#also like the reader seems a bit stalkerish

[enha-doodles]

SLYTHERIN GUYS - MOST-TO-LEAST LIKELY TO FALL IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT | ✧⁺。

Note : AHH I WAS SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS ONE , I got this as a request in my messages and loved it !! It's my first mtl so I hope y'all like it and if you guys do then I'll probably do more of these 🤭🤭 Also i ranked them first and the reasons are written down in the same order they are ranked :)

Pairing : (mattheo , Tom , theodore , Lorenzo , Draco) x reader

Warnings : cursing , a bit toxicity ? mention of killing in one part

Most likely ↑

Lorenzo

Theodore

Draco

Mattheo

Tom

Least likely ↓

。　　　　✧　　REASONS　　⁺　 　 　。 .

1. Okay starting with Lorenzo I just feel like he's a very fluffy , very poetic , knowledgeable guy (my bros a nerd🤓-) . He really understands and observes people , sometimes it can be a bit stalkerish but eh doesn't matter because it's not like he's one with good intentions , he's in slytherin for crying out loud ? But in the process of this if he sees you and you are exactly his type which is exactly like him then BAM!! You're his new obsession . He thinks he's very smart but he's just gullible in my opinion.

2. Theodore nott . Guy who is just as romantic as he is monotonous . I just feel like because he wasn't loved that much by his "family" he seeks it out where and offcourse he likes pretty girls . So if you're caring , outgoing and basically just pretty he'll fall in love with you very quickly . I also kinda feel like he's a bit naive in those things - like he's the type to date a girl he liked at first sight and if she's not good / cheats on him / acts like she's his mother - then he'd break up and become a manwhore . Still very much up on the list to do it again .

3. Draco seems like a lovesick puppy to me solely because he's never recieved any love properly except for his mother which doesn't really count but whatever. He'll probably fall in love at first sight if you're badass but that doesn't mean he'll admit it ? He'll bully you to get close to you then somewhere between just admit due to too much pressure and teasings from his friends . Don't expect him to apologise tho , i know we're all wise enough for that . And please don't be in gryffindor and dream about a malfoy , like seriously please .

4. Mattheo in my opinion is just a born manwhore so he's not most likely to fall in love at first sight . I just see him hooking up alot but then again there's a chance he might if you're different to him than other girls. But I also feel like he'll mistake his love as a challenge and just blow the whole thing out 😭😭 Plus point if you're a slytherin and you're flirty , that could definately grab his attention and make him fall in love with you and GOD FORBID if you also smoke then you'll probably be married to him .

5. You are either on weeds or highly delusional to even think this man is capable of falling in love . Or you've just read too many fanfictions lmao . Tom is super hardworking and overall a very work oriented person so i don't think he interacts with girls much ? Only to connections that can help him , so yeah he's the least likely one . Forget about frst sight , even a love potion won't make him fall in love . Also I feel like even if he DOES fall in love which would be impossible , but if he does then he'd either ice out the poor girl , kill her or force her to marry him . There's no in between "trying out" bullshit here .

。　　　　✧　　　　⁺　 　 　。

TAGLIST : @sugarcandydoll @helendeath

[slowd1ving]

INAMORATA . *࿐ SUNDAY, MOZE NSFW

“Think of what it could have been, Think of all the suffering,  Nights of crying, wondering,  Tell me what awe you’re in?” Deception comes second-nature to incubi; twisting serpents lay dormant in their flesh. This is truth. It is also true that for a wayward incubus, it is particularly hard to disguise one's demonic nature in the presence of an angel and an irritatingly sharp human. You don't recommend it at all, actually. I MADE IT BEFORE MIDNIGHT!! halloween babyyy!!! anyways I promised to deliver a halloween fic and I did :3 this idea lowkey came to me in a dream and I think it's singlehandedly the freakiest shit i've ever written edit: see I knew I was rushing to post when I forgot art creds Moze drawing by @ma_mori74 and sunday is by @nai_pizx pairings: angel sunday, human moze + incubus m reader (+ some foxian jiaoqiu) warnings: nsfw, male reader, voyeurism, lowkey stalkerish moze, mentions of death/hell etc, religious imagery wc: 16.1k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

. *࿐

Tinny music crackles in your earphones that knot haphazardly at your chest, almost in sync with the subdued spark from your lighter. The song isn’t particularly good (neither is the weather: a drizzle that always seems to drip from a perpetually ultramarine sky), but any shitty song would do to liven up the ambience of the smoking area in this particularly bleak corner of the campus. 

It’s blue, you note boredly. The smoke, that is, mingling with the vapour wisps of condensed breathing. There’s a certain meaning to be found in standing outside in subzero temperatures, finding peak entertainment in the clouds produced from your mouth as if you were some child. You just haven’t quite found it. Meaning, that is. 

You’re sure there’s one or two bad songs about it, if you scroll through the playlist enough. 

Inhale. Bitter menthol washes over your tongue–you’ve long gotten used to the flavour. Of course, the glaringly red car that slows down on the road in front of you also helps in forgetting to appreciate any new notes of the stick between your lips, but you digress. 

A window rolls down. The street-lamp glowing a frigid lazuline flickers precariously. You exhale, watching the smoke trace shapes over the bloody car—some boxy shape that could totally be used as a muscle car. These things happen simultaneously. These things also wash the murky taints of calculus from your mind and instil some form of amusement into your week. 

If you don’t count maintaining your cover at a human university as being thrilling enough to regale anyone with. 

Brusquely, a hand sticks out into the drizzle to wave at you—self-consciously, you wave back with a question clouding your mind. Though, it is almost immediately answered when street-lamp strains a bit more and you finally see the outline of an acquaintance you met while hauling boxes into your new dorm room at the beginning of the semester. 

A tentative alliance, more like, with the both of you sniffing something off about the other. 

“Yo, Jiaoqiu,” you greet back after he beckons you closer. His glasses are slipping off his face, and your hand itches to push them back up. 

Of course, it perhaps doesn’t hurt in establishing closeness by being guts deep in him just a week ago. 

“You’ll be there for the Film Fair, right?” he murmurs. You can’t possibly miss how his eyes flick to your lips briefly: how his pretty throat is wrapped tight with a scarf tonight to protect from both the boreal chill and prying eyes, how his glasses can’t seem to hide his incandescent gaze on the marks on your body, barely hidden by the loose shirt draped over you today. 

He was on the culinary course, he’d told you a week ago, but you could’ve figured out that much from the exquisite breakfast he’d cooked for you in the morning: one you didn’t need to eat. Instead, the sanguine flesh of berries had ended up being smeared on his skin alongside the mellow cream—you could’ve surmised his degree from the divine taste of his body, easily. That, in your opinion, had been your best meal for a good while yet. 

“You want me there?” You take another drag of your cigarette, watching him watch you. In his eagerness, your keen eyes pick up on the glamour disguising his fluffy ears starting to wane; and unbidden, a memory rises to mind of a night much like this. Those same ears, pressed flat to his head, with that lilt of his voice sounding far less confident. 

A friendship is forged with a good fuck, you wisely conclude. 

“Yeah, duh,” he breathes, and the vapour coming out of his mouth mingles with the smoke pouring from your own. 

Or two. 

“Send me the details,” you smile, a slanted one that mirrors your lax attitude. “You still have my number, right?”

Of course he does. 

“Yeah, I do,” he clears his throat, almost shaking himself out of a stupor that he never noticed he was in. There’s a tense dance occurring between both of you constantly, and unfortunately for him, he can never quite outpace you. It’s present in the regretful line of his mouth as he glances at the time on his phone, the lingering gaze that traces your being, and the downturned mirage of his ears—as if he forgets that you can see through his glamour. “I’ll see you.”

“See you,” you return, savouring the rich scent of energy that exudes from him—one he can never mask, for he cannot himself tell that it even exists. 

As the cherry-red Mustang—or whatever car it is—rolls away, you stroll back to the smoking area to appreciate the remnants of your cigarette: something you hadn’t been able to due to all the distractions, as you’d like to put it. 

But all is not well. 

Instead, you resume your road-and-cigarette-smoke watching only to discover another pair of eyes meeting your own from the shadows cast by the lamplight across the street. With the prussic overcast to the sky, you once more don’t recognise the figure afore you initially; until a car drives past and its glaring headlights reveal him for all but three seconds. 

Moze. 

You think you’ve seen him around Jiaoqiu several times—perhaps enough to rationalise that they are indeed friends, forged with something a bit more innocuous than a one-night stand. 

But regardless of how you stand tangentially with your mutual buddy (or fuck-buddy in your case), the common threads that bind you also included that as of this year, he is your roommate. And classmate, too, in perhaps one of the most obscure classes to ever be known to man. If you had less of a spine, you might’ve waved—but as it stands, the wintry chill between the two of you suits you just fine. If anything, the fact that he hasn’t beaten you up for sleeping with his friend leaves a positively amicable aftertaste in your mouth. 

Absent-mindedly, you stub the cigarette into the already-bleak wall, leaving a rather abstract trail of ash behind. His nose wrinkles in distaste, but you ignore it.  

Is it a sin for an incubus to be any more addicted to human creation? Wow. You really should’ve been a philosopher. 

Well, any more than it is being an abomination, you muse one final time, almost ruefully. 

Almost. 

. *࿐

This ill-fated relationship begins as it does ordinarily—by the two of you both taking an elective nobody else takes. 

Well, more accurately, it begins the morning you see a poster for the strangest night class you’d ever seen. 

Humans and their machinations. 

This is truly a special version of hell. 

Fragile wisps of breath condense in the autumn chill as you carefully read the poster pasted on the bulletin—formal black and white typeset, so painfully tasteless amongst the vibrant leaflets nestled around it. Though, the size eight lettering and bland format soon becomes the least of your irritations as your eyes wander down. 

“What a joke,” you scoff incredulously, a bit too invested in your human persona to truly grasp that you’re losing the plot. Just a bit.  

Really? ‘Identifying and Apprehending Olde Monsters in Our Midst’ was granted approval to be introduced as a new class, whereas the Cryptology course had been defunded and subsequently discontinued? The thought burns your mind, your soul, your very being. 

“How stupid,” you mutter, swiping open your phone. 

The irritation surges, until it gnaws and bites at the cartilage of your sternum in a desperate attempt to free itself from the confines of your chest. 

“Really, are they crazy?” you shake your head, typing your name right onto the form that finally materialises. 

You may be loyal to your Cryptology elective, but it’s not like it ultimately makes a difference. 

A class is a class, and your tenure in the human world relies on your ability to assimilate into this stupid place.

. *࿐

You lied earlier, by the way. The piddling number of students in ‘Identifying and Apprehending Olde Monsters in Our Midst’ is not two, but three. Your moody roommate (whom you barely saw yesterday), you (who, as an incubus, really shouldn’t be here) and the distinguished Sunday (who is also weirdly out of place but in the opposite way). Honestly, he probably knows this too—glancing at the way your clothes are never weather-appropriate and always tousled as though you were wrestling in bed for a nap (given your nature, you probably were doing some form of wrestling), whereas his own shirts and slacks are always immaculately pressed and ironed. He’s even got a damn overcoat for every day of the week, for fuck’s sake. Honestly, you’re half convinced the guy’s running some cult. 

Regardless of how mismatched the Professor’s three students are, the bigger problem is how awkward the lecture hall is when the damn chairs outnumber the students. You can barely concentrate on Professor Hopkins’ droning on selkie characteristics when you, Sunday and Moze are arranged artfully in an equidistant triangle from one another. Any more civil person would perhaps sit next to one of them to make the air a tad bit warmer, but you’re not even a person. 

You’re a demon. 

You think you can afford to be uncivil. 

Or at least, it’s the very bare minimum of rudeness you should maintain. You’ve suffered enough askance looks from both of them (which they never seem to level at each other) to comfortably assume that they have some sort of problem with you that they’ve formed a business partnership over. Shaking hands, all for the pursuit of disliking you more efficiently. 

During the next lecture on kelpies, it’s the same story. Even the damned coordinates of the triangle are the same, thus when you stride in a minute before the Professor, you make the creative decision to shift one chair to the left to ruin whatever coordination they’ve got going on. It doesn’t deign a glare, but you can feel the air grow even frostier. Amused, you stop paying attention to the information you could probably recite in your sleep, and instead decide to just people-watch the three sad individuals before you. 

There’s Professor Hopkins—perhaps one of the most insane people you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. He’s human through and through: reeking of such a scent that would put most madmen to shame. Alas, this madman is perhaps one of the most unrecognised in the realm of mortality—considering only three people are taking his class, and a solid third is the very thing he is lecturing the dangers of. You’ve met your fair share of people who believe in monsters, but you’re amazed every time you walk into the elective: both by his zealousness and by the fact this class even got approved. 

What a strange world the human world is. 

There’s Moze. Over to your far left, and one row up—the perfect place to observe the whole hall, but also the perfect place to look like a weirdo considering there are only three students and one stout little teacher yelling his wee lungs out at the front. You don’t actually know why he’s taking this class, considering his other class is something on forensics. Or something. You’re not exactly on amicable enough terms to interact with him, but you’d hoped that you had a somewhat sane roommate. 

It’s somewhat hard to hold onto that hope when he shoots you that look whenever Hopkins starts speaking. Actually, you can’t exactly see the look considering he’s behind you, but you can feel the white-hot stare pierce your back: rolling energy tainted with suspicion. 

Perhaps it was stupid to disguise yourself in an institute of higher learning where one would hope its students had an ounce of critical thinking. 

But you’re choosing to ignore his glare to protect your own peace. The only person who’d ever believe his deductions would be the madman lecturing now. Or not even him, since you’ve been such a model student—already knowing so much about these creatures of the night. 

Then there’s Sunday. You’ve perhaps had half an interaction with the man, earning a polite, utterly distant ‘thank you’ as you arrived before him for once and held the door open behind you. Impeccable manners, straight-A student, and perhaps the most confounding. Your suspicions of him running a cult are only confirmed when you overhear he also studies Theology. 

He’s polite. Very polite. A bit too polite, so much that it honestly creeps you out more than any eldritch stuck in hell does. Because, why be that courteous to someone if you’re not planning on sacrificing them? However, you’re half convinced that behind those eyes, he’s planning some elaborate exorcism that nobody apart from himself knows about. And maybe you now. 

It’s unnerving. 

Up close, the flow of his energy is human—too perfectly so. There’s never any malice, or anger, or even boredom that taints the low thrum running through his vessels. Yes, the base is undoubtedly mortal, but with none of the complexities that make up the average human experience. 

He regards you with a similar look to Moze’s—fixing you with a stare that appears to be figuring you out and picking you apart. A scrutiny that should fall under its very own brand of suspicion, one that makes the heat under flesh and sinew only increase—for you don’t think you’ll be able to predict his next move, not if you can’t ever read how he truly feels. 

Or maybe that is how he feels—and you don’t know if that’s more terrifying. 

Unfortunately, these three profiles suggest your lunastic of a professor is the safest to be around, since the ebb and flow of zealousness pretty much remains consistent for each lecture (seriously, they approved this guy?). He poses a far lesser danger to you (the one who took this elective for fun) than the two other students (who took this elective for nefarious purposes, you’re sure). And he actually likes you; despite him conservatively eyeing the attire you wear in subzero temperatures, you’re a pro at his essays! 

Alas, your propensity for avoiding your classmates has not worked out for you, you miserably conclude. 

. *࿐

You should’ve stuck with your regular dinner of passively absorbing peoples’ horny thoughts like some weird fucking sponge. 

You really should’ve, and now you’re cursing yourself as you morosely shovel what appears to be some inscrutable form of soggy college food past your stony lips. The food isn’t the problem, though any self-respecting college student would probably be wincing and picking at it rather than dispassionately taking bite after bite like you are. It’s a bit disheartening to know your cover could be blown from how you seem to truly appreciate the cooking, but in another life you’d argue your soullessness befits the statistics analysis you’re half-reading, half-doom scrolling past. 

But the differential equations aren’t the fucking problem either. 

The problem is the man sitting across from you. Or more accurately, across and one seat to the left, because apparently he’s gracious like that. 

You thought nothing of the flash of soft, dove-grey that you saw from your peripherals at first—nor the fluttering scarf that brushed ever so slightly by your bare shoulder. You were, after all, too preoccupied with clicking and unclicking your pen in irritation at the thick stack of paper by your tray. A bit too preoccupied, but you look up and suddenly you’ve got a cult member all up in your face with way too many slices of raspberry cheesecake on his plate. 

That’s what you notice at first, then you look up and it’s fucking Sunday of all people, resembling a word problem a bit too much with how many pieces are on his plate. 

You disguise your shock. You hope it’s successful, but judging by his soft cough of surprise, you don’t think you are. Mind racing, you turn back to your own plate and equations, connecting some dots far better than others (judging by the mindless scribbles on the sheet). Just to check, you observe his energy fluctuations a little longer—they’re still as incomprehensible as ever. 

Inordinate amount of food. Emotions you can’t read. A penchant for ignoring the finer points of human assimilation, such as staring at others a bit too fucking much. 

“Do you need something?” 

Quit staring.

Of course, you keep the quiet part quiet. 

You’re sitting opposite an angel, after all. 

Well, opposite and a seat away. 

When you finally look back up, his usually cold gaze is even colder—you wish you never said anything, even if it’s making your concentration in statistics flounder. With bated breath, you pray it’s simply because he doesn’t like you, not because he’s about to possibly exsanguinate you—then you laugh at yourself because you’re a demon, therefore no god will listen to your prayers. No matter how earnestly you try, nobody will hear your plea. 

No demon would knowingly provoke an angel like this, or at least you hope they wouldn’t. But you’re not most demons—you don’t actually want to be sent back down to hell. 

You hope that small fact erases whatever suspicions he has. 

“No,” he finally replies. His voice is strangely soothing, but you know that angels are never depicted as the temptation your kind are painted as. And as your eyes flick to your surroundings, you notice that some of the people sitting nearby are glaring daggers at you for even breathing in his presence. You half wonder if he’s recruited them into his cult already. “Professor Hopkins told me to notify you that we’ll have a group project briefing for the next lecture.”

“Right.” And he couldn’t send an email? And this was important enough to break your silence for? And this merits your staring? The words, though poignant, die down on your tongue, but you’re sure he can feel the vexation contributing to global warming, just a little. Angels are unable to discern the rich nuance of lust and love, but even a plant would wilt from the shockwaves bursting from your tension headache. “Message duly noted.”

He does not leave like you’d hoped. His fork instead cuts deep into the raspberry cheesecake, and you watch it bleed out on his plate. 

He’s no longer staring at you, but you know he is just as keenly aware of you as you are of him.

. *࿐

It’s not like you can avoid your damn roommate either, because that would probably raise more questions than you’re comfortable answering. 

You’re thankful Moze’s quiet, though that gratitude is somewhat abated by him in general. He’s too quiet, and in contrast anything you say will be far more incriminating. And while he stays in his room most of the time, you can’t help but notice he seems to hang around on the living room couch a little too often whenever you stumble home late at night: reeking of a perfume not your own with kiss-bitten lips and a satisfied smile on your face. Like some fat cat licking its chops after a particularly gratifying meal. 

Except you’re avaricious, and you come to the dorm often enough to recognise the pattern. 

Not tonight though. Devil forbid you whore yourself out on a respectable Sunday evening (it’s totally not because the angel named thusly will know somehow, spotting the faint shimmer of tattoos, horns and a tail materialising in a brief mirage). Somehow. 

On Sunday you rest. Or more accurately, you study from home—glasses carefully perched on your nose, pen substituting a cigarette as you teeth at it with canines a little too sharp to be comfortable. You can’t be expected to be biblical about it—for good measure, you crack open a bottle of red wine with it, drinking straight from the bottle as you stare down the thick pack of proofs that are due tomorrow morning. 

It’s not hard to imagine why so many humans in hell become overseers, rather than good, hard-working demons. 

Humans can simply be more evil and still convince themselves that this is for the better. 

It may be foolish to display your vices sprawled in the living room armchair, but you blame both the wine, the record player you brought, and the sensuous ambience you’ve carefully curated in the space. Is it a sin to do work in an environment that makes your heart pump just a beat faster?

Well, the seriousness of your crime is weighed against the salient fact of the matter: that you’re trying to avoid your roommate, not maximise your chances of encountering him. 

What a pickle.

You, like the hard-working demon you are, would prefer to not fail your degree and thus decide prudently to remain where you can wallow in both languor and academia. With cherry wine staining your lips, and the flicker of a warm cedarwood candle perched on the coffee table, it’s no wonder you’ve settled into a strange rhythm. Or maybe it’s something in the air, like the doleful sounds of old records you’ve collected throughout the years—ones you’ll always regretfully dismiss as replicas, but who knows?

What a pickle indeed. 

Tonight, the roles have switched. At around ten, you hear the almost-silent glide of keys in your lock, and you brace yourself for the maelstrom that Moze’s presence will inevitably bring. Like clockwork, you scrutinise the flow of energy that you can dimly feel—only to be completely blindsided when you feel a distinctly familiar one beside it. Two presences that are much too observant, but one that’s withdrawn and almost curling in on itself, whereas the other flows with ease. 

Brusquely, the door is shouldered open. You lock eyes with the Moze who prowls in, the Moze who is uncharacteristically gazing right back at you, the Moze who still for the life of him can’t soften that guarded expression that casts deep shadows onto his eyes. Then, despite yourself, your focus shifts to the one behind him—Jiaoqiu. 

The waves radiating from the Foxian seem to expand on seeing you, and almost immediately the taste feels warmer as you absorb it—a perfect consistency you know he’s feeling as an embarrassed prickle beneath his skin. Even if you weren’t an incubus, you could put two and two together from his slightly parted lips, the peony gently brushing over his features like watercolour, and his tentative steps into the dorm. 

He murmurs your name in surprise, and perhaps that’s the most conversation these walls have ever heard since you and Moze became roommates. 

“I didn’t know you and Moze were rooming together,” he begins with that soft cadence of his. Subconsciously, you sit a little straighter—keenly aware of him, after learning the signs of his body so well. 

But before you can reply, Moze answers for you—the most you’ve ever heard him speak. 

“Didn’t get round to telling you.” Each word is heavier than you can comprehend, tainted with a bluntness that suits him. It makes your gaze snap back to his face, and you swear the corner of his lip twitches upwards before he turns to you to talk. “Hope you don’t mind me having him over for a bit.”

“It’s fine. I like him,” you shrug, and the corner resumes its neutrality once more. Not like you see it—you’ve turned back to your work as if there isn’t a gnawing hunger slowly uncoiling under fragile dermis, as if you can’t smell every speck of desire and bashfulness slowly undulating within Jiaoqiu. You do like him, and not just as a meal. His tongue cuts sharp, beneath his fumbling, clumsy touches that seem so graceful when not encumbered by sheets. 

You just hope you won’t die of starvation before you wrap up the calculus. That would be an embarrassment for the ages. 

Alas, you don’t actually end up finishing your work. The sanguine liquid pooling into your mouth may not be enough to intoxicate you, but you can feel a pleasant warmth buzz through your veins. Of course, there’s warmth from that and warmth coming from sitting close to two heated bodies in a tipsy screening of some horror movie you’ve never seen. 

Calculus can wait another day. When Jiaoqiu stumbled from Moze’s room with a sweetness on his breath and a tight grip around your wrist, you gladly let yourself be rescued by the surprisingly strong Foxian. He led you right back in, and you were practically floored at how easily you just… stepped into the space, with Moze simply eyeing you rather than that cautious glare he so often wore. 

The Foxian pushed you into soft carpet, and you could feel Moze’s body tense up as your side collided with his own—the floor space was just about large enough for three guys to sit, but he made no move to move, thus you attributed it to the buzz he felt. 

It’s dark. 

It’s dark, and you’ve got your reticent classmate on one side of you, and the acquaintance-or-not on your other, practically curled up into your body with how he’s draped himself.

Naturally, you don’t end up paying attention to any of the movie—some flick you think you saw a century ago. Sure, the screams are totally realistic, but who can blame you for being distracted? You’ve got the object of your avoidance on one side, and then someone you think is deliberately pushing himself into your ‘hungry’ radar.

You would be quite partial to imploding, but unfortunately that is not a power you possess. 

But despite all your gripes, this is nice in its own, painfully ironic sort of way. 

. *࿐.

Of course you don’t end up stealing a kiss outside the building—Moze taking the opportunity to clean the bathroom obsessively while buzzing from the liquor, while you walk Jiaoqiu out. 

Of course you don’t mean to, but you’re drunkenly complaining of the professor for your statistics module, and he’s merely gazing. When the sun’s long gone to its slumber—and the only light available is the halo around your head from the flickering streetlamp—who can blame him for the way his eyes drink your pout in, the way he’s getting lost in the way you smell? Menthol cigarettes and something sweeter, something his nose picks up that could be caramel but could also thrum deep in your veins to intoxicate others. 

He cuts you off when it gets too much for him, right when you push your glasses up to continue to ramble comfortably. 

“—every lecture, I swear—mmph—” 

You swear up-and-down you weren’t planning this; you’re taken completely aback as he surges, pressing you up against the rough brick of the building. He’s warm, you think deliriously—with his hand cradling your cheek and his other nestled in the back of the loose pullover you’re wearing, you’re warmer than you’ve been in weeks. 

It’s not desperate, but you can feel the build-up of emotion behind it: taste the cherry on your breath, the tequila on his. Alcohol may have prompted this, but even a fool could savour the heavy yearning on his tongue. 

“Jiaoqiu,” you mumble, but he merely tilts your head, nipping at your slicked lips with an eagerness he only seems to display when it’s the witching hours. He’s shorter than you, yet tonight he’s the one caging you in an inescapable lock—so hungry, so avaricious and naturally, you oblige, raking your hands in his pink hair. 

You taste blood. You taste life as you feel his steady pulse against your body, lust as he groans and melts into your touch, desperation as he entwines his arms around you with the sole goal of pressing himself into you even further. 

You are equally insatiable, gradually feeling the vivid colours flow from his tongue onto your own. 

You are equally gluttonous, but your work isn’t going to finish itself and you’re quite a good demon, if you do say so yourself. 

You are equally voracious, and perhaps completely degenerate, yet still you wistfully and regretfully ease your lips from his—though your hands remain white-hot on his body. 

It’s enough energy to get through the rest of this day and then some. It’ll do. It has to do. 

“I’ll see you at the Film Festival,” he murmurs, but the two of you know the encounter between you both will be sooner—a clandestine encounter between sheets, in fact. 

He’s walking home, so you watch him disappear into the night—and when his small figure is swallowed up in the void space between street lamps, you watch a little while longer. 

Unbeknownst to you, someone else has been watching this entire time too.

*࿐.

Film - demons, seduction, succubi and incubi, you scrawl in your notebook, already feeling a healthy dose of apprehension, amusement and mild horror at Professor Hopkins’ chosen group project. 

“...due a week from now. Since there are only three of you, why don’t you boys work together?” Clearly, he is impervious to the chill that still lingers between you and your fellow classmates—the triangle is still at its maximum area, and you don’t envision it changing any time soon. Horror upon horrors, he then adds something that makes you shiver in your seat. “I’ll play it as our department’s submission for the Film Festival.”

Once more, you wonder how the department was approved in the first place. 

Then, the thought slips your mind as you first lock eyes with Sunday, then Moze only a minute later. I’m screwed. You don’t think you’ve ever been on such a tightrope before: wildly cartwheeling your arms back-and-forth while dangling over a fatal precipice. You will not survive this—not the research on incubi, nor the actual group project. 

You can only pray your two intelligent classmates do not put two and two together for once. After all, you’re the mathematician out of this mismatched trio. Any semblance of hope you had at making it through the year is slowly dissipating. 

*࿐.

“…edit it documentary style. It’s professional, organised, and will suit the Professor’s tastes.” Sunday’s mellifluous voice washes over you as you sit in the campus library with your classmates, desperately trying to look engaged. 

It does not work. 

Sunday’s fountain pen wavers in the air and turns on you, and your heart jolts and skips past a few beats—it looks far too close to a weapon for your liking, and you would not trust an angel with a dagger for the life of you. Or without the dagger. He does not inch it closer, but it’s rather an unconscious mirroring of his thinking that betrays that he’s about to scold you for falling asleep. You’re thankful for the table that separates the two of you, but you fear wood can only do so much to counter flames of divine punishment. 

But before he can lecture you, Moze beats him to it. And for the record, you don’t know how he ended up sitting right next to you, and you’d like to complain. 

Leaning across his chair, he gets unnecessarily close to talk to you, and it’s not like whatever he’s saying is important. 

“Do you have anything to add—” and here his leg ghosts up against yours, but you don’t flinch. At least, you don’t think you do. “—or did you not get enough sleep last night?”

His voice is low—enough that there’s an undercurrent of tension without him even trying. You choose not to reply directly to him; instead, you look at Sunday once more, and you swear you feel a spike of irritation from the angel. But, surely not, right?

Mulling your words over, you carefully select a sequence that won’t land you a one-way ticket back to hell. There’s a certain trick to this, you see—and that’s crossing your fingers and thinking of an escape plan in the event you fail, or the shameless cowardly demon approach. It may not land you a spot among the Lieutenants, but it sure is better than being skewered by some angel. 

Especially one named Sunday. You disguise your grimace. 

“Uhh,” you wrack your brains, before settling on the first thing your mind falls upon—yesterday night, all cozied up with Jiaoqiu. Fuck. “A horror movie.”

You can feel Moze’s stare burn into dermis, sizzle a bit, then singe your very bones.

“That’s an— unconventional idea,” Sunday coughs, and you remind yourself that angels are way meaner than you’d expect. 

“If you think it’s ill-founded, then I would like to remind you our professor’s maturity doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll enjoy an orthodox style,” you argue, suddenly remembering that angels are also ill-suited for debates and ‘gotchas’, and also that incubi can honey their tongue to saccharine degree.

Fuck. You’ve really spent too much time in the human realm. 

Before Sunday can get a word in, you keep talking, desperate to look enthusiastic to discuss incubi and possibly give yourself away. “If it’s being entered into the Film Festival, a mockumentary or a horror film could be both informative and entertaining. Or even a silent film.”

“It’s succubi and incubi,” Moze mutters. “If there were more people I’d bet there’d be one group submitting porn.”

You stifle a cough, but you don’t think you did it well. 

“What, with Hopkins as the intended audience?” you glance at him, and see the traces of laughter on his mouth, and suddenly your own feels somewhat dry. Just a little. 

“Yeah, imagine,” he matches your airy tone—and the proximity forces your heart to lapse. Just a little. 

Sunday’s glare bores into both of you. “Can the two of you take this seriously? We are absolutely not doing that.”

If you ever forgot he was an angel, this is a poignant reminder. Should you squint, you think you can see a faint halo around his head, but that could also honestly just be the library light causing the incandescence. 

“Yes, which is why we should do horror or a mockumentary,” you interrupt. This is the only fight you’d ever attempt with an angel, and boy do you deserve a medal for it like the humans do. “The topic isn’t particularly… uh… safe for work, so horror would convey the right message that we investigate in each class, while still having space for detail. Think something like found footage horror films or something.”

“You raise a good point,” Sunday deliberates—if there was anything good to say about angels, it would be that they are gracious with their concessions. Some concessions. “Fine.”

Fine. 

Fine.

Fine. 

With glee, you save the moment to brag about when you next visit downstairs. I got an angel to agree with me. 

But simultaneously, you compose your face, knowing the next item on the agenda will inevitably be the very topic of the proposal. 

Suddenly, you no longer feel the glee of just a minute ago. 

Oh shit. 

*࿐.

The most abject misfortune in your long life, it should be duly noted, does not in fact occur that particular night. 

It occurs the next night. Perhaps it was too much to ask for when you pleaded for just this year: uninterrupted, normal, uninterrupted. It might’ve stemmed from you spamming omg on social media too much, but it’s not like you could realistically use any other alternative without getting flagged as suspicious. Call it a habit caused by humans, or whatever. 

Disregarding the blasphemy, the day starts normally, and gives you hope (ill-founded, you know).  Like all mornings, you begin with breakfast, a coffee and a cigarette outside—and a quick dose of Moze’s early-morning glare. As with all days, you ignore it—but there seems to be something underlying beneath its surface. Something deeper, as if he’s trying to figure you out; as though his eyes are meticulously stripping away your dermis with forensic precision, paring away sinew from your bones and finding the interweaved remnants of your blackened soul. 

It’s a Friday, with exactly one morning lecture on probability—then a project research session with Hostile and Hostiler in the comically empty lecture hall. 

Or Hostile and Slightly Less Hostile. 

Or even Awkward and then Tentative Teamwork. 

The bowl of cereal from this morning does nothing to suppress the ravenous feeling that’s slowly taking over your mind. It would be fine if you didn’t have a morning class, but alas nobody ever seems to hear your prayers as you sit through two hours of quite possibly the most onerous yammering you’ve ever heard—and you’ve heard the Avatar of Pride yap. 

Every day your hypothesis seems to be proved right—humans would do a fine job running hell. 

But no one will ever listen to the humble incubus, you muse as you sling your books onto your bed and pick up the folder you’ve compiled on incubi, succubi and demons of seduction. It’s detailed, but everything is neatly cited and completely untraceable to your brains specifically. If you rang up your friends and falsified a few sources along the way, who could possibly be able to tell?

Strewn within the sheets is some inaccurate information. If they correct you on it, it’s all well and good, but perhaps even better if they gain some misconceptions along the way. 

You don’t mind cheating a little in academia, if the subject is idiotic enough. 

And if your perfectly perfect human life stays intact because of it, you don’t mind being a little unethical with your information practices. 

Just a little. 

Irregardless of your questionable academic ethics, you’re beginning to feel light-headed by the early afternoon. Some would say it’s karma for defiling the sanctity of this fine learning establishment, but you know full well it was the measly kiss you’ve had as a proper meal—something insubstantial and far too light to count as a true dinner. Jiaoqiu was more of a snack, and already you’re reminiscing over the flavour of his lips. 

Really, you should be a gourmet. 

…It’s also becoming increasingly clear that your thoughts are veering substantially off-track, though who can blame you when your head is beginning to throb and your mouth is becoming more parched by the minute. 

You don’t think it’s ever been this bad before, but then again you’re one of the oldest of your species—your full maturation is only moons away. Or more. Or less. It’s hard to conceptualise the time of the underworld when you’re on the surface. 

Tonight, your skin will likely burn like molten rock, reshaping and rekindling you into a form better than yesterday’s. Hunger will only intensify the process, making it far more painful. And you are hungry, with a body practically screaming at you to absorb some emotion. Anger. Hatred. Misery. All of these are copious in this highly pressurised environment, but these are fleeting on your tongue—bitter and grainy and not worth the effort of satiating yourself with. 

The clock is only ticking forward. You can’t not make it to your project meeting—that would for sure rouse the angel’s suspicion, and you cannot afford that. Not tonight. Not any night, actually, if you can help it. 

You don’t want your time here to end.  

With each step towards the door, your ribcage feels like it’s about to swallow you whole—so insatiable it might’ve been easier for you to be labelled as an Avatar of Gluttony instead. Not a lot of sand remains in your hourglass, though you’re not stupid. 

There are contingencies for times like these.

Jiaoqiu has class, you wrack your brains. If there’s anyone…

It would probably be the Avatar of Lust who’d be able to help you—you think you’ve seen her several times around before, feeling the familiar ‘fingerprint’ of demons amidst a crowd of human energy. 

The walls are far too grey as you roam the halls. At some point, you think you start seeing the people you pass morph into a singular identity, filled with the same struggles, crises and misery as everyone else. 

It’s barely enough to sate the throbbing that beats in tandem with the seconds—a dull ache that only grows more poignant with time. If you tried, you could probably manually take your mind and crack it like a pomegranate to quell the pain, but alas you haven’t quite figured that one out yet. 

There. 

“Wow, you look a mess.” Bleary-eyed, you watch as the colours coalesce into a faint figure, but it may just be delirium. Her cold hands brush across your face and tilt it from side to side, and you hear her whistle lowly at the heat from your skin. 

You think you’re delirious. 

“Most definitely are,” the woman shrouded in purple replies. Can she read minds? “Poor little incubus, babbling his little heart out. So, what will it be? I can bring you the finest strains of human joy and wreckage, or I can send you straight back from whence you came for your metamorphosis. Pretty boy, I could even get you set up for the night with a few humans.”

Her words merge and plume into smoke in your brain.

“Got a meeting for a group project right now,” you slur. Your sluggish register of your surroundings makes it impossible to sense the faint, familiar energy so far off in the distance. It’s a soft dove-grey, and utterly neutral—so removed from the filth of the human realm that you’d stop and admire it any other day. “Could you make this go away for a bit? I’m screwed if I don’t.”

“Oh?” Lust bursts out in a too-loud peal of laughter, slamming her hand on the wall behind her to stabilise herself. You wish someone would do the same to your head. “I see. I’ve heard the rumours, but I didn’t think you’d be this deprived.”

She doesn’t make any sense, you note wonderingly, but strangely her giggles make you slightly more reassured. 

“I make all the sense,” Lust informs you. “What a rude little demon you are. But don’t worry—” 

Her nails dig into your skin, and you feel the air grow slightly colder, as if some equilibrium has finally been disrupted. Or maybe you’re stupid, and you’re finally succumbing to whatever this process will require. 

But she glances behind you, and brings your face closer to hers a brief second later. “—I just found somebody very interesting to help you out, and I barely need to do anything to help you.”

“What?” you mumble. The strange feeling you’re getting from the distance is growing stronger. Just a bit, but you don’t really think it matters. 

What truly matters is that your group project meeting is only twenty minutes away, and you’re barely holding on to the wisps of your sanity that still linger.

“You haven’t been very helpful,” you add, but then her eyes roll exasperatedly and Lust kisses you with all the weight of a butterfly. You don’t think you’ve ever kissed anyone this casually, as though it’s the absent-minded brush of powder across one’s nose, or the faint tap of blotting lipstick. She tastes like the rich last bite of cake, and she pulls away with the speed it typically gets eaten with. 

“Uh, thanks?” you mutter perplexedly, for the emotion of other demons simply doesn’t satiate incubi the same way other species’ do, but it is appreciated nonetheless. At least, it temporarily soothes the faint pounding of hands against your cranium like an Ibuprofen does a head-splitting migraine. She’s still close to your face, and you can see a self-satisfied smirk slowly unfolding under that maraschino gloss—all pink and conniving. 

Lust. What a strange woman she is.

“I think you’ll be fine,” she whispers one last time, before traces of bergamot and vanilla seep into the candy-tinged air. She really doesn’t make any sense, you drowsily reaffirm, but before you can ask her to elaborate on her cryptic message, something vice-like tightens around your wrist and wrenches you from Lust’s clutches. 

You’re being dragged, practically, by something attached to a soft pearl-hued glove. A hand. No, a person. No, an angel whom you were so careful to not touch—who is now gripping onto your arm as if you could possibly run away. 

It takes you precious few sand grains to realise the true gravity of the situation. 

Shit. Shit shit shit. To make matters worse, your lucid thoughts are limited to only one section of your brain—the rest are all struggling to keep up with his fast pace. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask the wall of grey before you, and for a brief moment you think you see the flash of a halo in the dim hallway. You think you can feel the impenetrably icy wall of his composure crack, just a little. 

But that’s impossible. 

Angels aren’t subjected to the sorrows of human experience. 

“Sunday.” You say his name for the first time, tainting the angel’s identity with a tongue that has been coated by filth and sweetened with the most saccharic honey. “Sunday.”

He casts a long look over his shoulder, one that reflects his usual disapproving stare. Without looking, he easily fits the key into the  ‘Identifying and Apprehending Olde Monsters in Our Midst’ lecture theatre, and you must remind yourself once more that this is the most simple of child’s play to a being like him. 

“It is time to work on our project, is it not?” 

Can he feel your fever? Can he feel the tense energy that you’re struggling to control?

Your eyes slip past him onto the clock, which still indicates a good ten minutes remain until the pencilled slot. “Almost. Moze’s not here, either.”

His grip tightens, minutely. “He’ll join us later. I’ve asked him to purchase some film and get a better camera from the Media department.”

Then, he lets you go abruptly as though burnt—you’re left clutching your folder and with a profoundly confused expression on your face. 

“Right,” you mention awkwardly, rubbing at your wrist and wincing at the painful feverish heat you’ve been emitting. There’s still that awful dry feeling in your mouth, but you’d rather keel over and die rather than give yourself away in front of an angel. “No time like the present, am I right?”

“That truly is the principle we should strive to embody.” Sunday’s voice grows muffled as he carefully rummages around in the cupboard at the front of the auditorium—you take the opportunity to both pat your back for diffusing the tension, and place your folder neatly on the large table that also loiters at the front. You’d normally take your seat at the back of the lecture hall, but tonight the eve grows dark and the only light is the harsh fluorescent one that shines from above and casts only the table in a clinical ambience. 

“We can start slightly earlier,” he murmurs, closer than you anticipated, standing right behind you as you sink into the swivel chair by your research. You fight back a scream at his sudden appearance—the unexpected pop-up of an angel never bodes well, after all. 

“That’s… not a problem,” you smile, ignoring the pounding headache that seems to have decided to make itself known once more. “Do you want to compare research first to make sure we’re on the same page?”

“Naturally.” His voice is slightly lower than it normally is, and you attribute it to the lull of the lecture hall and its secluded location within the building. Even on the most busy of days, you never actually see anyone walk past the glass windows that panel a strip in the door—you swallow nervously at the thought of being sequestered here with an angel. “Is it alright if I record the behind-the-scenes process of our progress?”

“Like to bolster the found footage feeling, or using it to bolster the mockumentary?” you probe, trying to conceptualise his earlier ramblings of sending Moze off for a better camera. He appears to notice the puzzling expression you sport.

“There was a rather grainy camera in the cupboard here. We should record with both to compare the texture,” he explains, and you accept it with relative ease. 

After all, angels can’t lie. “Alright.” 

He murmurs something under his breath, a low ‘perfect’ before he’s setting the camera up to capture both of you.

Perfect.

Perfect.

Perfect. 

The word lingers in your mind. You don’t quite know why.

*࿐.

“....incubi are thought to feed on the life force and emotions of their victims, and may also cause sleep paralysis. They are male demons who seduce their victims, particularly women, and have sexual intercourse with them,” Sunday pauses. You’re acutely aware of his knee brushed up against yours, how he monitors your face and notes between reading out whatever he’s written in neat, looping handwriting. 

He’s warm. He’s warm, but you’re scalding to the touch: feverish and more than somewhat delirious. Sunday’s words fade in and out like the two of you are underwater; you can only curse at Lust for misleading you, as help is nowhere in fucking sight. Instead, she’s doomed you to be stuck with an angel scrutinising every move you make. 

“That’s what I got too,” you mumble, shuffling your sheets to find the relevant information. Your glasses slip down your nose, but before you can push them up, a pale glove gently slides them up your face—and you startle. “Ah, thanks.”

“No problem,” he smiles, yet it doesn’t reach his pale eyes. “Did you get any more information?”

“Not that I can think of…” you trail off, mind going blank at the most critical time. “Sorry, I’m a bit under the weather tonight.”

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, but there’s something that’s sharper than usual in the cloud of energy surrounding him. Something off in the angel masquerading as human, in the computer designed by the creator. “I’ve already got some ideas on how to portray these ideas in the film.”

There’s a slight sheen on your face—half nerves, half the fever that’s consuming mind and body at a ferocious pace. With glazed eyes, you can only nod. 

“Poor thing,” he hums, sympathetically distant in the way only angels can be. 

Something’s wrong. 

The cold back of a gloved hand touches your forehead tenderly, like if he were cradling the divine metal of his weapon. 

“Didn’t get enough emotions lately?” he asks condescendingly, and you freeze. 

“What?” you squint up at him through the lenses, still trying to play it off—but really, you’re attempting to process what he said. 

“I’m joking,” he smiles once more, but there’s something awfully false in the curl of his lips—something wrong and twisted in how his hand shifts to cradling your face in his palm. Still so gentle, but now with a terrifying sort of control that was not there a mere second ago. 

“Right,” you mumble, peering up at him with wide, hazy eyes. It’s no longer the fluorescent lighting that’s hurting your eyes—but rather the emergence of a halo behind his head that you force yourself not to react to. That would be a dead giveaway. 

You can barely breathe. No longer does oxygen circulate through your vessels—there is only the thick undercurrent of tension you swallow, only the suffocating grasp he has on you, both physically and mentally. 

Too close. He’s still smiling like nothing’s wrong, as though you aren’t a filthy demon and can still be forgiven if you merely clasp your hands like the humans do and confess your sins. 

Hell is filled with humans like these. 

“It must be so hard…” he breathes. A soft, gloved thumb strokes your cheek, feather light, but you barely feel it over the hummingbird thrum of your heart and mind beating in sync. Like trapped prey, you’re honed in to each and every move; and like trapped prey, you’re wondering why the executioner chooses to trace the path of the arrow over your body. 

Your tongue is leaden. 

There is nothing you can say to save yourself. 

“It must be so hard being a demon,” he purrs with that quiet, lenient tone of his. 

A feather brushes past your cheek; the angel’s wings have now unfurled.

An Archangel. 

You pray your end is quick. 

His hand moves up, and with demulcent grace, he thumbs the ridged edge of the horns that spiral from your head, ones that you didn’t even notice had appeared. 

Your mouth opens and closes, but embarrassingly the honeyed tongue you so valued has failed you with your neck on the line. 

“Now, now, you didn’t think you’d get away with it, did you?” he soothes, and you feel each and every ministration the Archangel delivers to the manifestations of your otherness on your head. 

This only feels more cruel—a disturbing mercy to grant a prisoner about to be executed. 

“I…” the sinner closes his mouth, already knowing it’s futile. 

“You,” Sunday repeats, tilting his head. The halo tilts with him—large, unblinking eyes interspersed with smaller ones, all honed in on you. They’ve all got the same psychedelic quality, and in any other life you may have been fascinated with how they gaze so earnestly at somebody’s soul. But not tonight. 

Tonight, they’re the eyes that will see through you and judge the very mettle intertwined with sinew and flesh and blood. 

“Please kill me quickly,” you murmur. Perhaps the Archangel will grant you a final mercy that’s never afforded to even the most pious of humans. The uncertainty of death is infinitely long—grain upon grain upon grain of sand. If your soul burns up in those divine flames angels so like to use on your kind, you’re not sure you’ll even regenerate back in hell. 

His hand pauses—it’s settled on top of your head now, brushing past the hair and merely resting upon it. He’s not looked away from you all this time: watching how your eyes grew wide with denial, with fear, and now how your eyelids lower with the weight of resignation. What a heavy burden, he may be thinking, but you wouldn’t know for it’s impossible to guess what an angel thinks, and an Archangel specifically. 

Your breath catches in your throat.

Slowly, experimentally, his gloved hand bows your head far enough that you’re forced off the chair and onto the ground with your knees scraping the frigid linoleum. Like this, you’re a sculpture of repentance: hands desperately clutching each other, lips open in what appears to be grief, and perhaps the anguish of the unknown that resides deeply in each pupil. Of course, if you were human that would be one thing, but on your head lie two jagged horns, sweeping the ground is a long tail, and inked across your arms and lower back are constant reminders of your sin.

You are an abomination masquerading as human, gazing up at the being who holds your lengthy life in his hands. 

There’s a painful sort of irony in this situation. 

You can’t even beg for your life. 

“Poor little lamb,” he repeats, with an empty sort of pity in his eyes. Empty, for what you’re finally feeling rolling off him in waves isn’t pity, nor sympathy, but something that makes you believe you’re truly hallucinating. Maybe the shock made you go mad. 

He leans down to examine you, and the wings that flutter—nestled in dove-grey hair—brush carefully over your face, with softness you still remain puzzled by, 

Bitterly, you smile at him—a wretched thing, tasting acerbic and of your birth on caustic brimstone. 

“There’s no point in dragging this out,” you mutter, too tired from the pain of your growth and the exhaustion of fear to prolong this any longer. 

There’s a sudden jolt of irritation in the tranquil waves emanating from the angel, and you’re starting to think that maybe that first emotion you felt from him wasn’t a hallucination. 

You glance up finally, and the expression on Sunday’s face is mired by shadow with a faint flush beneath it: like he’s the one besieged by a fever and not you. 

“I could help you, you know,” he breathes, and it’s then you’re able to finally put a name to the feeling clouding whatever the hell was going on with his energy waves. 

Lust. 

There’s also something so painfully ironic about this—the emotions you’re absorbing from an Archangel are enough to snap you out of your trance. In fact, their purity and abundance are hastening your transformation—he’s aiding you, and the very fact makes you quiet. 

“You won’t survive even if I don’t kill you, demon.” His gaze is cold, but he’s entrancing.

You focus your attention on his legs spread in the chair—the pressed and meticulously ironed grey slacks he wears in particular. They’re soft, wool-blend, worth several thousand easily. Imbued within each strand is the intrinsic scent of him: the bergamot, the vanilla, the faint vestiges of cake. But beneath that is a clean scent—not quite the fragrance of fresh laundry, but one that seems to perfume the air with sunlight. 

He’s an Archangel, you remind yourself.

“Go on,” he goads, voice all breathy. An Archangel far too used to authority, who’s currently cradling your life in glove-covered hands. 

“Sunday,” you murmur, trailing a finger along the neat crease in his slacks. While he stares down at you stonily, there are monumental cracks in his composure that you detect—the tensing of his thighs, and the sudden spike in vitality from your readings. “You really wanna make a mess of these?”

His face flushes a more delicate pink, yet to his credit the angel doesn’t waver at the implication.

“They can be cleaned, can they not?” He’s pristine. Without a doubt, you ruining the almost sacrosanct cleanliness of Archangel Sunday signals a shift far too corrupted. 

You swallow, resting your hands right where each thigh is plush with muscle. He’s watching: every move carefully documented, every sin filed away, every blasphemy to be recited at the confessional. The first wrinkle in his clothes by your fingers marks the irreversible transgression you’re about to commit. The camera, too, silently records this clandestine affair.

(“Will your creator see this?” you want to ask.)

(More importantly: will he forgive you, Archangel Sunday?) 

You wet your lips, tasting the residual cherry gloss that lingers on the flesh. He keeps vigil: taking in how your tongue darts out, how you lower your head until your cheek is a mere breath away from his thigh.

He feels it, the hot air slowly being blown onto the muscle—as evidenced by the further hues decorating his energy. A twinge of impatience now taints the otherwise unsoiled intensity; it causes far more marvel in you than you would’ve thought. 

Every minute shift of hands against fabric is distinctly felt. You know this—you see it in his slacks growing a little tighter, in how his chest briefly stops its rise and fall. 

Sunday is no better at playing an angel than he is at playing man. 

Pointedly, you peer upwards as you let your mouth finally osculate the fabric. Once soft, grey and perfect, they are now stained and mired—an ever-tangible reminder of the decision of two non-humans in this lecture theatre. You hope the camera captures the small, strangled noise Sunday lets out—something halfway betwixt cough and splutter, approximating to a gasp. 

Kiss after kiss you press to his thighs, inching closer and closer to his half-hard dick: so agonisingly slowly you can hear his teeth grind in frustration. 

“Incubus,” he breathes in a horrified sort of fascination. “You’re doing this on purpose—ah—”

You easily cut him off, letting the heat from your mouth linger on his hardon as you gradually unzip his slacks: tooth by tooth, until the poor man practically shivers in his seat. No, you forget. Archangel. There’s an Archangel whom you’re scraping your knees for—whose undiluted energy is allowing for you to safely undergo your maturation. This situation is ludicrous—only spotted in the most sordid of underworld printings, and even then you’d be hard-pressed to find something as blasphemous as this. 

His fingers wrap tightly around your horn, and you suppress a groan at the frigid sensation. Maybe if you were a better man, you’d keep your composure and remain sluggish for him to get used to every new sensation. 

But you are neither better nor man, so you ignore the thought. Instead, you increase your pace, just as he so desperately wanted. Hooking his briefs down, you take a moment to appreciate his hiss as the cold air hits him, followed only by how pretty his dick looks in the fluorescent light: flushed the same delicate pink cast across his features, trimmed neatly and already a drop of pre is pressed against the very tip like pearls. 

“You’re evil,” he gasps as you experimentally twist your hand, and the length of flesh twitches. You smile. 

“You think?” You finally speak, gently circling the flushed head with your thumb. 

His amber eyes glare down at you like two suns, and that is perhaps the warmest you’ve ever seen him. Those boreal fingers practically fracture your horn as he squeezes, and you glare back. 

“Taking advantage of a defenceless demon,” you chide; every syllable is accompanied by the motion of your hand as it begins moving up, then back down again. Sunday bites down on his lip, clearly attempting to stifle the sounds that would no doubt emerge when you speed up. “How shameful, Archangel.”

“Mmh–” Sunday shuts his mouth, and the camera takes it all in: how you lower your mouth to the head, licking the salt from his skin and the pre, and how he squeezes those slacks around your shoulders—fuck. There’s heat crawling all under your skin like millions of fire ants. 

You move deeper, rocking yourself against the floor to quell the ache in your lower stomach: sucking and using your hands at the base to elicit more of those sounds from him. He tastes like rays of light on a cold winter morning: a clean energy you can’t help but swallow eagerly, ravenous for this stupid, misguided angel. Your hands roam his thighs, the smooth curve of his waist, and finally settle right where it begins curving into his plush ass: gripping the fat tightly as you continue taking him down your throat. 

“You were born for this, weren’t you,” he mutters, and you can hear his wings flutter and rustle at your ministrations. His low voice forces your eyes shut, but it’s not just that. Gazing at the long strings of precum that are leaking down is beginning to stir unbearable warmth in your chest, while your breathing is slowly becoming more laboured as you choke on his girth. If anything, you’re the one getting off on this: tightening the muscles in your thighs to keep feeling that dull ache in your gut. 

He notices. 

Of course he does; those hawkish eyes that shine from his face and from his halo are attuned to every little move you make, every little sigh that leaves your nose. 

“How shameful,” he mocks, echoing your previous words. Adjusting his leg, he presses a polished shoe against your bulge, and you moan around his dick. 

Fuck. 

He rocks the sole onto you, hard; you can’t help but grind up into the impeccable leather, already feeling a damp patch growing on the front of your pants. Each sensation is only exacerbated by the lack of airflow caused by his fat cock in your mouth—amplifying your senses to a dizzying, heady state. 

You’re gazing with teary eyes right up at him, and you swear he throbs in your mouth; but the thought leaves just as quickly when his hand comes to cradle the side of your face, wiping the salty liquid away with a gentle thumb and bringing it to his own lips to taste. 

“You want to get off too, huh?” he coos sympathetically: a pink tongue darting out to lick his thumb clean. In tandem, his foot presses even further down, and you can feel the frigid linoleum press up against you. 

“Ah,” you choke around his dick. No words dribble from your lips, but Sunday feels the plea regardless. Those gloved hands of his pull you off his length with a pop and retract just as quickly. He grabs your arms as if he were handling a ragdoll—sitting you up on the desk in front of him as though you only weighed that much—and you need to remind yourself that he is not human, he is something far superior in strength and agility. 

It’s also aptly demonstrated in how he handles the buckles of your pants: deftly and expertly opening each clasp with monstrous speed, before tugging on them until they pool on the auditorium floor. 

You shiver. 

“Go on,” he encourages. “Since you so clearly can’t focus, why not entertain me?”

Why not entertain me?

“What?” you mumble, but he levels you with a stare that feels far more sadistic than anything you’ve faced before. You’re not faced with a human, nor the warmth of your fellow demons—but rather a damn Archangel that’s making you feel more exposed than ever. 

“What?” He’s the picture of innocence, though he’s got his dick in his own hand now—keeping his hand slowly moving as he speaks, and your eyes hone in on the motion. You can’t help but focus on it, how it looks against the pearl-white glove, how it tasted in your mouth. “You’re desperate, aren’t you?”

His words and the crude tone behind them stir a coiling tension in your stomach; you can only stare at the sudden change. 

Angels, too, can be deceptive. 

“Go on,” he repeats, tilting his head. “Here’s your opportunity.”

Damn it.

Hesitantly, you pull down your boxers: exposing your cock that’s slowly been dribbling precum in your pants, exposing everything to the angel. Heat rises to your face, but his eyes on you also make the heat pool at your gut; you can’t help but slip a hand down your body to wrap around your dick, so desperate to be attended to. 

The effect is immediate. With a hand already slicked wet, the tight grip you have on yourself, and the voyeur who’s watching each and every one of your moves with his pairs of eyes, it’s apparent you won’t last long. You gaze at him, embarrassed, with a face sheened with sweat and eyes clouded with lust on your own.

“Sunday,” you bite out—the fist he’s making clenches ever so slightly, and you think his breath hitches. 

He reaches over for the camera, tilting it towards you and capturing each and every expression, every single moan you let out as you succumb to the soothing rhythm of getting yourself off. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and you feel your abdomen tighten. “But you can hold on a little longer, right?”

Your eyes snap wide open as a slick, gloved finger trails the curve of your ass and around your hole; Sunday’s expression is of utmost concentration as he records each minute detail. 

“What—ngh,” you whine as he probes just the fingertip in; the glove has been dampened by his precum already, but still feels so powdery and dry as it slowly enters deeper. He’s cold, and his fingers are downright glacial; the sudden change in temperature has you tightening around the digit as your hand flies to steady yourself on his shirt. 

So close. 

You can feel his breathing fan across your face; it’s shallow and reeks of lust, the kind that’s always the most dangerous. 

“Keep going,” he hums, gradually pumping the finger in and out until it’s almost completely covered with the wet precum leaking from your tip and down your cock. The burn in your abdomen is indescribable—you can barely focus on the simple, mindless motion of up and down, when he’s so close like this, when he’s pressing another finger right in and stretching you out with ease that belies his inexperience. 

In. Out. In. Out. You can barely breathe with the pace that he’s setting, seeming to deliberately miss that particular spot inside you that would end this oh-so-quickly. 

The camera captures it all: the oozing, non-human precum that trails and coats his gloves, the careful scissoring motions he’s doing to ease you open, and the desperate heaves of your stomach as you fight off the tightening of your abdomen.

 “Sunday, please,” you moan, and you jolt as his fingers pull out and the same damp hand wraps around your tail to bring it to where he was just mere moments ago. Sluggishly, you barely register what’s going on until he opens his mouth—and his proximity makes his words reverberate and coalesce in your sternum, tightening your very chest. 

“I won’t do it all for you,” he croons, but he’s setting the camera on the desk next to you and adjusting his gloves once more. Your scaly tail is further pushed in, and the strange sensation forces your eyes back into your skull. What the fuck? The Archangel uses your own tail to get you off, and the conflicting sensation between your legs and inside you is hurtling you towards an orgasm you don’t think you’ll ever forget. 

But he’s not done.

His wet hands trace up your sides, bundling the shirt you’re wearing until it’s at your neck. “Open wide.”

Blearily, you do as you’re told; fabric is shoved into your mouth as he uses you to hold your own shirt up, while he appreciatively hums at the metal pierced through your nipples. Cold, slick hands massage your tits, and even with the thick wad of material in your mouth you can’t help but moan loudly. 

“So sensitive,” he mutters condescendingly. His thumbs brush rough circles against the pierced nipples, and involuntarily you feel your legs tighten around his waist. He’s callous with his motions; it’s slowly growing overwhelming for you, what with the tail stuck inside you, your hand still moving, and now his hands stimulating the tender skin around your chest. 

It’s not until you look down that you see his dick rubbing up against your own, and the sight almost makes you let go right there and then. 

“Mmph–” you groan as he lowers his head to your chest, rubbing one areola affectionately while his tongue swirls around the other. 

With the hand now freed up in place of his mouth, he presses both your dicks together tightly, just barely moving his hand for the minimal amount of friction.

You think that makes it worse. 

Tears leak from your eyes uncontrollably, and the tautness in your stomach feels as though it’ll claw out by itself if you don’t let go.

You move your tail just a whisper—it’s growing unbearable, just how overwhelming the rush of stimuli is. Sunday’s teeth graze your tit in such a way you desperately grit down on your shirt to not cum right there and then, but it’s growing impossibly hard when the motions of both his hands speed up: stroking you both in such a way that rubs precum everywhere and feels like fucking heaven.

You mewl as he bites down on the flesh, hard, leaving a throbbing mark as he laves his tongue right over it.  

“Please,” you babble incomprehensibly through the fabric. “Sunday.”

His gaze meets your despairing one. 

“Poor little thing,” he whispers, which only blows air over the saliva-slicked area and forces even more tears from your eyes. “Go on.”

He wrenches his hand particularly tightly, and you wail—a choked, garbled thing that comes right from the chest. Your back arches as your orgasm washes over you and blinds you for a brief moment: mind completely blank with only the purest form of pleasure hazing it, scalding robes of white staining your shirt, his shirt, and ending up on your face. 

“What a mess,” he murmurs, rocking his hand as the waves hit you with full force. 

“Ah—” you sob out as he continues through the waning ebb and flow: your legs twitch around him, and you’re sure he can feel the shallow, heaving breaths you’re taking to desperately cope with his continued movements. Your tail slips out from between your legs, and the sudden exit is followed by even more white dripping down your legs and onto the desk. 

“There, there,” he coos. “That wasn’t so hard, was it now?”

He peels off the ruined gloves and tosses them to the side, tenderly wiping away the tears that streak your face—you’re still reeling, still feeling the aftershocks of intense, mind-ruining pleasure. 

What the fuck?

He handles you like a proper lover—an absurd scene between lowly incubus and overmighty Archangel—settling his hands on your waist in something that could almost resemble an embrace. Some bastardised, corrupted version of one, anyway. 

He’s not your lover. 

He’s not even his own person.

You meet those deceptive eyes: as old as you, yet far more lonely. 

“Is it my turn now?” he asks, a smile curving on his face like it truly was nothing that you witnessed in his amber gaze. 

The Archangel, true to his inquiry, lulls in his movements: body freezing in both motion and temperature, while he tilts his head in a silent question. Do you want to continue?

The nature of an incubus is simple. Every act of consuming energy inevitably makes the incubus far more alluring, while it naturally replenishes whatever fatigue the demon has. 

In the case of consuming an Archangel’s energy…

Well. 

Suffice to say, it only fuels your libido. 

In response to his question, you wrap a scorching hand around his dick; now a furiously flushed red, with a desperately leaking tip that’s practically begging for attention.

“Not like that,” he says lowly, and it’s not until he’s lifting you with strong arms and sitting you on his spread thighs that you vaguely realise what he’s doing. “You’re nice and stretched out now, right?”

Those long fingers of his trace the slope and dip of your waist, rubbing small circles in wait of your response. 

This can’t be Sunday’s first time, you instead wonder; those piercing amber eyes of his make you feel the blushing violet instead. His heavy gaze burns where it lands: taunting and prickling your skin with a nervous fire that further kindles the one that revived in your stomach mere moments ago. 

“Need something?” He tilts his head, and the taunting smile stretching on his face brings up the words you spoke all those days ago. 

You scowl. “Shut up.”

“I think—” he trails off, lifting you partially out of your straddle with ease. Even as your mind goes blank, you feel each and every sensation that fires within your neurons. “—you have a problem with being honest with yourself.”

“Stick to your theology degree, angel,” you bite out, looping your arms around his neck to stabilise yourself and your racing heart. You quit breathing, momentarily. There’s something hard pressed onto the bottom of your thigh, imprinting stiffly and hotly into the flesh like some brand; naturally, you squeeze your eyes shut. Waiting. Anticipating Sunday’s movements, just as he anticipates yours.

“Which psychology is studied in,” he returns, goading you. He’s got his hand underneath you now, adjusting himself but still not pushing the engorged head in. Your frown deepens. “What, no please?”

“You can’t seriously be lecturing me about manners right—ah—”

Your sharp nails dig into the muscle of his trapezius as he cuts you off by stuffing the tip right in; he groans low in his throat at how damn tight you are, but also the feeling of poignant pain that’s beginning to sting across his shoulders. 

You think you can smell the faint coppery scent of blood, but you only half-feel bad. 

“You have a damn problem in not listening—hng–to others,” you pant. He’s tightened his grip on your ass, kneading and squeezing so tightly as he struggles to control his own breathing. The two of you linger in the lull for precious few moments; it seems time has capriciously stopped for the pair washed in fluorescent light, so desperately entwined yet ever at odds with each other. 

“And you think you’re any better?” he counters. If you were more lucid, you’d be able to properly understand the tension in his arms and how he leans fully back on the chair, letting those wings brush past your body and practically engulf the two of you. 

You shiver. 

“Yes,” you hiss indignantly. “I actually—fuck—

You paw uselessly at his chest as he slams you down, and your sore throat lets out a choked out wail at the sudden sensation of being filled to the hilt—stuffed so full you almost feel him in your throat. 

Each vein, each stupid ridge is vividly felt with every motion—his chest urgently rising and falling, your own spiralling into a sweat-slicked display of ecstasy, and his face. It contorts into the basest expression you’ve seen yet: flushed, mouth half-open, with a burning gaze honed right onto your own. 

He looks like sin itself.

Sunday’s losing his composure, fast (you are too).  

“Fuck—oh, shit, Sunday.” Imprecations cascade from your lips like waterfalls as the angel begins his movements, building up from a slow roll of his hips to accustom both of you to the sensation.

Like this, with his face mere inches away, you can’t help but stare a little at his face—honed in on his soft lips that wobble despite his struggle to keep his composure. 

You wonder what they taste like. 

Tea? Raspberries? Salt, like your own?

His lust-stricken gaze darkens somewhat as he appears to look over your shoulder briefly, but you’re too lost in the way he’s rocking himself into you to notice. But you do notice when his soft hand slides up your spine and cradles your nape. You do notice when he pulls you down so his breath mingles with yours–as he searches your eyes for any signs of discomfort and finds none. 

“The fuck are you planning?” you murmur, and this time he actually lets you finish speaking before he cuts you off. Except, this time, it differs from his usual modus operandi. One moment, you’re staring intently at the angel beneath you; the next, he’s capturing your open mouth with his, and the effect is instantaneous. You moan into his mouth upon tasting him: not quite placing the saccharic flavour, but he’s fucking divine.

He’s languorous with his motions—to any outsider, it would look like he’s done this a thousand times and still wishes to savour the rest, pulling you so you’re finally flush with his chest. 

You’ve never kissed an angel before. 

You may not even be alive right now. 

It’s only natural, then, that your eyes flutter shut and your head tilts to kiss him more deeply to relish in this final mercy. He’s biting at your lips, and the iron tang of blood combined with your dick rubbing against the soft material of his shirt begins the slow spiral into maddening pleasure. 

You cannot see. Your eyes are shut, thus the only semblance you have of the visual situation is the light shining through the blood vessels in your lids; not the way Sunday isn’t looking at you, but glaring at the door far behind you. 

Practically on cue, it opens, and you hear the clatter of wood against wood—someone stumbles in, then abruptly freezes in place. 

Eyes blown wide open, you attempt to pull away from Sunday, only to have his hand keep pressing firmly against your neck to keep you in place while his mouth begins exploring lower down your neck. 

The person behind you doesn’t leave like you expected. 

“Ignore him,” Sunday breathes against your neck, and it’s then you look to your left and see your roommate shrouded in the shadow not reached by the clinical lighting. He’s holding a camera and film, and clearly fell into the room—judging by his hand steadying himself on the desk, and from what you can see, the dishevelled look on his face. 

What you miss, concealed by the darkness, is the deep red flush that mires his face, and the straining hard-on against his pants. 

“What the fuck?” you attempt to sit up, but Sunday’s next words make you freeze in place just like Moze. “Moze?”

“Did you enjoy the show?”

The question is quiet, but Sunday’s soft voice makes it carry across the auditorium regardless—and despite its polite form, the cadence beneath it hides a frightening sort of irritation. No surprise like you might’ve thought, but exasperation. 

“What are you talking about?” you mutter, but it’s hard to concentrate on your roommate when Sunday’s busy thumbing your slit. 

“He’s been watching for the past few minutes. I was wondering when he’d reveal himself,” he sighs, less bothered than you would’ve thought—what with the horns coming from your head, and the wings and halo sprouting from his own body. 

Moze is human. 

He’s human, so you finally turn your eye to him and watch him make his way closer, until you can easily identify the most prominent emotion that radiates from his body. 

Lust. 

You swallow. Despite the new information, you’re not a mind reader. You can’t tell exactly what Moze is thinking as he sits just a few seats away, irritably tapping a finger against the camera he’s holding. 

“You’re early,” Sunday comments, making sure to sit up so Moze has a full view of how well you’re taking him—and the angel doesn’t miss how you tighten around him. 

“Did you plan this?” Moze’s voice enters the hall for the first time this evening, and Sunday definitely doesn’t miss how the low reverberations make you practically flutter against him. 

“So what if I did?” the angel replies boredly. “It’s not like you haven’t figured out who I am. And it’s not like you weren’t eagerly lapping up what was going here when you were watching us through the door.”

Moze stays silent, but you swear you can hear your roommate’s teeth grind as he shifts in place—and this time, his bulge is prominent in the blinding lights. The sight, though Moze doesn’t hear, makes you whimper quietly in Sunday’s ear; the angel’s eyes turn to you, each and every pair. 

“What a slut,” he murmurs, and you shiver at his tone: so crude, so mocking. “You just can’t stop, can you?”

You moan as he tightens his grip around your weeping cock and slowly begins circling a stiff nipple with his other hand. On your back, you can feel a burning stare, and the knowledge that Moze is getting off on this only makes you feel it deeper in your gut. 

“You’re lucky he’s all hard at the thought of someone watching,” Sunday coos, and through your hazy thoughts you barely work out if he’s talking to you or Moze. His thumbnail presses right onto the side of the head—which makes you almost fucking writhe—before you flop onto his shoulder in a daze. 

Sunday goes quiet as he focuses on moving; it seems he’s said all he’s needed to say to the man, and you really don’t mind having an extra energy source to draw such salient waves of lust from. With that being said, you take the opportunity to sit back up and gaze at Moze while Sunday’s moving his pelvis beneath you—only to find that he’s already staring at you.

He’s pretty like this, you realise, dazed. His pupils are almost completely blown out as he takes in every inch of you; there’s hardly any hints of opalescence left in those eyes. Deep cerise coats his cheeks, and he’s almost trembling as he keeps vigil of the scene afore him—with hands that desperately crack the arm rests, intensely avoiding his lower body. 

His breathing is in tandem with your own. Shallow. Fucked-out. 

Those pretty eyes of his flick up to meet your stare directly, and you tighten around Sunday; he’s hissing and digging his nails into your waist once more as he manoeuvres you. As if to distract you, he slams himself deeply in—and you fucking buckle as you sob out a moan, blearily watching while the man at your side picks up the camera he came late because of and looks through the viewfinder. 

“Perfect,” he breathes. 

The coil in your stomach tightens with each flash.

“Fuck,” you sob; the harsh tug of Sunday is gradually overwhelming you, and the quiet snap of each photo numbs your mind. You know Moze’s getting each shot in detail; his meticulous nature comes through in the way he murmurs ‘just like that’ and ‘beautiful’—syllables that only contribute to the heat you feel in your body, spreading effortlessly throughout your face. 

Any train of thought is cut off when the angel’s lips brush against the junction of your shoulder, and he bites. Sharp pain will undoubtedly be followed by a deeper bruise, but in that moment the ache makes the wave of pleasure increase twofold. 

“Sunday—ah,” you groan, knotting your hands in his grey locks. “Please.”

You don’t quite know, in the end, why you’re begging. 

You don’t, but when Sunday pulls back with his soft mouth stained red and a hazed look in his eyes, you think you’ve got it figured out.

Snap.

Blinding white goes off behind your eyelids as you slam your lips desperately into the Archangel’s. He tastes of iron, of an intrinsic saccharine flavour that nobody else could possibly replicate. 

Snap.

With each roll of his hips against yours, you feel him lazily pressing up against that spot inside you—inch by inch, building up on slow pleasure that trickles viscously through you like honey. 

Snap. 

You lock eyes with Moze, and the intense look he wears while he gazes at you feels like he’s parsing through the layers of dermis, sifting through the nerves and sinew, and finally exhuming your bones and tendons. It’s quickly driving you past the brink, everything about him is. His laboured breathing, the way his eyes remain honed on you despite the faint agony tainting his deep lust. 

Snap. 

“Right— there,” you choke out. Moze’s still staring, absorbing each minute detail: the sheen of sweat on your body, the way your torso and legs tremble as you attempt to keep it together, and perhaps most poignantly the expression on your face as you stare at him. 

Snap. 

“Perfect,” he repeats, and it’s this particular version that finally pushes you over that precipice. 

You sob out as your vision blurs, pawing uselessly at Sunday’s chest. His hands are firmly back on your hips, letting you rock the waves out—uncaring of the white ropes that ruin his shirt, or perhaps savouring them instead. Or perhaps he’s not paying attention. After all, you hear him swear for the first time since meeting him, and a mere moment later you feel spurts of heat leaking into you. 

He shudders. By the god you don’t pray to, this angel groans so sweetly as he comes—that fact alone has you twitching around him. 

More. 

He still hasn’t softened, but that isn’t enough. 

By chance, or maybe the best timing of your life, your eyes land on your roommate again—his eyes, too, meet yours through the screen on the camera. 

Snap. 

“Moze,” you whine, and the camera ceases in its photo-taking and filming. Well, except for an image of you looking so sweetly at him as you call his name out. 

“What?” your laconic roommate murmurs, standing and casting his shadow over the two of you. 

What a joke this is: a human watching an entangled demon and angel, and being completely captivated by it. There’s a buzz in his veins tonight—some from an awe-ful sort of fear at having his conjectures confirmed—but most of it is from the object of his desire finally within his grasp. An insufferable idiot, he may add, but one he cannot help but be captivated by. 

Maybe he’s the fool, reaching for the moon, but tonight he no longer feels so foolish. 

Your clawed hand fists his shirt, and he swallows: stone-still, watching with bated breath for your next move. 

What will you do?

He gets his answer when you drag him down: tasting of blood and that inexplicable caramel sensation you always seem to carry. Your tongue is hot against his—impatient enough to keep your mouth open, but he is too. His hands, cold from the biting wind and the frigid irritation he’s been building within, fly to cradle your face. 

Moze has enough sense to memorise this feeling of your lips on his, moaning and twining a lazy hand around his neck.

He thinks he feels a particular angel glaring at him, but it's none of his business, really. 

“He’s not enough?” he mocks when you pull back, poignantly aware of the front of his pants ever-so-slightly brushing against you—how he fucking bites down on any sound attempting to escape his mouth. 

“Don’t you want me to help you out?” you slur your words, clearly dazed from getting fucked by his stupid classmate. Yes, he wants to say, but he feels like some damned second place prize. Your hand brushes his crotch, and he bites his lip—hard—until the skin breaks and warm blood runs down his lips. 

“Shit,” he hisses. Moze’s self-control is normally iron-hard, but it’s been so incessantly worn down today by two certain idiots that he can’t help but let the damned thing snap. Within moments, his hand is deep in your hair, tugging as he nips at the flush of your lips—letting copper entangle you two together in something he hopes can twist your fates together forever, even if he ends up in hell for it. 

“Ah—Moze,” you groan, and it really doesn’t help his situation: dick pressed against your side, painfully hard due to a combination of factors that all have you (in bold, capital letters) written all over them.

He can’t help it. He really can’t. 

He can’t help it when you pump him from base to shaft with hands far warmer than his—he can’t help stealing your lips away from the angel you’re still fucking riding. He can’t help it, either, when you gaze at him like that—he just has to press his tip against your ass. You’ve been complaining about it not being enough, haven’t you? What’s the problem?

There’s a mutual agreement between human and heavens for just this night. That being, to make you spiral into a mess.

Thus, Moze doesn’t baulk at the thought of sharing this night—not when you’re sinking down on both of them, not when the added tightness makes his head black out for a moment. Fuck. 

That’s all his brain is clinging to. 

How fucking good you feel—how warm your back feels pressed to his chest. He’s desperately trying not to bust, doing so by biting over the mark in the juncture that damned angel left. If you ever think of the man in front of you, you need to think of him too. 

This is far better than any stupid porno—astronomically so than fisting his cock and imagining you in his hand’s place.

Moze buries his face in your shoulder, letting his hands roam around your body—supple skin that yields beneath his greedy fingers. His hands find your nipples, rolling and twisting the peaks to hear you let out sounds far louder than what he’s heard so far. That little fact makes him smile despite himself. 

On the other side, Sunday’s grown accustomed to how your breath hitches when his finger scrapes past a particular vein on your weeping cock, how your pupils dilate just a little more when he squeezes particularly tightly. No, he’s grown accustomed to you—all the small tells of your body. It’s why he endures the arrogant human across from him, for all humans deserve grace. 

They do not know better. 

It’s just for tonight, he rationalises. If he wants to successfully remain undercover to achieve the goal of his operative, he must not do anything to draw attention. That’s why he’s helped you out, nothing else. 

Angels cannot lie to others. 

It doesn’t mean they cannot lie to themselves. 

Despite Sunday’s heart that skips a beat whenever you look his way and all you see is him, he doesn’t acknowledge the racing thrum of the organ. In fact, as he’s sucking and licking marks into your skin as a reminder of this—of your sin—he reminds himself that he’s doing you a favour. 

He’s doing the rest of the pitiful humans a favour as well. The more he takes up your attention, the less time you have to seduce them. 

Actually, this is probably the most rational solution for getting one of the oldest incubi under control. 

Good job, Sunday.

A plethora of broken imprecations are forced out of your mouth as they slam into you—when one slips out half-way, the other nails your prostate, over and over and over. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full—not by any other demon, and certainly not by any human.

This counts for your mind too—stretched tight by what seems to be an eternity of satiation, and perhaps on the verge of breaking. You’ve forgotten the name of your project, the class you’re in, and why you’re here in the first place; and these broken trains of thought are interspersed with the quiet flash of the camera as it captures your fucked-out state. 

“Please.”

It seems to be a permanent fixture on your lips, though you still don’t know what you’re asking for. No, you do know—more.

More, as streaks of white stain your thighs and drip onto the cold linoleum floor. More, as your lips bleed from the number of times you’ve been kissed, and kissed them yourself. More, as you wind up on the outskirts between consciousness and unconsciousness. 

You’re barely lucid—having gone through a metamorphosis safely—but they seem to be more insatiable than you are. The energy store that pulses behind your heart has never experienced such satiation; in your drowsy state all you can focus on is the drunk high you’re getting off this. 

It’s well into the night now, and perhaps the only thing that fully snaps you back into consciousness is the feeling of something wet laving away the mess between your legs—Moze. His tongue is warm as he clears the salt and white globs from your thighs, and when he sees those eyes of yours finally focus on him, he leaves a chaste kiss pressed against the side of your leg: continuing while you drowsily stroke the strands from his sweat-slicked forehead. 

Only then are you aware of the warmth at your back: the angel behind you holds you fast to his chest with wings that envelope the two of you in a damn cocoon. 

And finally, beside you and displayed on the laptop on the desk, is a video file paused with the name across the title bar: 

The Catching of the Incubus. 

*********

There has long existed a pact between a certain human boy and a pink-haired Foxian. Well, it’s not truly a pact, but more like a casual agreement that’s never been broken: the exchange of emergency keys, for the two trust the other will have his back. 

It’s used today, when Jiaoqiu’s looking for the culinary textbook he left the last time he came around, a mere week ago. He may have been frustrated with himself for it, but there’s something about coming to Moze’s dorm that he looks forward to each time—and if he said the incubus that lives in the room opposite the reticent man’s, he wouldn’t be lying. 

In any case, nobody’s home. 

Jiaoqiu quietly slips his shoes off, checking first the living room. Nothing. Your room? Also nothing, though he lingers a little longer and takes in the burnt caramel scent that pervades the space—one that’s only gotten stronger, it seems. 

Moze’s room it is. 

The first thing he sees is the thick book, neatly aligned on Moze’s dresser with a meticulous pile of forensic texts. The next is two cameras, tucked away on the shelf behind it. They’re just sitting there innocuously, but Jiaoqiu’s curiosity is piqued. The man seemingly never takes interest in things other than crime scenes and keeping everything tidy, so the Foxian carefully picks up one and turns it on. 

These Succubi Suck, the file reads, and he’s immediately hit in the face with unedited footage of what appears to be the most slapdash mockumentary he’s ever seen—clips and retakes and bloopers in a long reel that he skips through amusedly, gazing at your face a little too long when you’re speaking. 

This is their film submission? He whistles lowly, impressed by the quality despite only having three people in your class. 

He’s about to turn it off, when he spots the only other file that remains in the camera, something something incubus. 

Just like before, he presses the fast forward button—

The Foxian’s face suddenly heats up, and he presses a hand to the lower half of his face. 

Oh.

Oh.

*࿐.

[buzz-in-your-veins]

Hello! Love your work! Is it okay if you could write Valentino x fem!reader? Like NSFW and SFW Headcanons? Thank you, keep up the great work!!

Hi! I’m happy you like my work!!

I will give it my best shot for ya!

My opinion of Valentino fluctuates constantly, so this may seem a bit everywhere.

Valentino

Head-cannons about the famous moth pimp of hell <3

CW: NSFW content, possessive, love bombing, stalkerish, abusive, lying, non consensual drug use, plugs, sorta noncon, toxic, overstimulation.

SFW

• He in no way trusts you to dress yourself. Genuinely believes if he let you, you’d either look awful or hurt yourself. He gets Velvette to make you custom clothes in your style.

• He’s the most famous Pimp and Adult Films Producer in hell. He has more money than he can use, why wouldn’t he use that to constantly spoil his firefly?

• Absolute cuddle whore. Can and will stop his entire day if he wants a cuddle. Oh you’re busy? Forget it. Val can pay more than that stupid job anyway, you should quit, he’ll take care of you limelight.

• He uses his wings as blankets, a consequence of the cuddles is you will fall asleep on him, and sure sometimes Valentino will wake you up, but he’s just as liable to wrap you up in his wings to keep you warm.

• If he doesn’t want to wake you up and can’t keep you with him, he’ll tuck up up nice and walk in his bed, write you a note, and leave you a snack on the table.

• Constantly checks on you. Doesn’t matter if he left you five seconds ago, if he texts or calls you, you’d better answer. Claims Hells to dangerous of a place for such a pretty Coraźon, he needs to know you’re okay.

• Always has to know where you are. Definitely made Vox bug your phone. You’re the amor of the first V. He needs you safe constantly. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost you to his competition.

• Okay, Valentino knows he’s not that great, he knows you could find someone so much nicer, you’re such a darling it would be no hassle. But, Valentino needs you. So he overcompensates for everything. If he’s constantly around, always with a pretty word and a shiny gift, you’ll never think to look elsewhere.

• Barely ever calles you by your name, always calls you a pretty nickname, “Coraźo”, “Amor”, “Cariño”, “Firefly”, “Limelight”, and “Mi Vida” are just a few of those, wants you to always know how much you mean to him.

• Valentino only cares about your self confidence in the capacity that if you have a poor self confidence it will reflect badly on him, and will make you more withdrawn, Valentino already thinks your indescribably gorgeous, why does he need to remind you? But he does it anyway.

• Valentino is possesive. If someone else so much as breathes near you without Vals permission, you’ll find their bloody head outside your door in the morning. Always touching you when you go out.

• Has 100% slapped you when you’ve angered him before, “Oh you didn’t mean too? Too bad.” You tried to run away once. Valentino brought you back bloody and screaming. “I’m sorry Amor, you make me loco Mi Vida, never again.”

• He lovebombs you, after every fight, every disagreement, even when there nos arguments, always tells you your amazing, he loves you, “you’d never leave him.”, buys you everything and anything you could ever like.

• He gives you whiplash with his attitude towards you. Most of the time he treats you like his “preciosa princesa” showering you in as much love and affection as he can, but will also treat you like garbage. “Useless slut! ¡Solo quieres estatus, puta sucia! Leave!” He never means it. “It was — Amor, they were being so foolish today, never you firefly, I’m so sorry, let me make it up Vida.”

• Valentino owns your soul. You gave it to him freely when he drugged you, you still don’t know that Valentino owns your soul, and there’s no way for you to get it back. He doesn’t even want it to make you behave, it’s the power trip of knowing he owns you in every way.

NSFW

• If Valentino isn’t fucking you, he has you plugged full of his cum. And if it leaks? Even better. Doesn’t matter where you are, he’ll bend you over and start licking it up.

• Valentino is possessive of you. If he takes you to an event and notices anyone looking at you, he will definitely bend you over in the limo and fill your pussy with his cum again.

• Loves seeing you covered in his marks. Does not hold back, not even a long turtleneck can cover them. And if he sees you walking around wearing his marks proudly? Best prepare not to walk.

• Valentino can fuck you. If the two of you are really going at it, you won’t be able to walk of days. He will bend you in two and blow out your back.

• Loves giving you sexy presents, fucking you in the lingerie he bought you? Seeing you wearing his jewellery as he pounds you? Noticing you’ve got the plug he bought you in when he’s buried in your throat? “Fuck Vida, shittt.”

• The little noises Val makes? He makes them when he’s screwing you too. Little squeaks as he’s thrusting into your mouth, he’s wings vibrating when he’s really into it, just soft little noises as you draw pleasure from each other.

• Valentino’s never had to ask someone for permission before, and when he’s worked up he doesn’t ask you, just gets straight on with it. He will stop if you safe-word.

• Valentino’s not really big on consent, especially with his workers. With you though? For some reason it’s different, Valentino wants you to want him, not just open you legs because you were told.

• Valentino can be really rough with you, but he also loves taking his time with you, working you up and up and up slow and soft, watching as you reach your peak and fall apart so prettily, before starting all over again.

• Valentino is so verbal with you, constantly telling you how you feel, how much he adores what your doing to him, what he’s going to do tou, “My heart, Mi Vida, just like that, gonna fuck you long and slow.” “Firefly, gotta be quite so they don’t here, while I pump your pussy full of cum, gotta be quick.” “Cariño be as loud as you want, let them hear how you belong to me.”

• Valentino adores degrading you, telling you how much of a puta sucia you are, how your such a filthy slut, “you’d let anyone screw you too get off dirty slut” but he also loves praising you. Telling you your his Corazón bonito, his darling firefly, how youre “such a good girl for me, only mine, so pretty Mi Vida”, seeing your eyes glaze as you drink it all in, Val can’t get enough.

• Valentino love’s overstimulating you, fucking you until your legs are shaking, you can’t speak anymore, your moans are cut with whimpers, and you’re cumming dry? Please, he’d do it every day if you’d allow it, it only shows how well he’s doing.

• Valentino definitely has a playlist he likes to put on when he’s fucking you, setting the mood, letting you pick the song you’re going to be railed too.

• Valentino doesn’t believe in safe word really. But you were adamant you had one, otherwise you would never move past heavy petting. So Valentino agreed, he uses Charlie, you use Red. Valentino has always respected that.

• Valentino has videos of the two of you together, and some of just you, there his personal videos, no one else is allowed to ever see them. He had Vox make a secure private server even he couldn’t access for them.

Feedback is always appreciated <3

Comments are my high.

They make me write faster.

I hope it meets your expectations Anon<33

~Vyrus

[xoxoamyas]

it started with a kiss

rating : mentions of alcohol, obsessive / stalkerish implications / references, slight suggestive comments [ 2 ]

simpbur x gn!reader

☆ you attend another party like you would any other, you didn't expect to meet him. <3

note : new years special !! i'm so sorry this was posted so late. it was meant to be out the first or second, but stuff happened :( i hope you enjoy it at least a bit <3

masterlist [ ☆ ]

⋆˙⟡

You were usually one to be out and about, never truly home for longer than a good night's rest or an off chance of rare downtime. Always the one work friend to get invited out by friends for social gatherings or even a party.

Currently, you were at one of your best friends' New Years party. Something that you had been invited to weeks ago and had contemplated showing face at because you knew there would be drunk lunatics out and about that didn’t care for others safety, let alone their own.

You had expected to see and meet people you didn’t know. It just hadn’t been counted for that you’d meet someone who seemed to take genuine interest in you.

He had walked up to you some odd minutes after your friend left to go use the bathroom. Introduced himself as Wilbur, shaking your hand in the process.

The man hadn’t seemed interesting at first, just someone you thought would be casual conversation. The thing that had piqued your attention most was when he mentioned that he was practising to become a musician.

Conversation took off from there, and it seemed like he knew every point to keep you into talking with him. He wasn’t charming by any means. He seemed off in a way that made your stomach nearly start churning. You’d put the feeling off for the time being since you didn’t think you would talk with him ever again.

What you didn’t know was just how excited Wilbur had been to finally talk with you. On one hand, he wanted to pat himself on the back because you hadn’t recognized him. On the other hand, he wanted to break something over you not knowing who he was.

Wilbur had been watching you for some time, having first spotted you at another party much like the one you were both currently at. A lot of alcohol, people who couldn’t shut their mouths, loud music. He knew the date down to a capital T.

He had taken a particular eye to you after some guy had spilt his drink on you, having gone as far as to follow you to the bathroom. At the time, Wilbur had fully intended to ask if you were okay, but seeing you in a vulnerable position made his heart nearly palpitate, something that hadn’t happened to him in a long time.

It was at that moment he knew what you were. You were his. His unknowing angel and saviour.

He started taking time out of his day to learn about you after that, thinking he just wanted to get to know you at first. Now, he knows everything about you. He knows your favourite colour, snack, and comfort foods. He knows your parents' and grandparents' names as well as their places of residence. He knows that you organize your books on your favoured bookshelf in your living room by author and series. Wilbur is also fully aware of what’s kept in your bedside dressers.

In other words, he knows you intimately. Even if you didn't know it.

Wilbur smiles a bit, looking at you in awestruck as he managed to get you to laugh at a joke he had made. You were hardly tipsy, so he wanted to think you found something genuine.

“Would you like to dance with me? I think the countdown is about to start.” He asks you, having leaned a fraction closer so you could hear him over the music. The look you give him makes his heart flutter in his chest, but he manages to force down every surfacing urge he had in the moment.

“I don't see why not! Do you have a partner?” You're so shameless when you ask, not a lick of hesitance or embarrassment. A thing he loved so dearly about you. He shakes his head no in response, though, having thought long ahead to not have a partner to begin with.

“No, I don't. I was just going to share a glass of wine with my friend.” He smiles sheepishly, and you're none the wiser. You strongly believed no one should be alone on New Years, and sure, Wilbur says he has someone to share a glass with, but that was it?

“Let’s go and dance, then! What are we waiting for!” Your words are rhetorical as you move, taking the solo cup Wilbur had from his hand and finding the nearest spot to set down both of your drinks.

You were quick to find both your hands in both of his own, pulling Wilbur out to the dance space everybody was in. It was crowded, but it wasn't bad.

Time is lost in the moment. Nobody keeps up with it until the music suddenly cuts. There's some cheering before the countdown starts.

You lean against Wilbur without hesitation, your shoulder pressing against his arm as you count down. Wilbur couldn't be bothered to pay mind to anything or anyone other than you. Sparing him a glance when you feel his hand move to your lower back when you nearly fell backwards.

When one is reached, everybody cheers. Some people instantly go in for their partners.

Wilbur hesitates, really wanting you to like- to want him the way he wants you. He gives in to the major urge on top, leaning in and kissing your cheek. The action makes you turn to him in near surprise before it melts.

“If you're gonna take a New Years kiss, take it right.” He could barely hear your words over the loud sounds. Wilburs eyes widen a fraction when your hands find his face and pull him in for a full kiss, your soft lips pressed against his chapped ones.

He feels light, like he's soaring through the clouds. One of his hands moving to the nape of your neck to keep the kiss just a bit longer, having been waiting for this moment for so long.

It feels too soon when the kiss is broken, and he instantly craves more. Wilbur knew better than anyone, though, that you never brought anybody from a party home with you.

That didn't mean he'd break his habit of following you after the party ends regardless.

“You're not too bad of a kisser.” You indirectly compliment with a smile that sends blood rushing, his face tinting a slight red from becoming flustered.

Suddenly, all he wants to do is hide you away from the world and claim you as his, even if he already had.

“You're not too bad yourself,” He comments with faux confidence. “Hope you don't mind if I ask you for your number?” He asks, that nervous tone slipping in. Wilbur doesn't miss the small and brief frown before the oh-so-soft smile.

“I don't see why not.”

You had no idea what you've just gotten yourself into.

[tainted-heartz]

Can I ask for a Yandere Wally with a Reader who is trapped in his world in his human form, maybe the reader is confused and asks and asks wally for help to get back to his world or adapt…

Now a little cuteness maybe the reader she was distracted and didn't notice Wally's presence so she fell on top of him and accidentally kissed him (sorry cliché romance scene, maybe this is wally's first kiss on the mouth?)

| cliché romance is my favorite so YES OFC!! to clarify I'm gonna use partycoffins official human version of wally! (also I adore the pokemon au this design is from) |

- wally is aware you were stuck this is what he wanted after all. to allow you top adapt easier he made himself look more human and did a few little tricks to make the rest of the neighbors look human as well but the neighborhood still looked overly cartoony.

- he acted obvious when you came up to him and asked for help to leave but he just smiled. “ what do you mean , neighbor? you belong here. ” but clearly this responses wasn't the one you wanted. you sighed and asked if you could live with him for a while and adapt to your new life because wally clearly wasn't going to let you leave.

- over time you gained more romantic feelings towards the small painter by the day. he seemed to get not as..stalkerish around you but clearly was possessive over you even around his close friend barnaby.

- he even trusted you enough eventually to style his hair for him but by god his hair was either silky or fluffy. brushing it was a hastle but him rambling did make it a little bit more tolerable.

- speaking of rambling , he ends up rambling about how much he loves you and how long he's watched you which you hoped was a joke but..wasn't. he was being honest about how much he watched you before you were dragged into his world but you just shrugged it off.(stockholm syndrome™)

- one day you were just casually cleaning up home after you did some dishes since wally and you had split chores around the house. at least he tried to make it fair. as you were picking up his art supplies and cleaning up some left up canvases you bumped right into him. you could blame it on his height but everything was sudden as you two fell to the ground with you on top of him. of course it had to be an accident kiss- as you quickly pulled away from him you panicked and apologized PROFUSELY.

- wally was silent before he muttered “ that was my first kiss.. ” that left you in shock as you went almost as red as he was. “ ha. ha. it was nice even if it was..accidental. ” he smiled at you before sitting up to give you a gentle kiss on your lips before standing up and staring at your still shocked expression. he helped you up and picked up his canvases. “ thank you for the help , dearest. you know where to put my brushes. ” its almost so funny how pleased he was and also acting like it never happened..

[seungrem]

tomie!sunghoon x (no pronoun) reader

The Curse of Sunghoon

masterlist ~*+ - part 1 of 3?? ~*+

summary: It seemed everyone had become lost in their flawed tendencies since the arrival of the new student. His enigmatic spirit and flawless features made him impossible to miss- enchanting students and teachers alike. Uncanny in many ways, the boy’s name was Sunghoon, and for reader, it seemed his presence was nothing other than ill-fated.

( overview: please see warnings. no pronouns mentioned excluding occasional ‘em’s, mostly an introduction to the plot, no romantic expressions between hoon & reader yet, new student!sunghoon, student!reader, and made up characters: gang leader!hoshino & stalker!rika, fic in general is more artsy than romantic )

( warnings: mentions of blood, weapons, threats, fighting/physical aggression, gangs/mob groups, a very tiny bit of gore- not detailed at all, manipulation, and stalkerish/obsessive behavior )

emoji code:

🌿 ( long story/series - 4.2k words )

🪐 ( junji ito’s Tomie AU )

+🫧 ( maybe a bit angsty )

☁️ ( stands for y/n )

likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Down the stone path lined with cherry blossom trees, pink petals fluttered sporadically in the crisp spring breeze. The walk to class was always silent, though ☁️ would catch the new student walking in the distance. It was a peculiar change to the old, tedious morning routine that he was used to- partially due to the mystery that was Sunghoon.

Sunghoon was never one to look disheveled or disoriented. His skin was always glowing- so much that it often reflected light, his lengthy figure was adored by many, and his mannerisms were always gracious. To put it simply, the boy was elegant. ☁️ had heard of the many rumors surrounding his family, appearance, and connections, but never paid them mind.

It’s been a month since ☁️’s final year of school had begun, and it’s been two weeks since ☁️ had noticed Sunghoon’s presence on the cherry blossom path. Though the walks continued to be in silence, peculiarity struck the daily routine once again.

Trudging around puddles and small piles of flowers petals on a cloudy Thursday morning, ☁️’s focus remained on the stone path below. Imagine ☁️’s surprise upon almost bumping into Sunghoon, who raised an eyebrow at the action. ☁️ stumbled back and immediately matched Sunghoon’s gaze, rather embarrassed.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” ☁️ stammered, walking around Sunghoon.

“I was waiting for you.”

Sunghoon placed his hands in his pocket as ☁️ turned around.

“Oh.. why’s that?”

“We walk down this path at the same time everyday. Wouldn’t it be nice to travel together?” Sunghoon questioned monotonously.

Aside from the confusion, there was an underlying anticipation ☁️ felt when speaking to Sunghoon. It was also ☁️’s first time hearing his voice- his tone soft yet assertive.

“Yeah.. I guess it would.”

Sunghoon burst out laughing and shook his head.

“Did you really think that I’d want to walk beside you? And everyday at that?” Sunghoon took his hands out of his pocket and crossed his arms, an amused look across his face. “What humor you have.”

☁️ grimaced at the comment, looking around.

“You said you were waiting for me, though..” ☁️ muttered, anticipation transforming into anger.

“I did.” Sunghoon responded, his gaze not leaving ☁️’s. With furrowed eyebrows and rolling eyes, ☁️ took a step away from the man, about to walk away.

“I don’t want to be late, let’s go.” Sunghoon said, grabbing ☁️’s arm and continuing down the stone path. The two now walking side by side, ☁️ shook Sunghoon’s grip away as the awkward interaction began causing headache.

The rest of the walk was silent, and Sunghoon’s gesture of waiting for ☁️ became a daily occurrence. Upon arriving to the school each day, the two would give the other a look of “goodbye” to then go their separate ways.

“Is this seat taken?”

☁️ looked up to see Sunghoon standing across the cafeteria table, holding a food tray. It had been a week since the two of them began walking together.

“No.”

“Good. I was going to sit here regardless.”

An eyebrow raised, ☁️ watched as Sunghoon sat and began nipping at a salad.

“So I was wondering..” The boy began.

☁️ looked up again.

“How close are you to Hoshino?”

“Nobody’s close to Hoshino.” ☁️ responded, watching as Sunghoon continued between bites.

“What do you mean?”

“Unless you’re in his posse, I’d doubt that you’d ever get the opportunity to be ‘close’ to him. I heard that even his members don’t speak that often to him.”

“Do you think it’s by choice?”

“I don’t know. What’s it to you?” ☁️ tilted his head as Sunghoon pushed his tray aside.

“I don’t like him, he’s the root of this place’s problems.”

“Yeah, well, nobody else likes him- so you’re not alone.”

The two sat in silence as ☁️ looked around the busy cafeteria, catching the glare of Rika, a girl in their grade. Of all the times ☁️ recalled seeing her around, Rika always had two bows on each side of her long black hair, it becoming a staple in her appearance. Though, today, it seemed only one bow hung from the left side of her two pigtails.

“Is Rika staring again?” Sunghoon asked, glancing over to ☁️. “I can feel it.”

“She is.”

“Did you know that she’s quite psychotic? An absolute whacko.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s horribly obsessive- I catch her stalking me on occasion. I heard that it’s because she likes me, but who doesn’t?” Sunghoon smiled, amused by his own comment. “She’s an odd girl.”

“Yeah.. you should probably tell someone about that..” ☁️ suggested, looking over and catching her gaze once again.

“It’s alright. I usually lose her on the way home.”

Sighing, ☁️ sat with pursed lips in silence. The two were quiet until the end of the lunch period, them later walking side by side through the school hallways.

“Hey, ☁️!”

☁️ turned around to see Hoshino and three other boys approach the two of them. Initially startled, ☁️ maintained composure.

“You didn’t introduce me to your new friend.” Hoshino laughed, him now standing only inches in front of ☁️. He leaned onto a locker with his arms crossed, eyeing up ☁️ and then Sunghoon.

“His name is Sunghoon.”

“Ah, Sunghoon. The pleasure’s all mine.” Hoshino exclaimed sarcastically, holding a hand out to the boy.

“The pleasure would be mine if I didn’t think you were a bastard.” Sunghoon sneered, followed by light laughter. ☁️ stood frozen in fear as Hoshino’s shocked expression turned into one of anger. Pulling a knife from his back pocket, he pushed Sunghoon against the wall, holding it at his throat.

“Hoshino, he’s new to the school. He doesn’t know better.” ☁️ pleaded, taking steps toward the boy. Two of Hoshino’s members grabbed at ☁️’s shoulders, stopping ‘em from moving any closer.

“I don’t give warnings. Consider it your first and last.” Hoshino said, pushing Sunghoon into the wall again and backing away. He then turned to ☁️, who was still held back by the other boys. “Keep your friend in line, or you’re next.” Hoshino whispered, tapping the blade against ☁️’s lips. “K?”

Feeling their grip loosen, ☁️ watched as Hoshino turned and began down the hallway beside his posse. As soon as the group was out of sight, ☁️ turned to Sunghoon.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Do you think I’m scared of a little blade?” Sunghoon muttered, wiping blood off of ☁️’s lips with his thumb. He then put his thumb into his mouth, making ☁️ wince. Luckily, there were only a few people lingering in the hallways, none of them seeming to notice. Sunghoon laughed and began walking away. “I’ll see you later!”

☁️ sighed. About to walk to class, another hand gripped ☁️’s shoulder.

“Hey, ☁️.”

☁️ turned to see that strange girl, Rika.

“You’re not dating Sunghoon, right?”

“Uhm.. no, I’m not.” ☁️ responded, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, I just didn’t want anything bad happening to you. You know.” Rika smiled and patted ☁️’s shoulder, her silver braces shining as she did so.

“I don’t know what you mean, actually.”

“As long as you’re not taking him away, there’s no need for you to worry about it.” Rika whispered, followed by a boisterous laugh. “No need for you to worry. Bye-bye.”

☁️ watched as Rika hurried down the hallway, throwing her pink satchel back over her shoulder.

“How odd this school is.” ☁️ huffed.

“I really don’t think he would do such a thing.”

Another week had passed since ☁️ and Sunghoon had officially become.. acquainted. As of recently, they’d had eaten lunch, walked around, and traveled to and from school together, daily. It had also been a week since their first run-in with Hoshino, whose glares in the hallways meant he didn’t forget, either. ☁️ felt this time drag- almost as if Sunghoon had bestowed a curse upon ‘em the day they first met. The boy simply seemed to attract both unwanted attention and problems.

Just the day prior, Sunghoon supposedly got one of Hoshino’s posse members kicked out of the school, somehow. Despite not being involved in the situation, ☁️ had been on the receiving end of stares and gossip ever since. The story told didn’t make much sense, and ☁️ didn’t want to ask Sunghoon about it just yet.

“Why not? Everyone knows about the rising tensions between him and Hoshino. It would make sense for him to snitch.” One of the girls in ☁️’s class whispered back as they awaited the arrival of their teacher. “I heard he manipulated a few teachers into searching the boy’s belongings. Apparently, they found knives and even gun.”

☁️ looked around the room, and then back at the girl as she continued.

“I don’t know if it’s true, but I heard that Hoshino has been planning on getting him back. I’m sure you could guess what’ll happen.”

The girl leaned back into her seat, raising her eyebrows.

“Is there anything else you can give me?” ☁️ whispered, despite knowing that this information was all that she’d provide for today.

“Even if I wanted to give you more, I can’t. That’s really all I got.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“Just $5. I’ll give you a discount so that I don’t end up on Sunghoon’s naughty list. People are saying that he’ll become the next Hoshino.. I’m not sure why you spend so much time with him in honestly.”

Grabbing a few dollars bills, ☁️ quickly slid the money to the girl from a back-pocket.

“A pleasure doing business with ‘ya.”

—

“It’s unnecessary to worry about what other people say, ☁️.” Sunghoon muttered, rolling his eyes. The two sat across from each other at lunch, as they usually do.

“But accusations can have consequences. Especially since it’s involving Hoshino.”

Sunghoon put his fork down and looked up to ☁️ with a blank expression. The boy then glanced around, quickly.

“Would you like to skip next period with me? I have an errand that I have to run.”

“Not really. I’m assuming, since you asked, that you’ll need help. Right?”

“Perceptive. I’m thoroughly impressed.”

☁️ frowned. “What is it?”

“I just need to pay a teacher a visit. Just keep lookout for me.”

“Tell me what you’ll be doing, Hoonie.”

“I told you that I hate that nickname.”

☁️ shrugged, as if saying “I don’t care.” Sunghoon continued.

“It’s just to talk about Hoshino. It’ll be quick.”

“Hm.. fine. Please be quick, though.”

“Aw, that’s truly so sweet of you. Thanks for always being there for me, ☁️.”

☁️ rolled his eyes, ignoring Sunghoon’s superficial praise. Standing up suddenly, the boy motioned ☁️ to follow him.

“Let’s just leave lunch early.”

—

☁️ stood beside Sunghoon upon arriving to a classroom on the highest floor. After the boy knocked on the door, a younger-looking teacher slid it open slightly, him holding a few textbooks.

“Hey, can I help you two?”

“Yes, we’ve spoken a few days ago. Do you have a moment?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember speaking to you, and I’m a bit busy with grading. Could you two come b-“

“No, I’m sorry. You actually do have a moment.” Sunghoon pushed the door open, making the man stumble back and drop his books.

“The hell are you doing?” ☁️ muttered, grabbing Sunghoon’s arm. Sunghoon approached the teacher, shoving ☁️’s hand off of him as he walked towards the man. Picking his books up while squatting on the floor, the teacher looked up to Sunghoon, who towered over him. ☁️ was taken aback as he watched Sunghoon bent down as well. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, whispering to him.

“Be the lookout, ☁️.” Sunghoon instructed, not taking his eyes off of the teacher. In disbelief, ☁️ took a step back and walked out of the door, closing it so that it was barely open ajar.

Sunghoon walked back out a few minutes later, a cellphone and tan folder in hand. The boy tossed an object on the floor as ☁️ took a peak behind him, seeing the teacher slouched over a desk. Noticing ☁️’s gaze, Sunghoon closed the door lightly.

“He’s fine, just resting for another minute. We should go before he wakes up.”

“You didn’t hurt him, right?”

“Of course not. I needed his help.”

☁️ looked around, seeing that the hallway was empty as the two begun down it.

“So, why didn’t he remember you?”

“I manipulated him into helping me before. That’s probably why he didn’t recall our previous meetings.”

“What do you mean manipulate?”

“Why’re you grilling me?”

“Because I don’t understand what’s going on. This is too much, Sunghoon.”

“You’ll know when it happens, just like everyone else.”

The two descended down the staircase in silence, ☁️ still not satisfied with the lack of information.

“We’re only a few minutes late to archery class. See? I told you that it wouldn’t be long.”

☁️ nodded.

“Anyway, I suspect Rika to be around here somewhere, don’t say anything else about it.” Sunghoon whispered, leaning into ☁️’s ear.

“Sunghoon!” Rika called out from behind them, as if on que. She hurried over to them from down the hallway, holding a plastic bag in hand. Still missing a bow, Rika looked ☁️ up and down with a dismissive look. “You had something for me?”

Sunghoon took the bag she held and placed the tan file and phone inside of it.

“That’s all. You’ll have it back tomorrow.”

Rika nodded and smiled, continuing down the hallway as if the conversation had never happened.

“What was the point of getting that file if you were just going to give it to her?” ☁️ asked, watching Rika disappear in the distance. The two continued, walking slowly as they conversed.

“I already read it. And I don’t want that teacher suspecting me of taking it.”

“Why wouldn’t he remember you being in there?”

“I manipulated him, remember?”

☁️ face palmed. “You don’t have powers, Hoonie. You’re gonna get us in a lot of trouble.”

“Yes I do. I’m special, remember?”

“I really hope narcissism isn’t clouding your judgment.” ☁️ sighed.

Sunghoon stopped walking, seemingly offended. “Nothing could cloud my judgment.”

“That’s something a narcissist would say.”

—

Sunghoon stepped in front of ☁️, opening the gymnasium doors and gesturing forward.

“Thank you.” ☁️ muttered, catching the teacher’s glare as they stepped inside. The teacher was older- probably in his 50’s. ☁️ watched as the man hurried to the two of them with compound bows under his arms.

“Since you two decided to show up, help me gather the rest of the materials.” The man said, motioning the two to follow him into the equipment room. “You, grab the box of arrows since it’s heavy.” He said, pointing at Sunghoon. He then pointed to ☁️ before gesturing toward additional compound bows. “You can put the last two bows on the rack out there, follow me back please.”

The three walked back to the group of students who waited in the middle of the gymnasium floor.

“Alright everyone! Split into two groups of eight.” The teacher instructed.

“Make sure we aren’t in Hoshino’s group.” Sunghoon muttered, pulling ☁️ away from the crowd of students. After a minute, the class was divided.

“This group has nine, one of you go over there.” The teacher said, looking at ☁️. A student awkwardly shuffled over to the other group. “Okay, good. This side is shooting first, and then that side. Grab a bow and an arrow and line up.”

“We’re shooting first.” ☁️ looked over to Sunghoon, who stared intently at the windows on the other side of the room. Patting Sunghoon’s arm, ☁️ knocked the boy out of his daze. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought I saw something outside.” Sunghoon replied, shaking his head. The two followed the group of students over to the rack of bows, grabbing one alongside an arrow. The teacher called out commands, and the students raised their bows. The target in front of them was tall and wide, with three circles of red white and blue. Sitting on the other side of the room with their backs against the window, the other students watched.

“Shoot!”

☁️ released the arrow, though someone else’s collided coincidently with it, causing ☁️’s to fall to the ground. Laughing it off, ☁️ turned to Sunghoon.

“How did you do?”

“I got a bullseye.”

☁️ looked over to the target, seeing a singular arrow in the blue center.

“That’s impressive.” ☁️ muttered, turning to Sunghoon once again. The boy was looking over his shoulder- his gaze fixated on the group of students against the window. “What do you keep looking at?”

“You didn’t see that guy standing outside?”

☁️ looked over, not seeing anybody over the standing students’ heads. “No.”

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair as the students placed their bows on the ground and took a step away. Sunghoon and ☁️ followed their movements, awaiting the teacher’s directions.

“Okay, second group, it’s your turn.”

About to walk toward the wall alongside the others, Sunghoon gripped at ☁️’s shoulder.

“I’m not going over there until I see that boy again.”

“What if you’re just seeing things?”

“I’m not, I know I saw him.”

“Even if there was a boy, so what? You’d see him better if we go over there.”

“You don’t understand.”

☁️ shrugged, walking away from the bows so that other students could use them. Sunghoon followed, standing diagonally to the second group. Only a few feet to the right of the target, ☁️ caught Hoshino’s gaze and immediately looked away.

The teacher began shouting commands as Sunghoon’s gaze didn’t come off of the window in the distance. The teacher stood behind the engrossed students as he called out, despite not seeing the actual target.

“There he is.” Sunghoon muttered, jogging a few steps forward and walking towards the window. ☁️ looked over to see a tall boy in a black school suit towering behind the students standing against the wall. His mahogany hair blew in the wind as his steady gaze didn’t leave Sunghoon’s. It was an eerie scene, one that filled ☁️ with fear as the stranger peeked into the room.

“Shoot!”

☁️ flinched as droplets of red sprinkled across the face and neck possessed. Pinned against the target, Sunghoon twitched as red trickled down his body. Perceiving the horror a few feet in the distance, ☁️ cupped a hand over the mouth that gasped. The students holding bows cried out or turned around to avoid the scene. Those sitting against the window all stood up, some covering their eyes and some rushing over to get a better look. The man on the other side of the window was no longer present.

“What the hell..” The teacher choked, stepping through the line of students to see Sunghoon impaled by their arrows. With a throat becoming drier by the second, ☁️ walked over to the line of students. Arrows had gone through Sunghoon’s eye, neck, shoulder, stomach, leg, and both sides of his arms. Someone behind ☁️ threw up.

“What the hell did you do..” The teacher croaked again, looking at the students beside ☁️.

“You said to shoot!” One girl cried out.

“He just ran in front of the board. It wasn’t our fault.” Another boy muttered.

☁️ turned to see Hoshino approach Sunghoon’s body- it no longer twitching.

“We’ll just get rid of the body. Guys, help me get him off of this.”

“The hell are you talking about?” One of his mob members shouted, his voice shaky.

“Unless you all wanna go to jail, I suggest you help get rid of the body.” Hoshino shouted back, him then slowly removing each arrow from Sunghoon’s body. A few boys walked beside him, helping the boy set Sunghoon’s lifeless figure onto the floor.

“Someone get the tarp cover from the equipment room.” Hoshino ordered after turning his head, glaring at the crowd that now stood behind him. A girl beside ☁️ nodded and sprinted over to the room.

“Nobody go anywhere! We are not getting rid of anything!” The teacher roared, pushing a few of the boys surrounding Hoshino away from Sunghoon’s body. Hoshino quickly stood up, pulling a switchblade from his back pocket and holding it at the teacher’s neck.

“Either you help us or you suffer the same fate.” Hoshino looked around. “That goes for everyone!”

The girl ran back with a black tarp, unraveling it so that Hoshino’s members could drag Sunghoon onto it.

“What the fuck is happening.” ☁️ whispered to himself, watching as other students began helping to wrap the body.

“This is so fucked up.” A boy beside ☁️ whispered in response.

“There’s a door leading outside in the equipment room, right?” Hoshino asked the teacher, his switchblade still pointed at him. The teacher simply nodded his head.

“Alright, everyone outside! Now!” Hoshino yelled, jogging over to his members. He whispered to them before turning to the crowd of students. Pointing to the tarp, he called out again. “I need a few people to carry this into the mountain.”

Students stepped up and kneeled beside the tarp cover. Lifting it, they began into the equipment room, guided by two of Hoshino’s members. Hoshino stood behind, watching as everyone filed into the room and out the door. ☁️ was the one of the last students to leave, exhaling upon observing the small puddle of blood that dripped down the target and onto the floor.

“Go.” Hoshino said, waving the switchblade at ☁️ as he and the teacher walked passed. ☁️ followed them into the room and out of the metal door, one of Hoshino’s members then closing the door behind them. ☁️ watched as the group walked into the forested area a few feet in the distance, barely trailing behind. Hoshino noticed, him turning around and walking towards ☁️.

“I guess I need to chaperone you.” Hoshino muttered upon gripping ☁️’s arm, the two of them then rushing up the hill and through the forest. They eventually caught up to the group, a fire having been started. Hoshino let go of ☁️ after he stood beside his members.

“We’re going to give everyone a part to hide. If your part gets found, you’re dead. After you hide it, and hide it well, you can go home. Wash your hands and clothes immediately. The teacher and my group will clean the gymnasium- if you’d like to help you can. Everyone understand?” Hoshino shouted, watching as most of the class nodded their heads. He then began unwrapping the body with the help of a few other students. ☁️ had to turn around upon seeing Hoshino’s men begin digging their knives into the boy’s already decomposing body.

A few minutes had passed since the boys had begun severing, and ☁️ remained opposite to them. People began walking away with small parts of Sunghoon in their hands. One with a few fingers and another with his two ears. It made ☁️ want to gag at the sight, but the shock taking over ☁️’s body prevented anything further from happening.

“Hey, ☁️.”

☁️ turned around to see Hoshino standing in the way of what remained of Sunghoon’s body. Avoiding eye contact, ☁️ noticed the organs in the boy’s hands.

“Since you were closest with him, I’m giving you his heart and brain.”

Looking to the right, ☁️ felt Hoshino drop the organs into open hands.

“If it makes you feel better, I was going to do it eventually. Maybe I could make it up to you sometime.” Hoshino sighed, seemingly displeased with the lack of acknowledgment he was receiving. ☁️’s eye twitched in response to his words.

“You could never.”

☁️ turned back around, continuing aimlessly into the forest. Attempting to go back the way the group came to avoid getting lost, ☁️ trudged down the hill they walked up- finding a dirt path. ☁️ walked down it, finding a gorgeous stone bridge. A stream flowed heavily below the structure, though, ☁️ didn’t have the heart to throw the items into it. Instead, ☁️ walked across the bridge and sat in the grass- a foot away from where the water rushed through. It was then that ☁️ noticed the flat surface under the bridge’s abutment, untouched by the roaring water. Walking over to it, the space was only a little shorter than ☁️. With a deep breath, ☁️ kneeled down and climbed onto the stone surface, placing the brain and heart beside each other.

Hoshino’s words replayed in ☁️’s head. Walking back onto the bridge, ☁️ took a few steps forward and rested heavy arms on the cool stone structure. If even Hoshino noticed Sunghoon and ‘em spending a lot of time together, then ☁️ assumed that everyone had noticed, as well. Though, in reality, ☁️ and Sunghoon never really got close. He would only accompany ☁️ at lunch and on the walk home, and even then, their conversations were never in-depth. Still, ☁️ was fearful of what was to come. If someone were to find out, then what would happen? Sunghoon’s family will be looking for him, right? How is Hoshino going to keep everyone quiet? And why would Sunghoon act so carelessly upon seeing that boy? What made him so important?

Lost in the roaring of the waters, ☁️ didn’t notice a boy walk behind ‘em. The boy stopped a few feet away, leaning onto the guardrail and looking out into the distance. Upon glancing over, ☁️ recognized the boy’s mahogany hair. Both shocked and a bit scared, ☁️ took a step back.

“You know,..” The boy began. “..you really shouldn’t worry. He’ll be back.”

The boy turned to ☁️, pushing off of the bridge’s stone guardrail and walking over to ‘em. He held out his lengthy hand, which ☁️ took hesitantly and shook lightly. “My name is Heeseung.”

“☁️…. And what do you mean?”

“Sunghoon. You’ll know when he’s back, and when he is, you better spend that time with him wisely.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re not going to. And that’s okay.”

The two sat in silence before Heeseung continued.

“Your school’s going to be a shit show for a while. Try not to die, otherwise there’d be nobody to welcome Sunghoon back.”

“Who are you?” ☁️ growled, taking another step back.

“Who was Sunghoon?” Heeseung replied, his voice just as monotonous as Sunghoon’s was.

☁️ remained silent, unsure of how to respond. Thinking about it.. they were something like friends, and ☁️ considered Sunghoon to be.. many things. ☁️’s crush amongst those many things.

“I’ll be around when you find out. Good luck.”

Heeseung strolled backwards as he and ☁️ kept gazes on each-other, him eventually turning around and continuing across the bridge. ☁️ watched his figure become smaller as he walked up the hill, fading behind the trees.

It seemed that people had become lost in their flawed tendencies since the new student’s arrival; His enigmatic spirit and flawless features made him impossible to miss- enchanting students and teachers alike. Uncanny in many ways, the boy’s name was Sunghoon, and even in his death, his curse remained potent.

a/n: i have a part 2 ready but let’s see how this does ! writing gn is also different and a bit challenging- next time I’ll just write saying ‘you’ bc it’s 100x easier. n e ways i hope u liked it, ik it’s different than what i usually write :,) don’t let this flop pls

likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[darklcy]

𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲

━━━━━━━━━━━━

‣ armin arlert x reader | attack on titan masterlist | altruistic masterlist | 716 words | fluff, armin being awkward lmao, cute interaction

‣ an excerpt from altrustic's part 3 but also a sneak peek of part 4. i enjoyed writing this first interaction between reader and armin so i wanted to make a oneshot off it :) more to come in the series!

He initially disagreed with the idea.

He knew he had to try harder, talk louder, get stronger. Maybe this was the start to his journey. Huffing down a shaky sigh and thrashing his hands against his sleeves, his throat clears for his beginning sentence.

“...[Y/N]..?”

It’s timid and meek. Could he hear himself? Did you even hear him?

When you don’t stir from your position, he tries again.

“[Y/N]?”

And then he finally sees you. The skin around your eyes was red and agitated, probably a result from lack of sleep. Your blinks were lavishly slow as you peered at him, the moment of recognition crossing onto your face right before Armin’s eyes.

“...Hey, Armin.”

You greet him carefully, he notices. He glances to the beacon of light.

“Aren’t you heading to dinner..?”

Your hand falls to dangle by your shoe.

“..Not tonight. I’m not hungry.”

He pops his knuckles at his sides. 

“You sure? Skipping meals isn’t good for you..”

“I’m sure.”

His frown deepens. 

You’ve nestled back into your home already, staring upon the shadows filtering throughout the camp. 

..His footsteps trudge over to the steps, and you face him when he sits beside you, body position matching yours. Armin lost his stare into the forest, fingers tapping sporadically from where they laid over his biceps. He doesn’t mind that you observe him. 

Armin was a calm in the storm type of person. His best friend seemed to speak for three, never afraid to holler his frustrations, but on the other side of the spectrum lay this boy, the polite boy who loved to read. He’d apologize for existing, apologize for taking up space, before he ever sat down to introduce himself. 

“You’re easy to watch.”

It took everything in you to not choke. Armin instantly panicked.

“I-In training, I mean..! When we’re doing drills? Combat drills?”

His words puddled out in a hurry, the skin of his cheeks blaring bright red. 

“I just mean, you’re impressive! Or, inspiring? I uh, I’m not good at that stuff, so-,”

Your sudden boisterous laughter made him freeze. Armin couldn’t see your face anymore now that it was ducked over your thighs, shoulders trembling with cackles. Your arms caressed your aching stomach as if it could cease the attack, but it just kept advancing. 

“Uh…”

Finally rising off your thighs, you swooped in deep breaths to calm your heartbeat, a couple giggles escaping here and there.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you laugh..”

You waved him off with a hand. 

“No, no, don’t be. I liked it.”

His face was a never ending tomato. Now it looked like he was sweating a bit. 

“But, what you were saying…you watch me?”

Armin smacked both palms to his face. “I was trying to compliment your skills, but I apologize that it came off as stalkerish.”

Another wave of laughs pass through your smile. “It didn’t, it just caught me really off guard.”

He reveals his blue eyes to you again. “That’s good, I guess..”

Your expression slightly dims when you turn away from him.

“Well, thank you.”

Armin’s lips part, but then close.

He’s relieved when you wave him off, instead of barreling down on him like the weirdo he is. You even thanked him for his terrible attempt at a compliment, and it makes him want to smile. He didn’t mess this one up..!

Wafting through the crevices, the moon rejoins you on the steps, this time encasing Armin in her light, as well. By now, the mess hall was dismissed, sending cadets off to bed to end the day and rest for tomorrow. 

“Guess dinner’s over..”

His comment reawakes your reality, that tomorrow brings new hardships and restless nights. It makes you grimace.  

“I’m gonna..head off to bed. Goodnight, Armin.”

When you finally part ways for the night, he feels like there’s more to say, more he has to get off his chest, but he can see how exhausted you are.Enough is enough for tonight, he decides, and he bids you goodnight. He daringly feels better on the walk to bed, somehow proud of himself for speaking to someone new. He doesn’t register his best friend’s greeting inside, instead heading straight for his bunk with a dazed smile on his face.

[unspokenlly]

IDOL AU! (Oshi No Ko AU) - Twisted Wonderland x Reader (Part 1)

(this post was inspired by @merakiui 's idol!darling au!)

[ reader is female ]

i'm not sure if anyone has heard of this manga (soon to be anime), but it's called Oshi No Ko! it involves an idol named Ai Hoshino who is a talented and beautiful idol (with starry eyes). however, she struggles with love as she herself has never loved nor has been 'loved' (this isn't a spoiler as it had been shown in the sypnosis before, but she was also pregnant with twins at the age of 16). she also says that a 'lie' or lying is a form of love as well which bring the thought of..

Idol! darling who is like Ai Hoshino. she is an exceptional idol who catches the hearts of many, alluring many with her eyes. however, she struggles to actually love despite saying she loves her fans. she dreams of wanting to love and wants her happiness to be true. imagine, twst cast getting their hearts captured by her charismatic self, but there are those who are also wary of her once they come to know that she has a (lot of) secret(s)..

i imagine a lot of twst cast would discover her secret but i'll just narrow it down to a few characters for now and give my two cents about them!

characters involved: azul, idia, vil, mentions of rook, riddle, cater, floyd, jade

warning: themes of yandere, teenage pregnancy, blackmail, stalkerish behaviours.

azul, who discovers there was something about her and the way she brings herself up. she was definitely talented. a beauty. someone who would be a great asset to future investments and businesses.. but what's this? he discovers that she's not what she seems to be? she's an idol made up of lies. who wears a mask of a perfect idol, to become the embodiment of pure? and a mother too? to twins? how very interesting! once azul discovers this and uses it against idol!darling, he thought he'd be able to use it as a means to pull her into a contract (blackmail) but instead, she smiles? 

"Oh, that's quite troublesome! Hehe, I guess you discovered that part of me, huh? Well.. yes, lying is morally and socially unacceptable but.." The way her eyes stared right into his, irises that twinkled like the stars above and orbs drawn like a glyph.. "In the eyes of many, idols are creatures who shine as bright as the cosmos, who love and are loved…" Oh, sevens. 

".. And I am an idol. Lying is a form of love too. An idol like me who's at the very top will keep on lying again and again so I can keep everyone from the stage happy!" Azul unknowingly gulped a bile from his throat, watching the idol who shined as if she was on the stage performing in front of him. 

"Still though.. For you to discover that I'm actually a mother… It's kinda depressing that the secret is out of the bag, but… no matter what, I'll still do whatever it takes to continue being an idol! I still haven't achieved my dream of being happy.. I'm quite greedy, after all."

And he was completely entranced. a victim to a siren's calls, except this one was made up of lies. 

for idia, i imagine the aspect he liked about her was her eyes the most. her cute disposition and how refreshing her personality was. even though she was a bit childish, there was something about her that was not at all childish. so when he found out she wasn't actually what she seemed to be, he thought he was gonna be repulsed by her 'fakeass' but it turns out he found himself falling for her more. like a character from a tragedy-tagged story, there was so much depth to her that he was just itching to find. 

idia was a genius. he can use any means to find her secrets. hacking into streets cameras to stalk her, finding out so many things about her that even fans wouldnt know but most of all… her biggest secret. for now though, he was satisfied. he had bought several merchandise of her to her lightsticks, mugs and even standee and perhaps, for now those were enough to keep him occupied of his growing love for her.

there was something about idol!darling that vil found himself suspicious about… he was in the shooting of a film, and there was darling who was casted as a side character for the movie. at first, he admits she was beautiful, even more so than the main protagonist of the film. so when he approached her out of pure curiousity and because of the memories of a certain hunter practically raving about an idol who caught his eye, he wasnt suprised (yet mildly disappointed) to find out that despite her beauty, her personality was unpolished. she spoke with no professionalism whatsoever. a bumpkin like epel.

however, she was a joyful one who always had a smile on. but that wasn't the biggest aspect of her whole person. she was like a present. waiting to be unwrapped to reveal what's inside. he felt that she had layers on her that she hid, but he didnt mind. idols, celebrities, the showbiz industry was like that after all. however, idol!darling was someone who shone with those layers. layers of appealing gift wrapping. and vil wondered if those lovely, hidden truths of hers will show what she truly is one day. would she still be shining like a star? as lovely as what everyone makes her out to be?

it's questions like those that left vil pondering if this were the thoughts that ran through rook's head as he sang poems and verses about the 'idol who was the reincarnation of the first star', never missing a concert or event that involved her. he wanted to scoff at himself, and perhaps blame rook for talking his ear off about this bumpkin of an idol. but who could blame vil when idol!darling is just so lovely.

riddle who became interested in idol!darling after he saw a few of his dormmates doing those strange dances to a video of an idol on-screen who was singing. after telling his dormmates off, he became curious at this idol with stars in her eyes rather than her music and performance. no, it was her own self that he became curious about. the following days after watching several videos about her and listening to her music, he started humming her songs while reviewing or stare long at his phone while wearing a set of earphones while he was sitting in the courtyard… alone, he thought until cater discovers him. cater, who had become a fan of idol!darling for a long time and had bought tickets for her upcoming concert. 

cater, who discovered the cute idol from his recommendations as his playlist was playing high-streamed music. who became fond of her for her appearances in entertainment shows or live audience games. her 'charming' personality that captured his heart. he would invite riddle and trey to the concert as he won an extra set of tickets for himself and his club members!

floyd and jade, who fell in love with her at first sight for her, well, everything! ever since they discovered her and came to know more about her thru those concerts they attend and videos they stream and watch,...there was something about her that they just oh so want to pick apart, but couldn't! her declarations of love always left a stuffy feeling in their heart.. in a dark, twisted, way. why, she is just so, so, lovely.. they never missed a show! never. even if it meant making a deal with azul for work. but nowadays, it seems they didnt even have to do so for azul would go with them to those events!

THIS TOOK ME ABOUT 3 HRS TO MAKE INCLUDING THE HEADERS AND BANNERS, THIS HAD BEEN IN MY HEAD EVER SINCE OSHI NO KO TRAILER CAME OUT and because the song 'Idol' by Yoasobi had come out (unofficially in Youtube). if you guys have any thoughts about this, feel free to send an Ask!

this is just part 1 of the au.

[minimickzy]

Pretty In Pink || Misty Quigley

For the lovely and talented @peach-and-bugs sometimes we all need a story to escape into.

-and guys I haven't written fanfic since like 2019- please be kind lol! I wanted to have this done tonight so I actually wrote this during a 4 hour car ride (Also Blane is the love interest from Pretty in Pink and Molly Ringwald is the actress)

Characters: Misty Quigley (pre-crash) x Reader,

Word count: 2118

Sophomore year of high school you knew two things about Misty Quigley.

She was incredibly misunderstood and

She was in desperate need of a friend.

You knew it would be easy to at least start a friendship with Misty. She was talkative and was happy to get any type of attention. All you had to do was slide into one of the many empty seats at her lunch table and smile. From there it was never-ending conversation and hangouts.

To your surprise- and slight concern- Misty had walls built up pretty damn high and wasn’t easy to gain the trust of. She picked up more social cues than people gave her credit for. She had just been bullied to the point that the idea of you- let alone anyone- actually wanting to be her friend was unbelievable.

When you finally cracked her you could see her personality flip. Her eyes lit up, and smiles filled her whole face not just her lips, even her posture straightened up a bit. Who knew all it would take is saying that you liked The Phantom Of The Opera?

As soon as the walls fell she was an open book. Entrusting you with her deepest, darkest, secrets and in turn listening to yours. She would pick out tiny little things about you and gush about them to anyone who would listen. She even became the equipment manager after you joined the soccer team.

After two years of friendship, you couldn’t imagine life without her. And she seemed to feel the same.

Your friendship with Misty was different. No one outside of the two of you understood. She was just a little… quirky. She would put notes in your locker every day with complaints- sometimes coming off as tiny but stalkerish but you found it endearing. Sometimes if someone was even the tiniest bit rude to you, the next day their locker would randomly have rotten fruit in it. (one time a guy's car had its tires slashed after he called you a bitch).

People harassed her incessantly. You tried to stop it, even getting into a few fights over it but it was never ending and Misty had become a pro at brushing it off.

After all, as long as she had you it didn’t feel like it mattered what others said.

You weren’t sure when your feelings had changed from platonic toward your best friend. You had only realized when, as embarrassing as this is, you had walked in on Van and Tai in the locker room. They didn’t see you- thank god- but it was a push you needed to confront that seeing them felt right the way couples like Jackie and Jeff never had.

That event sent you into a spiral. You thought back to your so-called crushes. All boys from school- none of which you realized you had any urge to even hold a conversation with. You started to analyze movies. Seeing how the love interests interacted, looked at each other.

It started to click. There was only one person you felt that way towards.

A month or two into senior year was when everything came to a crashing halt. You and Misty were having your usual movie night like all other Saturdays. Slightly curled into each other on Misty’s bed. Her hair was pulled half up, p.j. top slowly slipping further down her shoulder. She had put her retainer in before the movie so all of her little quips had a slight lisp to them.

Adorable. She was simply adorable. This was a common thing for you to acknowledge now. What made tonight stand out from all the other movie nights for the past two years was a small conversation between the two of you.

Pretty in Pink played on the screen. It was one of the few VHSs that she owned, you two had probably seen it a good 20 times. You didn’t mind though. It was great background noise for your thoughts. Wandering from the last soccer match, to Misty’s bouncy curls, to the math quiz you should probably study for.

“Hey, do you want to know a secret?” You peered down to meet Misty’s eyes, her neck craning to look up at you from her position slightly further down the bed.

“Always.” You cracked a smile at how giddy she had become.

She pushed herself up to face you, kneeling- waiting for you to mirror her.

When you were sat facing her she took your hands, lifting and dropping them as she spoke. “You have to promise not to tell.”

“Of course.”

“Like never. Not a single soul.”

You took one of your hands from hers and stuck your pinkie in front of her face.

“Swear”

She took your pinky in hers and smiled, momentarily squeezing before wrapping her hand back around yours and setting them in her lap.

“Okay so-“ she whispered, looking around with wide eyes to check that no one was around, “you know when I said that I thought Blane was hot?”

You nodded, a little confused about where this was going.

“That wasn’t true- I just wanted to be him. Molly Ringwald is so pretty! I know it’s like totally wild but I want to kiss her so bad!”

Your brain stopped. Just for a second.

“Oh!” It came out as a yell, much more sudden and loud than you had meant. “I totally get that- yeah like- how could you not want to kiss her?” You could feel your hands becoming more clammy by the second.

“I know right!” Misty giggled and rolled her eyes happily as she turned to face the screen again.

With her gaze locked onto the TV, you took a deep breath- you felt like you needed to run away. Escape back into the safety of not having to confront your feelings. But you knew you had to stay. Firstly- did wanting to kiss a girl even mean that you’re gay? Or did girls do that to friends and people they admire? And if Misty had just come out to you- If you left now she’d probably think that you were disgusted by her.

So you stayed. Trying to act as normal as possible. Pretending to be asleep to avoid late-night conversations that normally lead to loose lips.

~

Come practice on Monday, the sleepover was still on your mind. Misty picked up on your funk. She always did. You brushed it off that you were up late the night before. It wasn’t a total lie. You spent half of the night replaying every moment in Misty and your relationship, trying to find any hints.

You earned a few glares from Tai and Jackie. You didn’t blame them. You were off your game.

At the end of the day, Misty was heading towards you at the team bench but Coach Martinez called her over to help with clean up before she could reach you.

You let out a sigh of relief, wanting to avoid any more awkwardness for the day.

“Woah, trouble in paradise?” You jumped a bit. You hadn’t realized Van was still on the bench behind you.

“Huh?” You asked stupidly.

“I just thought you and Misty were close. Are you good?”

Van was nothing if not perceptive. No one on the team understood- or even seemed to like Misty. Most of them refused to interact with you outside of practice too. Acting as if you’d pass on her “crazy” to them.

Van was never like that though. She seemed to have her own run-ins with bullying. She would sometimes make small comments and jokes but would still be kind to both of you.

You looked at her. Trying to gauge if she actually wanted to know if you were good. Her look wavered, becoming more serious. “Dude, are you okay?” She tried again.

You sat down next to her. Your eyes refused to meet hers as you looked out across the field towards the school.

It was just the two of you.

“Can I ask you something personal?” You knew that Van would say yes. It didn’t matter that the two of you weren’t close. She was always there for anyone on the team.

“Sure- I reserve the right to plead the fifth though.” Always one to try and keep it light.

“How did you figure out that you and Tai were gay?”

Van sucked in a breath next to you. “I uh- Tai isn’t-“

You finally turned to her. “I saw you guys. In the locker room.” The redheads face went pale. She seemed to brace for impact. “I won’t tell anyone. I just am confused. I don’t know who else to talk to.”

Van didn’t relax.

“Please”, the variability in your voice surprising even you.

She nodded and it was her turn to break the eye contact. “I don’t really know. To be honest I thought Tai was straight. Right up until the moment she kissed me. Fuck even after that I thought she was just a curious straight girl who pegged me for a dyke.” She let out a dry chuckle and winced towards the ground. “Do you think you’re gay? Or…”

You nodded. “Yeah, I figured that out a few months ago.”

Silence lingered between the two of you. Van kicked her feet, ripping up bits of dirt and grass with her cleats.

She spoke up gently, “Do you think Misty is gay?”

You dropped your head into your hands. “I don’t know. I think so.”

“Look- fuck- I don’t know Misty and I don’t really understand her but I do see a lot as a goalie. And Misty is obsessed with you. She looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.”

You chuckled, “Yeah- I know. But she’s always been like that. I think she’d treat anyone who was her friend that way.”

“Or she’s just always been into you.”

“Oh.” You furrowed your eyebrows, “I guess I didn’t think about that.”

Van barked out a laugh. The heaviness of the conversation gone. “Has she ever hinted at being into girls?”

“Well…” she looked at you expectingly, you debated on keeping Misty’s secret but decided that after Van had opened up and trusted you about her and Tai it's only fair you return the favor “On Saturday she told me that she was into Molly Ringwald.”

“Dude that’s totally dyke behavior!” She slaps your arm.

The two of you walked back to the locker room together. Misty was waiting for you, as she always did. As soon as her eyes landed on Van you could see the anger- jealousy?- immediately.

“Woah, Misty, I’m not trying to steal your lady- cool it” Van held her hands up in surrender and turned to wink at you so Misty couldn’t see.

Misty huffed and tapped her foot as Van quickly grabbed her stuff and saluted to you as she pushed open the locker room door.

When the door banged shut after her Misty pinned you to your spot with a worried look.

She opened her mouth and you saw her lip quiver. So naturally you blurted out, “I’m gay!”

Her mouth snapped shut and she looked at you confused. “Okay?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “that’s it?”

“Well yeah- I mean I already knew that?”

“What?”

“We’ve been together for like a few months.” You looked at her like she grew a second head, “Misty what the actual fuck are you talking about?”

“Do you not remember?” She let out a exacerbated sigh and laughed lightly, “This makes so much sense! I was wondering why you got so freaked out about the Molly Ringwald thing. I thought you were jelous and mad at me!” She laughed again and moved to take one of your hands in hers as you stood in shock. “When we were on the bus back from the game at West Side, and I told you that I loved you and you said I love you too. I meant like love love.”

You took your free hand and face plamed. “Oh my god. You’re joking.”

She laughed gleefully, “No! I was getting worried you were losing interest or someone else had got your attention.”

“I don’t think that’s even possible.”

Her eyes were sprakingly under the bright fluoresces of the locker room. “Does that mean that I can kiss you? Because believe me I’ve been holding back.” She squeezed your hand excitingly and shifted more into your space.

“Yeah- that sounds cool.” You were still smiling when she lunged towards you, bumping you back into the lockers with the force. You laughed into the kiss and she let out a tiny squeal of glee.

~

Send in yellowjackets requests!

[curawrites]

Secret Admirer

Xavier Thorpe x fem! Reader

Warnings: smoking weed, skinny dipping, alcohol, nudity, reader has stalkerish tendencies but not really.

Note: binged Wednesday recently and this man is all over my fyp. This is also a bit self indulgent 💚

A new semester has started at Nevermore, which meant a bustling school filled with a bunch of new outcasts of all kinds. 

Xavier felt indifferent, not excited for the new semester with everyone gossiping about his break up with Bianca.

Nevertheless he set his painting stuff down in front of a brick wall, ready to paint a new mural. He sighed and tied his hair back before grabbing a large paint brush.

Instead of feeling the familiar wood handle of the brush he felt the unexpected texture of paper.

A piece of folded paper was tied around the brush handle. Curious he untied the little string bow and unfolded the paper to reveal a drawing of a camellia flower. He smiled to himself and put the little drawing in his pocket.

His secret admire was back.

Before he got into a relationship he frequently had found little sketches, poems, and tiny paintings from an anonymous person. He found them everywhere, on his desk, in his fencing helmet, in his art shed, in his Nightshade mask and cloak, and even in his dorm like someone had slipped it under the door.

He thought it was a little weird at first but eventually he looked forward to finding the hidden little pieces of paper. The way they drew him so beautiful and with so many cheesy hearts made his heart slightly flutter whenever he opened the folded papers.

Once he got with Bianca he stopped finding them. He was a little disappointed but he was glad his secret admirer respected his relationship.

After finding a fourth drawing, Xavier decided to put more thought into who was behind them. They had to be apart of the Nightshade considering he found one in his cloak. This slimmed down his options but he still had no idea who it could be.

“Got something from my secret admire today.” He said as he sat down next to Ajax.

“Oh they’re back?” Ajax grinned elbowing the long haired boy beside him.

“Seems so.” Xavier shrugged, “Do you have any idea who it is? They have to be a Nightshade.” He asked glancing at his friend.

“I think it’s Yoko’s roomie.” Ajax stated pointing towards you with his head.

Xavier knew of you obviously, you were in the Nightshade after all. But he knew very little, all he knew was that you liked art and that you were a siren. He’s had brief interactions with you but nothing ever significant.

You were shy and always kept to yourself, only ever really talking with Yoko and the other sirens.

“You think?” Xavier questioned, “I’ve barely talked to them like ever.”

“She’s the only one other than you who can draw.” Ajax shrugged.

Xavier nodded in agreement, “True.”

The conversation faded into silence and the boys went back to eating their lunches.

Now with a slightly better ideas Xavier kept an eye out for you in your shared classes.

In fencing class he found a little canvas in his equipment, it was a very tiny painting of the Kiss by Gustav Klimt. He smiled fondly to himself before putting it in his uniform pocket.

Stepping out to the practice room, he noticed your fencing partner Yoko was missing. You stood alone to the side awkwardly.

“Hey, you wanna maybe partner up? For this class?” He asked approaching you, accidentally startling you.

“Um, don’t you usually partner up with Ajax?” You asked fidgeting with your sabre.

“Yeah but he can go one class without me. So what do you say?” He smiled down at you.

“Sure. We can partner up, Xavier.” You agreed, smiling kindly up at the boy.

“Yoko’s planing a little party at the lake Friday night.” You whispered to him while watching Bianca and Wednesday spar.

“Yeah?” He leaned down to hear you.

“Yoko is planing on making drinks, I know Ajax is bringing weed, Divina wants to skinny dip, you know Nightshade party stuff.” He nodded, listening to you.

“Do you think you’ll go?” You asked looking up at him.

Xavier thought about it, the Nightshade hadn’t had an outing to the lake in a while, “Yeah sure.” He agreed.

“Great!” You nodded, before focusing back on the two girls sparring.

Friday came faster than Xavier expected and he kept finding more little sketches. He was a bit more certain it was you. In one of your shared classes (botany) he watched you sketch, your art style was suspiciously familiar and the pages of your sketchbook were ripped. But he couldn’t be certain.

He and Ajax made their way to the lake, Ajax had the weed while Xavier was carrying their towels.

“Hey guys!” Divina greeted from the water, tail splashing in and out of the water, spraying Kent behind her. 

The area was lit with decorative lights, and Yoko had set up her own area to mix drinks.

“Hey!” Ajax walked over to the dock placing down his weed on a box.

Xavier greeted some friends placing the towels down on the dock.

You were on the edge of the dock, taking off your nightgown. Your iridescent scales shined in the light, they shifted from orange to yellow to green.

“Hi.” You shyly waved at Xavier before taking off your panties and placing them with your other things.

“Hey.” He greeted returning your wave before you dove into the water.

Once you were fully submerged in the water your legs shifted into a green iridescent tail.

You swam around for a little while, scavenging for rocks and shiny things.

While you were off in your own world, Xavier got curious and started looking through your sketchbook. He flipped threw a few pages admiring your art until he landed on a drawing of him. The more he flipped threw the more he found torn pages, pages that were cut and uneven, and more little drawings of him. He quickly closed the sketchbook seeing you swim up to the dock.

You placed your findings on the edge of the dock, many rocks and lost jewelry before noticing Xavier’s hand on your sketchbook. You looked up at him shyly, a slightly guilty look in your eyes. You sank back into the water and swam towards Yoko. She made you a drink which you gladly took and started drinking.

After witnessing your reaction, Xavier started to panic, it wasn’t his intention to have you catch him. He didn’t want to scare you off, he genuinely enjoyed your admiration. He had to fix this.

Quickly he took off his clothes and got in the water. He swam over to the other dock where all the other Nightshade members were chatting, drinking and smoking weed. Ajax gave him a blunt, which he gladly took and lit.

While taking a hit of the blunt he glanced over at you. You were sipping your cocktail while chatting with Bianca and Divina.

“So girls night Sunday? Ok. That sounds great.” You nodded before downing your drink.

You swam closer to him setting your glass on the dock, “Hey Yoko? Can you make me another drink, please?” You asked politely.

“Course!” Yoko replied and took your glass.

“Thanks!” You smiled at the girl before turning to talk with the others.

Maybe it was the weed talking but Xavier couldn’t help but find you stunning. Your scales shined in the soft light, your skin and hair were wet, and of course you were topless. Your bare breasts were fully exposed, and your nipples were perked.

While he was admiring you, Yoko had finished making your drink.

“Here’s your drink!” She set the glass down on the dock

“Thanks Yoko!” You thanked grabbing the glass, before returning to the conversation you were having.

Feeling bold Xavier wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you a bit closer to his body. You glanced up at him surprised at his boldness. He smiled seeing the redness of blush bloom on your cheeks.

You were so flustered, the way Xavier looked and smiled at you made butterflies erupt in your tummy. Turning your gaze back to your drink to avoid his. You take a sip looking back at your other friends.

Xavier’s hand kept stroking your side, sometimes getting low enough to touch your more solid scales. The more you drank the more you leaned into his side, finally resting your head on his shoulder. Many people had already left to back to their dorms at this point.

“You look so pretty right now..” he murmured into your damp hair, blunt put out and left in the water.

You blushed, “Your prettier, Xavi..” you mumbled back. “I like you a lot y’know.. for a while.” you admitted.

“I know.” He smirked lazily, “I like you to.” He confessed.

You looked up at him wide eyes.

“God your so cute.” He cooed making you even more flustered.

“Stop..” you whined before downing your drink. “I’m ready to go back to my dorm.” You yawn setting down your glass.

“I’ll go with you.” Xavier offered more like stated, immediately.

You nodded and swam towards the other dock where you had your stuff. Your pushed yourself out of the water and sat on the dock, “don’t look while I dry off, Thrope.” You tease grabbing your towel.

“Same goes to you.” Xavier replied back before getting out of the water.

You started by drying your tail off until it shifted back into your legs. You put your panties back on before drying the rest of your body. You slipped your night gown back on and packed your things. Lastly you slipped your shoes back on.

“Ready?” Xavier asked, holding his now damp towel.

“Yeah.” You walked over to him, a bit wobbly because of the alcohol.

He wrapped an arm around you and helped you back to Nevermore. On the wall back you progressively started to lean and cling more and more into him until he was supporting you entirely.

The walk was long but the both of you made it to the dorms.

“Thank you Xavier.” You yawned opening your dorm door.

“It’s no problem.” He smiled and scratched the back of his neck.

The clacking of heels echoed in the silent hallways. Quickly you pull Xavier into your dorm and shut the door.

“Woah, easy there.” He said stumbling a bit.

“Sorry, just didn’t want to get caught.” You said matter of factly.

“Well.. what now hm?” He asked looking over your side of the dorm.

“You could stay the night.. um if you want..” You mumbled hanging you bag on the chair by your desk.

“Beats being caught by Thornhill.” He sighed, throwing his towel on the ground, “Where do I sleep.”

“Um..” you looked around your dorm, the effects of the alcohol had worn off by now making you much more shyer. “You could um.. sleep in my bed- or the floor I can get more blankets and pillows.” You offered, stress brushing your hair.

“I’ll take your bed over the floor. Is that ok?” He asked sitting on your bed.

“It’s all good.” You blushed and got in bed and faced the wall your bed was against.

Xavier got in after you, facing away from you.

The both of you laid in silence for a while. He could faintly feel you shiver against his back. He flipped onto his over side and wrapped an arm around you.

Half awake you scooted back into him, his body was warm and comfortable. No longer cold you quickly fell asleep.

Your soft breathing slowly lulled him to sleep.

Yoko had entered the dorm a few minutes later, seeing you and Xavier cuddled in bed made her chuckle. She took a picture of the two of you, for what? Blackmail? Perhaps. Mostly to show to the other Nightshade and win that bet she had with Kent. She grabbed her things and snuck back out to go to Divina’s dorm.

The next morning would be an interesting one to explain to your friends..

[yanderes-stuff]

Yandere Johnathon Ohnn x Scientist Reader

(Forgive me if this sucks. I have a sinus infection and can barely focus but I need to dump my brain.)

Johnathon worked at Alchemax long before you did, to him it was just another day of tedious work. Then he heard rumors of a new worker coming, it was nothing too uncommon in the laboratory though.

Then he actually got to meet you, he had to approach you while you were doing papers. He couldn't help but notice how soft your expression was; everybody else seemed so tense and yet you just seemed happy to be there. He really… really liked that.

He couldn't help but watch you from afar whenever Livv was not hovering over his shoulder attempting to finish his project. He remembers having guards shoo him away whenever he came to visit you when you had overtime. You had your head down peacefully on a desk of messy papers, you seemed so tired… He really would've grabbed you a blanket if he had gotten the chance.

Sooner or later he begins to realize his fascination with you is more than it seems, Ohnn never really understood his emotions but he could tell you already had a special place in his mind. 

He eventually becomes a bit stalkerish. Watching you from a window whenever you clock out of work. He had to make sure you were safe, and just generally kept an eye on you. But the more your friend group grows the more jealousy he feels.

Ohnn was very easily jealous of others, he never felt satisfied with what little he had. He always felt the need to do more. The need to prove himself; And it seemed like he was finally understanding that you might be an opportunity for that.

Finally, he gathers the courage to talk to you, it was just a normal break when Ohnn nervously approached you. His awkward frame loomed over you as he held a cup of coffee gently in his clammy palms. But what struck him as odd was the fact you treated him… normally, there wasn't even a trace of discomfort on your face despite Ohnn being deemed a freak by your coworkers, your friends.

Talking to you was addicting, he slowly started to insert himself whenever he got the chance when you were alone. At first, you were flattered such an astounding scientist wanted to speak to you. But you were quickly getting distracted by him, It wasn't anything personal it was just. Between your friends, your work, and him. There was no room left for him.

His jealousy was quickly growing, he felt cast aside. Though it wasn't completely your fault, no no no. It was your friend's fault, it was your boss's fault. They were making it more difficult for him to form anything meaningful with you. 

He would begin to make little gifts for you, leaving you a little homemade lunch instead of the usual cafeteria food. (which surprisingly tasted good for somebody whose diet was mostly takeout and energy drinks.) And he'd leave little love notes on your desk.

He watched in joy as you ate his lunch, and how your feet kicked for a moment reading his rather unprofessional romantic notes.

But what made him regret those little actions was the fact he was too scared to sign it. A co-worker took credit for his gifts! Both of them had similar handwriting… and of course, somebody else would have a thing for you, ugh.

He considered confessing it was him and that your co-worker was a liar. But at this point, his image was already ruined, he was considered bizarre before you came. And it only grew every day, especially with the new rumors of him being a stalker. But that didn't even agitate him, it was observing your new love flirt and spend time together. 

He only had one other option now, and seeing how things seemed at the moment he'd need to act fast before his emotions made him do something even more drastic. 

He came in early like usual, you usually came shortly after. He could tell you were trying to climb the Alchemax ladder and he couldn't help but admire that. It also gave him a chance to fulfill his plan, so he approached you. Explained that he had a discovery he wanted to show you. The excitement you held in your face was adorable, and he led you into his room and closed the door behind him.

As soon as you stepped inside, looking around searching for his discovery, he wrapped his forearm around your throat. Squeezing your body against him as he placed his palms roughly against your mouth. Your screams were muffled as you thrashed, Ohnn wasn't strong by any means but he was around 6'5. And in the choke hold he had you in there was a slim chance of breaking free. He held you there while muttering apologies and trying to comfort you, expressing that he wasn't going to hurt you. As long as you didn't make him.

You eventually passed out in his arms, how adorable! Now it was time to actually show you his discovery…

There was a portal he kept hidden in his personal laboratory, he explored it himself. Memorizing the terrain. And now that he had you to himself, it seemed like you and him were going to explore the multiverse together… Finally, everything that has been distracting you will be put behind you. 

He was going to find a way to make you dependent on him, so don't try to resist him please… it'll only make you hurt, and he doesn't like hurting you. But he's not above it either for more control~

[lees-chaotic-brain]

blond o sonic shimmer trap by the arctic monkeys, geto, any sort you want, curious to see how you interpret the lyrics if you do pick my ask :3

WC: 1.7k

CW: suggestive, reader has female pronouns, reader is a bit unhinged, kinda stalkerish behavior from geto, nothing serious though

Notes: i'll admit i had a bit of trouble with this one, but i also had a lot of fun and liked how it turned out!! thanks for sending this in nonnie!! but let me know what you think of how i interpreted the lyrics!!

listen to this while reading

taglist: @arlerts-angel @ponderingmoonlight (lmk if you want to be added to the event taglist!)

Event Guide | Event Masterlist | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

The first time he saw you you were dancing. The sparkling of your black dress had caught his attention, drawing his eyes past the flashing strobe lights and crowd of writhing bodies straight towards you. It was almost like you were calling out to him, telling him to watch.

And so he did. He watched as you twirled and swayed and moved with the music, dancing with wild abandon. Your dancing wasn’t particularly skilled, but there was something so raw, so real, about the way you moved. Something that compelled the viewer to want to get to know you. 

Black as a beacon

In a river of shimmering fog

But Geto Suguru was not known for his forwardness when it came to interacting with women, particularly pretty women. So week after week he returned to watch you dance, always from a distance, never approaching you. In that time, he was only able to learn three things about you.

One: you were always wearing what he came to identify as your signature red lipstick. It was a unique shade, equal parts dark and bright that drew attention to the shape of your mouth. And he paid a lot of attention to your mouth. 

Fighting back his intrusive thoughts and vivid imagination he watched your mouth move as you sang along to songs. He watched the way your lips parted when you threw your head back, exposing the long column of your throat when you were fully immersed in a song. He always watched you, entranced by your spirit.

Two: you went to the club to dance every Friday night. It took him a little while to figure that out, but once he did he made sure he was always free on Friday. 

And finally, three: you were always alone. In the months he had spent watching you, he had never seen someone with you. You arrived alone, and you left alone. You didn’t seem like someone who would be hard pressed for friends, so this oddity only served to pique his interest more.

She was hard to ignore

Yes she was

He didn’t realize how much he had come to depend on his weekly sightings of you until you stopped showing up. For four weeks straight there was no sign of you, and it was unnerving. He immediately jumped to worst case scenarios and feared he would never see you again.

As soon as that thought entered his head, he immediately regretted not approaching you sooner. God he was such an idiot. He should have gotten to know you when he still had the chance, when you still showed up every week, instead of being such a goddamn coward. He promised himself that if he ever did see you again, he wouldn’t let his anxiety get the better of him. Next time he saw you he would say something.

So when he walked in the fifth week of you not being there and spotted you, he made a beeline straight towards where you were dancing, not allowing himself a chance to second-guess himself.

“Excuse me!” He has to shout to get your attention, and he taps you on the shoulder for good measure. You turn, and his breath catches in his chest when your eyes finally meet his. “U-uh hi.”

You squint at him, then your eyes light up in recognition. “It’s you!! Stalker guy! Finally grew some balls and approached me, huh?”

Stalker guy?!? You think he’s been stalking you? Well, technically he was, but he wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything. He just found you intriguing. He opens his mouth to say as much, but you cut him off with a laugh.

“Oh my god, the look on your face!!” You wheeze, folding over with the force of your mirth. Straightening you wipe a tear away and catch your breath. “Don’t worry. I didn’t think you were creepy or anything.”

You lean in, so close he can feel your breath hitting the shell of his ear, causing a full body shudder to run through him. “In fact, I was a little flattered that a man as attractive as you would go out of their way to watch little ol’ me.”

“Come outside with me.” He blurts before he can stop the words from leaving his mouth. Surprised, you jerk back a bit and peer into his face and he can tell your guard was up. “Why…?”

Realizing how it sounded, he immediately backtracked. “No no, I just mean I want to talk! To get to know you. I’ve regretted not getting your number for the last couple of weeks and you seem really interesting and I’m so sorry that is not how I meant it-”

“Okay.” Your simple reply cuts through his flustered rambling. “I’d like to get to know you too.”

And as you take his hand and lead him outside, a thrill runs through him, and he can’t help but wonder if every second with you was going to be this entertaining.

Well, time tastes bland

When she's not around

Stepping out into the cool night air, the two of you stand there for a moment taking in the refreshing feel of the breeze. 

“So.” You glance over your shoulder at him. “I don’t know what you had in mind, but I’m in the mood for a drive. What do you say? I didn’t drink and my car is right over there.” You gesture towards the left, in the direction of a volkswagen beetle. 

“Sure. Sounds good to me.” He smiles at you. He always takes a taxi to the club in case he has a drink, so it’s not like there’s anything keeping him there. “Shall we?”

You grin at him and skip off to your car. His heart skips a beat, and all he can think about is what he has to do to make you grin like that again. He could look at your smile all day. However, his internal simping was cut off by you yelling.

“Motherfucker!” You’re staring at the side of your car, then turn your furious gaze on the Cadillac parked haphazardly next to you. Hurrying over, he looks at what you’re looking at and understands why you’re upset. The car next to you had left a long scratch on the driver’s side of your car when pulling in, and instead of leaving their information, they had left a post-it. A post-it with a cheeky ‘sorry’ scrawled across it hastily.

“Sorry??!” You growl, rage radiating off you. “If you were sorry you would fucking pay for it!!!”

And before he can intervene, you let out a cry of rage and rip the side mirror of the offending car. For a moment all is silent and the two of you just stare at the mirror in your hands. You, with perplexed satisfaction, and him with shock.

Eventually you break the stunned silence. “Well, the asshole had it coming.” His eyes snap up to meet yours and the two of you dissolve into hysterical laughter. 

Yep. Things were never boring when you were around.

And she snapped

Wing mirrors off of Cadillacs

The particularly pretty ones

He can tell you’re up to something when a flash of mischief crosses your face and you unlock your car. He watches with anticipation as you fish your tube of lipstick, a sticky note, and a ballpoint pen out of your glove compartment. 

Quickly, you reapply your lipstick and kiss the mirror, leaving an imprint of your lips on it before balancing it on the windshield of the Cadillac. Then you spin around and write something on the sticky note, not letting him see what it says before slapping it on the car next to the mirror and getting into your own car. Gesturing for him to get in the passenger seat, you wait until he’s in and buckled before peeling out of the lot. 

You glance over at him, and as soon as you make eye contact the two of you are howling with laughter again. Once he calmed down enough to speak, he asked what you wrote on the post it note between gasping peals of laughter.

“Oh, that?” You smirk. “So sorry about your car!! I didn’t want to have to bend down to reapply my lipstick.”

“No you didn’t.” You look at him solemnly. “I did.”

The two of you were sent into yet another fit of laughter, the sound ringing out from your car, filling the cool night air with your joy.

And that

Meant she never had to strain her back

When she was putting her lippy on

While that night had been the first you spent hanging out and driving around aimlessly, it certainly wasn’t the last. There was something addictive about you, from the way you simply didn’t care what others thought, to the sound of your laugh. God, he could spend the rest of his life listening to your laugh.

Throughout the course of the many nights spent causing mischief and laughing he got to see the different sides of you. Sure, he was first interested in you because of how carefree and wild you were, but as he got to know you better, he realized that that was but one facet of your incredibly complex personality. 

You could be mischievous and wild and carefree, sure, but you were also immensely kind, as well as insanely smart and you had a melancholy side at times. But your complexity only added to his growing feelings towards you. 

While it was your wild side that ensnared him at first, it was you as a complicated and messy whole that made him fall in love. And he couldn’t have been happier that you trapped his heart at first sight because if you hadn’t he wouldn’t have met the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

She floats like a niccy rush but she stings like a B-flat

The Blond-o-Sonic Shimmer Trap

[lucillele]

𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞

Shuri x Black!fem!reader

Inspired by Love Language by SZA

warning: sappy stuff, angsty in the beginning

A/N: thank you @szalipcombo for giving me something to write and another song in my 61 hour playlist 🤧🤧 also ahh 42 followers 😆😆 i like this one but at the time I feel sort insecure about idk

Having lonely days and nights had unfortunately become an average day for you with Shuri not sticking around long in the mornings, if she even made it to bed that night, and maybe coming home to sleep for a few hours. You couldn’t blame her with all the events that had happened between Namor’s attack and her becoming the black panther but ever since you hadn’t been getting as much attention.

It got to the point where you would lay on her side when she wasn’t there or wear her clothes just to feel closer to her. She still told you how she loved you and how grateful she was for you in the moments that she was able to be with you. However, she had been quiet and closed off lately which again you couldn’t blame her for but you were starting to get desperate. Sometimes you went into the lab just to watch her in her element and left before she caught you knowing she probably knew you were there anyway with her now enhanced senses.

It was one of the rare nights that Shuri came home early enough to catch you awake. She had to come home because of how exhausted she was and basically collapsed into bed the moment she came in. She woke up a few hours later, around 3 am, surprised to see you awake. “Y/N?” She said, rubbing her eyes while turning to face you who was reading a book. You hummed in response instantly putting all of your focus on Shuri. “What are you doing up?” She said, sitting up a bit. “I just wanted to finish this book.” You said, doing your best to conceal the fact that you were lying. She already had a lot to deal with and you didn’t want to add more on top of it.

She gave you a stern look knowing you were lying and took the book out of your hands and set it on the bedside table. She turned to you, expecting an answer. “I know you love me and I’m not trying to make it seem like you don’t..but I want you to show me. I mean, I barely see you anymore. I come to the lab and sometimes I just watch you. I just…I want you to be around.” You said, biting your lip and avoiding her eyes in slight embarrassment for your glorified way of saying ‘I want attention’ and slightly stalkerish confession. There was a small moment of silence as Shuri thought for a bit. “You know that you can tell me anything right? And even if you don’t want to, I’m still here.” You said, grabbing her hand and giving it a slight squeeze making Shuri instantly pull you on top of her into a hug. She had been feeling her guilt build up every day not just over not spending time with you but with the death of her family and the attack on Wakanda. Still, she refused to talk about it or think about it and focus on the work that needed to be done and shut you out but oh how she wanted to hold you and for you to hold her and to tell you everything. She was hoping one day she would have the courage to come clean with you but you beat her to it.

You stayed like this for a good minute with Shuri rubbing circles on your back until she responded to your earlier confession. “I’m so sorry I made you feel that way, I do love you. More than you know.. I just have a lot to do and a lot to…heal from.” She said, now rubbing up and down your back while you completely relaxed in her arms. “I know but don’t feel like you have to rush for me.” You said, tilting your head to look up at her. “It’s no excuse. I want to be honest with you like you are with me. I promise I’ll do better.” She said, giving you a forehead kiss.

“You know what you could do?” You said, looking up at her. “What?” She said, thinking you were being serious. “I think you should get more than 5 hours of sleep.” You said with a bright smile that lightened up the mood, making her look away from you because she knew you were right. “I don’t think that will be possible.” She said, looking at the time. “Just sleep in, besides you have to make it up to me and we need to catch up.” You said, rolling off of her and cuddling into her side. Her face dropped to look at you with a deadpan look. “What does that mean?” Shuri asked sitting up more but you dragged her back down closer to you. “Don’t worry about it, baby.” You said, turning around before looking back which was your infamous sign to let her know that you wanted her to be the big spoon.

“You’re not making me feel better about it.” She said, chuckling. “Never said I would.” You said. You assumed she finally settled down to go to sleep as her arms moved around your waist only to be surprised when you felt her fingers tickle your sides. As you laughed your heart out, Shuri couldn’t help cheesing at hearing your laugh and seeing you smile so much. It didn’t take long for you to fold and apologize, making Shuri happily oblige. “Goodnight, my love.” She said giving you a cheek kiss and pulling the cover on the top of the two of you “Goodnight.” You mumbled, satisfied with how everything went.

[burgerkang000]

Email for better love lives

I HAVE A NAME FOR THIS ONE YAAAAAY

im doing the read more thing, cuz u know scrolling ugh

@beyoncesdragon @aixy-hpsa (if anyone else wanna be tagged, let me know!!!)

This is a Yunho fic!

enjoy?

You met San at a compulsory public speaking class, where only you both had to attend for grades; it was filled with nerds who came voluntarily. And your bond begin with bored out glances at each other and loud sighs exchanged. And after that you guys hung out a lot, went to get coffee while doing homework, caught rides with each other, and waved whenever your paths crossed.

You met Yunho when San wanted you to meet his friends that he wouldn’t stop talking about, which made you slightly jealous; you yearned for a bond like that. You pushed that thought away, nothing good comes with jealousy. And while San and his friends would go about their own business, you would stick to the side-lines, not knowing what to say or do, even though they try their best to include you.

Yunho would be the one to keep you company, actively telling you about his day and attentively listen when you were asked about yours. He would also help you study and take you out to grab coffee when San would be too busy.

Anyone would be a fool to not fall for Yunho, with his smile that make his eyes crinkle at the corners, teeth on display, fluffy hair. Who wouldn’t fall for him, at least you could keep it inside, and no one had to know.

“Look at Yunho in this picture, he looks so handsome” San shows you the pictures from your quick break before the exams to the arcade. You take a glance, damn. You know that the moment you open your mouth, you’re screwed.

“Hmm”

“I don’t like it when you’re vague” 

“Yes Yunho is cute” That’s all you plan on saying anyways, but you had to panic, because what if San thinks you’re not commenting on it too much and picks up that you’re crushing on Yunho? Ok, so you were overthinking.

“Too cute that it’s impossible he exists, I mean I see him every day but it’s not like I believe he’s real, there is a limit to being cute and all. I mean a recreation of a Greek god- I mean he should be a Greek God himself-”

You were cut short by San’s exploding laughter and as you voice your confusion to him, he still laughs until you violently shake him-

“Yah! Why are you laughing?”

He finally calms down enough to tell you-

“Just say you have a crush on him”

You open your mouth to deny-

“Admit it~” He says scrolling through his phone again.

You huff out, San was your best (read: only) friend, it wouldn’t hurt to tell him, so you nod the tiniest bit, and San grins from ear to ear.

“I mean, I didn’t see it coming, but when you started rambling off like that, it was obvious.”

You sigh.

“You tell this to anyone, I will personally murder you”

“Sure sure”

And after that, he thankfully let you change the topic.

 .

.

.

Ever since then, whenever you’d meet Yunho, right after that, you’d whip out your phone to text San; something vague like-

“He’s wearing a red sweater”

“He dyed his hair blue!”

“Kill me”

And then you’d go home and text San about how a person; a human, cannot simply be so beautiful, and ramble off about him.

 .

.

 .

“But sir, I don’t have an email” You tell the professor, who has just asked to submit your assignment by mail.

“Don’t whine to me, and make one, is there a student your age without email? How do you have social media accounts?”

“I don’t have them” you reply

“Just make one, it’s extremely useful, and won’t take much of your time” He said, in a brushing off manner, guess he doesn’t believe you.

You nod and sigh as you leave to the next class. If you can’t whine to your professor, you can whine to Yunho. Who listens to the whole thing like the god damn angel he is, and as you open your phone to create one, he gently coaxes it out of your hand, asks you if it’s okay if he creates one for you instead and when you nod he turns his attention to the phone, while you’re just dumbly staring at your hand, where Yunho’s hand made contact with yours.

“Look, I sent my self a mail using yours, lets chat on mail for a while, you can get used to it” He says, you nod, and talk for a while, and then Yunho had to go. You wave at him while he leaves and you text San.

“What’s your mail?”

And when you finally get it, you send him a mail.

URGENT: JEONG YUNHO TOUCHED MY HAND, I REPEAT JEONG YUNHO TOUCHED MY HAND, MOM COME PICK ME UP PLEASE.

I MEAN HE WAS FABULOUS TODAY TO, IF IT WASN’T OBVIOUS; HIS HAIR WAS SO SOFT I CLIKED A PIC, LOOK:

[Image attached]

DO ME A FAVOUR, WHEN I DIE, SIT ON THE VERY SAME CHAIR HE’S SITTING ON, LOOK AT THE SAME DEIRECTION HE’S LOOKING AT AND BURY ME THERE, WHILE YOUR AT IT PRINT THIS ON MY GRAVESTONE.

WHEN I DIE PLEASE TELL HIM I LOVE HIM IN THE OTHER WAY.

BYEBYE

Later that day you get a reply from San saying that you’re too dramatic and an email from Yunho, which you didn’t think much about the time. He was the one who wanted to talk in mail, so you open it and-

And you realise you accidently send it to him too.

*cue freak out*

“So I must have send it to him too-” San blinks at you for a while and then-

Laughs at your face saying random things like

“This is gold”

“Nonononono”

“Never in my life- never”

At this point, you think he’s just spewing English vines that he’s been watching a bit too much to be considered healthy. And now you’re overcome with sadness, and as soon as he notices, he starts apologising and you bow you head, you think you look like a rag doll, and then cry. And san runs circles on you back, occasionally tucking strands of hair behind you ear and wait till you finish.

After a good while of snot- running type of crying, puffy eyes and ringing ears, you start to ramble, a habit that got you here in the first place.

“I don’t think I’m ready for rejection, I mean I was perfectly fine watching him from the side-lines. Heck I would watch him get married and I’d probably say nothing, like I’m not dying inside, proceed to get married, I’m crying tears of happiness-”

“What makes you so sure that he’s going to reject you?”

“I don’t know ok? But this isn’t a movie, he sees me as a friend and I had to go and catch feelings for him.”

San sighs.

“So, what’re you going to do now?”

 .

.

.

It was hard, but you finally managed to blackmail San to help you avoid Yunho situations.

“And how long do you plan to do this?”

“Until my plane ticket and Visa to Alaska are approved and I change my name to Veronica Fall”

He looks at you, and the look speaks for itself, you’re being dramatic. You raise your arms in mock surrender and flop on top of the bed.

“Tomorrow everyone is hanging out, Yunho will be there, you coming?”

You pointedly grin at his cheeky expression, and he mimics the way you had surrendered just a few moments ago.

 .

.

.

You stare at the response you had given to all the missed calls from Yunho.

I’m busy

Sorry, I was showering

I’m going to be busy for a while.

And you watch as the three dots move, and then stop and then move again, you feel as if your heartbeat moves along with those dots, stopping when it disappears, and then finally a response.

We need to talk, I gave you your time, and it’s not fair.

You feel like this is a new side of Yunho you haven’t seen, an assertive one. And you realise, just because you’re a coward, doesn’t mean that you can leave Yunho in the dark, even though you have fears of Yunho leaving you, getting awkward; deep down, you know, that Yunho, he’d never treat your feelings as something useless. And that makes you feel more in love.

And who knows unrequited love may not be so bad, maybe, just maybe; for Yunho it might not be so bad.

Fine

After sending the last text, you get up to clean the place, take out boxes littered about, and books and papers all lying about that you haven’t cared to put away. You do the dishes, and tie your hair into a pony, you’re distracting yourself from the real problem of facing him, for now you let yourself do it; later, you can scream at yourself.

And a right when you reach for the broomstick that you had tucked in deep behind the storage room; you hear a knock at your door.

You don’t think much about it, until you open the door. Low and behold; Yunho was standing at the doorway, a determined look on his face and he walks past you into the house.

You can’t help but think; geez, come on in. But you’re just salty.

And he opens his phone and shows it at your face, too close to read, practically in between your eyes, its touching your nose too. And you’re the dramatic one.

“Explain; explain this email, that was, I figure, supposed to be sent to San, explain why you’ve been avoiding me and my calls, and wherever I go right after I replied to this, I’m not going or letting you go until you do.”

And his voice cracks at the end bit, but you don’t notice, you’re in a bubble of thinking; thinking how to phrase this, just overthinking; maybe.

And moments which feel like hours pass, and you decide to do this the ripping off the band aid way. But it turned out more like the ramble it off way

“I like you? No, no that came out wrong… I love you? Yes, I’m pretty sure I love you, and don’t worry I know you’re not into me that way-”

And you don’t know what really happened; there was a hand on your face, right under your nose, and he was right in front of you.

“Sometimes, everything you say is nonsense.” He breathes, you open your mouth to respond, and he applies more pressure with his palm, to keep you quiet. You can’t help but think of the way your lips mouthed at his palm, not the time; not the time at all.

And then he continues.

“You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that, the moment I got that email, it took me a few minutes to understand, but when I did, I already pictured our five adopted cats, not gonna lie”

Your eyes widen in shock, did he just indirectly say he like you back, in the form of cats? This is why you fell for him in the first place.

“Did I creep you out? I must have creeped you out, forget I said that.”

And you laugh behind his palm, and he slowly removes it, moves it to your shoulder, drags it down the length of your arm, and interlocks it with your hand, a sweet smile on his face, the contagious one, so it’s only law that you smile back, teeth and all, since you can’t hold it back.

“We should go on a date.”

“That; we must.”

.

.

.

You were on one of your many dates, too wind up in each other to not notice the others who also wanted to hang out with you, you totally kept the news from San; you and Yunho are in this together, so he needs to also be comfortable with telling San, after a lot of thinking, you both settle on letting them find out, which may take years to get in their daft heads, but for now, you both have put fate in them.

 .

.

.

San caught on way too quickly, the moment you enter the café and sit down, he says-

“So you’re not moving to Alaska? Or is your husband; Yunho moving with you?”

You blush and look down-

“Look, I can explain-”

And he breaks into a wide grin,

“I’m happy for ya”

.

.

.

You and Yunho were scrolling through many of the messages you have send to San; the ones fawning over Yunho, as much as he likes to get you flustered, he himself also gets flustered, so it’s a win-win situation.

“They haven’t caught on yet” you suddenly say.

It’s true, other than San none of them have caught on yet that you both have been dating, and that’s kind of weird, since it’s been almost a whole year.

But it’s not like you’re gonna sit them down and tell them. You and Yunho have a better plan.

Well you have a better plan.

“-and they walk in on us!”

“…..”

“Or not?”

“No”

You end up inviting them over for dinner, and as they take their first bites, you happily chirp in that you’re dating and Yunho adds that you’re moving in with, leaving everyone to choke on their food, except San, who had a cocky expression, which soon turned into a choking fit, who’s cocky now?

And Wooyoung looks up, and goes “Wait, you’re serious” and continues choking, this time on nothing.

 .

.

.

[multifariousqueer]

Pheromones: Peter Parker x reader

nsfw content ahead

A/n: Hi! This is my first time writing on here so I’m a bit nervous. Please leave requests. Also the reader is 18 and Peter is 19

Warnings: pregnant!reader, SMUTTTT, Adult language, teen!pregnant!reader, breeding, mentions of hickeys, avenger!reader, stalkerish Peter, pet names, possessive! Peter

*4 months prior

When you had found out you were pregnant you thought for sure Peter would leave you and you’d be shunned by the rest of the avengers but lately it’s been the opposite. They were angry that you had gotten pregnant so young and that you and Pete weren’t married yet but they seemed to get past it and as for Peter; he would never leave your side no matter what happened. You knew this because you tried to isolate yourself from him but it wouldn’t work. You bought an apartment in the city and blocked his number but somehow he found you. He managed to tap your phone while you two were dating(to keep you safe of course) and get ahold of Wanda and ask her about your location:

“Y/n told all of us not to tell you where she is and it’s probably for the best anyways” Wanda said walking away.

“Look Wanda, I Just wanna know if she’s okay and if so, where is she?” Peter said following.

“She’s fine, that’s all you need to know.”

Peter wasn’t going to accept this as an answer so he did the only logical thing possible, he went to your favorite places(as Spider-Man) and tried to catch you. When he found you at Starbucks with a grim but thankful look on your face he knew that something was wrong but he was happy to know that you were still alive and seemingly okay. He followed you back to your apartment and stood outside of your building until it was dark. He then climbed on your ceiling above your bed as you were sound asleep:

“Y/n?”

You woke up startled and terrified that someone might have broken in. You started thrashing and moving around frantically:

“Hey, hey, hey it’s just me Y/n.” Peter spoke.

“Peter? How did you find me?”

“That’s not important, what is important is why were you hiding?”

“Oh Pete…” you choked out through tears.

“What’s wrong, princess? Did I hurt you?”

“No, no you didn’t. I just didn’t want to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“I’m pregnant and I was scared that you feel obligated to be there for it and grow to resent me or it.”

Peter had a look of shock and hurt on his face.

“Oh darling, I’ll never resent you. I love you and I know that we’re young but we can still make it work. I just wished you would have told me sooner. How far along are you?”

“2 months”

Once he got past the initial shock, he was ecstatic. He went to every doctors appointment with you, bought baby clothes(even though you didn’t know the gender yet) and even documented your progress. You always loved wearing Peters clothes(especially after sex) and even more now that you were pregnant. Peter never complained because he thought you looked beautiful in his clothes.

Present day

After one particular night of passion, you stole Peters shirt once again and got up to make breakfast. You weren’t particularly hungry but you knew Peter would be after a night like last night so you made bacon, eggs and pancakes. As you were scrambling the eggs, Peter stood on the doorframe and watched you with such admiration. The way his shirt draped over you and your belly, the fact that you are carrying his child, the way the sunlight hits you so perfectly; highlighting the specks of black in your eyes, the way your skin shined, the hickeys gifted to you by him and lastly your pheromones were enough to drive Peter over the edge. He walked over to you and picked you up and rested you on the counter:

“Hey Sailor. Your eggs are burnin’”

“Mhm, I’m not too worried about it. Besides, I need to work up an appetite” He said before kissing you.

The kiss got heated pretty quickly as you felt something pool between your legs. Peter felt his boxers getting tighter and tighter as a bead of precum dripped from his tip. He picked you up and layed you on the couch, your lips not separating once. He finally separated his swollen lips from yours and attached them to your breast. His hand working your other one. You moaned and tugged at his hair as he moved to the other, you nearly fell apart until you felt him move down.

Peter looked at you with wild eyes as he spread your legs and began sucking your clit. Just as you thought you would implode from the pleasure, he inserts a finger inside of you:

“Ohhh Peter” you moaned. Your mind was completely foggy and you couldn’t think about anything but him.

He inserted another finger inside of you which sent you over the edge. You tightened around him as your legs shook and your moans slowly fizzling out. Peter sloppily kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. As you reached down to grab him he grabbed your hand and kissed it. He leaned over you and pumped himself before sliding into you. Even after 5 years of dating(3 of those years being sexually active) the sheer size of Peter always shocked you. He began slowly thrusting into you before picking up the pace. His groans perfectly matching your moans as you felt yourself reach your high again. His pace began getting sloppier as he began saying:

“I love you so fucking much baby” “All mine, nobody else’s” “This is my fuckin pussy” “Shit I’m gonna cum” “You want my cum princess, Yea?” “Take it like a good girl”

And before long you both had reached your highs. Peter painted your walls with his cum and you were covered in more of his “love bites”.

“I think I’m hungry now” Peter said against your neck.

You chuckled as you got up and he followed suit.

[dimepdf]

EAT UP. + VIGILANTE

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. vigilante x black female reader where everyone thinks vigilante’s super hot girlfriend he’s always talking about is fake until they meet her.

pairing. adrian chase x reader

word count. 1.8k

genre and warnings. fluff, female black reader, love a black woman from infinity to infinity, adrian being adrian, mentions of sexual theme, kinda one side pinning at first, adrian was just a simp for you, high school adrian and chris, chris harassing women again

Adrian and you haven't revealed much about your relationship.

Adrian was not one to feel at ease with public displays of affection. In public, the most you'd receive from him was hand-holding and short kisses (those even leaving him a bit flustered).

You weren't the kind to complain, not wanting to push your partner beyond his comfort zone before you even felt the need to bring it up, and he was always freely loving and sexual in the privacy of your own house.

You'd both still flush as you remembered Adrian pushing you up against a wall and kissing you in the heat of the moment. When you welcomed him into your bedroom after officially confessing your feelings, you certainly anticipated him to be less experienced.

That night, you had to convince Adrian that the bruises he left all over your skin were the consequence of your request for him to be a little rough with you.

You also didn't mind Adrian's embarrassment at seeing the dispersed hickies sprinkled around your breast wearing them like a reward.

You've known Adrian since high school, but you weren't friends; he merely followed you around like a lost puppy. Even though the bullying wouldn't bother you much because you'd snuck your way into the "popular crowd".

You were the type who only made friends because everyone thought you were attractive (and also because you were one of the few minorities in your school).

That also meant you knew his older brother Gut and future best friend Chris when they were all younger. After years of suffering and seeing everyone grow up around you, you became accustomed to blending in and avoiding individuals you didn't like.

Though the task was always difficult because you appeared to attract the attention of numerous boys your age, who were continuously hitting on you and flirting with you.

You never gave yourself time to have a relationship, constantly driving yourself to study and do better with classes and volunteer work.

You didn't think you were popular until you were proven wrong by becoming prom queen of your high school graduating year and winning the "most likely to become a model."

In your school yearbook. You weren't much for recognizing your accomplishments, always downplaying your talents and skills, as if you were the only one who didn't recognize your own beauty and ability.

However, Adrian would notice. In a stalkerish sort of way, he always seemed to know everything you did or enjoyed.

Whether it was leaving your favorite candy in your locker whenever he noticed you looked tired from studying or cutting in front of Chris and his group of friends as they pummeled him when he saw you walking down the same hallway, so you could afford the headache of their racial "jokes".

Whether you noticed it or not, Adrian did play a significant role in the background of your life. The boy was always too shy to step out of the shadows and introduce himself properly.

He was disappointed to learn that you had been admitted to your desired college and would be moving there.

He accepted the heartbreak and suppressed it along with the other emotions he couldn't quite grasp.

Adrian couldn't help but be surprised to see you after nearly 20 years of trying to get over his ridiculous high school obsession, only to find you sitting alone in Funnels Fields babysitting a plate of [f/f] in your lounge clothes.

Including the black and white bonnet you were wearing. You weren't expecting to see anyone you recognized, and you were too exhausted and hungry to care

You awoke that night, craving your favorite meal in the emotional aftermath of being laid off from your city job and having to move back home with your parents.

The same day after your jackass of an ex made a breakup statement by robbing your apartment clean and leaving you with nothing but the clothes on your back.

The worst part was that you were in the middle of your period. During the emotional roller coaster, you decided in the middle of the night to drive your parent's SUV straight to the nearest diner and buy the one meal that never failed to comfort you.

There you were half-asleep, cramming your mouth with carelessness. The man stumbled over the mop in his hand as he ducked slightly over the counter to get a better look at you.

That's how you two met, almost as if the universe fated you two to cross paths. Adrian was directed by fate to stand awkwardly over your table until you calmed him down enough for him to sit with you and catch up during his break.

The clumsily placed words from him, and you giggling your ass off because you found his anxiousness amusing, was only the start of your relationship.

“Yeah, and I fucking laser vision.” Chris burst out laughing, landing a strong hand on a puzzled Adrian's shoulder, almost knocking him out of his office chair before he could grab the table in front of him and correct his posture.

"What are you two jackasses arguing over now?" Emilia sighed and sneered as she slammed her laptop shut, asserting that she would never finish any reports with the two in the same room as her.

Leota twisted her office chair to face the two males behind her as her curiosity in the conversation peaked. "What happened? Who did you kill?" The brunette with the glasses was the target of the questioning.

Chris made a gesture towards Adrian with his thumb before Adrian could say anything. "This guy just said he's dating [y/n] [l/n] we're known her since high school.

She was like the second hottest girl in my grade." Chris teasingly nudged Adrian on the shoulder. Hearing his friend talk so openly about you made him uneasy, and he refused to admit to being in a relationship with you.

Adrian became even more disturbed as he looked around the room and noticed the two women staring at him with a large amount of uncertainty written on their features.

"Well, technically, she asked me out..." He brought up the time he almost killed you when he mistook you for a burglar who broke into his house. Before seeing you anxiously seated on his bed in green lingerie with your hands up.

It was also the day he had to inform you about his strange new...interest. “A girl asked you out? Like a fully sane woman?” Chris nodded with Leota's question, reacting with exaggerated gestures that only appeared to make Adrian gaze about in even more confusion.

"She's sensible, and I believe she's well-educated; she's also black." The remark appeared to sit in the air, as well as the room came to a halt for a time to take it all in.

Leota shifted in her seat to return her gaze to Emilia, who seemed unconcerned about the weirdly timed remark, having become unfazed by Adrian's odd comments.

"She also had the fattest ass I've ever seen," Chris shrugged, oblivious to Adrian's statements. "Not because of the cliché of black women having big butts, but because I can still remember watching her walk to class my senior year." Adrian was annoyed by the remark, slamming his fist on the table and making a dissatisfied noise.

"I'm saying this primarily because you're misogynistic, but also because the woman you're referring to is my actual girlfriend, the way you speak about women is truly insulting and repulsive." Emilia could finally agree with him on something.

She clapped, interrupting their bickering, as she stood up to get out of the unexpected heated environment.

"How about inviting her to dinner tonight?" Emilia had made a suggestion. "That way, we'll all know you're not lying, and Smith will have to pay for dinner because he's misogynistic and wrong–"

"–As well as racist." When Chris gave her a sidelong glance, Leota jumped in with a shrug.

"Yes, the remark was racially insensitive. You must also apologize for that." Emilia agreed, her arms crossed, and laid out the groundwork for the agreement.

"All right, fine," he sighed, "but only because I know I'm not racist when I'm right and you have to pay for everything I eat." Chris agreed, confident that the wager would go in his favor.

"Wait, you're okay with being misogynistic, but you're not okay with being racist?" From his workstation behind the male pair, John remarked.

"I respect and love all women, but you have to admit that being racist sounds worse than being misogynistic." With Chris's words, the room fell silent once more.

"So, where are we going for dinner?" John asked.

–

Adrian nervously tugged at the neckline of his dress shirt, feeling out of place in the formal suit, sitting silently in the more upscale restaurant than the diner he suggested earlier.

Chris, of course, was the one who suggested the restaurant change. Chris was confident in his plan to prove to the entire team that he was correct and Adrian's make-believe crush was just another one of his crazy fantasies.

So he planned to order the most expensive item on the menu and eat until he was full, so sure of himself that he wouldn't be the one paying the bill.

"I'll be honest, I can't even read the shit on here." Leota chuckled in her ivy dark green pants suit, praising her figure as she wore her hair up in a ponytail.

As she set the plastic and leather menu aside, her love loc traced the rubber band that held her hair away from her face adorned in gold jewelry, and the sound of her golden bangles rattling.

"I'm just going to say I want a steak; every restaurant has steak, right?" John sighed, his attire was more casual as he only wore light khaki dress pants and a white button-up shirt, the price of which his clothes were low enough that he could find them on such short notice.

"Should we wait for her to come before placing our order?" Chris had to admit that one of the reasons he chose the restaurant with the strict dress code was Emilia, who sat across from him in a more modern pencil skirt and tight blazer.

Though her attention was drawn to the fidgeting brunette, she was unconcerned about the buff man drooling over her in a button-up shirt that appeared to be about to burst.

"We should take our time. She is extremely picky when it comes to food. If she sees everyone else eating, she'll feel pressed to eat faster, and then she's going to have an upset stomach later."

Emilia couldn't help but smile, finding the man rambling about his possibly fake partner completely adorable, although he was so nervous she couldn't see him. "All right, if she isn't here in about 5 minutes, I'm going–"

“So sorry I’m late.”

“Holy shit.”