself, in the gym, muscular arms flexed, pretty pearly whites flashing in a charming smile. Tan skin, overgrown curls slanting into playful eyes, she’d found herself intimidated, yet enthralled all the same.

He was treating her. It was only right she rewarded him in return.

Joaquin’s recompense took the form of a mirror selfie in a dressing room; a baby pink dress, made to be taken off, kissing, clinging to every curve — mouth watering. To add to his torture, she’d followed the vision up with: so cute, so expensive. Exposed by the exchange, their definitions of expensive were worlds apart. 

$3000 received from Joaquin Torres: ‘Wear it for our first date.’

“Joaquin, that’s too much, you have to take it back,” she’d whined over the phone minutes later, a deep chuckle coming from his end of the line. 

“You said it was expensive—”

“Yeah, eighty bucks!” Too loud, catching glares from other shoppers, she sighed and lowered her voice. “It was only eighty bucks. I can afford that, I’m sending it back.” She was still shaken from the notification, fingers trembling, intending to do as she said, brought to an end by his answer.

“No.” Joaquin’s tone was firm, his grin audible, his mind made up. “Keep it, buy yourself other pretty things to wear for me. You need more, you let me know.” 

Men in the real world can’t be trusted, men online ought to be monsters, but there are always outliers; a man too good to be true that happens to be true after all. With money in her account, and shopping bags littering her bedroom, she’d convinced herself that Joaquin was her Prince Charming, sent to her by Aphrodite herself to save her from the lonely, boyfriend-less, love-empty, paycheck-to-paycheck life, that his interest reflected hers identically. He was respectful, kind, patient, and had yet to bring up the topic of sex, whereas any other man in his seat would’ve begun posing with his cock in his hand. The bar was low, and Joaquin was in his home gym, using it to make those strong arms of his all the more delicious, raising it with ease.

A month and a half into being matchmade, one night on FaceTime, after almost an hour of blissful silence, Joaquin asked, “You wanna come to my party next weekend?” The question was posed as though there weren’t thousands of miles between them, met with hesitation on her end, causing him to continue: “I’ll fly you out Thursday, we can hang on Friday… I’ll take you shopping. Party’s Friday night. It’ll be fun.” He sounded nervous, fumbling for words to convince her. Those brown puppy dog eyes twinkling below furrowed brows, gazing at her lips, waiting for them to part, only to cut her off when they did, trying his very best to stave off what he thought was oncoming rejection, the rumble of his chest audible in his words as he murmured, “I really want to see you. I want to touch you and kiss you good morning and good night. The texts aren’t enough anymore…” His hands clamping over his face, he fell back onto his bed, out of frame. “Your lips look so soft — you look so soft. Please.” 

How could she say no? 

⠀⠀

⠀⠀

Joaquin traces the shield shape of the Porsche logo with his fingertips, his knee bouncing as he watches the automatic sliding doors of the airport gate like a hawk. He’s seen her silhouette a thousand times in pictures, stalking her Instagram, scrolling through their texts, imprinting every line of her figure behind his eyelids. Every moment of downtime is consumed by her, thoughts notching themselves into a spectrum of museum dates and ice cream to her pressed into his mattress, chanting his name like a mantra. Ice cream was easy to discuss, a two-hour conversation about favorite flavors and other sweet treats — a mutual sweet tooth — had distracted him from his work only days prior. He’d called her sweet, she’d giggled, and he’d forced his next set of words to die on his tongue: Can I have a taste?

The doors open, and angels sing. Heavenly beams of light dance over delicate features as she finally appears. A gust of wind blows past, tousles beautiful, beautiful hair, sending her into a bout of struggle as she rushes to fix it, not catching him approaching her in the midst. He calls her name, softly at first, then a bit louder. 

“Joaquin!” She chirps back, sheepish simper on glossy lips. “Hi!” Her arms open, inviting him in; he swoops down, drawing her into his embrace without missing a beat. Pressed to his front, her heels lift off the ground, and when he steps back, his hands remain on her waist. Joaquin’s gaze travels down, down, down, absorbing everything from the stitched flowers on her jeans to the ribbon ties of her shoelaces. Then, up, up, up, waist, chest, a swan-like neck— a face that broke the mold. Their eyes meet, and it dawns on him that she’s doing the same, opening her mouth, but he steals the words before she can speak. 

“You’re real,” he breathes out, his thumbs pressing into her shirt, the warmth of his palms seeping through the fabric. Her smaller hands find his chest, her smile bashful. 

“I am…” 

He doesn’t kiss her just yet, too shaky, too nervous — afraid he’ll lay it on too thick and chase her off. His nerves contradict the romantic perfectionist in him, the one that wants their first kiss to be memorable, not just a formality in front of the airport; a lazy, no-effort thank you for humoring him and taking a flight across the country. The gentlemanly things are in order overall — carrying her bags to the trunk, opening the passenger side door, holding her hand as she climbs into the seat… feigning confidence as her gentle gaze follows his movements, beholding him with a fondness he doesn’t allow himself to translate. He fears if he does, he won’t make it to their destination without spilling all over her. 

“My place first — got all your favorite stuff made for dinner, you gotta eat real food after that bullshit they try to feed you on the plane,” he says with his signature smile, buckling himself in. She adjusts her seatbelt, and shrugs, his brightness contagious; her cheeks already feel warm from grinning so much. 

“I dunno…  I like the snacks they give you! They gave me complimentary champagne, that was nice! I didn’t know rich people got to be drunk for free on flights.” Arguing her case is useless because Joaquin shakes his head as he drives off the sideroad, onto the lane heading towards the freeway. He opens his mouth to declare an equally playful rebuttal when she continues, “But let me guess, it’s cheap, wack champagne. Right? Right, Joaquin?”

He gasps, chokes out a laugh, and then nods, “It’s fucking terrible!”

Banter is more common than not between them — Joaquin’s personality thrives off it, his goal in any conversation is to make the other laugh. With her, it’s especially important — special. If he can work his way to one of her mellifluous giggles, his day is made, and the rest of the world can go to hell for all he cares. Over the phone, it’s a piece of cake. When she’s less than arm’s width away, it’s natural, as though the space between them has always been minimal. He tells a joke, she laughs, presses a dainty little hand to his bicep, and he decides he’ll never let that space grow again.

⠀⠀

⠀⠀

The GPS blanks out shortly past them turning off the main road, much to her confusion, as the street they’re on is very much paved. Joaquin notes the knit in her brow, and offers a grin with an explanation, “This is the driveway. All this belongs to me— my family, they wanted their house at the center of it all. These are all orchards.”

After all this time, she’s become acutely aware of Joaquin’s financial status. If it weren’t for the downpour of gifts, the stacks of paperwork that occupied his attention during their calls and FaceTimes had made it transparently obvious. However, seeing it before her eyes couldn’t be more jarring. His car takes them from a dark asphalt path to one of sandy, beige stone, leading up to a mansion that’s nothing short of a palace. It’s perfect for California, with a white stone exterior. Rounded tuscan-style tiles of an earthy red shade decorate the roof. Gardeners take delicate care of the flowers surrounding the entrance, and Joaquin greets them with a smile as he drives up to the front door, circling the statue of a headless angel at the center of the roundabout. 

“This is all so beautiful,” she muses, beaming, her orbs and her simper twinkling just alike. “I really appreciate you bringing me here, this is the coolest house I think I’ve ever seen.” Joaquin hums, and tells her it’s not a big deal as he removes his shoes near the entryway, feet sliding into a pair of navy green slippers. Hopping up the stairs leading to the set of wooden double doors, a step and a half behind him, she spins a full circle, ogling at the masterpiece of a lawn from a proper point of view, filling her chest with a deep breath. Her compliment isn’t empty politeness, it truly is the grandest place she’s ever visited. To say she’s out of her depths is an understatement, and she glues her palms to her jeans. She thought she was scared of heights, snakes, or bugs, yet the mere thought of bumping a table and shattering one of the beautiful, priceless glass motifs climbs her list of fears at the speed of light. 

Not only would it drive Joaquin away, and upset him, but in no universe would she be able to financially recover — that is, if she could cover the cost in the first place. 

Joaquin sets a pair of slippers before her, looking almost as skittish as she feels. “You c-could stay here,” he stammers without thinking, eyes widening upon realization, hurriedly attempting to apologize, “Sorry. Not like with me— I know you booked at a hotel, but we have a lot of rooms— I wouldn’t ask you to have sex with me on our first day of—” Cutting himself off mid-sentence, he glances up. She’s staring at him, amused, with that same fondness from earlier. “Stop. Don’t laugh.”

“I wasn’t going to laugh!” 

A chuckle slips past her lips, betraying her. “You’re laughing!” Joaquin grunts, rubbing a hand over his face, shamefaced. It isn’t fair to take her time removing her sneakers and shoving her feet into the provided pearly white slippers, to make him wait. It isn’t fair at all, but what is she to do when he looks so cute standing there, blushing? “Say something… please.”

“I don’t think… that…  and I wouldn’t mind staying over…” she replies, trailing off, looking anywhere but his eyes, teasing him. 

“But? Is there a but in there?” His frown deepens, high cheekbones glowing pink. “You’re still fucking with me!” A sigh, and her countenance softens. 

“You already did so much for me, I owe you so much money, I don’t wanna impose and—”

“I don’t care about that. I’d really — really like it if you spent the night — if you’re comfy enough with me to do that — I know it’s probably weird, though, so I’m probably scaring you — Christ.” This time, he runs both hands down his red hot face, and blurts out, “I really like you! I’m so excited that you’re here and I don’t wanna look like a fuckin’ virgin and give you the ick — you can say no, I won’t be mad, but just know I’ll keep a safe distance and—”

“Don’t want you to keep a safe distance,” she cuts in. It sucks all the air out of his lungs; he waits with bated breath. Her voice subsides, quietens to say, “I’ll stay. I would love to stay… I mean, came all this way to see you, right? I should spend as much time with you as I can, no?” 

“Yeah,  yeah… I think so, too…” Soothed by her answer, Joaquin pads closer, she has to tilt her head up to maintain eye contact. His curls curtain his gaze; longing, locked in on her parted lips — it flicks up, he wordlessly asks for permission, and she lifts her chin in response. Her heart pounds against her ribcage, teeth digging into her lower lip as one large hand snakes around her hip, two fingers in her belt loop. He’s so close, close enough to breathe in his expensive cologne, the one made in 2007 that he always complains about not finding — the mint on his lips, the gum he chews to help him quit smoking. Surreal doesn’t cover it, he’s a materialization of every fun fact he’s ever told her, and sure, that’s how life works, but how could the years craft someone so desirable? Someone she gets the privilege of feeling, her palms against his torso. He’s warm — strong under her touch, and his heart… it threatens to beat out of his chest, right into her hand as he kisses her. He’s all soft lips and careful tugs to her hips, his other hand finds the opposite loop, the pads of his thumbs glide under the hem of her cotton shirt — he kisses her like he’s trying to slow down time; gentle, patient. 

It’s romantic, liplocking in the arched doorway of a mansion surrounded by orchards, the sun setting in front of them, silhouetting them in pinks and purples. She pulls back only once she’s breathless, bunching his shirt into her fists, and Joaquin chases one last peck, followed by a bright white grin that crinkles his eyes. He’s about to speak when an older woman emerges from around the corner, and squeals, picking up speed until she’s standing before them, either oblivious to their closeness or indifferent to it. 

“This is the girl you were telling me about!” She sings the words, smiling from ear to ear. Joaquin, slightly miffed, looks at her and sighs, dragging his hand across the belt of the younger girl’s jeans, over the small of her back to wrap his arm around her waist.

“Yes, mom, this is her,” he groans, his cheeks taking on a rosy hue once more, out of embarrassment this time. A type of embarrassment that only a mother can invoke in her child. He goes about introducing them, gesturing his hand from one to the other, “  —and this is my mom, Esperanza.” 

“I’ve heard so much about you, it’s so good to finally meet you!” Esperanza shakes her hand with both of hers, glowing with joy. 

“He talks about me?” 

The grunt Joaquin lets out is answer enough, though Esperanza is more than happy to elaborate: “Oh, yes! At this point, there isn’t much else he talks about. He was so excited about you coming here, he had his outfit set on his bed like picture day was coming up—”

“Mama!” 

“Ah… right. You weren’t supposed to know about that.” Esperanza reaches out and pets his curls dotingly, her laughter mixing with that of their visitor’s. “I’m sorry, cariño, it was an accident!” It’s an endearing sight, the masculine, self-sufficient, all-capable presence that is Joaquin Torres defeated by his adoring mother in front of the girl he’s utterly enamored by. “Shall we eat? I’m very excited for tonight’s dinner, I have so many questions for you!” Then, she boops the younger girl’s nose — boops it, leaving her stunned as she all but dances away. 

“I am so sorry,” Joaquin groans out, covering his eyes with his free hand. Even still, his fingers are wrapped around her waist. “That was so—”

“Cute. That was so cute.” Interrupted for the umpteenth time, he’s once again led away from his anxiety by her sweet voice. “I love your outfit, too…  Very impressed.” A playful scowl tugs at his upper lip and she giggles, pushing up onto her tiptoes to kiss it away. 

“Thank god for that,” he murmurs against her mouth, kissing her once more just as his mother’s voice bellows from the opposite end of the hallway, and he rolls his eyes, tugging the girl along towards the dining room. “C’mon.”

⠀⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀ © CLUBSOFT⠀⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀

TAGLIST ⋆ @days1 / @luvrsluxe if u would like 2 be added 2 my tag list 4 my fics , pls click this link && fill out the form !! u will be added immediately && get a notif for my next fic !!

[wtfaniii]

Hi ;-)

Request for an In-Ho x preteen platonic female reader where reader is the adopted shy introverted Daughter of Jun-Ho (frontmens Brother) got adopted 1 year after In-Ho dissapierd and got into the games by accident (cheating her id and faking it) how would ir be if the first time she speaks towards the Group of Gi-Hun and noticed that maybe player 001 used his right hand to throw the toy spin at the second game and for eating with a fork he used his left hand? So she could say neither he is both handed or left handed and mention something like my appa jun-ho can write with left and right but using a weapon he is just right handed funny huh? 💕🙈

I like the idea, I hope what I wrote is to your liking :D

Curiosities, observations and other small qualities

You were a smart but calm girl, with many fascinations towards different things and you constantly asked questions without stopping when you noticed something, that's why your father told you that you would be a researcher and there was no better compliment for you than that, however, for a certain person that would be more of an inconvenience.

¡Hwang In-ho x fem reader platonic!

master list¡!

You were curious, you always had been, since you could remember you questioned everything, even why a fly moved its legs when it stood on food.

Questioning everything and everyone brought you a lot of knowledge, you were smart and active but it also brought you problems, sometimes you found out things that you would rather not have done or people got fed up with you, that's why you spent the first five years of your life in an orphanage feeling the rejection of others.

Until one day there was an accident at the orphanage, the police came to investigate a little and despite feeling somewhat threatened by your superiors when talking about the negligence in the place, you did not stay silent, you glided through the hallways until you could talk to a police officer about your concerns.

You never imagined that the same police officer you spoke to would adopt you a month later, of course he was not going to leave you alone there after having practically ratted out the director of the orphanage.

The feeling of confidence that Jun-ho gave you from the beginning only increased from that moment, soon he was a fun, affectionate and responsible father to you.

Grandma Hwang was the sweetest, she made you chocolate chip cookies every time Jun-ho left you in her care and sometimes she let you sleep in.

Life certainly improved for you but you never stopped asking constant questions, Jun-ho congratulated you for that, he said that you would be a great detective when you grew up but your grandmother didn't seem so happy about that, she said that you would get in trouble.

And she was right.

One afternoon while you were waiting for the next train to take you home after having spent the afternoon doing homework at a friend's house, you noticed something peculiar.

You were leaning against the wall eating a bar of chocolate, with your headphones on and the hood of your sweatshirt over your head when in front of you, at the other end of the tracks, you saw a man in a suit with a briefcase playing Ddakji with another man.

Your eyes practically shone with interest when you saw that if you win the man with the briefcase he would give money, but a grimace formed on your lips when you saw that if lost would receive a hard slap.

The salesman ended up handing a card to that man and turned around to leave but at that moment you ran to catch up with him right on the stairs.

You went towards him but when you faced him his posture seemed really intimidating, you took two steps back with your best friendly smile.

At first he didn't let you play, you weren't on his list and you were just a teenager, you would probably die as soon as you stepped on the first arena but your insistence was too much to the point that he got fed up with you and let play.

You didn't know what you were getting into when you took the money had earned and the card that he offered you, but your curiosity was so much that that night you couldn't even sleep because of the intrigue of knowing what would happen if you dialed that number, he said he would do you a favor, he warned you not to call before he left, but that warning only increased your curiosity.

So the next morning the first thing you did was call, they asked for your full name and age, you lied, you said were twenty-five years old but you were barely turning sixteen.

—I'll be late today appa, I'm going to a friend's house —You told your father that same day while you were getting out of the car to go to school.

—Okay, but call me to come get you, I don't want you to go alone at night —Jun-ho responded with a fatherly tone and a small smile.

You nodded and said goodbye to him to enter the school but "going to a friend's house" was an excuse, you would go to the address those people gave you so you could enter those games.

[...]

You regretted it completely, there were times when your actions led you to good things, maybe bad things… ¿But this? it was already an extreme.

If you had known that approaching that man in a suit would be your biggest butterfly effect, you would have walked away immediately but now here you were, wearing the same set of clothes as the rest while you looked curiously at player 001, the man who condemned them all when he pressed the button with the blue circle.

You stayed away from the rest as all the players dispersed, some with sorrowful expressions and others with triumph, the votes had been made and staying had been the final decision by majority.

But your gaze focused on player 001, his vote was decisive and you were curious to know why he pressed the circle but then you saw him form an almost imperceptible malicious smile while he stared at 456,

Player 456 had shouted that he had already been in those games during the voting and helped the others during "green light, red light", he knew what would happen and judging by his expression of anguish and defeat you deduced that it was true, he was telling the truth, now, ¿why was 001 interested in him? ¿Was he looking for your help or was it something else? The man felt your gaze and turned to see you, you immediately turned away and walked tensely.

You stayed away and alone, just watching the others form groups until you saw some of them surround 456, once again your curiosity got the better of you and you went towards them cautiously like a small cat walking among dogs.

In-ho had a clear goal but since he saw you, observing him in detail, he knew that you would be a problem, for that and other reasons. ¿What the hell was a teenager doing in his games?

After the other curious players left, he sat next to Gi-hun and tried to continue talking but he noticed your presence a few steps in front of them.

—¿Can we help you with something young lady? —390 asked, looking at you with curiosity.

Due to your poor ability to socialize you wanted to deny and walk away but you also had to keep in mind that this place was survive or die, you needed to be with the smartest team and what better than the team of a former winner so gathering all the courage you had in your body you spoke.

—¿Can I be on your team? —They looked at each other doubtfully until 001 spoke.

—¿How old are you girl?

—Twenty-five —Your answer was so sure that it made them hesitate but just by looking at you in silence it made tell your real age —I'll be sixteen next month.

—¿What kind of debts would a sixteen year old girl have? —asked 388 from his bed and with his mouth full of food.

You pressed your lips into a straight line and glared at him —¿Are going to accept me on your team or not?

Before anyone could say anything Gi-hun nodded silently and you sat down next to him. Well, at least you wouldn't be alone anymore during your stay in this place.

When the lights went out and everyone went to sleep you curled up in your bed and tried to close your eyes but it was impossible, even with 456 and 001 awake on guard you couldn't sleep peacefully.

In-ho noticed the uncomfortable way you moved in bed so he spoke to you cautiously and invited you to stand guard with them at least until you get sleepy.

—¿Aren't you afraid of this place? Your parents are probably very worried about you, ¿What would your mother say if she knew that you were not eating and sleeping well? —He said cautiously as he waved goodbye to Gi-hun, now it would only be the two of you on guard.

—I don't have a mother... —You mumbled, drawing with your fingers on the ground and when you saw the expression on him face you smiled sideways —I never met her, I only live with my appa and the halmonim.

—Well…then they'll wondering where you are —He said looking at you with curiosity, in case you were to die here, he wanted to know who would miss you

You twisted the lips and nodded silently, you missed them and wanted to return to them as soon as possible but the idea that you could die tomorrow or in the next five days tormented you.

As if he had read your thoughts, he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and speak: —You'll be fine, we'll get out of here alive and you'll see them again.

Those words, although seemed simple and empty, were a flash of hope for you, you smiled at him with closed lips and nodded in agreement, anyway, this were just children's games ¿right?

With that thought in mind you went to sleep but when you woke up the next morning with that melody ringing in your ears you couldn't help but feel anxious, your stomach was in knots and the desire to vomit due to stress and fear was evident on your face.

—¿Are you fine? ¿Do you want to go to the bathroom? —001 asked you as followed Gi-hun walking down the colorful stairs to the next game.

You assured him that you were fine and continued walking in silence, "This is going to be a piece of cake, it's just games" you thought as you looked curiously at the playground where they were taken, it was colorful.

But when the robotic voice said that they should make teams of five you reconsidered your chances of survival.

You walked among all the players looking for who would want you on their team but being a female teenager diminished your advantages considerably, you saw player 333 approach you, he was going to ask you to be part of his team but before he could do so two hands placed themselves firmly on your shoulders and dragged you to team 456.

—Now we are complete —001 said with triumph and a smile on his face shaking you gently making you smile gratefully.

After giving them the instructions, each team organized themselves, sat on the floor and waited their turn.

Each team would have to go through a series of games while having their ankles tied to each other and in a time of five minutes, they had to be coordinated and sure, you said you were good at Ddakji so that would be your game.

You felt motivated, you analyzed every move the previous players made and noticed every small mistake that led to their death, your team would not make those mistakes.

In-ho saw you from time to time, you were observant, a detail that he would not overlook, that gave you value points because he was almost sure that you would be one of the finalists if another stronger player did not kill you before that.

However, he never thought that you could also become a problem.

—¿How do you know my name? —Gi-hun asked after he had mistakenly called him by his name.

—I heard that's what your friend called you and I thought could do it too, ¿does it bother you?

His justification got him out of trouble but he could feel your intriguing gaze boring into the back of his neck, your mind wandered in previous conversations, you hadn't really heard him but maybe it was because you were nervous, even so, your curiosity and intrigue were present.

You proposed saying their names, maybe that would help build confidence in the team and they could get out of this test alive.

Each team had their turn to play, some passed successfully and others ended up dead, when it was their turn to play you noticed that they were the last, you didn't pay much attention to this detail but your brain saved it just in case.

You were the first to play, you did it the first time and the rest celebrated, then it was Jung-bae's turn, another triumph, Dae-ho also had immediate success.

Now it was Young-il's turn, it would be his turn to spin the top and everyone would believe that like the first three he would do it the first time but their hearts stopped and the air left their lungs when the top didn't spin on the ground.

You remained silent during the three attempts he made and failed, time was ticking and your heart was beating like crazy but you clearly noticed how in the last attempt that was successful he used his left hand.

Curious, first he did it with his right hand and failed three times, now he did it with his left hand and he did it the first time.

[...]

Once again in the huge dormitory, all the players who managed to survive the second game were scattered talking among small groups, alliances they had formed with this test.

You were happy, you put aside your suspicions about Young-il convincing yourself that you were just paranoid and there was nothing strange.

—I apologize for the reaction I had a few minutes ago —He said as they sat on the stairs of the huge bunk beds —I lost control...

He finished with a smile that almost seemed like genuine apology and understanding but when you spoke the expression on his face tensed.

—That's fine, but if you knew you were left-handed you should have tried left from the beginning —You said calmly, as if you were talking about a simple observation, but the rest's gaze rested on him with intrigue and even slight suspicion, especially Gi-hun, because this observation added to the fact that he had called him by his confident name, caused a certain distrust —Maybe this way we would have saved ourselves time and that scare.

The soft laugh you made at the end managed to lighten the atmosphere a little but In-ho knew that your words had caused a crack in his plan.

—I usually use the right but I think I'm good at playing with the left —He lied, letting out a small laugh to disguise the tension in his body.

Fortunately for him, Dae-ho changed the conversation bragging a little about how they were about to pass all the minigames without any errors, but In-ho remained attentive to you ¿How could a simple teenager be so observant? Now he was going to make sure you died in the next game, he wasn't going to risk slipping up with you around.

He had a problem with you and he was going to eliminate it, the complete opposite of what you thought, you believed that Young-il was someone you could trust and for no reason you had hopes that with him by your side you could get out of there alive.

After the votes, the pink guards distributed the food to each player but you had trouble opening your milk box.

—¿Can you help me? —You asked Young-il next to you.

He took the box and opened it without any problem but you noticed again that he used his left hand causing a giggle on your part.

—¿What are you laughing at?

—You are left-handed.

In-ho looked at the rest to make sure no one had heard you and then turned to look at you, this time with sharper and colder eyes.

He was definitely going to make sure you died in tomorrow's game

But the next thing you said made his mind go blank.

—My appa Jun-ho can write with his left and right but when he uses his weapon he is right-handed —You said with a small smile on your lips.

—¿Is your dad a police officer? —He asked, his voice lower than he would have liked, you nodded taking a bite of the piece of bread you held in your hands —Repeat your last name to me.

His voice sounded demanding and tense so you looked at him intrigued but when you saw that he was serious you responded.

—Hwang, ¿Do you know my dad? —You asked, curious and with a happy expression on your face.

You were his brother's daughter ¿how could that be possible? He didn't know about any existing girlfriend but now he reconsiders his decision, you were family but if you kept talking about every observation you had and went so far as to give him away he would kill you before you even spoke.

—No —He said with a more serene expression but his eyes still reflected something that you couldn't decipher —I've only heard him name before.

Now In-ho had a severe conflict.

But one thing was for sure, he would try to keep you close, whether to protect you or simply to make sure you didn't notice anything suspicious.

[cherrycheolkat]

Hi! I love your works! For the bingo list can I request monster with cheol? I loved the mingyu one a lot

Thank you! 🫶🏻

so demon!cheol is maybe a bit different, but i hope you like him - he needs his own long fic tbh

♡ kat

bingo squares: monster

pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader

genres: monster!seungchoel, demon!seungcheol, magic au, fluff, dark themes (they can both exist)

summary: y/n is stuck with the most useless demon to exist until he suddenly makes himself very useful

word count: 2.9k

warnings: monster fucking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, cum eating, monster dick, breeding kink if you squint, eggs (iykyk), implied impregnation

having your own demon was largely useless. at least if that demon was seungcheol. his most useful feature was running errands - like picking up milk and cat litter. 

but the rest of the time, he mainly spent lounging around your apartment, usually reading whatever books were around. in fact, your book collection seemed to have suspiciously grown of its own accord since you ‘inherited’ him from your grandmother. you weren’t sure where he was getting them from, since half of them were in an italian dialect that your phone couldn’t recognize, but there they were, taking up space, just like seungcheol. 

having never really met your family, it had been shocking to have a demon show up and knock on your door, to say the least. in fact, you treated him like you would treat any psycho off the street and slammed the door in his face and locked all the locks. 

except, surprise, he could basically walk through walls. which he did whenever it was least convenient, like when you were showering and he had some random deep thoughts to share about a news article (you canceled your new yorker subscription because of him). 

or when you were napping, and he wanted to play animal crossing. 

or when you were dead asleep and he wanted to play the cat restaurant game on your phone. 

he refused to have his own phone. because yours existed, and he only liked the cat game and sometimes wordle when he was “acutely bored.”

you often wondered if killing him had any consequences. especially since you had already tried breaking whatever it was that bound you together, but that apparently involved some ancient-level crap beyond burning sage, so you had given up. but would you be prosecuted for slaying a demonic creature, you wondered, but decided he would probably just show back up, no worse for wear.

not to mention, you had been in a fairly foul mood lately. very snappy with everyone - you scowled at a baby for fuck’s sake. so you decided you needed a little personal reset, and that meant getting the worst excuse for a demon ever, out of your hair, at least for an hour if you were lucky. 

your plan was simple - give him an insane amount of errands that required him to roughly hit up every borough of the city. you made a tediously long list of things you needed - you fully knew that besides refusing a cell phone, he refused to use his abilities (whatever those were) to get around the city, not to mention he said he found the subway “enlightening.”  you rolled your eyes, making detailed notes of exactly which market he needed to visit for which item. 

in all reality - if someone really questioned you, you would have to admit that, despite how obnoxious you often found seungcheol, he was insanely handsome and maybe intimidating - at least based on the way people literally moved out of his way on the sidewalk, which was perhaps his most impressive trait. 

but he was also persistently around you and with zero boundaries, which meant you couldn’t just invite someone over for a quick fuck. you needed some time to do it yourself, maybe even a few times. and then you would feel like mary-sunshine again. but you needed him out of the apartment! especially since he had been showing up in your dreams lately, which was really fucking with your mind. his handsome face invading your dreams had to end.

but even as you were making your insane list, you could feel him hovering around you. when you felt his chin rest on your shoulder, you wanted to elbow him in the stomach. 

“why do you want mixed olives from there? there are already olives here, and you hate those,” he commented, his husky voice way too close for comfort. 

“some recipe i found,” you mumbled. 

“but you can’t stand them,” he tried again.

you shrugged, and he only leaned closer, his arms gently encircling you as he read your jumbled handwriting. you were mostly used to this too. he had an infuriating way of getting very close, sometimes without you even noticing. you thought it was solely to annoy, but no, he genuinely didn’t seem to understand why you constantly tried to have space from him - and made up for it by crowding you even more when any opportunity presented itself. it was a losing battle. 

you had given up explaining to him how your bed was yours because he insisted on napping there after watching whatever daytime tv show he was suddenly obsessed with - and that was months ago. 

but today, he would be out of the apartment. you were making sure of that. no random appearances. just peace and quiet and you and your vibrator doing god’s work. 

you finished the list and turned, pressing it to his chest, “if you wouldn’t mind doing the one thing you do for me.”

he watched you for a moment like he was on the verge offering some pithy response, but he just sighed and took the list. and then proceeded to take ages to actually leave. you stood watching him fumble around for who knows what, tapping your foot impatiently because you hadn’t considered that even him leaving could be such a production. 

“stop glaring at me,” he called out, “i’m leaving, okay - to run all of your precious errands,” he was annoyed, but at least he was walking out the door. you ran behind him to lock it. 

and finally, you could get down to business. you practically ran to your room and dove under the covers. this was a timed thing - you couldn’t waste a second. 

you pulled up some very dubious porn, but whatever - it was for the greater good. you didn’t bother taking off your sleep shorts and underwear, just shoving your vibrator down your pants where you needed it most and proceeding as required - lube wasn’t a luxury you could afford in the race to have several uninterrupted orgasms. 

but no - no, no, no - you’re brain froze. you had felt the small shift next to you in bed. your eyes went wide, then squeezed shut as you tried to stop everything you set in motion. you were dreaming - this wasn’t real.

but no, it was real - because he spoke. “when you’re finished can i have your phone?” he whispered, he was lying on what you begrudgingly acknowledged was his side of the bed. 

how was it that this was the one time you wanted him out of the house, and he basically made everything appear from thin air all because he wanted to play the cat restaurant game. on your phone, which was in your bedroom. with you. playing the kind of porn you would rather die than confess to watching, while you were furiously trying to stimulate your clit. 

you froze completely - you were mortified, but also how was this your life, you wondered. 

he poked you cheek gently, “y/n? i need to check my tips jar - it maxes out at 40,00 little fish monies.”

“seungcheol, fuck off,” you whispered with every ounce of civility you could muster. 

“you’re almost finished - just like a minute or so and then i check my game,” he trailed off. 

you thought you might combust, turning to look at him, “I’LL BE FINISHED IN A MINUTE? no! and you know what? no more cat cafe!”

“cat restaurant, actually,” he corrected, smiling - dimples on full display. 

“i don’t fucking care! no more cat-based food games on my phone, i’m deleting them and your games account!”

“noooo,” he whined, as you navigated to the games hub - he was suddenly straddling you and fighting for your phone - he could pry it from your semi-warm dead hand as far as you were concerned. 

you wrestled back and forth until he finally had you trapped under him using what felt like more than his body weight.

“don’t you dare delete my account,” you were surprised to see his eyes were a glowing deep blue instead of their normal dark-coffee brown, “do you know how many ads i’ve sat through to expand my cat empire, y/n - i finally have the little spa area open,” he sounded so serious and simultaneously so ridiculous. 

you glared at him, trying to focus all your rage on him for ruining your afternoon of solo sex. 

he stared at you for a moment, swallowing hard - “look what if i help you with your endeavor, and then you won’t need to do anything permanent,” he offered, his eyes drifting towards your phone, which only made you tighten your grip on it.

“helping me with my problem would be you disappearing forever,” your voice was more acidic than you meant it to be. 

he immediately pouted, “look, it’s a genuine offer, okay - i do have experience,” he stared at you with big, round eyes that could unquestionably peer into your soul. 

you groaned dramatically and tried to pull out of his grip, which was completely useless. “what is it with you and the cat games?” you asked out of pure exasperation. you had already given up on an orgasm, having switched your vibrator off almost the instant you heard his voice. 

“you know, you sit down and watch happy little animals sit and eat and eat and sit - you just get to turn your brain off for a bit, it’s nice,” he shrugged, still watching you. 

you stared at him for a moment, finally sighing, “just get out, okay, let me change and you can have your game back,” you folded like a sad, wet paper bag. 

you closed your eyes, waiting for him to let go of you and leave. instead, you felt a small kiss on your cheek. your eyes snapped open to find him still leaning over you. 

“let me help,” he said, voice gentle, his hands squeezing your wrists softly. 

you wanted to smack him - him and his stupid cute face. why couldn’t he just actually go to the stores like you had asked, you wondered to yourself.

he rolled his eyes, leaning down to whisper, “because i know when you’re up to something,” his lips brushed your skin. 

it was genuinely trying on your mental faculties that he knew what you were thinking. literally, every thought. it was why he never even asked for the passcode for your phone. and why he regularly answered questions you never verbalized. 

“so then you could have just let me have time to myself,” you pouted. 

“mmmh, but i can be so much more helpful with this little project, instead of going to get the olives i know you don’t like from a store across town in the rain,” he whispered and nipped teasingly at your earlobe. 

you shivered from the contact. you tried to make your mind blank, not exactly wanting him to know how good it already felt to be under him - he already knew too much about you. and this would only serve as reasons for him to be clingier. 

“maybe i don’t want help,” you whispered, your anger growing at the intrusion. 

he nuzzled closer, “i don’t think that’s true since you keep drafting messages to the guy you met a few weeks ago,” he whispered, kissing your throat gently. 

you felt the gentle pressure of his teeth on your throat and whined softly - the feeling was indescribably good. he purred, knowing you liked it, as his lips teased lower. his tongue marking your throat and collarbones. he worked his hands under your shirt, leaning up enough to pull it over your head. the way he gazed down at you was unexpected - his normal apathy was gone. his hands went to your breasts, massaging them, his thumbs brushing over your already pebbled nipples - he was gentle, taking his time teasing you before he dipped his head down, his lips making contact with the sensitive skin of your tits. you felt his teeth graze your skin as he sucked one nipple and then the other. 

he finally leaned up, looking a bit disheveled, and licking his lips, “i want them full,” he murmured. you weren’t completely sure what he meant, but you didn’t really care either as he made his way down your body, leaving a trail of kisses and bites. he pulled off your sleep shorts and underwear and lifted your hips so he could easily work his tongue between your slick folds, finding your clit almost immediately. 

the way he sucked the bud between his lips was mind numbing - you couldn’t help reaching down to grab his hair roughly, wanting him to know what you were feeling in the moment. your whines and moans weren’t enough, he needed to feel you gripping his long hair and pulling it every time his tongue made the most perfect contact. and when he added his fingers, you entered another plane of existence, pulling his hair, arching off the bed and moaning his name in a way that should have been embarrassing. it was like you had never been properly touched by a man in your life, and you were finally learning what pleasure was. 

you came quickly - your cum rushing past his fingers, which he seemed to enjoy based on the way he licked into you, lapping at your opening. you could feel his tongue working impossibly deep inside you. you knew without asking that he wanted you to come again. 

his fingers worked your clit while his tongue was still exploring your sticky walls, and you felt it again, the sweetest pleasure flowing through every part of your body. he leaned up, licking his lips, giving your pussy a gentle smack. 

“feeling better?” he asked, almost sounding sincere. 

you sighed and nodded, “much better.” you didn’t move, but found yourself wondering if he was as god at fucking as he was at eating pussy. 

he grinned, his hands tracing over your hips and stomach, “is that what you want now - my cock stretching you open,” he glanced up, watching you for a second before glancing back down. 

you could feel the way his fingers were carefully prodding your stomach - it was almost like he was looking for something. 

“is your dick as good as i think?”

he nodded without looking up, “you won’t even know what to compare it to,” he grinned, voice smug. 

you didn’t say anything - you just watched him undress, noiticing how good he looked, and that, at least from your angle, his cock looked fairly average. but then he was between your legs again, kissing you, licking into you, “you have no idea how perfect you are,” he whispered, his fingers still working to prep you. 

you had thought it often enough, and you knew he knew, but you found yourself confessing how gorgeous you found him. he smiled, kissing you just as he began sliding his cock inside you, “let me make you full,” he whispered when he started to move. you nodded, not caring what he did because you knew how perfect it felt. 

you were sure you were even slicker than before as he began moving inside you, but even though you could feel how thick and long his cock was, you knew you were taking every inch of him without any pain. it didn’t matter how brutal his pace was either, you only felt the pleasure of him stretching you wider than you thought possible - going deeper than you knew was possible - you were sure you could feel his dick slamming into your stomach with every thrust. you wanted to feel how deep inside you he was, but he kept pinning your hands back against the mattress, thrusting harder.

“i’m exactly as deep as you think, pet,” he groaned, snapping his hips, “i can go even further if you want.”

you laughed softly, even as you heard the deep, shivering moan that came from him. you felt the odd sensation of something entering you - not his cock or fingers, something cool and almost heavy - you orgasmed, seeing bright lights flashing behind your eyelids as you felt the same sensation, something entering you - something smooth and round going deep inside and clinging to your inner walls. 

“you’re really doing it?” you managed to whisper. 

he moaned, “told you i want you full,” he whispered, voice ragged as you felt another object pumped into your cunt, “want to breed you full, pet - make you mine forever,” he whispered, finally pulling out. 

you stayed in his arms after, enjoying how safe you felt.

“i’ve never given them to anyone before,” he whispered, kissing your temple.

you fell asleep cradled against him, your cervix full of his precious eggs. 

a/n: i love writing cheol, especially cheol in magical aus because low key i had this idea and now i want to know way more about him

♡ kat

if you want to submit a bingo ask the original bingo, is [here] and new nsfw only bingo is [here] - you can ask for squares from both

tag list: @syluslittlecrow ☁︎ @gyuguys ☁︎ @haik-chu ☁︎ @tinyelfperson ☁︎ @lovetaroandtaemin ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite ☁︎ @gigglensnort ☁︎

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here] & this is my [master list] if you want to read more

[ryebread0605]

Hii! Hope you're doing great.

Can you do dorm leaders of twisted wonderland with a mute or blind reader? ( male reader)

It's okay if not and thanks! (✿❛◡❛)

This is a very fun one to do cuz I love to see disability rep in fanfics (especially as a disabled person!) I hope you don’t mind that I did deaf and blind!

Riddle: 

he just thinks you’re ignoring him at first when he yells at you to go to specific areas you don’t know, which leads to many instances of the collar being put on you 

He gets curious when he sees deuce leading you around everywhere 

Started to get suspicious when he found out you do all your essays and readings through the computer

Yeah he’s not the type to figure out you are blind on his own

Finally comes to a head as you’re painting the roses, he comes behind you and goes “NO THOSE ARE BLUE NOT RED! WHAT, ARE YOU BLIND OR SOMETHING?” 

Awkward silence begins and it finally clicks 

Poor boy is apologetic beyond belief and will do anything in his power to make up for it

Goes out of his way to make sure every single corner in the heartslabyul form has a cushion against it so you won’t hurt yourself 

“I’m so sorry (name) I promise I didn’t know. Please, if there’s any way we can accommodate you more, let myself or Trey know!”

Leona:

at first, he sees you as weak, an easy target

Until he tries to sneak up on you and get an elbow straight to the gut

He can tell right away that you don’t let being blind hold you back and DAMN does he respect it

Jack is given the duty of being your eyes, seeing as you have numeral classes together and are both freshmen

He adds a detail to spelldrive so you can play, making it so the disc beeps when it’s close to you so you can catch it 

He will never admit that his instincts are telling him to take the small weak cub under his wing

“Look, in this dorm it’s survival of the fittest. If you’ve spent this long at NRC without being taken out by a dumbass, you got what it takes to be part of the dorm”

Azul:

because of the Sea Witch stories, it became mandatory for all merfolk to learn some version of sign language

He can easily spot you are deaf and tries to strike up a deal first, only he mixes it up in his mind and signs ‘date’ instead 

Both of you are blushing messes but why not? 

You help to properly teach him and the tweels proper sign language and in return you now have 3 powerful and influential men there to protect you at any time 

“I must ask, do you think it would be a fruitful venture to hold a paid for sign language class? Of course the proceeds would go to a charity! That charity being getting you those hearing aids you’ve been wanting”

Kalim:

Is very confused as you don’t seem to hear him at all, making him practically yell

Jamil has to be the one to tell him that you could just be deaf

This mans is FLUENT in sign and will have the best gossip to tell you that only you two can hear 

Jamil is happy cuz it keeps him out of trouble and keeps the dorm quiet

Until Kalim realizes he can raise the music so you can feel the bass 

“Isn’t this awesome! I knew you’d love this song! Everyone deserves the chance to party in Scarabia!”

Vil:

he has worked with plenty of people so it’s no surprise he knows how to sign 

During the SDC, he makes sure you have a seat closest to the speakers so you can feel the vibrations the best 

Offers several times to make you a hearing potion but accepts that it is a part of you that you wish to keep 

ASL is now mandatory to learn in the Pomefiore dorm (with permission from Crowley who sees this as an opportunity to show how inclusive his school is)

“(Name) how does this seat work for you? Is it close enough to the speaker? Or would you rather have an interpreter? Just let me know potato”

Idia:

it makes him feel so relaxed to know you can’t see him

You enjoy video games AND you can’t clock his looks? Hell yes

He’s ringing up STYX right away to sent a Cerberus unit as a guide dog for you 

If you are up to it, he would love to make cyber eyes for you to give you sight back

Gets super excited hanging out with you and lets himself be himself because in his eyes you can’t see him so you don’t judge him 

“-and yeah! He should be all set up for your fingerprint id! If any problems happen, like normies trying to get in your way, he has an op defense mode”

Malleus:

by FAR the most protective of you

Since you can’t see, he worries others will take advantage of that and he is NOT having that

He is your person guard dragon and will follow you around everywhere  

Has set up his nest in Diasomnia (because I like the idea that he keeps dragon instincts like nesting and hoarding) to include a tactile pathway to both the bathroom and door so you have more sense of freedom

If he can’t guard you, Lilia will. Lilia is a lot more ferocious in his guarding as he had blind soldiers when he was a general

“Child of man, if you need anything, money is no problem. I could get you set up with working eyes if you would like. But if you prefer how you are, that’s alright too”

[reidrum]

i need you to fill the void

a/n: it's my birthday so pls don't say damn when you see that this is angst

summary: in which spencer seeks another vice post tobias

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, not smut centered though, angst, mentions of addictions, poor coping habits for both spencer and reader, toxic!spencer, situationship, excessive em dash usage

wc: 2.1k

The frigid bite of the night greets you as you walk outside to your car. The cold is sobering, almost warning you as you trek into a journey the sky has seen many times. 

It had been three months since Spencer’s kidnapping, two months since you found out he was going to Narcotics Anonymous before the roundtables, and one month since you realized you were the only person who could help him.

Knowing he was struggling through his addiction on his own—though, you knew the team was fully aware and simply chose to not do anything about it—made you feel like shit. It wasn’t even your fault, you were back at the main cabin with Emily going over the case when you figured out the unsub was Tobias Hankel. Somehow you felt worse than JJ who was actually there with him, because you should’ve figured it out sooner. You saw the behavioral signs pointing to him. It was so obvious, wasn’t it? Maybe it was your fault.

At least, that’s what you continue to tell yourself night after night as you make the five minute drive to his apartment always nearing the witching hour. Spencer wouldn’t feel this hopeless if you had just been smarter, faster. But you weren’t, and now he was suffering. You didn’t know how to help him, how to make him feel better—if he was even capable of healing. So you offered him what you could, which was everything.

And he took what he needed—which was everything.

You raise your hand and softly knock on the door. Three times, never more, never less. Footsteps pad closer to the door on the other side before slowly opening revealing Spencer in his blue plaid pajamas and one of his many punny science t-shirts. Tonight’s was Never trust an atom, they make up everything!

The routine is easy to fall into, you take your shoes off while he removes your coat. You walk to the couch and he goes to the kitchen, preparing tea just the way you like it. When he returns, you’re already curled up in your usual spot on the couch and he slips in beside you like it was made for him. Like you didn’t spend so much time tearing it down and building it up hoping he’d find at least one of the versions to be familiar. 

“Had a good day?” he murmurs into your shoulder before claiming the spot with a kiss. Familiar.

You nod, “You?”

“It was bad after the roundtable this morning,” his lips traverse your collarbone, “better now, though.”

The warmth blooms in your chest at his little admission. Familiar. You know the warmth isn’t viable, but for the few moments of life in which it exists you will bask and let it consume you.

His hands have traveled around your waist tugging you closer to him with a confidence he’s slowly worked up to over the course of your encounters. It still surprises you when he initiates anything, the Spencer you had met on your first day at the BAU—joining only a week after him—could barely say two words to you let alone look you in the eyes.

The Spencer in front of you now lets his fingers play with the hem of your shirt with a slight hesitancy. They shake, but you know it’s not from the nerves. You don’t mention it.

“Couch or bedroom?” you coax gently.

“Bedroom.” He releases his hold on you and stands from the couch, holding a hand out for you. You take it and follow him down the hallway, the warmth inside you slowly fading as you get closer.

You’re barely through the bedroom door when Spencer tugs you back into his arms and kisses you voraciously, his hand cupping your face while the other presses you impossibly closer to him as he can. This is the part where the flip switches—when you both stop playing house and Spencer remembers what he needs you for.

His anxious hands turn greedy as they tug your shirt off and work on your pants, you pepper kisses along his jaw and turn your bodies to push him onto the bed. He stares up at you in anticipation as you unhook your bra and he hurriedly takes his pajamas off. It’s muscle memory from this point on, he scoots back to lean against the headboard as you crawl up and straddle him. 

You know what he needs to feel placated enough so the urges won’t overtake and drown him. He looks up at you like you’re the salvation he’s been waiting for, the vice that helps him walk away from his sin.

There is no salvation without sacrifice—but Spencer didn’t need to know that, he isn’t the one who will be sacrificed.

He positions your hips over his own and you slowly guide yourself down onto him, blissed out sighs leaving both of you as you take in all of him. You wait for a minute to adjust and then slowly lift your hips up and back down, a soft whimper falling from his lips.

Spencer doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how it feels to have you wrapped around him. It’s intoxicating, dangerous, compulsive. He wonders how people can resist temptation when the gratification feels like this.

Your hips stutter and falter from their pattern, the muscle fatigue getting to you fast. “Sorry, just need a second.” you pant.

“S’okay, you want to switch?” He gently flips you over so you’re laid back on the bed before giving you the chance to answer. He doesn’t usually get on top, but recently Spencer has tasted the forbidden fruit that hangs low from your branches and found that it feels better than anything he’s ever taken with a needle.

The addiction has a power that compels him to use according to its agenda, and he really can’t remember the last time he’s felt in control of his own body. The addiction tells him when to use, and he listens.

But whenever he’s with you, he doesn’t have to fight any compulsion—you’re already offering it up for him to take.

He guides himself back inside you slowly, leaning down once he bottoms out to kiss your cheek tenderly. “Okay?” You nod and he pulls back, pushing your leg up to delve deeper. Spencer’s making sure he’s taking all that he can—he doesn’t know how long he’ll last before the urges come back for him.

His hips set a comfortable pace, fueled by the whines that tumble from your lips. He can’t get enough of you, he’d put the drugs down forever if he could feel like for the rest of his life. You both chase your highs and come undone at the same time, the praises falling out of him like they belong to you. Spencer pulls out and lays beside you while both of your breathing evens out. He doesn’t leave right away–he is a gentleman, after all–so he’ll get up after a few minutes and grab a wet cloth to gently clean you up, slip into the blankets again and hold you close yet so far away.

You’ll make yet another effort to reach out and connect with him in a way much more intimate than you think either of you deserve.

“I like what we have right now, it’s just not what I’m looking for.”

“I’m not in a good place, it wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

And the worst one, “I care about you too much to do that to you.”

It continues like this for months. A call in the dead of the night and you come running at the ring of the bell. Under the guise of being a good friend and completely disregarding any other harbored feelings you hold, failed attempts at building something more. You know you have to do this. You were not fast enough before, and so you must give everything you have now. 

Spencer grows comfortable in the next months, complacent and sure that whenever the urges come for him you’ll drop everything. Every encounter after chips away at you, but it makes him stronger so it must be worth it. 

Some nights are harder than others, the withdrawal eating away at him faster than you can feed it. You’ve rarely seen him be mean before, always too timid to speak out of line. But the symptoms have reduced him to primal desire and suddenly he’s demanding and pervasive.

“You’re late.”

“You said you’d be here an hour ago, what was more important than this?”

“I needed you, where were you?”

“Should’ve gotten here sooner, don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t.”

It’s nice to be relied on, it gives you a sense of purpose. He’ll be mean for a bit while he lets the addiction withdrawal displace him momentarily, but regains his bearings the second you walk through his front door. Over time, the shaking is starting to subside, the irritability slowly fading. The warmth in your chest returns thinking about the little moments between the sheets when he hushes your mistaken cries for pleasure with gratitude for your service. “Thank you, baby.” and “You’re so good to me.” falsely secure you as you continue to give what’s left of you.

You suppose you can’t exactly be upset or even surprised that he saw you as nothing more than a warm body in his bed. If you were the entity keeping Spencer tethered to this realm then you’ve strengthened him enough to stand on his own two feet. 

That should be a good thing.

When you’re in the bullpen the week after it shouldn’t surprise you when Derek claps his shoulder with a resounding “My man” as he turns his blushed face to the floor. Before the blush can rise on your face at the prospect of someone discovering your rendezvous, Derek continues with, “It’s about time you asked her out.”

Spencer never asked you out.

“You finally asked out Austin?” JJ chirps. Austin, bartender, Waco case.

But you built him up yourself, you should be proud of your handiwork.

“She just moved up here and needed someone to show her around. That’s all it is.” Spencer flushes, a clear sign that it is in fact not all it is.

Emily remarks how he looks happier than he has in weeks, Penelope squeals in excitement, Hotch and Rossi even look down from the landing in subtle interest.

The warmth inside returns again with an edge this time, a burning sensation that reveals you held it too close to your heart. Familiar. It takes everything in you to school your face and hold your tears in as you faintly whisper, “I’m happy for you, Spence.”

Because you are happy–this is what you wanted for him, to feel normal again. If he achieved it without you then who are you to blame him for? You served your purpose, and now you can rest.

Right?

–

Spencer doesn’t call you for three weeks.

You try not to think about it when he comes in late the next day with his tie askew and hair in a tousled mess. It doesn’t bother you when he finally accepts the O’Keefe’s invite and shows up with her. You have to consciously unclench your heart when his laugh sounds loud and genuine throughout the jet–but that’s nothing you haven’t done before for him.

When your phone rings again in the witching hour for the first time in weeks, it catches you off guard. You roll over grabbing the phone and answering it without even looking at the caller. 

“Hello?”

Silence, then shallow and labored breathing. You look down at your phone, sitting up fully when you read the ID, “Spence? What’s wrong?”

He gulps, “I…I almost…”

Your heart drops, “Are you okay?”

“Y���Yeah, think so. I didn’t..But..” he stutters, “Fuck, do you think you could–” he trails.

The tears spring to your eyes before you can help it, barely shutting them in time before they break down your face. Familiar.

“Be there in five.” you say evenly before hanging up.

The frigid bite of the night greets you in a mocking taunt as it watches you trek to your car. Three knocks. He greets you with red rimmed eyes at the door, clad in a Schrodinger's cat walks into a bar…t-shirt. The routine is easy to fall into–shoes and coat off, cup of tea before putting the TV on. You hope he accepts this version of you this time.

Inhale. Exhale. “Bedroom?”

[batpupboy]

I'm a big believer in doing whatever the fuck you want to do with your body. I found out a few months ago that one of my friends (she/they/it) is in recovery because she used to be a heroin addict and the sheer relief I felt coming off them in waves when I didn't judge for it, even when she told me because they had relapsed was fucking wild. Fast forward to a few weeks ago-ish and my partner (they/them)had spoken to some of her exes and they found out that they had a history of hard drug abuse and they were worried because they didn't think I knew and we had to have a whole conversation about boundaries and whatnot because they and I have talked about dating. My partner and I had to come to an agreement on something that will be safer all involved because my partner started to look at things differently after finding out about their heroin usage. My partner is generally a pretty easygoing person who doesn't care what other people do with their bodies but the stigma around drug usage can extend beyond what you think it can. For context all three of us exist within the non-binary community, my partner and I are in the local area and my friend who I have spoken to about dating floats in and out so I hope this emphasizes how important it is do not pass judgment because of what substances someone chooses to or not to use.

You don't have to like weed but I find people who are vehemently anti-weed but claim to be left leaning infuriating. If you go into a rage because you smelled someone smoking pot, how the fuck do you expect to form community with people addicted to meth? It's easier to say you hate smokers than to say you hate all drug users in leftist spaces because one makes you sound a bit like a square while the other is the writing on the wall. You aren't anti-weed, you're anti-drug user and anyone who uses substances is not safe around you.

[nick-writes-stuff]

Various Squid Game Characters x reader, A Chance Meeting After the Games

Includes: Thanos, Nam-gyu, Dae-ho, In-ho, and Gyeong-seok (Player 246)

!warnings: drug use (Thanos and Nam-gyu), canon-typical violence (All), implied fem!reader [reader called señorita] (Nam-gyu), Gyeong-seok is probably ooc, use of y/n (In-ho, Gyeong-seok), ~1k words each

a/n: hey guys! i've been cooking this one for a while but it's here now! i think i probably could have done these more justice by making them individual and fully fleshed-out fics, but i still like the way these turned out. hope you enjoy!

Player 230, Thanos:

The two of you never formally agreed to meet up anywhere. You hadn't thought about it because you had been so scared that you wouldn't make it out of there alive. He didn't consider it because he was high for a considerable amount of time.

But you both realized it the second you got back to your routine. Well, as routine as things could be after experiencing something like the games.

You found yourself missing the cheesy flirting and the pet names. But it was the quiet moments in between his rambunctious highs that truly stole your heart. Beneath the chaotic exterior, there was a man who cared about you more than he liked others to think.

He missed your flustered reactions and genuine interest in him. You didn't throw yourself at him because he was a celebrity. You didn't just like Thanos, but you saw him for Su-bong, a person he hadn't felt like for a long time.

It was a good thing Thanos was never hard to find. He was an up-and-coming celebrity after all, so it was very easy to find a show near you and buy tickets. You added the meet and greet package as well so you could talk to him. Normally, this would have been out of your price range, but that wasn't an issue anymore.

You had never heard of Thanos before the games, so you didn't really know what to expect. There was a part of you that assumed he had been exaggerating his influence in the games to appear cooler, but he clearly wasn't.

There were a few moments during the show where he thought he saw you in the crowd, but he disregarded it. Between the lights in his eyes, the sheer amount of people before him, and the drugs in his system, he didn't trust his own perception right now.

He was probably just seeing what his subconscious wanted him to. Because he really, really wanted to see you.

As the VIP ticket holders were being escorted to the designated meet and greet location, you listened to the fans talking highly of Thanos. It was oddly comforting to hear people praise him like you would. You got so used to the players in the game shit-talking him. You were glad that you weren't the only one who saw something good in him.

While you were in line, you eventually caught the gaze of Nam-gyu. He opened his mouth to say something, but you stopped him with a finger to your lips. He gave you a knowing look and a smirk, keeping quiet.

As you neared the front of the line, you looked down to your phone, trying to avoid looking at him so as to not spoil the surprise. You did hear a fan behind you give a distasteful comment about your demeanor, but you didn't care.

“Next.” Nam-gyu said, signaling you to step forward. You slid a CD case toward him. He didn't look up. You could see that he was getting a little burnt out from the sustained interaction with fans. Either that or the drugs were wearing off. Maybe both. “Who should I make it out to?” He asked, holding a marker in his hands.

You smirked slightly. "Player 438.” You said.

He started to sign it, getting his signature written and pausing as he realized what you said your name was. You could see his eyebrows furrow as he thought about it for a moment before looking up at you.

He gave a gasp of shock before laughing. “Oh my god, no way you're here!” He said loudly. He got up from his seat, walking around the table to pull you into a tight hug.

You laughed as well, hugging him back as you heard some of the fans who were still waiting murmur about you. “Of course I am, I missed you.” You said, soft enough that only he could hear it.

When he pulled away from the hug, you could see the goofy smile on his face and you couldn't quell the fluttery feeling in your stomach. “Bro, how did you know that I would be here?” He asked.

You were the one being confused now. You blinked a few times, trying to process what was going on. Did he just-

You stopped your train of thought when you noticed just how large his pupils were. He definitely wasn't sober right now.

You laughed. “Thanos, it's literally your show.” You said. He let out a soft “oh” when he realized his mistake.

He told you to stick around while he finished his obligations and you obviously agreed.

You, Thanos, and Nam-gyu spent the rest of the evening in Thanos's trailer. You all ordered an embarrassing amount of fast food to share between you three.

You all just sat on the floor and talked. There was a lot of catching up to do regarding what had happened since the games ended. It had been a month or two since you all had seen each other.

It felt like you talked for hours. You could notice the drugs leaving Thanos's system. His voice slowly got softer and his demeanor was becoming less chaotic.

Eventually you leaned your head on Thanos's shoulder, an action that actually made him blush slightly.

“I really missed you, you know?” He said quietly.

You smiled up at him. “I did, too.”

You were telling him and Nam-gyu about something your landlord had said to you, but his mind was elsewhere, trying to figure out how to ask you to go on the tour with him. He didn't want to be apart from you anymore.

----

Player 124, Nam-gyu:

“Do you think we'll ever see each other again after this?” You had asked before the vote. A few more games had taken place, and the player numbers had decreased enough that most players were satisfied with the amount they would be taking home. It seemed that you guys were really going to make it out of here.

His face remained blank. “Would you even want to?” He asked, sounding uninterested. But he was actually ecstatic that you even considered seeing him after this. He was just afraid you wouldn't be okay with his… hobbies.

You seemed confused. “Why else would I ask?” You responded.

He shrugged. “I don't know. I just didn't think clubs and drugs were your thing.” That wasn't something that was going away after this. Honestly, he knew himself and Thanos, some of this money was going to be used to go on a bender.

You sighed. “They aren’t. But I think I could tolerate it if I got to see you.” You said.

He rolled his eyes, trying to remain unaffected but you could see the faintest dusting of pink on his face. “You are so cringe.” He said with a scoff.

You gasped in mock offense. “Wow.” You said, crossing your arms. “I should have let you die during Mingle.” You spat with false venom.

He laughed, shaking his head. Your look of annoyance softened, smiling at your success in making him laugh.

When he spoke again, his tone was much more genuine. “Well, you'll know where to find me.” He said before nodding toward Thanos. The purple-haired man was tormenting Myung-gi again. “Wherever that dumbass is, I'm usually there babysitting him.” You both laughed.

When you got out, you had some things you had to deal with before you could think about seeking out Nam-gyu. You needed to find a new place and get things back into working order in your life. You had been kicked out of your apartment right before you had met the Salesman, so you needed to find a place to stay and replace most of your belongings.

Every day that passed after the games had ended felt like a weight on Nam-gyu's shoulders. At first, he tried to get rid of the feeling with drugs, but that was only a short-term solution.

Were you ever going to seek him out? Maybe you had just been trying to be nice to him. Did you ever actually intend on coming, or were you trying to let him down easy? Why did he think this would be any different? His brain couldn't shut off the rumination, and he hated it.

You did try to find him eventually. It had been a few weeks until you got back on your feet, but you couldn't stop thinking about how much you wanted to see him again. So when you heard Thanos would be doing a set at a local nightclub, you jumped at the chance to go.

You found your way across the dance floor, pushing your way through the crowd to get closer to the stage. You could hear members of the crowd talking about how excited they were to see Thanos perform, but that was the farthest thing from your mind.

When you got to the entrance of the backstage area, you looked around for any sign of him. You didn't see him, and it seemed like the bouncer had left the area for a moment. You entered the backstage, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible. People don't ask questions unless you don't seem like you are supposed to be there.

“Hey, what do you think you're doing?” You heard a deep voice call out from behind you. You winced, thinking of ignoring him but you ultimately turned around. “This is a restricted area. You can't be here.”

Before you could say anything, you heard a different voice. “Back off, they're with me.” You turned to see Nam-gyu with his arms crossed, giving the bouncer a glare until he backed down and left you alone.

You sighed in relief. “Thank you.” You said softly, taking a step toward him.

Before you could say anything else, Thanos emerged from what you assumed to be his dressing room. Upon seeing you, he laughed loudly. “Hey, I was wondering when you'd finally show up. Did you miss me, señorita?” He asked, a flirtatious glint in his eyes. From his demeanor, you could tell he was definitely high.

“Dude, what the hell?” Nam-gyu said with annoyance.

You chuckled awkwardly to try to clear some tension. “It's nice to see you too, but that's not why I'm here.” You said.

Thanos seemed puzzled, his brain taking longer to piece together the situation due to the substances. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Don't tell me you came here to see Nam-su and not-” You both corrected him in unison.

“Yeah. Nam-gyu, whatever. I-” Thanos said dismissively, but he was interrupted by someone calling for him. He sighed and went to see what they needed.

You looked back over to him. “I was starting to think you weren't going to come.” He said, trying to keep his voice level despite his excitement.

You chuckled. “I had to find a new place. I got kicked out of my old one.” You said. He nodded slightly, but you could see that there was a part of him that wasn't satisfied with your response. You smirked slightly. “Aww, did someone miss me?” You teased.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, go to hell.” He said. He was thankful the room was dark so you couldn't see him blushing.

You laughed lightly. “If it helps, I missed you too.” You knew he missed you. He just had a different way of showing it.

----

Player 388, Dae-ho:

Ironically, you and Dae-ho had actually met multiple times before the games. You worked as a barista in the coffee shop he frequented.

You had never spoken very much outside of the typical pleasantries expected in the situation. The conversation had never gone much past small talk about the weather if his drink was taking longer than usual.

You both were caught up in your own struggles. You both had debts hanging over you, keeping your minds too busy to socialize. You helped your parents manage the shop, and the business was struggling to stay afloat. He had his own problems in his life, some demons he couldn't put to rest.

You both ended up in the games due to your debts. Neither of you recognized the other, but you both thought the other looked vaguely familiar. There were more important things to focus on at that time. Your fight or flight response took precedence over trying to figure out if you had seen each other before.

The two of you were very close, near inseparable, during the games. You both found comfort in the other's presence. You would talk about anything and everything under the pretense that these conversations may be some of the last. From embarrassing stories to your deepest fears, you both poured your hearts out to each other.

Before the last vote, he asked you a question. “Do you think we'll see each other again? Out there, I mean.”

You looked up at him. “I hope so.” You said softly.

His smile grew. “You'll miss me too much.” He said teasingly. It felt easier to joke with you than admit that he didn't know what he would do without you.

You feigned offense. “Oh, so you're saying you won't miss me then?” You asked.

He started to apologize but your smile betrayed you and he realized you were messing with him. He laughed, but he made sure to add, “I will miss you though. A lot.”

From talking further, you found that you lived in the same area, so maybe you would see each other after all. You hadn't thought about the fact you may have already met before.

About a week after you had been released, you were back at work at the shop. You were still working there even though you had enough money to live comfortably. You put most of it into the business and into your parents’ retirement fund.

You were making a drink as your co-worker was taking orders. It was quiet, so you were able to overhear their interaction with the customer.

“What's the name for the order?” They asked politely. “Kang Dae-ho.”

You were so shocked you almost dropped the cup in your hand. You set it down a bit too quickly, causing it to clatter against the counter and getting both of their attention. “Dae-ho?” You asked.

You met his eyes, and his lips curled into a smile. “Hey. It's so nice to see you.” He said softly. He seemed considerably less tense than how you were used to seeing him in the games. Happiness was a good look on him.

Your coworker looked back at you. “Oh, how do you two know each other?” They asked. Your eyes widened, looking over to Dae-ho realizing there was no good way to explain it.

“It's uhh... It's a long story.” He trailed. You agreed quickly. They seemed confused but eventually continued taking his order.

The shop was busy, so you didn't have time to talk in depth, to Dae-ho's dismay.

He left the building a little bummed out, but it was short-lived. He noticed on the side of his cup there was something else written aside from his name.

You wrote your phone number on the side of the cup, along with a note saying “Call me. I miss you.” You added a small smiley face with it.

He laughed. He couldn't wipe the smile off his face. He had been afraid he would never see you again, so meeting you like that was a relief.

He only wished he'd been paying attention to his surroundings more. He had gone to the coffee shop for years, and once he saw you behind the counter this time, he realized why you had seemed somewhat familiar to him.

You had been hiding from him in plain sight. You meant the world to him now, and maybe if he had taken the initiative to talk with you before, who knows how your lives would have been different. You could have been great friends right now, maybe more than friends.

He sent you a quick text, telling you that this was his number and when he would be free to chat. He soon sent another message telling you that his drink you made him was amazing.

Once again, he smiled like an idiot as he stared at his phone, realizing you weren't going to be the one that got away. He wasted no time putting your number in his contacts.

Just ignore the heart next to your name.

----

Player 1/The Front Man, In-ho:

You had tried your best not to give up on your hopes of survival after the failed coup of the games. Your closest ally, your friend, died and you hadn't even been able to say goodbye. He was doing something so heroic just to be killed and disposed of unceremoniously.

You didn't give yourself time to grieve. Grief would only distract you. It didn't hit you until the night before what would be the last vote. You weren't sure what the outcome of the vote would be, but you were just so overwhelmed and sad and angry. So fucking angry.

Angry at the people who run the games, angry at the other players who have been keeping you here, angry at Gi-hun for even suggesting the attempted uprising, and angry at Young-il for going to play the hero and getting himself killed.

You finally broke down in the dead of night after a few hours of failing to fall asleep. Hyun-ju tried her best to comfort you to no avail.

In-ho watched from the control room. He felt his heart wrench hearing you sob. While the mask made him seem cold and collected, this affected him more than he wanted to admit. He hated that he had to do this to you. He had to leave you and it wasn't fair to you.

It wasn't fair to himself either. He finally made a strong, genuine connection with someone and his job had to ruin it. Neither of you deserved the cards you were dealt in this situation, but it didn't have to stay this way.

While you were getting back into your normal life, In-ho was thinking of a way to reintroduce himself to you. He had a few people doing surveillance on you. Nothing major, just trying to see what your routine was. The places you frequented, your schedule, things of the like.

He waited a bit less than a year to make a move. He needed to make sure your memory of him had faded slightly. This would never work if you recognized him as Young-il. Waiting was excruciating. He just wanted to talk to you. To hear your voice. To see you smile.

You hadn't been the same since the games. You felt like you were in a haze. You were only alive because of the deaths of hundreds of people. You lived, and Young-il didn't. There was a voice in the back of your mind that told you it should have been you instead. You hardly slept anymore. Nightmares plagued you any time you closed your eyes.

After a few months, you finally decided to seek out a therapist. It was hard to describe the situation to him, seeing as you couldn't explain much about the death game aspect. You simply told him that someone close to you died in a violent manner, and you had survivor's guilt.

He advised trying to reintegrate yourself into the world. Social interaction could help to pull yourself out of the depressive episode. Which is how you ended up becoming a regular customer at a cafe near your apartment. You didn't talk to anyone very often, but existing in the presence of others and having basic interactions with the staff was helpful to you.

You noticed someone who you had never seen before come in while the cafe was somewhat busy. He bore a striking resemblance to Young-il, but you brushed it off as his image haunting your mind.

He was dressed up like he was straight out of a business meeting, dark hair slicked back. You tried not to stare, and while he didn't make it obvious, he did notice. You eventually tore your eyes away from him, focusing on the book you were reading.

You hadn't noticed him coming toward you until he spoke. “Is this seat taken?” He asked, hand resting on the chair across from yours. You looked up at him, and he could have sworn he felt his heart skip a beat.

You were a bit confused. The cafe was busy, but there were certainly other places available. You shook your head while returning to your book.

He took a sip of his drink before speaking again. “How do you like it?” He asked. You looked up at him, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. He chuckled, realizing his vague question. “The book, I mean.”

“Oh, it's really good. One of my favorites, actually.” You said. He already knew the answer to his question. One of the nights when you were bordering on a panic attack, he asked you questions about it to distract you. You rambled for a while, and he was entranced by your passion. After the games ended, the first thing he did was find a copy of it.

“What's it about?” He asked. You started talking in a rather closed-off manner, as if you were trying to distance yourself from him. You found it hard to get close to anyone since Young-il. But the more you spoke, the more he saw the old you peeking through.

You both spoke for over an hour, first about the book and then about other things. You both talked about where you were from, what you did for work, and the like. although you were both withholding some of the truth

You didn't even notice time passing by until you saw one of the workers starting to sweep the floor. You had talked until the cafe was about to close. You laughed awkwardly at that fact. “We should probably go. I don't want to hold them up.”

You said your goodbyes and parted ways. It wasn't until you got home that you noticed the slip of paper in your bag. It was a phone number with a small note: We should do this again sometime. - In-ho

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, but then you just smiled. Your cheeks hurt at the motion, and you realized how much you had been smiling that evening. Your fear of getting close to people was forgotten at that moment.

You typed out a single message: Hey, it's Y/N. Same time next week?

----

Player 246, Gyeong-seok:

You were trying to get back into the swing of things after being put through the horrible games. You had tried to close yourself off from the other players. After seeing the brutality of Red Light Green Light, you didn't want to get attached to anyone. You just wanted to get out of there.

But Gyeong-seok managed to break down the walls you had made. Your number was right after his, so you stood next to each other on the X side of the room. You noticed him glancing over at him but you didn't react.

He struck up a conversation with you afterward while eating dinner. You tried to ignore him, but he was stubborn. You eventually relented, and you both talked for a bit. It was all fine until he told you about his daughter at home, Na-yeon, and how she was sick.

You sympathized with him, and it scared you. You had no intentions of betraying him. Quite the opposite, actually. You were afraid of being attached because it would make the inevitable hurt even worse. A death game was no place to make friends. But that's exactly what you did. Maybe even more than friends.

When he decided to help Gi-hun and the others during the raid, you felt an intense feeling of dread, and the blood in your veins ran cold. You were already grieving him, silently lamenting for the daughter whose father would never return. That was until he came stumbling into the room with a gunshot wound.

You tried to treat the wound the best you could, but the lack of supplies and the incessant trembling of your hands hindered you. Luckily, your makeshift bandage wouldn't see too much use, as the Xs had a majority in the next vote.

Before anything else happened, he pulled you aside. “Hey, thanks for everything. I couldn't have asked for a better friend here.” He said.

You tried to ignore the fluttery feeling in your stomach after his praise. “Thank you, too. I think you kept me sane.” You said softly with a slight chuckle.

He smiled before pulling you into a hug. You tensed up slightly, the movement catching you off guard at first. You hesitantly reciprocated his embrace. “I hope we get to see each other again.” He said.

“In better circumstances, I hope.” You quipped, earning a chuckle from him.

And you would see him again. It was about a month or so later, but fate moved you toward each other. It started with a light tug on your jacket while you were shopping in a department store. You looked down to see a little girl, barely tall enough to reach your waist.

Before you could speak, the girl did. “I can't find my dad. Can you help me?” She definitely was a bit shaken up and nervous to talk to you.

Your eyes softened when they met hers. You crouched down to talk to her on her level. “Of course I can. My name is Y/N. What's yours?” You asked her.

You smiled. “That's a pretty name.” You said, causing her to become bashful. “Hey, I have an idea. I can carry you on my shoulders so you can see over the clothing racks. Is that okay with you?” You offered. It would let her be able to see more of the store. She nodded.

That seemed to calm her nerves a bit. “Na-yeon.” She said softly. Her name didn't immediately trigger your memory since it was a fairly popular name.

She giggled when you picked her up. You grabbed her hands to help keep her stable. You intended to find your way to the cashier so they could make an announcement over the speakers.

You didn't make it that far before she called out to someone. “Na-yeon, what did I say about running-” His words caught in his throat when you turned toward him. It was Gyeong-seok

You smiled as you put the girl back on the ground. She moved to wrap her arms around his legs, and he put his hand on her shoulder. “Fancy seeing you here.” He said with a grin.

She looked back at you. “How do you know my dad?” She asked you.

You locked eyes with him, hesitating on how to explain it. “They're a friend from work.” He offered. You agreed. It was better to lie than try to explain anything further. “What do you say, Na-yeon?” He asked, prompting her to use her manners. The girl let go of her father, saying a word of thanks with a bow.

You smiled. “It was no trouble. She was very brave.” You said, causing her to beam with pride.

While he was talking to his daughter, you pulled out your phone. You started to make a new contact. When he was done talking, you passed your phone to him. He smiled when he realized what you were doing. He put his number in.

“It was nice meeting you, Na-yeon. Don't be strangers, okay?” You said. You said goodbye and made your way to the checkout. As much as you would have loved to stay and chat, you had a pressing matter to attend to.

The girl heard the ring tone. “Is that Y/N?” She asked.

As the two were getting into their car, he received a text message. It was nice seeing you both. Glad to see that Na-yeon is doing well.

He chuckled as he was buckling her seat belt. “Yes, it is.” He confirmed.

“They were nice. When can we see them again?” She asked, very eagerly.

He smiled. “Soon, kiddo.” He said. Before he started driving, he answered you. I'm glad to see you too. Na-yeon is already asking to see you again. Do you want to grab lunch with us sometime?

You smiled at your phone, answering almost immediately. How could I say no?

[mochinomnoms]

why were you digging? what did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the earth?

art by wolfythewitch

Hozier lyrics in which they embody when loving you.

multi x gn!reader

[tw/cw} - some of the lyrics are gendered, few suggestive parts

[note] - i forgot i had this drafted for a while lol anyways only romantic vibes cause i couldnt find satisfactory lyrics for grim and ortho :( i also was gonna add the halloweenie boys but then it wouldnt have been evenly split and i didnt want that lol

"I know who I am when I'm alone/I'm something else when I see you" - It Will Come Back

He's always been sure of who he is and how he presents himself. He has an image that he must uphold, his reputation is dependent on it. Yet, that perfectly sculpted person comes crumbling down, firm marble turned into malleable clay with you. He should be appalled by the very idea of someone having so much hold over him, yet he can't bring himself to care. You see through him, and it's addicting. You see through him, but still show him kindness, and it's addicting. You see through him, still show him kindness, even knowing just what thoughts he has of you at night, and it's addicting. He has an addiction, and you're his drug of choice. There is no rehab for getting him off of you, once he's hooked he's never letting go of the high that you are. Then again, if you knew just who he really is, perhaps the addiction was mutual.

Riddle Rosehearts, Cater Diamond, Jade Leech, Jamil Viper

"We lay here for years or for hours/So long, we'd become the flowers" - In a Week

He is admittedly a simple man, even if he might portray or say he desires otherwise. But deep down, he is very simple: he'd like to be with you forever, that's it. Laying in the grass, the sounds of cicadas and birds singing, the smell of dewy grass and freshly bloomed flowers, all of that with you would be his dream. He hopes that you two will live a long life together, that your graves will be one, your bodies decomposing together into the earth as nature intended. You hope that centuries into the future, some bright-eyed archaeologists will see the patch of flowers growing over your grave and dig to find your two skeletons intertwined. You both hope that theories and myths are created in the image of your long gone bodies so that the memory of your love will live forever on.

Ruggie Bucchi, Jack Howl, Rook Hunt, Silver

"She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily/Better yet, she wouldn't care" - Jackie & Wilson

Loud and impulsive to a fault is how most would describe him, and really he should care more about the problems this causes. He should, but why when you take him as he is, flaws and all? To you, the impulsivity, his loud mouth, his rash nature, his bluntness, they weren't flaws—they were him and you love him. And he loves you—for all your naivete, doting, and enabling ways. If there's trouble to be found, it's likely you're both involved: you chasing after him as he goes of. Is it naive to think that this sort of relationship won't eventually burst into flames? Probably. Is it a bit toxic if you were to look at your relationship critically? Probably. But he doesn't care (even if he normally would or should), and neither do you. Instead, for just a bit, you indulge in the present, rather than the past or future. Just for a bit

Floyd Leech, Kalim Al-Asim, Epel Felmier, Sebek Zigvolt

"You're bright as the morning, soft as the rain/Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape" - Too Sweet

Something about you is just a bit off-putting: you're a bit too put together, too cheery, too sweet for someone in your situation. It's more off-putting to him that he's drawn to you anyways. Part of him holds himself back, as he's a realist at heart. One day, any day now, you can go back home, where your sweetness rightfully belongs. Part of him though wants to that sweetness, make it rightfully his and his alone. It's why he can't keep himself away from you, he'd rather defile you, ruin you for anyone else so that you'd have no choice but to come running back to him for that sweet satisfaction that only he can provide. You're not stupid though, you know just what he's doing; lucky for him, you're happy to let him age you into a fine wine, made just for his taste.

Trey Clover, Leona Kingscholar, Vil Schoenheit, Lilia Vanrouge

"Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I" - Francesca

You have ingrained your very being into his own. The sight, the sound thought of you has him yearning for your touch in ways that would put a god to shame. But Eros had no role in his love for you. Since he's met you, somehow you've managed to core out a space in his heart in the shape of your body. Without you, he'd be empty. Without you, he'd be devastated, experiencing an anguish that would kill his very soul. His love is so strong, so overwhelming, so earth-shattering that he'd alter the very laws of the universe just to keep you with him. Could you even bring yourself to deny him if the choice to leave ever came? You have him in the palm of your hand, like a god with their worshipper. You'll be a merciful and loving god to your devotee, won't you?

Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

[mairon-goth-minion]

so I took some liberties with the prompt whoops word count: 1542

I remember the day I first met Cain like it was yesterday. It was a coincidence, as his parents took him to a ball the instant he turned eighteen despite his being sick. The same ball I attended after I’d just finished my training. He was young, I was younger and I was foolish, but foolishness is a trait shared by most seventeen years old, I believe. Nevertheless, not knowing who he was, not knowing that his station was far above mine and that he was not the son of a knight as I was but the heir to a duchy, I approached him.

Despite his feeble demeanor, he… shone. Was it his golden locks, falling as a river down to his waist? Was it his emerald eyes, brighter than any jewel I’d ever seen? Both? I do not know.

So I went towards him. At first, he looked surprised to see someone reaching out. Did he not know just how beautiful he was? His first words to me were “‘Who are you?’” ‘Hector of Redenbrough, but you can call me Hector. Or Hec. Whichever you prefer.’ I grinned. ‘Hector…’ he said, his voice but a whisper. ‘I am Cain.’

At first, I had believed that the lack of last name came from an embarrassment on his behalf, and had believed him to be born in a rather low station. I could not have been more wrong.

‘Well, Cain, will you offer me this dance?’ I could have asked anyone else, but I didn’t want to. It was all about Cain, and it always has been ever since. His cheeks flushed, he took my hand. It was plainly obvious that he’d never danced before, but I gently led him. I did not care about the amount of times he stepped on my foot. He was too light for it to hurt. It was a happy moment.

The second time we met, he was twenty five, and still terribly sick. A gaunt, pale thing. His father had passed and he had become the Duke of Sulinard, as well as my superior. I think that he recognized me, when he looked at the legions of knights standing in front of him, kneeling. Why else would he have chosen me to be his bodyguard? Was it a coincidence?

I remember the surprise that I’d felt that day, both because of learning his identity as one of the most powerful men in the Kingdom and because I was selected amongst so many others.

“‘Congrats, Hec!’” were words I heard many times, and I remember getting drunk in a tavern with friends, celebrating my new position.

It was a year later that things began growing sour. Cain’s health was rapidly declining, as were my hopes.

See, Cain and I had become friends. I don’t think that he ever had anyone to talk to before I came along and took him to the dance floor, and I didn’t mind spending my days talking with the most intelligent and beautiful person I’d ever met. He fascinated me. He was gentle and frail, but held within him an infinite curiosity for the world, and I could have spent my entire life merely watching Cain talk of things he’d read in his books. So when he was too weak to leave his bed, I became desperate.

I knew that his illness had no cure, and what could I, a mere knight, do when his rich family had tried everything? Well, there are certain things that desperate men will do when all hope seems lost that not even the vilest of humans would even consider. I made a pact with a vampire.

Following rumors and whispers, and after months of research, I found Hara in a small shepherd’s village, where she fed off of sheep. She was starving, and I offered her my blood in exchange for Cain’s life.

Hara didn’t want to, at first, having promised herself never to kill, but I was a desperate fool, and I would have done anything for Cain. So she drank, and drank, and drank, for the first time in her life. I think that she would have drank all of my blood had I not stopped her. When I brought her to Sulinard, Cain was on his deathbed. I was nearly too late. Everyone had lost hope, and he laid on the cold sheets alone with no one by his side.

I took his icy hand, pressing it to my lips, tears staining my cheeks as Hara sank her teeth into his neck. Was I a monster for doing this to him? After all, I had condemned him to an eternity of thirst for my selfish desire to remain by his side.

When she was done, Hara turned to me, grief in her eyes. ‘You know what you made me do, don’t you?’ ‘I do.’ ‘He will never forgive you.’ ‘I do not care if he hates me for ever, as long as I can see him smile one last time.’ I was compelled to honesty. ‘I do not care whether or not he lives an existence of misery, if it means that I know that he breathes still.’ ‘You condemn him to a life of shadows.’ ‘I know.’ ‘He will be hated.’ ‘I know.’ ‘He will be alone.’ ‘I know.’ Hara shook her head, furious. ‘You are the true monster here.’ ‘I know.’ She left, and I never saw her again. Perhaps she still feeds on sheep in faraway villages.

When Cain woke up, I cried of joy. My master had opened his eyes. ‘Hector? Wh- Why am I alive?’ When I told him what had happened, I saw horror in his eyes. ‘You did what?’ His voice was sharper than my sword, and I nearly flinched. ‘You are an undying, My Lord.’ ‘No,’ he said, crestfallen, looking truly afraid. The fear was soon replaced by a glorious fury I’d never seen before in his eyes. ‘WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME?’ ‘I couldn’t lose you.’ Grief flooded in his eyes as I said those words. ‘So I will be the one to lose you?’ Clenching my teeth, I nodded. ‘No,’ he whispered once more as the room became suddenly dark. ‘You will remain by my side, Hector, and you may never leave it.’ Shadows twirled all around us, lashing at my skin, leaving red bleeding wounds, but I did not scream nor feel any pain, too lost was I in his eyes, darker than the void of a starless night. ‘Magnificent…’ I murmured as the shadows tore open my chest and entered my heart. It was more pain than I’d ever felt before, shooting through my body as poisoned needles in my veins, and I screamed and screamed and screamed, crying of pain. Yet through this I laughed. I was happy that it was Cain who was hurting me. What a sick and twisted monster I am.

When I opened my eyes, I was in his bed, blood covering the sheets, and he was standing next to me, his clothes and mouth tainted red. Whose blood was it? I would have said mine had my flesh not been completely void of scars or wounds. I soon learned that it was the other members of this household whom he had killed. His mother, his sister, his servants, all of them. I did not mourn any. All that mattered was that Cain was still standing.

The shadows apparently had left a black mark on me, on the back of my neck. As long as he lived, I would too, and I was to belong to him forever. I was the happiest man alive.

For centuries, I stood by his side, as his bodyguard, as his friend, as his companion. I killed any person daring to try and harm him, and I did whatever he asked of me.

I am different than I was. At first, I remained a proud knight despite my belonging to a vampire, only slaying in duels or war. But now? I am no better than an animal. When I fight, it is no longer as a knight. I am a dog, a vicious one, a dog that’s lived for centuries by his master’s side. When I fight, it’s with my teeth and nails, in alleyways where no one can see the bodies of those whom I mutilate.

Cain still resents me, I think. He sent me to war many times. I have seen horrors. I have seen trenches of blood. I have seen the loss of faith. I have seen what Men can do when they let go of morals. Cain resents me but still he loves me, sharing with me his bed and body.

“‘Who are you?’” His words from a distant past echo in my ears, sometimes. Today, my answer would be ‘I am yours’.

You are the knight bodyguard of a vampire, but as the centuries went by it became less and less noble. Now you're mostly just a glorified servant, and when you fight it is not an honourable duel, it's shanking someone in an alleyway.