#and like. recently i saw someone be all like

[hcneymooners]

⋆ arcane headcanons but they're all vampires.

multi. vampire!f!characters x f!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: what it says on the tin, baby doll.

cw: vampire-related violence, mentions of gore (nothing graphic), mentions of blood-drinking (duh), dom/sub, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, masturbation, cunnilingus, power dynamics, power play, impact play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, semi-public sex on occasion, unhealthy relationships (in the sense of vampires + their fledglings! no abuse i swear), manipulation, gothic themes, mutual obsession, age difference, older woman/younger woman, morally gray characters.

notes: this includes jinx, caitlyn, ambessa, sevika, + vi. i just watched nosferatu and it’s now one of my absolute favorite movies. i loved it and so now i must invoke the spirit of the vampire into every fictional woman i’m desperately in love with.

this is also fully for @digit4lslut who wanted more evil women. i concur.

The winter is long and arduous and you find yourself hungering for something dark and warm. The world has always seemed to press against you, take from you, eat at you. You’re in bed now, and the spot next to you is plush and warm from your lover’s recent departure. Your neck stings and you press a hand to it, pull it away to find a gleaming sweet mixture of venom and blood. Beyond your hand the door opens and with a few more steps the curtain shielding from around the bed are pulled back. 

This is your lover's return. You look at her, smile softly as she crawls over you and hovers with a blood-wet mouth. Her chest rises, body fevered and aching after a hunt. She places a hand on your stomach, pushes down until you gasp and clutch at her. Yes, this is your forever. You cup her face, turn her toward the light. 

You see her. You see your history. Who is she? What is your history? What is her name?

jinx.

♱ you both were small when you first met. you had a tendency to sneak out into the gardens, tuck yourself under the thicket of white hydrangeas and stare out into the water. one day, the darkness shifted and she was staring back.

♱ she was all wild hair and wilder eyes, skin pale as moonlight. her hair was crystal, ocean blue. you weren't scared—maybe you should have been. instead, you reached out your hand and she took it, fingers cold against yours. 

♱ you let her trace your palm, intertwine your fingers. something began to hum deep and low in your body and her eyes went pink, bright and starlike. she smelled so overwhelmingly of rose and plum, almost sickly sweet. you breathed in deeply, from your stomach up through your chest—like you were swimming.

♱ that was the beginning.

♱ for years, she was your shadow companion. you'd meet in the garden at midnight, sharing secrets and stolen sweets. You’d tuck a cake under the flat of her tongue and she’d hold it, smile close-lipped while it turned to ash. she'd braid flowers into your hair while telling you stories about magic and monsters to distract you while she spit it out.

♱ then one spring, she vanished. you woke to nothing but a puncture wound on the flesh of your palm, the holes almost tender with their dried blood and lack of pain. you didn’t know it then, but she’d spread her saliva, her venom over it to spare you from any pain.

♱ the hydrangeas bloomed without her, and you learned what it meant to mourn someone who left no trace behind. you grew into yourself slowly, carefully, always feeling half-formed without her there.

♱ when you saw her again, you were twenty-three and she was everything you'd dreamed of in the dark. she stood in her cousin's drawing room, all sharp edges and sharper smile. "this is jinx," they said, "she's been abroad." you knew better—the girl from your garden had never left, she'd just become something else entirely. maybe she always had been.

♱ her cousin, viktor, spoke of marriage within weeks. you agreed, but your eyes were always on her. you caught her watching you too, gaze heavy with something that made your blood sing. this was what you'd been waiting for, you realized. this hunger. this need.

♱ you couldn’t be alone with her. you recognized your lack of will, your deference almost immediately and set about avoiding her when you could. you only realized she allowed it, was indulging your fancy, when she cinched your waist with an arm just outside of the dining room and pressed her thumb into your chin until your jaw hinged wide enough for her to see the tissue of your cheek.

♱ “enough of this,” she told you, and then closed your mouth. she leaned forward, flooding your mind with her saccharine perfume as she held your head inbetween her spindly fingers and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

♱ she took to painting you. at first, it was formal portraits, the kind viktor commissioned. but soon the paintings changed—you in the garden, surrounded by hydrangeas, then by roses. you sleeping, hair spilled across silk pillows. you with bitten lips and eyes that held secrets. 

♱ you never told anyone how you'd pose for her in the dead of night, how your skin would flush under her gaze.

♱ "you're my best work," she'd whisper, fingers trailing over fresh canvas. "my masterpiece." her studio became your sanctuary, far from viktor's polite affections and careful touches. she never kissed you, but god, how you wanted her to.

♱ the sculptures started after your engagement was announced. you in marble, you in bronze, you eternally preserved in cold, beautiful stone. she worked feverishly, possessed by something you both couldn't name. "i'm making you immortal," she'd say, and her eyes would glow like embers. "isn't that what you want?" it was. it is.

♱ you found her old sketches one night—drawings of you as a child, then a teenager right before her abandonment of you, then a woman, dated through all the years she'd been gone. she'd never stopped watching you, never truly left. 

♱ the pages were stained with something dark at the edges. you traced them with your fingers, understanding finally what it meant to be beloved by something inhuman.

♱ "do you ever think about that night in the garden?" she asked once, hands covered in clay as she shaped your likeness. "when we first met?" you nodded, remembering the cold touch of her hand. "i knew then," she said, "that you'd be mine. but you didn’t understand it." 

♱ the way your heart raced at those words should have frightened you. instead, you whispered back, "i understand now."

♱ viktor speaks of jinx with a mixture of fear and reverence. "she's not right," he whispers against your neck one night, and you feel nothing but impatience at his touch. "the things she does in that studio..." but he never finishes the thought. the family—the coven, jinx’s voice corrected you—needs her, so they keep her close. 

♱ you need her too, but for entirely different reasons.

♱ sometimes she watches viktor touch you—at dinner parties, in the garden, during your dancing lessons. her eyes are molten in those moments, and later you find your face torn to pieces, canvas slashed with violent strokes of red. 

♱ anyone else would be terrified, but the desperation with which she wants you makes your body riot with heat. you begin to leave your windows open at night, hoping she'll come to claim what's hers.

♱ "sit still," she commands, and you do. you always do. she's sculpting your hands now, obsessing over every line, every vein. "beautiful," she murmurs, and her fingers trace the paths her chisel will follow. your pulse jumps beneath her touch. she smiles, knowing. you smile back, trembling and wanting.

♱ the studio walls are covered with you now. sleeping, laughing, reading, dancing—moments you don't remember posing for. "my muse," she calls you, but it feels more like worship. every angle of you captured, preserved, devoured by her artistry. you wonder if this is what it feels like to be transformed into myth, and if she would lash out at your desire to be her priestess instead of her god.

♱ you find her one night in the garden, beneath your hydrangeas. she's painting with something dark and wet, and the flowers are turning red beneath her brush. she’s upset, her spin flexing agitatedly. "your wedding is in a month," she says without looking up. "i'm running out of time." 

♱ you kneel beside her in the dirt, press your fingers to her cold cheek. "what do you need me to say in order for you to just take me?" you whisper. her eyes flash in the dark.

♱ the paintings change again. now they're fever dreams—you with wings of thorn, you with a crown of bones, you surrounded by writhing shadows. in every one, there's a crimson figure reaching for you. in every one, you're reaching back. they're no longer paintings but prophecies, and you ache for their fulfillment.

♱ "he'll never see you like i do," she tells you, circling your latest statue. “i know,” you answer. "he'll never capture your essence." her hand hovers over the marble's heart. “i—i know.” "he'll never make you eternal." the way she says it sounds like a promise. "i know,” your breathing is erratic now. “i don't want him to," you answer. "i only want you." 

♱ the sculpture shatters that night; neither of you mention the blood on her hands.

♱ you start finding dead hydrangeas on your pillow, their petals black with age. beneath them, sketches of you in a wedding dress, the train stained scarlet, the veil made of lace and gray shadow. her signature is always in red. you press the flowers between book pages, collecting them like love notes.

♱ "tell me about the night you disappeared," you ask her once, lying among the ruined canvases of her studio. she traces patterns on your throat instead of answering. "i had to become worthy of you," she finally says. "i had to learn how to keep you forever." you turn your head, bare your neck and spread your legs. she lies against you, begins to drag two finger to your center. "show me," you breathe. “please.”

♱ she eats you like she does everything else: wildly, insatiably, and relentless. you feel out of control, grasping at your thighs as you finish over her.

♱ the night before your wedding, she asks to paint you one last time. viktor warns against it, but you go anyway. her studio smells of copper and roses. 

♱ she doesn't use canvas this time. instead, her fingers trace runes on your throat, your wrists, your heart. "art needs sacrifice," she says, and her teeth gleam in the candlelight. "and i've waited so patiently. given you up for long enough." you think of all the years she watched, waited, wanted. your hands find her hair.  “stop waiting."

♱ your first night as her creature, you understand why she always painted in red. the world explodes into color you never knew existed—violets deeper than bruises, blues that pulse like veins, reds that sing of life itself. "everything's so beautiful," you whisper. she laughs against your throat. "this is just the beginning, baby."

♱ viktor never makes it to the altar. the coven whispers that he fled, abandoned his bride-to-be. only you and jinx know the truth of his final portrait, painted in shades of crimson and hung in the deepest chamber of her studio. his last gift to art. you understand now—true art should hurt a little.

♱ the garden blooms year-round now, hydrangeas stained perpetually dark with your midnight feedings. 

♱ "do you remember when you were afraid of me?" she asks one night, centuries after. you're both covered in bed, her mouth slick from where she’s been drinking. "i was never afraid," you correct her, licking the color from her fingers. "i think i just always loved you and found myself incomplete. that’s terrifying at thirteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty. and it never stops.”

♱ “good” she murmurs, and you know then that if you ever die she will be the thing that kills you.

caitlyn.

♱ she's been watching you grow into yourself for years. quiet, careful, always maintaining that perfect distance. you think she's just being professional—the respected vampire mediator, keeping an eye on the human liaison to her kind. 

♱ she knows better, knows what you are. she feels the pull every time you enter a room, like gravity shifting to accommodate your presence.

♱ you begin to speak to her, lay yourself bare. you find that she’s so attentive when she listens, her body twisting to match the shape of yours as she leans her chin on hands and never breaks her gaze.

♱ "you'll find them," she tells you one night, when you're crying in her study about another failed relationship. her hand hovers over your shoulder, not quite touching. "your perfect one is out there." 

♱ the lie tastes of rot in her mouth. she knows exactly where your perfect match is—sitting across from you, centuries old and terrified of how young you are.

♱ you bring her wine she can't drink and tell her your secrets. your life spills out of you, a thin timeline that is a speck in how long she’s lived. she collects each one like precious stones, storing them away with all the other pieces of you she's gathered over the years. 

♱ "i just want someone to look at me and know," you confess. she grips her desk until the wood creaks, fighting the urge to say: i know. i've always known.

♱  she can’t help herself in some ways. there are some things she can't hide, one of them being her favor. books appear on your desk about subjects you mentioned wanting to learn. your favorite flowers stay blossomed in winter outside your window. a shadow follows you home on dangerous nights. you think she's just being kind. she's being careful—so, so careful.

♱ "do you ever feel it?" you ask her once. "that pull toward someone? like your whole body already knows them?" she looks at you for a long moment, memorizing the way moonlight catches in your dilated eyes. for a moment, she zones out and listens to your body pump and pulse. she hears your sudden arousal, the sticky syrupy run of your cunt as you watch her the swell of her chest.

♱ "yes," she says finally, slightly breathless. "i know exactly what you mean." you smile, relieved to be understood. she turns away, centuries of control cracking.

♱ when you finally find out, it's not gentle. there's a fight, an ancient vampire who gets too close, wounds you and tells you too much. 

♱ "ask your protector why she keeps you close," he sneers before caitlyn tears him apart. "ask her why she won't let anyone else have you."

♱ you're magnificent in your rage. "all this time!" you seethe, hurling books at her head. "watching me cry about being alone. letting me think—" she catches a particularly heavy tome before it hits her face. 

♱ "i was trying to protect you," she starts. "from what?" you roar. "from me," she whispers. 

♱ you settle and she finds it worse than the rage.“caitlyn, you are my mate. out of everyone, you could only ever save me.” 

♱ "i've lived centuries," she tries to explain. "i've seen everything this world has to offer. i didn't want to take your chance at a normal life. you will resent me as time passes. that is the truth." you laugh, bitter and broken. "that wasn't your choice to make. and it was the wrong one. resent you? it’s as if you don’t even know me."

♱ she finds you in her study at midnight, surrounded by her journals. centuries of entries about you, dreams at frist—about the pull, about fighting it. then you came into the world and it was real, more terrifying. 

♱ "when?" you ask, voice raw. "when did you know?" she kneels beside your chair, finally letting herself touch your hand. "the moment you walked into my office five years ago. it felt like walking into sunlight after an endless night."

♱ "i've memorized all your habits," she confesses one night, when you're still angry but can't stay away. "the way you tap your fingers when you're thinking. how you always have to turn to an even-numbered page in a book before you leave it. the exact sound of your heartbeat when you're about to cry." 

♱ you want to hate how well she knows you. instead, you ache.

♱ she starts leaving collections of letters for you, months of longing bound in leather. you read about the first time she saw you smile, how she had to leave the room because the wanting was too much. about all the times she nearly shattered, nearly told you, nearly gave in. 

♱ "i wrote novels of you," she whispers when you confront her. "i just couldn't let you read them."

♱ "i want to know," you demand one evening, tired of careful distance. "show me what it feels like." 

♱ she presses her hand to your chest, lets you feel the pull that's been tormenting her for years. it's like drowning in fire, like every love poem ever written condensed into a single touch. 

♱ "oh," you breathe. "why did you keep this from me?"

♱ you find her old paintings hidden away—you in every season, every light. she's captured moments you didn't even know she witnessed. 

♱ "i told myself it wasn't possessive if i never showed anyone," she admits. you trace a picture of yourself sleeping, rendered in oils and longing. you turn to her, face open and wet. "what if i wanted to be possessed?"

♱ the first time she kisses you, it's like coming home. "i'm still angry," you murmur against her lips. “furious even.” her hands shake as they frame your face. "i know. i'll spend decades earning your forgiveness." 

♱ you bite her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "decades? is that all?"

♱ she tries to maintain control even now—always asking permission, always holding back. you learn to break her resolve with casual touches, with bared skin, with whispered confessions. "let go," you tell her, pressing closer. "i want you to trust yourself so implicitly, that you let yourself go. i'm not made of glass." 

♱ when she finally does, there are stars exploding behind your eyes and gunfire in your head. you will never forget the feel of her, her cunt swollen and pink and weeping against you.

♱ "i used to stand outside your door at night," she admits, tracing patterns on your bare shoulder. "listening to you breathe, making sure you were safe." you should find it creepy. instead, you think of all the nights you felt protected without knowing why.

♱  "next time," you say, "come inside."

♱ you start finding little gifts—first editions of books you mentioned loving, antique jewelry that matches your eyes, pressed flowers from centuries ago. "i've been collecting things for you," she explains, shy suddenly. "since before the day we met." 

♱ you wear her history around your neck, let her sink into your blood.

♱ sometimes you catch her watching you with that old hesitation. you've learned to read it now—the fear that she's taking too much, loving too deeply. "i choose this," you remind her, pressing your wrist to her mouth. "i choose you." she kisses your pulse point like a prayer.

♱ "i thought i was protecting you," she whispers one night, when you're tangled in her sheets and her guilt. "but i was really protecting myself. from how much i could love you. from how much it would destroy me to lose you." 

♱ you kiss the confession from her lips. "you will never lose me. but i will ruin you, if you ever try to keep me from you again. in any fashion.”

♱ she shivers, understands that you are saying this as a vow. she rolls you over, climbs on top of you, tries to tear apart your body to find a place to stay.

ambessa.

♱ she never looks at you. not really. you're furniture to her, useful and invisible. you clean lip stains from her wine glasses, replace torn sheets, erase all evidence of her endless parade of lovers. sometimes you find drops of blood on the marble floor and wonder what it would taste like to be wanted by her.

♱ "excellent work as always," she says without turning around. you've just finished clearing away another morning-after scene—scattered clothes, broken crystal, the lingering scent of sex and copper in the air. her praise feels like acid in your chest. 

♱ you want her to see you. you want her to devour you. you want, you want, you want.

♱ you keep track of her lovers in your mind, a masochistic catalog. the willowy blonde who screamed her name. the dark-haired man who left claw marks on her sheets. the redhead who stayed for three nights (a record). 

♱ none of them last. none of them matter. but they get to taste her, and you're just the ghost who cleans up their remains.

♱ "my perfect attendant," she calls you, when she bothers to speak to you at all. she doesn’t even know your name, yet you know every detail of her life—how she takes her blood (warm, with a drop of rum), which silk sheets she prefers (harvest gold, 800 thread count), the exact temperature she likes her chambers (a cool 65 degrees). 

♱ you know everything except what her fangs would feel like against your throat.

♱ it breaks on a tuesday. you find another lover's scarf wound around her bedpost, stained with blood and something else. your hands shake as you untie it. maybe they were kept captive with it. ungrateful. she wouldn’t have to hold you down for anything. you would prostate, beg for her. you would be good.

♱ "leave it," her voice commands from the doorway. you turn, and finally, finally she's looking at you. but all you can see is the fresh bite mark on her neck, already healing. 

♱ something about it needles at you, guts you. she usually doesn’t let them bite her back. "no," you whisper. then louder: "no." 

♱ she raises an eyebrow, amused at your defiance. "excuse me?" the scarf falls from your trembling fingers. 

♱ "i can't—i won't do this anymore. i can't keep cleaning up after them. after you. i can't—" your voice breaks. tears spill down your cheeks. her amusement vanishes. 

♱ “my entire life, i’ve been right there. and i know you know. i know you can smell it.” you practically hiss it. “every day, i debase myself in front of you. i can never hate you but i want to get close.”

♱ "you're dismissed," she says quietly. you laugh through your tears. of course. of course she'd throw you away the moment you showed weakness. 

♱ you leave without packing your things, without looking back. you don't see her expression as she watches you go, the way her fingers dig into the doorframe hard enough to splinter wood.

♱ another coven takes you in. lesser nobles, but they're kind enough. you don't have to clean up after anyone's trysts. you don't have to smell blood on sheets or wonder about the sounds coming from behind closed doors. you should be happy. 

♱ instead, you dream of her every night. hot, detailed, torrid visions that make you wake weak and wet.

♱ a month passes. then two. you learn to breathe again, to exist in spaces that don't smell like her perfume. "you seem sad," your new mistress says. you force a smile. "only tired." 

♱ gyou don't tell her that every room feels wrong, that every bed you make feels empty without gold upon it.

♱ she comes for you on a moonless night. you're changing linens (always changing linens, even here) when the temperature drops. "did you think i would let you go so easily?" her voice slides down your spine like ice. you don't turn around. you can't. “i thought you’d have returned by now, would have reconsidered what you gave up.”

♱ "look at me," she commands. you've never been able to deny her anything. she's exactly as beautiful as you remember, but her eyes are different. starved. "my perfect attendant," she purrs. "do you know how many lovers i've taken since you left?" you flinch. she smiles. "none."

♱ "come home," she says, like it's that simple. you gather your pride around you like armor. “why should i?” her eyes flash. "because you're mine." you laugh, bitter and bright. "i am—i’m not a medarda. i was never yours. i was your furniture, remember? you didn’t even call me by name." 

♱ for the first time in centuries, ambessa medarda looks uncertain.

♱ she starts leaving gifts—not just jewelry and silk, but tokens of attention. oysters, shelled and presented to make your consumption easier. books you'd mentioned wanting to read, when you thought she wasn't listening. a bottle of the perfume you wear, worth more than your yearly salary. you send them all back. she needs to learn that you can't be bought.

♱ "tell me how to fix this," she demands one night, appearing in your chambers. you're still in your evening dress from serving at the coven's gathering, throat on display and adorned with delicate chains. her eyes fix on your nervous swallow. 

♱ "you can't just command everything better," you say softly. "not this time."

♱ she follows you to another gathering, watching from shadows as you serve blood-wine to lesser vampires. you're dressed in black silk, your neck a graceful line adorned with gold. the whole room's attention shifts when you move—too many hungry eyes, too many sharp smiles. you pretend not to notice. the attention means nothing; it isn’t hers.

♱ you hear her growl when one of them gets too close, asking if you'd like to "serve privately." before she can move, you handle it yourself: a polite smile, a steel-edged refusal. you've learned to navigate these waters. you don't need her protection.

♱  (but oh, how your heart races when you feel her rage across the room. you’re almost sick with it.)

♱ "they want to devour you," she seethes later, cornering you in an empty hallway. "i can smell their desire. their need." you meet her gaze steadily. "now you know how it feels." 

♱ understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by something darker. "is this what you felt? watching me with them?" you turn away. her hand catches your wrist. "answer me."

♱ "yes," you whisper. "every night. every morning. watching you choose everyone but me. wanting—" your voice breaks. her grip tightens. "wanting what?" you pull away. "everything. anything. just one taste of being yours."

♱ she moves differently after that. 

♱ no more commands, no more assumptions. she courts you properly, like you're something precious. leaves letters detailing all the things she noticed but never said. how graceful your hands are when you pour wine. how your hair settles against your back when you sleep. how she missed your scent in her chambers.

♱ "i may have taken you for granted," she admits one evening. you're both in her study, you perched carefully out of reach. "i thought you would always be there. my perfect girl." her laugh is self-deprecating. "i didn't realize i was losing my only match."

♱ another gathering. another dress. this time when the vampires stare, she's at your side. "she’s spoken for," she says evenly. you raise an eyebrow. "am i?" her hand finds your waist, possessive but questioning. "if you wish to be."

♱ "make me believe it," you challenge. she watches you, then sinks low. she’s kneeling before you and the sight makes you dizzy—ambessa medarda, on her knees. the room goes silent. 

♱ "i have loved you," she says, loud enough for all to hear, "in all the wrong ways. let me love you properly." you touch her chin, tilt her face up. "prove it."

♱ she relearns you slowly, deliberately. no more invisible servant—now she watches openly as you move through her chambers. "tell me if you want me to stop," she says, but you don't. you want her to see everything she missed before.

♱ "you've redecorated," she notes one night, when you finally return to her rooms. you've replaced the golden silk with deep purple, changed the artwork, rearranged the furniture. made it yours. "i'm not here to clean up after you anymore," you remind her. she traces a finger along your jaw. "no. you aren’t."

♱ the first time she feeds from you, it's like death— you are breaking apart all at once; you are coming together and it is sweet.

♱ "you taste like nectar," she breathes against your throat. you thread fingers through her hair, holding her close. "you taste like mine," you answer. she shudders against you.

♱ the next time she kneels for you is in the drawing room, her head beneath your skirts and your legs on her shoulders. she laps at you, pulls orgasm after orgasm from you until you kick at her back. even then she continues, with fingers instead of tongue. the pain, the pleasure—it’s endless.

♱ old habits die hard—sometimes she still tries to command rather than ask. but now when she slips, you arch an eyebrow and wait. "please," she'll correct herself, the word foreign and stilted on her tongue. you reward her with kisses that always spiral out of control.

♱ you keep one of her old lover's scarves, tucked away in a drawer. sometimes when she's being particularly imperious, you take it out, let her see it. "i could leave again," you remind her. she pulls you into her lap, buries her face in your neck. "you won’t. it won’t be as easy. you know this." you gasp as her teeth sink in.

♱ "do you miss it?" she asks once. "taking care of me?" you run your fingers along her spine. "i still take care of you. i just do it as your equal now."

♱ she presses you into silk sheets, whispers "show me" against your skin. you do.

♱ you catch her watching you dress for bed, something vulnerable in her eyes. "what is it?" you ask. "i suppose i keep waiting," she admits, "for you to decide that you would like something different." you straddle her lap, cradle her face in your hands. "i decided that i deserve exactly what i chose."

♱ the other covens still whisper—about how the great ambessa medarda let a servant become her consort, about how she kneels for you in private (did it in public, even). they don't understand that she's never been stronger than when she's yielding to you.

♱ besides, it is you who often submits. she drives you insane with how much you need her. you just force her to work for it. 

♱ "sweet girl," she calls you now, never attendant. occasionally, she speaks your name, usually in the midst of pleasure. you're arranging flowers in her study (old habits), and she's watching you like you're something holy. 

♱  you meet her eyes in the mirror. "yes, mistress?" 

♱ her eyes darken. she rolls up her sleeves, comes over.

sevika.

♱ she comes to collect on a sunday. you're serving tea to your mother when the door creaks open—no knock, no warning. just sevika, silco's enforcer, filling the doorway like an omen. 

♱ "time to pay up," she drawls, flashes teeth. your mother starts to cry. you pour another cup of tea.

♱ "would you like some?" you ask, steady-handed despite your racing heart. she blinks, caught off-guard by your composure. "what?" you gesture to the cup. "it's jasmine. very soothing." 

♱ her laugh is sharp as broken glass. "you think tea will save you from your family's debts?" "no," you say simply. "but it might buy me an hour to pack." 

♱ she studies you over the rim of the teacup she doesn't remember accepting. you pretend not to notice how she watches your throat when you swallow hard. "one hour," she agrees. you hide a smile in your cup.

♱ one hour becomes one day. becomes one week. becomes one month. you're clever with your delays—always just reasonable enough, always with something to offer. "you're playing a dangerous game, priya," she warns you. 

♱ your fingers brush hers as you hand her another cup of tea. "i know."

♱ she begins to linger after delivering silco's threats and your family home becomes a strange fairytale in this winter—ice flowers blooming on windows, shadows moving like living things, sevika's footsteps echoing on wooden floors. you serve tea in your grandmother's bone china cups, and sometimes there are teeth marks on the rims that weren't there before.

♱ you always meet in your mother's parlor, all faded elegance and desperate pride. snow falls outside like ash, and the samovar steams in the corner, waiting. when sevika enters, the dark worn world follows her—frost crawling up the windows, ice crystallizing in your lungs. you never stood a chance at escape. so you just shift the goal.

♱ you learn that her mechanical arm aches in the cold, the phantom of the real one haunting her. that she has a secret fondness for your mother's butter cookies. 

♱ "you're stalling," she tells you over and over. "yes," you agree. "is it working?"

♱ your mother catches on first. "oh, clever girl," she whispers, watching sevika watch you over dinner. "but be careful. a jaguar is still a jaguar even if it hides its teeth." you think of the way sevika's hands shook when you touched her last, how she pulls back if you flinch even slightly at her approach. "mmm. the jaguar is still a cat."

♱ your first kiss tastes like smoke and metal. she's furious about something—another clever excuse, another day bought—and you silence her with your mouth. she pulls back, eyes wide. 

♱ "you can't seduce your way out of this," she tells you, her voice almost dead. you trace her bottom lip with your thumb. "i’m not trying to. my desire for you is a separate thing."

♱ she brings you gifts that feel like warnings: a silver hairpin sharp enough to kill, a red cloak lined with raven feathers, a ring set with stones that look like frozen blood. "are you trying to save me or damn me?" you ask, letting her fasten the clasp at your throat. she kisses your pulse point. "both. neither. everything."

♱ you find out she's older than your great-grandmother's grandmother. "does it bother you?" she asks roughly. you're curled in her lap, mapping the scars on her human hand. "does what bother me? that you're ancient?" she pinches your side. you kiss her neck. "you're just well-preserved."

♱ eventually, your meddling works. after one too many unsuccessful collections, silco summons you both. 

♱ "fascinating," he muses, taking in sevika's protective stance, your carefully blank expression. "you've found quite an interesting solution to your family's situation." you meet his knowing gaze. you let your heart marr your face with its emotion. "oh, how sweet,” he murmurs. “marry my enforcer, erase the debt. is this what you want?"

♱ “i want to live,” you answer, with your jutting out. you feel sevika turn and look at you, feel the realiztion come that she’s been a (delightful) means to an end. 

♱ "you’ve been using me," she accuses later, pressing you against your bedroom wall. "from the first day.” you wrap your arms around her neck. pull at her hair until her head falls back."yes." she shudders. "why?" you kiss her mechanical knuckles. "because i see you and you see me. really see me. you know i am wicked and you still drink my tea.”

♱ she fucks you hard, fast. your stomach is bruised from where she holds you, your legs nicked by her claws as she grabs you when you try to scramble away. she’s mean, understandably confused and maybe even feeling betrayed. you let her rut her frustration onto your cunt, gasp softly as she laps her slick from between your folds. 

♱ “i should drain you,” she murmurs into your sweat-slick neck. you pull away, grasp her jaw. “i often thought that you should eat me. dreamed of it. sometimes,” you confess, “i even came. i had to squirrel away the sheets before my mother could find them.” she shakes, slips a finger inside of you. “liar,” she accuses. “if that makes it easier,” you respond.

♱ "my mother believes i did this to save us" you tell her one night, snow gathering on the windowsills like secrets. "she thinks i'm sacrificing myself." sevika's hand whirs as she pulls you closer. "aren't you?" you smile against her throat. "i only reward myself in this life. it’s not a sacrifice if you really want it."

♱ your wedding preparations become a dance of power and submission. you choose a lavish black dress with silver threading for the rehersal, drape yourself in diamonds cold as death. "you look like you're already one of us," sevika murmurs, and you can't tell if she's pleased or terrified. "isn't that what you really want?" you ask. her silence tastes pleasant.

♱ the night before your wedding, you find her in the garden, snow melting around her feet. "having second thoughts?" you ask, wrapping your arms around her waist. she rocks into you. "wondering when exactly i lost control of this," she admits. you press closer, sharing warmth she doesn't need. "bold of you to assume you ever had it."

♱ your wedding is a power play, a business transaction, a love story written in blood and tea leaves. you wear red and gold, traditional colors for a vampire's bride. sevika looks at you like she's drowning. "still think i'm just a clever little girl?" you whisper during your first dance. she kisses you hard enough to break your jaw. "you're the most dangerous woman i've ever met."

♱ you move into her quarters in silco's mansion—all dark wood and darker secrets. at night, you hear screams from the lower levels, but you never flinch. instead, you pour tea rigidly in cups rimmed with gold, light candles that smell of grape and amber, create a home in the heart of a monster's lair.

♱ "you should be more afraid of me," she tells you one night, after you've watched her tear someone apart. you're helping her clean blood from her joints, gentle and thorough. "what’s the point? i’m in this now. anway, you should be afraid of me," you counter, pressing a kiss to her gore-stained knuckles. her laugh catches in her throat.

♱ silco watches you at dinner parties, amused by how you've tamed his beast. but he doesn't see how you feed her morsels from your fingers, how your soft touches leave her trembling, how your love is its own kind of violence. how you aren’t afraid to lash her with it, refuse her affection to keep her in line. you know she needs this, that she’s rarely had it before.

♱ "you've made her weak," he accuses. you smile, all teeth. "i've made her mine."

♱ you develop rituals together, sacred as prayer and sharp as knives. every night, you clean her mechanical arm—each gear, each plate, each deadly piece. your hands never shake, even when they're stained with someone else's blood. "my good girl," she murmurs, and you pretend not to notice how her voice trembles.

♱ the tea ceremony becomes something close to holy between you. your grandmother's samovar, polished until it shines like a mirror, brewing tea dark as sin. you pour with steady hands while she tells you about the night's violence. 

♱ sometimes you taste copper in the cup and realize she's kissed the rim, leaving traces of her work behind. you drink it anyway.

♱ you draw her baths after hunts, water turning pink with vicera that isn't hers. she lets you wash her hair, lets you trace the scars on her back, lets you piece her together again. "i could kill you just like this," she says when you massage her scalp. you kiss her shoulder. "i’d drag you down."

♱ on cold nights, you brush and braid her hair, weaving in strips of leather and small, sharp blades. your touches are gentle but your intentions aren't, and she knows it. "am i pretty enough yet?" she teases. you rest your chin on her shoulder, dig down. "you’re easily the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen." her pupils dilate and her legs part, so you reach a hand around her waist to drag between them.

♱ the other vampires think it's sweet, how you wait up for her. they don't see how you position yourself by windows, arranging your reflection to watch all the doors. how your devotion has teeth.

♱ you keep her schedule in a leather-bound book, writing in codes you invented as a child. meetings marked in red ink, kills in black, feeding times in gold. "my good little wife," she coos, but you catch her studying the patterns you create, trying to decode your secrets.

♱ sometimes she brings you presents from her hunts—jewelry still warm from its previous owners, books with bloodstained pages. you accept them with genuine delight, arrange them carefully in your shared space. "magpie," she calls you fondly. "collecting pretty things." you don't tell her that she was your first collection. your most prized.

♱ your bedroom becomes a museum of decadent violence—diamond necklaces with broken clasps, antique daggers hung like artwork, silk sheets that have seen both birth and death. you keep her arm's spare parts in a velvet-lined box beside your perfumes.

♱ "do you ever regret it?" she asks one night, watching you stitch up a wound on her human arm. your needle is silver, your thread is silk, your hands are sure. "falling in love with someone—someone like me?" 

♱ you tie off the suture with precise fingers. "you simply have claws and i’ve always believed love was meant to scar." she kisses you, surging forward to suck you up.

bonus: vi. 

♱ you first notice her at the local underground fighting rings, all raw power and feral grins. you can smell what she is - werewolf, obviously - but she's so young and unrefined in her movements that you assume she must be newly turned. still, something about her draws your centuries-old heart.

♱ you only dare to attend the fights under the guise of accompanying your brother, a known patron of these brutal entertainments. each night you tell yourself you'll stop coming, stop watching her. each night you fail, drawn to the way she dominates the ring with savage grace. you wonder if she could make you fall like that. 

♱  she catches you watching one night, corners you in the shadowy hallway with a grin that's all teeth. "see something you like, vamp?" she asks, and you flush. 

♱ you turn, run away, your chest clenching tightly as you remember her in the privacy of your rooms. your fingers work deep inside you and you let out a small wail as you think of her tattooed hands inside you instead.

♱ she keeps showing up at your usual haunts, those golden eyes following you with an intensity that makes your dead heart flutter. when she finally approaches you again, her flirting is clumsier but endearing, and you find yourself charmed by this baby wolf despite yourself. 

♱ “it’s good to meet you under proper circumstances, vi,” you say and her eyes shine at her name.

♱ your "guidance" begins with teaching her to hunt properly, but she always seems to know exactly where to find her prey. you chalk it up to natural instinct until you notice how the other wolves defer to her in passing. still, the way she looks at you with those eager eyes makes you forget your suspicions.

♱ quiet moments become your undoing - the way she brings you still-warm blood in crystal glasses, how she curls around you on cold mornings like you're pack. you find yourself sharing centuries of secrets, and she listens with an ancient patience that should have been your first clue.

♱ the first time she takes you to her territory, deep in the woods where the trees whisper ancient songs, you feel the power thrumming through the earth. she presses you against the bark and holds you as you’re ravaged by the first feel of the werewolf bond. you let her. her hands leave bruises that heal too quickly.

♱ you convince yourself it's only in your head, her unwavering attention, just the mental thrill of forbidden fruit. but then she starts leaving little gifts where only you'll find them - a baby blue ribbon for your throat or hair, a wolf's tooth on a golden chain. each token makes your dead heart ache with something you dare not name.

♱ but the world cannot allow you peace. the tension between covens and packs grows thicker than old blood. you see it in the way your kind bare their fangs at passing wolves, in how the wolves' eyes gleam with barely contained violence in return.

♱ still, you meet her in secret, pretending the world isn't fracturing around you.

♱  when the council announces the marriage alliances, you volunteer quickly - anything to make living easier for her. she is young, has so much ahead of her. you arrive at court in your finest blacks, ready to do your duty. then you see her standing among the pack leaders, power radiating from her like the sun.

♱ it's when, in the middle of this supernatural court, that someone addresses her as "heir apparent" and your world tilts on its axis. the realization hits like a stake to the heart. 

♱ vi, heir to the most powerful pack in the territory, had been letting you believe she was some untrained pup. the way you’ve been treating her is deeply disgraceful. you can feel her eyes burning into you as you swear your agreement to whatever contract, make your excuses, and flee under the pretense of preparing for the following diplomatic talks.

♱ your pride wounded, you avoid her for days that stretch into weeks. but she's persistent - leaving gifts at your door, handwritten notes that smell of earth and pine. your resolve weakens with each gesture, even as you try to stay angry

♱ she finds you anyway, because of course she does. she corners you in your own haven, and there's nothing puppy-like about her now. her power fills the room like smoke, making your knees weak. "enough games," she orders, and when she kisses you this time, there's no pretense of submission.

♱ "i know i withheld, but i only wanted to keep this.” you say nothing, raise a hand to sound the servants bell. she grasps your fingers, holds your hand. “i know you’re upset, but did you really think i'd let them marry you off to some other wolf?" she’s walking you forward, backing you against the library shelves. 

♱ "i've been working for months to position myself as the logical choice for this alliance." her laugh is dark and rich against your throat. “even brought up the damn idea myself.”

♱ “i wasn’t listening,” you finally say. “i only answered to leave faster. to be less humiliated.” she softens at that.

♱ "that wasn’t ever the intention, my love.” you look away. “but did you really think i was some newborn pup?" she whispers against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. "i've been alpha-in-training since before you noticed your first gray hair, little bat."

♱ "all those nights at the fights," she continues, "watching you try to hide your interest from your brother, from everyone. knowing you thought you were being so careful with the naïve little wolf." her hands grip your hips possessively. "when really, i was just waiting for the perfect moment to claim what's mine.”

♱ the way she manhandles you onto your own bed leaves no doubt about who's really in charge. 

♱ "my sweet girl," she groans as she marks your throat, your chest, your thighs. "watching you try to show me how to track when i could smell your desire from miles away. how to fight when i've led warriors. but gods, the way you touched me like i was new to this world…"

♱  she bullies her fingers into you, milks you until you cry. after, her mouth finds your cunt and she eats of you—slurping so loudly that you cover your face with embarrassment. she only grins, laps at you harder. you white out as she orders you to cum again.

♱ and so the war that threatened to tear your worlds apart becomes the very thing that lets you keep her. your nights are filled with new lessons now - how her pack honors the old ways, how the moon-song flows through her bloodline. in public, you play the part of diplomatic necessity. in private, she follows your body like law until your weeping and can barely stay up.

♱ she returns from hunts, blood-drunk and fierce but still gentle as she pulls you close. you think that perhaps being prey wasn’t the worst thing. this was your way of finally belonging to something wild and true.

© hcneymooners.

[webzazes]

making this danny phantom teehee ❤️

My family always seemed like the most normal people in the world. But, we're filthy rich. I'm not a fan of it, but it's whatever. At least I have funds for passion projects, and hopefully, in due time, my own greenhouse (I've wanted one for years).

I actually only learned what really made us so successful recently, though. Ever since I was young, I was told over and over again that it was due to an invention, something useful and prominent in everyday life. However, it turns out that we're so wealthy because of black magic.

The thought alone inspired me so much, and I was already into gothic and fantastical things- it practically tripled my obsession. My parents, however, thought I was "too obvious" or "too gloomy" for our happy little family, especially because of my style of dress, but I was dead-set on breaking away from the norm after I learned how, well, not normal we are under wraps.

This made me a loner at school. I was different, and I wasn't a fan of going out of my way for friendships, let alone any unnecessary social interaction. I kept to myself, and became "the weird goth girl". Honestly, I was happy with that.

But, being a loner led me to Danny. And, of course, his friend Tucker. They accepted me- although we did butt heads at times, as is natural. We'd go to Danny's house, hear about his parents' work, and especially, their obsession with ghosts.

As someone getting into the occult, (I was actively training myself with books from our family library) I was interested. Very interested. I knew about souls, zombies, and demons, but not so much about ghosts themselves, the physical representation of a consciousness and soul tied down to Earth.

So, when Danny brought us to his basement to show us the "ghost portal" his parents were working on, I was excited. Really excited. Of course, I didn't let that show, I figured it might be as dumb as all of the other Fenton tech, and I wasn't expecting it to be dangerous, either.

But, when Danny stepped in to try and turn it on, I realized it was, in fact, dangerous. Very much so. The sheer amount of force I felt when the portal opened was almost painful- but never could be as painful as the sight of what happened to Danny because of it. He looked almost burned in places, and practically wilted to the ground.

He was limp. And he didn't look right, either- his hair was a shocking, clear white, and his eyes were green. At the time, I didn't even notice that the protective suit he was wearing had changed. But I could 100 percent tell that he was dead. Stone cold and limp, dead.

Tucker looked to be on the verge of tears, but I didn't care. I had to do something! I could feel some kind of residual energy on Danny's body, and I thought, "a source". A source of power for me to use, something I could heal him with.

Healing was my passion. I've always cared for life. Especially in this instance- Danny wasn't allowed to die. He couldn't die. I don't know what I would've done if he did..

So, in a split second, I was by his side. I was full healer mode, to the point I knew I couldn't let Tucker see my face. If he saw my eyes, well, he certainly wouldn't have been able to forget them any time soon..

I grasped at the energy left on Danny, and I made it mine. My emotions made me strong, determined, and I used that energy to successfully make an offering to Danny's soul. It was like summoning a demon- I'd seen my mom do it before- but more intimate, as I touched his spirit, poured its power into his bloodstream, and pulled at it, as I tied it to his body. I could almost feel the ectoplasm in my hands- and that's when I realized what the residual energy really was. Ectoplasm.

The ghost portal was real.

All in all, the whole process of "fixing" Danny, well.. it felt like nothing. And it really was quick. Thankfully, once I told Tucker that Danny was breathing, he didn't think to question the wait. He said nothing. And I couldn't bring myself to say that Danny was still cold..

So, hurriedly, we took Danny to his room, and told his parents he was tired. We said that he fell asleep while playing games with us. That was it.

That is how it all started.

You always wanted to be a Healer. Unfortunately, your dad was an Necromancer and your mother a Demon Summoner. So your healing was a bit… unconventional to say the least.

[startheskelaton]

Hello! Your art is so gorgeous and I love all your characters so much! I've recently gotten into Transformers because of your art actually and Crumb's.

I saw your blue flowers post with Sparkplug and I was thinking she'd make a good Persephone! If you know anything about Greek mythology I think Megatron would definitely be an "overprotective" parent like some myths classify Demeter as. Though, Meg would probably be more Ares like.

Do you have any ideas for who Nightflyer and Soundblaster would be? I think Soundblaster would be a good Hephaestus (the god of the forge, but I think Soundblaster would be the more "creating" part) and Nightflyer as Pan, maybe? He's an old God of the wild, with links to Dionysus and with Nightflyer's connection to the Predacons I think that would work :)

Thank you!! I'm sorry the brainworms got to me and I wanted to tell someone

It’s been eating at my brain too

[archangeldyke-all]

hope you're feeling better by the ghosting! Lesbian dating scene is hard out here 😭 have an ask if you're up for it. Or you can just listen abt this scenario I have, totally fine either way just wanna let these thoughts out. And you're my fav sevika writer so! It's a bit angsty/comfort ig? Basically Sevika explaining to reader why it's such a struggle to say "I love you".

Not just because it's an admission of feelings for such a character but I think it's also cuz loving someone also means you have to accept anything could happen to either of them, esp since Zaun and her job are quite dangerous. So saying those 3 words feels like accepting that risk and continue on which is a big thing to do, it's like willingly leaving yourself open to potential heartaches. Idk just recently saw posts about how love is not just a feeling but also a choice, whether to stay/commit/any other reason the person feels what love is. Felt like if the reader is the first thing she's ever cared about and don't wanna lose her (whether it's a breakup, death etc,), she would struggle saying it cuz it feels like accepting that risk which she doesn't want to. She would still make up for it by showing her love & appreciation thru other means tho! Mb the reader had anxious thoughts on whether she reciprocated, or Sevika feels bad for not saying back for so long that she felt like she has to explain why she's struggling.

Sorry if I'm rambling too long 😅 hope you have a great year ahead, love your writing as well! ❤️

i love this sm <33

men and minors dni

even though you've lived in zaun your whole life, you understand that your life's been a lot softer than it could've been.

you've never had to worry about where you'll sleep at night-- you've always had a dry, warm bed to rest in.

you've gone hungry some nights, but you're lucky enough to have never gone more than a few days without a warm meal.

and your choice in career keeps you out of the line of danger; safe and inside most of the day, home before sunset each night.

so, while you're zaunite enough to know how to keep your head down and mind your own business, you understand that for most people life's a lot scarier.

sevika's one of those people.

sevika's known grief for almost as long as she's known how to talk. she's spent her fair share of nights in the cold, and she's gone to bed hungry more often than she's gone to bed full and satisfied. plus, sevika's dedicated her life to being a revolutionary. which means sevika has a lot of enemies.

so it's no surprise that lovey-dovey words come easier for you than they do for sevika.

it isn't until two years into your relationship that you realize she's never said she loves you. sevika has to be the one to point it out.

"i think i gotta call it an early night, baby. you stay up and finish the movie." you say around a yawn, leaning forward to kiss your girlfriend on the couch. sevika pouts.

"just sleep on top of me here." she requests. you snort.

"you'll throw your back out carrying me to bed."

"that's just offensive. i could lift three of you." sevika's pout worsens. "goodnight." she huffs. "give me another kiss."

you laugh and roll your eyes. "i love you." you say with exasperation as you lean in to kiss her. sevika stiffens against you. you pull away to study her face. "'s wrong?"

"you always say that." sevika whispers. you raise an eyebrow at her, climbing into her lap to hold her face between your hands.

"well, yeah. 'cause i do."

"i know." sevika says with a tiny smile. it makes your heart flutter. it's quiet for a moment as you wait patiently for your girl to gather her words. eventually, sevika sighs. "does it ever bother you that i don't say that to you?" she asks.

you frown in confusion. "what, that you love me?" you ask. sevika nods. you sputter a laugh. "yes you do, you say it all the time." you scoff.

sevika blinks up at you in shock. "no i don't." she says. "baby, i've never said it. to anyone. ever."

oh. well, that's surprising. you furrow your brow as you try to recall an instance where your girlfriend let the words slip, and you're shocked to realize that she, in fact, has not. "oh." you say.

sevika gulps. "does that... is that bad?" she asks.

you blink down at her, and your heart shatters. "oh, baby, no." you coo, kissing her frown. "no, that's not bad."

"but-- i should be able--"

"darling, i know you love me." you cut her off. sevika blushes almost as red as she did the first time she saw your tits. you smile, brushing your thumbs over her crimson cheeks. "you make that very clear."

"yeah but i--"

"you moved me into your sacred bachlorette pad three months into us meeting. yesterday, you came home from work with a stab wound, and tried to make me dinner before patching yourself up."

"it was just a scratch."

"i'm not finished. you call me stupid shit like sweetbean and cookie-- and you do it in front of other people! you! sevika; the scary lady of zaun!" she chuckles a little bit at this. "sevika, i didn't even realize you hadn't said it until you told me just now." you kiss her nose. "it's not bad."

sevika leans forward to bury her face against your neck, inhaling deeply. "i just... i want to say it." she whispers. you nod. "i wish i could say it like you do; just, whenever i feel it." god she's romantic. you choke back your own tears as you kiss her scalp. "but... if i say it..." sevika trails off.

"if you say it, it makes it real." you whisper, nodding. "it makes it somethin' you can lose." you can feel her hot tears on your throat. you don't mention it.

"y-yeah." she whispers shakily, her hands clutching at your hips desperately. "and i can't lose you."

"you won't baby. even if the worst happens, i'm yours forever. i'll haunt the shit outta you." this pulls a startled laugh out of her, and you grin. "you don't have to say it for the rest of our lives, if you can't. i won't mind. just as long as we're together."

and that settles it.

for a while...

sevika starts practicing.

she'll spell it out to you, 'i l-o-v-e you, baby.' or she'll whisper it to you when she thinks you're sleeping.

at the three year mark, sevika can say it when she's drunk enough. it's fucking adorable.

"i have somethin' import'nt' t' tell you..." she says with a waggle of her eyebrows. you burst into laughter.

"oh, do you?" you ask.

"mmhmm. look." sevika darts forward to peck your lips, then pulls back with a proud smile. "i love'ya." she slurs. you grin.

"i love you too, baby."

"an' if this jinxes everythin' and y' die-- y' gotta make the haunting obvious 'kay?" she asks. you cackle.

"alright, love."

by the time you're married, the words are almost compulsive for her. sevika can't leave a room without shooting a 'love you' over her shoulder at you. even if you're arguing.

"oh, so you've conveniently got a fuckin' 'meeting' in the middle of the night, on your night to do fuckin' dishes?! if you don't get in the kitchen and grab the sponge right now you're sleeping on the couch!"

"it's six pm, it's a dinner meeting! i'll do the dishes when i get back! you act like i'm fuckin' negligent, but you're the one who doesn't know how to properly clean a fuckin' toilet! janna, you annoy me-- i love you, i'll be back by midnight!" she huffs as she slams the door behind her.

despite how pissed you are-- you can't help but smile a bit at her words.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17

[rafesbangs]

𝜗𝜚 bunny!reader has always had a thing for a regular at her bookstore, older!rafe only comes in to see her

c!w; mdni !! older!rafe, dom!rafe, bunny!reader, age-gap (reader is 18+), size kink, rafe gets called 'daddy' a few times, dirty talk, mutual pining obviously, 'unprotected' sex, p in v, creampie, overstimulation (if you squint), cum play, cum eating, oral (f. receiving)

notes; i had such bad writer's block during the making of this so i apologise if this isn't my best work... also its kinda long before the smut but it needed some plot !!

you'd just gotten a job at a new cozy bookstore in town. it was perfect, had rows and rows of every genre of book a person could think of and a lovely little cafe with a cozy area to read in too. you loved working there, and had recently gotten much more comfortable after finally getting the hang of everything.

there were quite a few regulars that would come in for the coffee and a book, lots were mothers with quiet children that would sit down in the children's corner and read, others were just people of all ages that particularly enjoyed sitting in the bookstore for hours.

you were stacking shelves the first time you saw him; tall, gorgeous and smiling slightly under his cute scruffy moustache. he was flicking through the non-fiction books. though he didn't look like someone that read, adorned in workwear and partially grubby clothing, most likely from his blue collar job.

you could tell he was definitely older, around ten years your senior but still so pretty. after that first minor interaction you started seeing him come in a lot more, every other day basically. you'd worked up the courage to say hi to him after a few more times of seeing him and although your face was probably bright red, he smiled wide and started a conversation with you.

after the ice had been broken you would always talk to him when he came into the bookstore, it got to a point where he wasn't even pretending to be interested in the books around him anymore, he obviously had come in there to see you again.

rafe had also started coming in early before work started, he looked so good in his carhartt jacket and big boots, not yet dirty from a days work. he'd make sure you were the one to make his coffee, always mumbling something about you having a secret gift as he grinned, letting his hand linger over yours when he'd take his cup.

the tension between the two of you was palpable, your friends and co-workers would make jokes about how no one needed to read romance books in there anymore, they had a whole story playing out in front of them.

you would always laugh and smile at their comments, smitten over the idea of being with rafe but there was always the lingering thought that it was just friendly flirting. nothing more. he probably had a girlfriend, or a wife or something. he was too old and too gorgeous, why would he actually want anything to do with little old you.

these thoughts had you spiralling significantly on one particular day; what if you were wasting all your time and feelings on this older guy that would never want you? would you ever get over him? would you be alone forever?

you were zoning out - hard - as you slid the last few books of your shift onto the shelf, you nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw him standing in front of you with a grin.

"sorry, did i give you a fright?" he mumbled, steadying you with his touch, "'thought you'd heard me when i said y'name but there must be s'much goin' on in that head of yours."

you took a breathe and smiled weakly at him, not being able to shake your pessimistic thoughts from seconds before as he stood in front of you, handsome and speaking.

"no, sorry- lots on my mind i guess" you shrugged, fiddling with your fingers. rafe's brow furrowed, he'd seen you stressed and frustrated because of work but never like this, anxious and pensive.

he tilted his head a little, "what's wrong hm?" he softly coaxed, looking deep into your eyes as he reached out and rubbed your arm with his thumb.

you looked up at him through your lashes, "nothing.. nothing really..." you mumbled, chewing your lip a little.

his gaze darkened as he watched you, "something you wanna ask me bunny?"

you shook your head after shuddering at the nickname. a nickname only rafe used with you, it never failed to give you goosebumps down your body and cause your thighs to squeeze together a little, "don't worry.. er, i'm about to close up in a minute - you don't mind walking me to my car do you?"

his pursed lips melted into a smile and he looked up for a second before nodding. you smiled at him before finally putting away the last few things and grabbing the bookstore's keys. rafe followed you out as you left the store and locked the doors from the outside.

"cold tonight hmm" rafe remarked, looking out at the dim parking lot and neighbouring streets as he walked close to you. you hummed in agreement, readjusting the jacket tighter around you.

when you finally reached your car you looked up at him with a longing smile before he tilted his head, grinning at you, "you gonna tell me what you were thinking about earlier?"

you shook your head, nerves chewing at your lip again.

"c'mon, 'm not gonna see you tomorrow, 'ts your day off bunny, can't make me just wonder all this time hm?" he playfully whined, inching his body closer to yours. you were a little stunned by his words.

"you remember my day off's tomorrow?" the nerves were rising in your tummy now, bubbling around and exploding.

he smirked, sliding your hand into his, "course i'd know when the only reason i go into that bookshop isn't there."

"rafe" you gushed, covering your face a little and shaking your head. you couldn't believe your ears, you thought you weren't stupid or anything but here you were, hearing that he wanted you the whole time. "i thought you were just.. i don't know, entertaining the idea of me this whole time..."

his lips parted and brow furrowed as if it was completely incomprehensible that he might've not actually wanted you, "bunny... you must be talking pure shit now because i thought i'd made it obvious i wanted you from the second i'd gotten to know you."

you chewed at your lip, heat pooling in your tummy as he instinctively inched closer to you as he spoke. all you wanted to do now was jump his bones, and you kept glancing down at the bulge in his pants as it became closer and closer to you.

he noticed your wandering eyes and laughed a little, throwing his head back before sliding both hands up your arms carefully, "...so you said you don't have heating huh?"

you nodded, feeling dizzy at the realisation of what he was about to ask you.

he scoffed with a grin, "see, i've got heating at my place that works pretty well, and - bunny, with the way you're looking at me right now, i think we're better off going there."

you smiled, staring up at him through your lashes before nodding and in an instant he'd grabbed your hand, leading you to his truck. the drive was probably fairly quick, but it felt like hours of agony to the both of you as you patiently waited. rafe's hand was possessively gripping your thigh and you felt wetness in your panties thinking about where else his hands would trail to.

it was a blur, stumbling out of his truck and into his house, you barely looked at the place before the two of you, sloppy and all over each other, had made it to his bedroom. your body was on vibrate but he took a second to take his huge jacket and long sleeve shirt off.

you breathed heavily, eyes widening when street light through the window illuminated his toned chest, he was built like a greek god and you nearly moaned at the thought of all that being all over you.

he teasingly peeled your clothes off, article by article, grinning all the way. he could see you twitching and heavily breathing at every movement, it only fuelled him more.

finally you were in nothing but panties and a bra, matching of course, which made rafe's eyes go wild, "jesus, look at you." he breathed, running his hands along the side of your body as you lay under him.

you slid your arms around his neck and tried to pull him in but he grinned at your lack of strength and you frowned playfully, squirming at the lack of action.

"you gonna ask nicely bunny?" his lips were centimetres away from yours, he was really enjoying teasing you now.

"please... please i want you inside me so bad" you whined, pouting and running your hands into his shaggy mullet. he smirked and leaned in, passionately pressing his lips to yours, engulfing you in heat.

your hands pulled at his jeans, ripping down the zipper as you slid a palm across his clothed cock, gasping at his lips over how big you found him to be.

he tugged himself out of his boxers before lowering down to your core, you burned with desire as you watched the greek god looming over you, slowly bully his cock into your weeping hole.

you groaned at the feeling, his cock slowly slipping all the way down, filling you to the hilt. your grip around his neck tightened, along with his hands holding you steady at your hips.

he drilled into you at an unrelenting pace, the sound of his cock diving in and out of your wet pussy causing him to groan gutturally, "uhghh, you like this big cock baby? c'mon, tell me you've been thinking about daddy's cock since you met me hmm"

you eyes were rolling back, the pleasure becoming too much already, "mmmh i think about daddy's cock all the time... oh! fuuuck."

you looked down at your tummy, a clear huge bulge poking everytime rafe drove his dick into you, only making you dizzier. he was just so big.

a creamy line of arousal was thick around the base of rafe's cock, your breath all ragged as he continued to drill into you, toying with your clit to overstimulate you.

you were shaking under him, one hand gripping onto a bicep and the other tugging the sheets beside you. the sheer girth of him was splitting you open, rafe grinned at the yelps escaping your lips with every thrust.

"pussy's swallowing me whole, fuck bunny" he grunted into your lips, launching in for yet another seering kiss while his thrusts became sloppy but deeper. plap-plap-plap filled the room along with your pornographic moans.

"nghh daddy, i'm- oh, g'na cum!" you cried, nails digging into his flesh.

he was panting into your neck, "'know baby, can feel your pussy milking me- fuuuuuck" you felt the rush of your orgasm as rafe's thick white ropes coated your insides. he continued to thrust into you a few more times, watching your pussy swallow all his cum before pulling out.

"such a good bunny, look at that shit.." he mumbled, dragging a finger over your wet whole, playing with and pushing his release back into you. "so wet..."

he dipped his head down, lapping up both your juices that had coated your folds. you twitched from the sensation, still recovering from his cock.

"rafeee- oh god- too sensitive.." you whined, hand laced in his hair. he lifted his head and looked at you with a grin, his moustache gleaming with wetness.

"oh bunny now that i've had you, shit, i'm never letting my little girl go."

[heading-home-again]

I've spent a lot of time with a wide range of preschool aged children. Three or four year olds can definitely learn not to go in the street, it's not rocket science and cars are scary. They still need supervision near cars, and a small minority won't be able to learn it at that age, but I'm not at all convinced I've ever met a kid whose safety would have been improved by spanking them. Ever.

If your kid runs into the street, you pick them up, express you own fear, and they are gonna figure out it's dangerous. Better yet, you do your job and teach them caution ahead of time so it never happens. (That is NOT going to work for all kids, by the way. Please please please supervise your four year old near roads).

(I understand some parents are working with a lot of legitimate fear about how authorities will treat their kids, I'm not qualified to speak to how to handle that that situation. As a parent and person I find it infuriating that anyone is put in that situation, but I don't have info for handling it from a parenting perspective.)

For simple situations like road safety, though? You don't need to spank your kids.

I saw a quote recently where someone said "you COULD burn your house down to stay warm, but you could also just turn on the heat. Either one will work, but one will leave you with a house." (I'd credit, but I absolutely don't know where it was, sorry). Most examples of situations where you "need" to spank or otherwise hurt a child are just versions of this.

When people get pregnant, they will give up smoking, give up alcohol, give up coffee and soda, give up fondue and raw cheese, give up cold cuts and sushi, all because they have heard somewhere, from someone, that these things can be bad for the baby. They don’t know the research, haven’t looked at the studies, can’t talk about sample sizes and control groups. But their dedication to their future child’s safety is so strong, their caution is so overpowering, that they give up these things just in case. 

So it baffles me when those same people will insist on spanking their kids. 

Even when they are shown the research.

 Regardless of what the experts in the field say. 

No matter who says it. 

Or how it is said. 

People are so invested in this ability to hit their kids without judgement or consequence, that it absolutely confounds me. 

[mykaelaaa]

quit it

✰se-mi x fem!reader / ~3k

✰deciding to pair up with se-mi unaware what you're getting into

✰warnings: blood, suggestive, +18

"do you trust that guy?"

leaning on the comically big bunk bed far enough from the loud crowd, you stared at the plastic pig hanging in the air. filled with money, presumably real money.

maybe if you get everybody to climb on each other and take that thing down you could get out of this shithole you regret agreeing to.

some guy went on rambling about how he's been here before and you're too caught up in your thoughts to hear what he has to say.

what's his number? 456?

maybe you should spare him a chance. judging by the way he helped out. but maybe he's also full of shit, just like the rest of people here. you saw the field full of bodies and blood. if anything, he's a good entertainer judging by the green and greedy crowd he gathered around for the second time.

too lost to hear, but not to feel someone giving you a punch in the shoulder. quite a strong one. here we go, you thought. bribes, violence, torment, bed and food exchange just like in those world ending movies. 

not having any partners in crime or knowing what any of these people are like you have to be wary. it's all about the money as the end goal for over 300 people here, which is a scary thought. 

with annoyance and half-baked comeback, you turned your attention to whatever smartass that spawned next to you.

let's just say they sure did not disappoint. looks wise, of course.

but it's not time or place for that right now. right? besides, you saw a couple of sparks early on between players but surely surfaced level ones. the type formed in the span of one day of being here is not that romantic. more like a good distraction. but you can't blame them, maybe the next game is their last one so why not go out with a good makeout or something?

"what?"

"i asked you something." the girl spoke confidently, holding a strong gaze over you for some reason. she had her arms crossed, mimicking your pose on the opposite frame while you were gripped by uncertainty, she seemed more carefree and unbothered. it was almost reassuring, somehow. 

you felt exposed and this time not by the debts unpaid and calls from the bank but whoever was in front of you.

with hard to miss piercings, silver rings that slipped passed the guards somehow and a discreet grin escaping her collected persona left the reply hanging in the air and led you to stare for longer than you should have.

you don't even know her but a recent memory surfaced. that thanos guy being rejected by her and making a fuss about it in front of everybody. you never even heard of him before. one hit wonder probably.

"oh, yeah. sorry, i was just thinking i guess," you muttered, rubbing your temple with a sigh.

"about?"

"nothing important," you replied flatly, regretting how it came off as.

"right, right. no biggie, thinking about if you'll be alive in the next 2 hours. a daily routine," she said in a sarcastic tone, causing you to roll your eyes. 

the presence next to you made you somehow feel smaller than the weight of bunk beds and entire room already did.

"do you need something?" you dragged the question out, looking down at the wrinkled fabric of the number trapped between her folded arms, "380?"

"se-mi," she tucked her head to the side and half smiled, still done in nonchalant manner. "and yeah, actually. wanna pair up?" 

you stared at her. if whatever this is goes right, and you're not being manipulated by a pretty figure facing you, although you don't mind at all, you must track down where this cocky confidence comes from. if it's normal and "i used to be in the army" story and not "i was a hitman" you will keep her close.

"aren't you with those guys?" you nodded your head towards the obvious purple hair guy and his crew amongst the mass. 

"that self proclaimed rapper? nah, i don't really swing that way," she played with her lip piercing before shifting her attention towards you once again.

"oh, you don't really swing that way? or did i get that wrong?"    she chuckled at your teasing tone and raised brows, "well, what can i say. it's kinda obvious. at least i hope so."

you squinted, amused and engaged. everything about her look screams the already mentioned but why not toy around more when there's nothing to lose. "obvious, huh? sure, whatever helps you sleep at night se-mi."

se-mi shrugged, took a quick glance as if someone's around. "i think i'm pretty clear about it. but since you're not convinced…" she leaned in slightly, dropping her voice just enough for only you to hear. 

"stick around and i'll prove it."

your stomach did the weird thing, the one you wouldn't let her—or anyone know about.

fixing your weight against the metal bed frame, you scoffed. "right. because this place is swarming with opportunities to show off."

grinning, she pushed off the frame and cut the distance between you to down to a cruel and agonizing one. strands of her hair naturally fell over her eyes but it did not do a good a job hiding the intimidating gaze. crowd blended into silence and you could not pick whether to blame yourself for being so weak in the matter of seconds or her for playing dumb games.

you're were not that easy to impress just a week ago.

so she spoke, lip ring somehow reflecting off the dim lighting this chamber has.

"i'm pretty good at getting what i want."

you bit back a nervous laugh, trying not to let her and this proximity overcome you. "and what is it that you want?"

your desperate attempt to sound civilized and composed was shitty, and se-mi read easily through it.

"say yes and you'll see."

her eyes flicked to yours, lingering just long enough to make you feel like you lost the high ground. then swiftly she stepped back, taking all the tension with her. finally you could let out a breath you held unaware.

but before you could respond, a voice tear through the room.

"players, prepare for the next game. you have 30 minutes."

the announcement sent a wave through the busy crowd. voices hushed, movements quickened and panic was apparent. your chest tightened, probably the worst thing about this is not knowing what's next. if you ever get out, announcement lady is on the top of the list.

se-mi looked at the speaker in the corner. you wanted to ask her what's on her mind but devil works faster.

"time's running out, sweetheart. hope you're skilled with decision making."

"and if i say no?" you knew damn well that's not an option.

se-mi slipped her hands into her pockets, cocked her head to the side with that damn grin. slow on her feet she walked backwards, leaving you more and more with each step and it stinged.

"loss for both of us. and my bed is that way, by the way."

you watched her disappear in the crowd that rushed on the steps and just as quickly you were surrounded too. maybe, just maybe this is more challenging than the money winning itself.

✰

the game already morphed into a hazy fever dream of adrenaline and blood. it was oddly silent, compared to just a few hours ago when the main floor was brimming with "life". or better, those alive. now everyone that came back scattered around the room.

you weren't sure who's blood was blending with your shoes or who's splatter stained your jacket.

and neither was se-mi. however, she didn't seem shaken up, as per usual.

she followed you close behind, making a beeline towards the bathroom. the air inside felt much colder than the outside and the contact with the freezing sink proved it. in the mirror you caught a sight of se-mi leaning against the tiles, bloodied but stoic.

top to bottom, covered in blood with a cut on her face that she smudged further. she ran her hand through the hair in attempt to fix it, stretching her neck in the process.

quiet whimpers escaped past her lips. she unzipped her jacket, looked at the mess made. floor. room. and back at you again. 

you admit you did look at her like a man starved. just blame it on the adrenaline. it's easier that way.

she clicked her tongue in fake disapproval, "no manners."

what a jerk.

"you're all bloody." you stated, hands working faster than your mind, already reaching for the paper.

"really?" she pretended to be puzzled. it made you sigh. "let's go in the stall."

"you don't—i can do it too, you know," now she felt slightly bad for making you more worried than you already are.  

she sat down on the toilet with a loud thump, no protests or fight. her muscles aching but you were no better. you closed the door behind you, this place making you more paranoid than ever. borrowing a second of your shared free time to look at the piece of work across you.

with each second passing you realized this silence, comfort and unspoken longing became a luxury here. se-mi took a note of it too.

deep inside she blames the gods for meeting a pretty girl in a state like this, desperate for money, careless about debts, bloody and tired in this awful bathroom. you're no better though. and it made her feel a bit better.    "what? do i look that bad?"

you snorted, shook your head no. slightly kneeled, you took the wet paper you gathered in one hand while holding the back of hear head with another. leaning in, you observed the cut on her face. a knife? no, unless someone smuggled it. you didn't see her in fight either.

a lack of self control let loose and your finger delicately ran across her cheek. blame it on just wanting to see how bad it hurts but she was no fool.

entire time she maintained eye contact. this is the closest she ever was. it's a funny thing to notice, she's not that hopeless. not in a outside world. actually, she doesn't wanna remember. 

your hand was cold but it felt right. the stall seemed to shrink with you in front of her. 

se-mi swore she could smell your perfume that still withstand these conditions. must be an expensive one. that's fine, 45.6 billion will cover it.

"you're shaking," her voice dropped and she teased. turning her head to the side, bemused.

"oh," you backed away lightly. "apologies. wasn't aware you graduated in body language." se-mi enjoyed this too much.

you took a deep breath and continued clearing her face. terrible at avoiding her gaze. "are you a hitman or something?" you started, truly curious.

"guessed it on the first try."    "sooo you're not? good."

"i'd definitely make everybody pay me big if i was and wouldn't end up here. why?" 

of course the smartass answer. 

"just wondering how the hell nothing about this seems to bother you. people dying, not knowing who's next, guards just headshoting everybody…" you carefully moved her face to the side, causing her to shudder shyly. 

"it was at first but there's a prize at the end. i think it's worth it. at least to get to the half of it. that was before i—whatever."

"yeah?" she watched you change positions and kneel down, all done with an innocent look boring through her. she doesn't know if it's on purpose or you're tired.

someone entered the bathroom and se-mi cursed them internally for distracting you but it also gave her spare time to stare. 

swallowing harshly, se-mi did not let her mind flatter now.

doors closed. losing the advantage she convinced herself she has, with a heavy sigh and a fuck it, she looked away and closed her eyes. "we're paired up now. so…yeah. i guess i kinda have things to lose."

feeling your movements halt, se-mi opened her eyes. maybe that was too far. 

"yeah, i-uh. same here." 

you felt her eyes boring holes as you sloppily cleaned up the papers and threw them away, feeling your body burning. 

everything about this was shitty. games, people, loneliness, food, voting. everything except this. yeah, she might look a little beat up with tired bags under her eyes but it was hopeful.

your shadow fell over her. the height difference meant nothing right now. neither of you moved. things unspoken seemed so, so obvious to both of you it was suffocating. she just hopes you don't treat this as a distraction.

"i—" se-mi did not let you finish. instead she got up with a newfound boldness, licked her lips and pondered. making you wonder what else is playing in her mind.

"thank you." it was sincere, raw. she took barely half a step closer in this cramped stall with dozen of obstacles around. you could feel the heat rising and hell if you weren't red yourself. 

"you know, you also got blood on your face." 

"do i?" not really, you checked yourself in the mirror. no?

"mhm," she confirmed and you almost missed it. again, se-mi closed the distance further. raised her hand to wipe the "blood" suspiciously close to your lips.

no, you definitely didn't have it.

"there." she barely smiled and your breath hitched. she picked up on it.

you felt drunk looking down at her lips. and you know what? you might die tomorrow for all you know.

"oh fuck you." 

it sounded and felt desperate, muffled by the four walls; the way you pulled her by the jacket and kissed her. metallic taste absorbing you whole and the chapped lips mixed with her metallic piercing. you're done for. 

se-mi smirked proudly against your lips, like her plan finally worked. too busy for good to answer her antics but enough to crush one of her plans which was her hungry grip around your waist. so she caged you with her arms around between the door and her body as you kept pulling her back in. no need because she already made up her mind she's not leaving anytime soon.

you traced your hands under her unzipped jacket that made her gasp. still feeling like she keeps her cool persona intact even now.

you took it as a chance to put your tongue to use. you weren't so experienced per se but it's natural talent. her on the other hand…

both of breaths blended into one and it felt hot, almost wrong. making you weak in your legs, forcing you to find a support behind her head. intertwining your fingers together, drawing her even further if possible clearly left no more gap present.

your bodies connected fully, se-mi was so lost yet too aware of everything you did. your touch was setting her on fire everywhere at once, teeth bumping in rush, small noises you made and she doesn't recall last time she took a full breath.

out of nowhere you felt a knee pressing between your legs, making you to throw your head back harshly and let out a moan that se-mi had to cut short. unfortunately.

there was too much going for the door to handle and keep it low-key.

"come here, you're too loud." se-mi whispered, catching up her breath as she sat back down again. 

"and that's my fault?" you regret saying that because you weren't sure if she even understood you.

gasping and impatient was the sight of se-mi, lazily sprawled and hair messy. a genuine thought of staying here until guards have to break down the doors sounded pleasing.

each leg on her side, her hands instantly wrapped around you and lips chased for more. she's just as hopeless as you in the end. your body flinched upon feeling her hands sneak under your shirt. making a tour, stopping at your waistband. it was attentive, studying your reactions carefully, less in rush now. she was in control.

se-mi left your lips for a while, kissing path down your jaw to focus on your neck. she's glad you can't read minds.

your hand found hers buried under your shirt, hinting at whatever she has in mind to make it true. "we might be in a bathroom stall but i'm still a gentleman." you felt her hot whisper hit your ear.

"w-what?"

"can i?" she looked at you with a darkened gaze, twisting a knot in your stomach. at this point you had no energy but to groan and nod yes, letting your head fall on her shoulder if it wasn't for her grabbing your jaw and making you lock eyes. 

what you said about her demeanor, you take it back.

"no, no. speak." briskly she nestled in the crook of your neck and licked a stripe there. 

"i…you're a tease." the answer was transparent.

chatter from the outside made you freeze vaguely, se-mi kept her pace on. "you gotta be quiet now."

her fingers slipped past the tight band, further and further. cold metal of her rings added to the feeling. you whined but se-mi shut you up with a kiss. she leaned her forehead against yours, a smug look on her face since she's leading the game.

her fingers made contact with your core, maybe if you just let out a scream right now you'd scare those women away.

"it's okay, you can do it." it did not help.

"please se-mi, i can't—" 

the second doors closed, she wasted no time slipping her fingers into you. you held onto her collar like a lifeline, head thrown back and air knocked out.

se-mi was mesmerized. wished it was a club rather than a place you have to get knocked out and drugged to be taken to. she will get you two outta here any means.

hitting all the right spots, distracting you with kisses and wandering hand you're about to collapse. "i'm-i'm close—"

"i know, i know," so she sped up, watching you fall apart, hitched breath in her ear so addicting, soft pleas she can't answer and oblige right now, hands gripping her hair. she'd take her time if she had one, hoping these cameras have decency so she can save you only for herself.

the least she can do in this short time is fix your shirt and jacket and pray you're coherent. "no worries, i don't leave a lady just like that but we gotta get out."

"hmm? sure, just give me a moment."

she chuckled, "not in that way. i'll tell you when we get back."

[cognitiveoverload]

I know who you are! (Aaron Hotchner x reader)

summary: Knowing a lot about serial killer cases can come in handy when the new resident who asked for your number is a little too familiar.

tags: witness protection era!Hotch, hint of a soft!dom personality, children's book author!reader

It’s an itch in your brain that you can’t scratch. You know that you have seen him before, you just don’t know where. A coffee shop? A grocery store? It’s killing you, driving you crazy, but no matter how many nights you spend thinking, you just can’t remember. How could you forget someone like him? There is something about him, that rare smile, those warm brown eyes that you can’t stop thinking about.

Then, as you are watching an FBI press conference about a serial killer on the loose, you suddenly remember. Of course. Your little obsession with serial killer cases comes with a lot of these press conferences and interviews, that’s where you saw him. And his name… What was his name? Determined to find the answer, you begin to investigate, searching for articles and videos on the internet that luckily doesn’t forget. 

And there he is, standing on the steps of a police station, wearing a suit that seems so strange compared to the casual clothes he wears these days. He looks extremely serious, strict, and in all honesty, you can’t blame him. What he did on a daily basis must have been a lot to handle mentally, especially if he had a son to look out for.

The next day you send him a text to find out when he’ll be home, and to your surprise, he replies in a minute, saying he’s there so you can jump in whenever you’re around. It’s been over a week since he asked for your number at his son’s soccer match, but you only texted and talked on the phone so far. Yet, even those were enough to let you learn a lot about him, and you grew to like this man. 

When he opens the door with that stupidly handsome smile of his, you begin to wonder if revealing what you know is a good idea, but deep down you can’t help yourself. “Hey. So… is this you?” you ask with a cute smile, showing him a screenshot on your phone. 

The blood drains from his face, and his suddenly serious expression tells you maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all. He grabs your arm—surprisingly gently, so it won’t leave a mark—and pulls you inside, then presses your back against the now closed door. “Where did you find this?” 

“I knew I’ve seen you before, but for days I couldn’t remember where. Then I saw a press conference with an FBI agent about a serial killer on the loose and bam! It came to me as a vision,” you explain calmly. You’re not afraid of him, because even though he definitely looks like someone who could hurt you, you can also tell that he has no intention to do so.

For a long moment he watches you in silence, but then he lets out a sigh and takes a few steps away from you. “Did you tell anyone about this?” he asks quietly, although his voice is laced with worry. 

Without hesitation, you shake your head. You’re not that dumb. “You recently moved here with a fake name… Must have a reason for that. I don’t want to get involved, it has more to do with satisfying my curiosity. Now your reaction confirmed I was right, and the case is closed as far as I’m concerned,” you explain. 

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” 

He nods, then inhales and exhales slowly, his eyes carefully studying your face. The serious expression is eventually replaced with a much softer look, but he remains silent, as if he was trying to gather the confidence to say what’s on his mind. But it’s weird, he hasn’t struck you as the type of guy who lacks confidence. Quite the opposite, actually.

And then he speaks up. “Stay for dinner,” he says, his voice gentle and a little hesitant, as if it has been a while since he asked anyone out. Or was it that? You must be seeing a little too much into this invitation.

But then you realize what this is all about. “That’s your way of keeping me silent?”

He flashes a boyish smile at you. “Trust me, if I wanted to silence you, that’s not how I would do it,” he points out with a laugh.

“Was it a threat I should be afraid of, or… Never mind.”

“No, no, say it,” he tells you, the request sounding a little like it was an order. “Or what?”

You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks, because why would you tell him what you were really thinking about? Hell, you feel ashamed for something like this even occurring to you, you won’t make things worse by saying it out loud. Maybe it’s time to leave, maybe this is the moment when you turn down the offer and walk out of the house with your dignity still intact. 

Sadly, when you gulp and move to open the door, he steps closer to you and covers your hand on the doorknob with his to stop you. You must look like a deer in the headlights as you look up at him, frozen from terror because you feel trapped, but it doesn’t bother him, he just raises an eyebrow and waits for your answer in silence. 

With a soft sigh, you try to pull your hand away from his, but he only tightens his grip around it. “It just had a weird edge to it, like the sentence had a kind of rated R meaning,” you explain, speaking so fast you hope he doesn’t understand a single word. 

But he does. And that smug bastard is enjoying every second of your suffering. “Clever girl,” he purrs as he leans closer. “So, dinner. Now that you know who I am, the least you can do is take the time to one, tell me why you remember stuff like those press conferences, and two, give me some proper adult company.” The end of that sentence shocks you, but he sees the look on your face and quickly shakes his head. “Not that kind of adult company. Just a glass of wine and a conversation after Jack goes to bed.” You let out a sigh of relief, but that peaceful moment doesn’t last long. “Unless you want a different kind of adult activity, because…”

“Hey!” you warn him as you playfully slap his arm. “Just so you know, I spend my time writing children’s books, I need a hobby. Serial killer cases and horror movies are good for me.” He gives you a doubtful look, although there’s a teasing smirk on his lips. “What?”

“Be here at six,” he says as he finally lets go of your hand that slides off the doorknob. “And wear something nice for me.” 

For a moment you only stare at him, but then you nod. Damn it, you can’t say no to this face. Anything you want, handsome.

[orimuraa]

ᯓ ✈︎ XO, call me - OT7

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆enhypen as your airport crush ⨾

۶ৎ ot7!enhypen x fem!reader ┆fluff┆airport crush au┆heerisma, jayrisma, jakerisma, rizzhoon, sunrisma, rizzwon, and rizzki┆ wc 1.5k

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i got this prompt randomly and i thought it was really cute so i wanted to write abt it! this is a longer ot7 fic so i hope you enjoy! reblogs and feedback are always appreciated!!

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

𝑳𝒆𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈 - 이희승

you were just on your way back from a recent trip to paris when you him—the most gorgeous man you have ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on. the way his hair fell perfectly, framing his face, and how he was dressed so casual yet he looked so good. the headphones that hung around his neck added an extra touch to his vibe, making you fall instantly for him. but as soon as he caught your gaze, you felt your cheeks start to heat up, your whole body feeling very hot all of the sudden.

he takes a second to realize you were staring at him before smirking, casually making his way over to you. before you can process the situation, he’s right in front of you writing on a piece of paper. “call me,” he whispers into your ear, slipping the paper into your pocket. as he walks away, you see that grin of his before he’s walking off to his gate. oh, you’d be such a fool to not call an angel like him.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 - 박종성

the airport was bustling all around you and it was practically impossible to make your way over to your gate with how many people there were. but that’s when you bumped into him—a man so gorgeous, you felt unworthy to even be looking at him. “oh- i’m so sorry!” you manage to squeak out, immediately backing away and bowing to him. but he just chuckles, and god damn is it the most attractive laugh you’ve ever heard. “don’t worry! there’s so many people in this airport, it’s dangerous for a pretty lady like you to be all alone,” he winks, laughing at his cliché words. “here, let me walk you to your gate.” he smiles. and who are you to say no to such a kind gentleman.

once you arrive at your gate, you turn to thank the handsome man. “thank you, and i’m so sorry again for bumping into you,” you bow, the embarrassing memory coming back. “ahh~ don’t worry about it. you can repay me by calling me,” he winks. at first, you’re confused, but when he slides a piece of paper into your hand, you understand. and with that, he walks away with a part of your heart.

𝑺𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒖𝒏 - 심재윤

it was finally summer, meaning you’re vacation to australia was also finally here. as you were sitting by your gate, you noticed someone sit down next to you. curious, you looked over at the person and your jaw dropped when you saw him. his hair was a little ruffled but it added to his look. he had the most gorgeous face and you were sure that leonardo de vinci shaped it himself. you felt your cheeks heat up the more you stared at him—despite feeling a little creepy staring so intensely at a complete stranger. “hey, if you’re gonna stare, at least gimme your number,” he smirks, a thick accent mixed in with his words.

flustered, you quickly look back down at your lap, contemplating your whole life. “hey, i’m just teasing. but if you don’t mind, i would like to give you my number,” he smiles sweetly. “i think you’re really cute.” and oh god, your heart does a whole backflip. “y-yeah, of course!” you nervously stutter, scrambling to fish out a piece of paper. handing him your number, he thanks you, standing up and promising to call you. you’re summer can’t get any better than this.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏 - 박성훈

you were sat at a small table inside of a cafe in the airport when the door jingled, indicating that someone else had come in. naturally, your eyes made their way over to the person who came in, who was now ordering at the counter. but oh gosh, when he turned around, you were absolutely star stuck. his visuals were insane and he looked so good in that black, leather jacket that you couldn't help but stare a lot little at him. but soon, his sharp gaze caught yours and you never looked away so fast. however, doing so, you failed to see the smirk on his lips as he took a sip of his coffee, still staring at you.

you don't exactly know how much time passed, but you wanted to just see if he was still there. glancing over your shoulder to where he was, you see that it is now empty, no random, handsome man in sight. sighing, you take your last sip of you drink before standing up and gathering your luggage. but before you can leave, a worker calls out to you, stopping you in your tracks. "a man told me to give this to you before you left," she explains, handing you a small slip of paper. you thank her and walk out, curiously opening the paper. couldn't help but stare, huh? well, i can't let such a pretty face go without giving you my number ;) xxx-xxx-xxxx -call me XOXO.

𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒐 - 김선우

as you were browsing around the duty free section of the airport, you happen to pass by a gorgeous, gorgeous man. his features reminded you much of a fox's and it made his appearance so striking. his hair was jet black and pushed up and out of his face, revealing his forehead minus a couple of loose strands. he had small freckles adorned on his cheeks and nose, making all the more perfect. you must've been staring for some time because when you finally came to your senses, he was staring right at you, a warm smile on his lips. you watch as he slowly strides towards you, unable to move your feet nor think completely straight. "hi! i noticed you staring and i thought you were really pretty so i wanted to come and chat with you!" his voice is so soft and sweet that you almost miss what he says completely, focusing more on his voice than his words. "oh- i'm so sorry about that, i just thought you were so handsome and.." you flush, catching yourself before you ramble on.

"wahh~ thank you! if you didn't mind, i would maybe like to give you my number? maybe we can get to know each other," he smile never faltering. gosh, you admired his bravery. "yeah of course! here it's xxx-xxx-xxxx," you blush, in shock that you got such a handsome man's number. "then i'll see you around!" he winks, turning on his heel and walking out. "see you.."

𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒘𝒐𝒏 - 양정원

people were rushing past you, trying to get to their gates in time but you were taking your sweet time. you made sure to get to the airport early so you weren't rushing whatsoever. but now, you were kinda regretting it as you had nothing to do for the next 2 hours while you waited for your flight. you were walking around, casually window shopping, when your eyes caught a very handsome guy. he had the cutest pair of dimples and his hair was dyed blonde and waved perfectly. he was dressed casually but you have never seen someone pull off a sweatshirt and cargo pants like this man has.

he see's you staring at him ominously, and walks over to you, a small smile on his lips the whole time. internally you start to panic because why is such a hot guy walking towards you right now when you probably looked like you just rolled out of bed. "caught ya. here's my number just in case you want it," he smirks handing you a piece of paper which you gladly accept. and within a blink of an eye, he's gone, almost as if he was all in your imagination. but the paper in your hand proves that wrong.

𝑵𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒊 - 西村 力

currently, you were sitting across from the hottest man you have ever seen and you were attempting to steal glances at him while also being nonchalant. he was dressed in a pair of loose cargo pants and a baggy white tee that defined his figure so well. his ears were adorned with silver rings and studs while his fingers had simple rings on them. he had a couple delicately placed moles on his face and features that told you he was from abroad. he was your perfect definition of "airport crush" and you weren't complaining one bit. however, when your eyes met momentarily, you suddenly felt hot and flustered as he continued to stare at you. a small smirk adorned his lips and you heard him let out a small chuckle before reaching in his bag for something.

you keep your head down, deciding that you've had enough of your fun for today. that is until a deep voice in front of you clears his throat, causing you to look up at the source. "o-oh, hi there," you blush, feeling your ears heat up again once you catch his eyes. "here, i noticed you staring and thought that you might want this," he drops a note in your lap before walking away, a satisfied smile on his lips. you're cute, give me a call when you can :) xxx-xxx-xxxx p.s. you should work on your staring, people will find it impolite.

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬: @en-diaries, @k-films, @k-nets

⚘. Perm taglist: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy

[auroras-void]

*I'm* one of those feminine women who's attracted to this sorta blue collar work.

Have recently been seriously considering making a 180 from CS to working to become a General Contractor. I'm good at desk work, sometimes very good, but the thing is, long term any variation of it just makes me miserable in a way that working with my hands just doesn't. I fucking love working all day on my family's project house.

But the main thing that's stopping me from stepping on up from there and turning it into a career is sexism.

Like CS has it's own problems with it, and there's some crazy shit there, but it's at least getting better. But like, with construction, I haven't even needed to so much as dip my toes in to experience it. 80% men sucks ass, but it's a hell of a lot better than 95%.

My family has a couple of contractors they work with, most of them are friends, but I still see it right away. Like, I'm by no means an expert, I only really know what my dad taught me and what I've taught myself. But I've had them immediately assume I have no experience and try to teach me like I've never held a saw in my life before despite knowing who I am, or I had an electrician ask about the existing wiring and he instantly assumed that my brother knows more than me*.

And those are just these small little things but they piss me off so fucking much, and I can tell how indicative they are of so much more. It's like people see a woman and their eyes just glaze over me. Which on the one hand is very gender affirming but in the other makes my blood fucking boil.

So like if it's that bad just from the briefest of encounters. Being fully immersed in that kinda culture regularly, experiencing the *real* shit out there there, that just sounds like fucking hell.

Particularly given that I'm trans. I would sooner die than tone down my feminity for someone else. And I can pass stealth, even on a worksite, but I *know* there's still gonna be fuckers out there who will just see me as a man who needs to be bullied into conformity, or who think that working in construction somehow invalidates my transition. And, just I swear to god I'ma fucking murder someone if I have to work in that environment.

So... like ... ig... rotting at a desk it is then.

Like, I think I might still take some classes for my own sake and chip away at it. But I don't think I'm going to be looking at any apprenticeships or anything.. I'm.. not ready for that yet...

---

** (I literally got into this shit and got good at it *after* I transitioned ffs, I didn't enjoy it until I realized I could do it for it's own sake, until I didn't feel pressured into liking it to "toughen up" or "act more manly". I am a woman above all else, and no one has the power to overrule me on that.)

*(he's fucking clueless here, he's a poli sci dude who shows up maybe once a month in a fuckin dress shirt, he's your guy for election coverage and statistics, not construction. Meanwhile, I'm literally wearing my toolbelt and a roofing helmet with knee pads and my work outfit. I was literally the person who *did* the little bit of functional wiring repairs in that house).

There was a time when women did these jobs.

Some of them really liked the work and were keen to continue doing it. But society basically told them to collectively "get back in the kitchen" when the men returned home from war.

The tradition of conditioning women, from birth, to have a distaste for these jobs continued. Young girls are discouraged from even taking an interest in the toys representing these occupations. God forbid they put Barbie in the firetruck.

The truth is, most men do not want women doing these jobs. They complain about how dangerous this work is and use that as a metaphorical bludgeon in debates about equality. But when women actually try to be firefighters and combat infantry, they are told they *can't* do these jobs. They are inferior. Those who are hired have to work twice as hard to get half the respect. They are inundated with sexism and misogyny. And many end up quitting, not because they aren't qualified or they don't like the work, but because their male coworkers make the jobs intolerable.

And instead of fighting to make these occupations safer and valued properly, these men just complain that feminists don't know how hard it is and how they don't understand what it's like to risk their lives for no money or benefits. And then rich assholes like Elon stoke these flames because he doesn't want these men to realize this is a class struggle rather than a culture war. And that feminists and "woke activists" would actually be wonderful allies in helping them get better conditions.

Lastly, there are feminists talking about this. There are plenty of non-men interested in these jobs. But I doubt Elon keeps up with very much feminist discourse other than what he invents in his imagination.

Beyond that, feminists can't seem to prioritize stuff like this in the mainstream because they are too busy trying to regain control of their uteruses.

Did I miss anything?

Oh yeah, fuck Elon and fuck "End Wokeness".

[sylus-doll]

Synopsis: Before, you always thought that you would resent him. Yet you sit here in his home, and you have come to realize that it has become yours, too.

Warnings: None.

Author's note: Felt down lately, so this is a little self indulgent. Inspired by the new 4* card Greedy Heart. Comments and reblogs are appreciated. <3

This feels wrong— it should be. On forsty nights like these, you were supposed to be wrapped in the blankets of your own apartment. Watching TV, eating snacks, or even taking the time to indulge yourself in hobbies you have not had the time for recently. But instead of soft fabric, Sylus's arms envelop you, staving off the icy sting with his own skin. Your entertainment is the night sky and you are in a losing struggle against sleep.

Sylus notices, of course he does. He can't help but chuckle at your stubbornness to stay awake. And you, with your head pressed against his chest, only manage to feel disgruntled with the sudden rise and fall of movement. One of his hands begins carding through your hair slowly. You can't tell what he's thinking, and you don't want to. So you turn your head away as to not meet his eyes in favour of observing his home.

“If you're tired, you should just sleep, sweetie. I'll be here when you wake up.”

You wonder if he says that just to watch over you as you sleep. Even though the dulcet tone of his voice is tempting you to give in, your heart doesn't settle. What exactly were you doing? Simone. Tara. Captain Jenna. Xavier— what would your beloved association think if they saw you like this? Within the arms of someone with an outstanding bounty on his head; your natural enemy— feeling safe.

“If you want to get rid of me, just say so.”

Yet you make no move to leave. When Sylus himself offered to leave, you were the one who clung to him and never let him go. A simple bet that he had made led to spending the mundane moments of your life with him. It's too late to take back that decision now. Not like you wanted to anyway. From the moment you made that decision, your lives have been so intertwined that you can no longer tell when you end and he begins.

It's apparent if you would just drift your eyes over this space on the balcony and into his bedroom. Your gun next to his on the desk, you share bullets sometimes. A jacket— your favourite one, tossed carelessly over a chair. You're wearing one of his sweaters. There's a space for your belongings, storage built specifically for you. Before, Sylus slept upright. Now, there are never less than two pillows and at least three plushies on the bed.

Everywhere you look, there are traces of you. No doubt beyond this bedroom as well. The rest of the house. His armories, his safehouses. Businesses and dealings. Probably even on his private jet and yachts. You think that there may be traces of you on his person as well. Sylus's eyes follow yours, landing on each thing you stare at.

“Is there anything you want to change?” he asks, a subtle hint of mirth in his tone.

You nod: yes.

“Oh? Well then, go ahead and tell me what you want.”

Sylus stares into your eyes, waiting. The warmth in his gaze is almost unbearable, but you'll have to hold it when you demand things from him.

“I want you to never erase my traces from your life. I want you to never leave.”

“Where would I even go? Is that all? You could be a little greedier. Alright. I'll engrave you into my soul if I have to. Until you finally understand that you are my home. I promise.”

Sylus never breaks his promises, so you'll just have to believe him.

[thebroccolination]

THAMEPO'S RELATIONSHIP (AS OF EPISODE 4)

Back when the teaser (made as an appeal to sponsors) aired in part two of GMMTV's 2024 showcase, and especially after the trailer (cut from the actual series) aired, I thought ThamePo looked like it would become one of the strongest series GMMTV has ever made.

So far, even though we're only four episodes in, it's well surpassing my expectations. Apparently, it's a passion project that the director had in the making for five years, waiting for the right casting to come along, so based on that alone, it's a series made with love. And I have a soft spot for passion projects. <3

Still, the top criterion I judge all series by is the quality of the writing, and since ThamePo's director is also a seasoned screenwriter who developed the script, this is one of the strongest aspects of the series so far.

Over the past four episodes, we've seen our protagonist's flaws (people-pleasing, projecting, temper) and strengths (resourcefulness, observational skill, cleverness), what he wanted (to return to the creative working world) and how it's changing (to reunite MARS). We've met the public version of Thame, the shallow version of Thame that Po misread, and the private version of Thame trying to make amends with his friends. We've met three of those friends (Jun, Dylan, and Pepper) and have hints about the fourth (Nano), and each friend we've met has given us more insight into the kind of person Thame is and what he's done to try and protect his group as the leader.

Since the main conflict of the story appears to be Thame being forced to choose between his band or his new boyfriend—

—Thame's relationship with Po has to move at quite a quick clip so he's emotionally invested enough in their relationship that it's a difficult choice. He's already extremely attached to his friends, so I'd argue one of the biggest challenges in the writing was having him fall in love with Po convincingly fast without it feeling forced by the hand of the screenwriter.

And daaamn has that been well-accomplished, in my opinion.

First, Po gets his Y/N moment.

It's established in the first episode that Thame saw Po at a fanmeeting once and remembered him because Po did something kind for someone when he didn't have to. Presumably because Thame's in a fairly cutthroat industry where people are constantly vying for his attention, maneuvering him like a chess piece, or flat-out ignoring him, that small act of kindness was probably one of the bright points of his day, week, or even month. Especially as things started falling apart with the other members.

In that same episode, we see Po projecting the heartbreak from his previous relationship onto Thame.

And in return, Thame—who spends most of the next episode docilely doing whatever he's told to do by the company—allows some of what he's hidden to show out of frustration presumably brought on by being so thoroughly misunderstood and chastised by a stranger he used to think well of and now suspects of being a sasaeng.

Because both characters are in such vulnerable places emotionally, it translates well to the narrative when they start to depend on one another.

On Po's end, his recent breakup has left him feeling foolish and exposed, taken advantage of by a man who refused to acknowledge Po's sacrifices or show any true appreciation for all the work Po did to see him succeed.

Meanwhile, Thame is alone in every way that matters.

His parents are neglectful,

his friends abandoned him,

and his boss is manipulating him.

At the start, Po is quite literally the only ally he has.

It's because Po kept at him to be honest, to be sincere, that Thame woke up and decided to fight for himself.

And because Thame is doing something for himself for a change, that's what wins back his closest friend Jun.

What I love about this whole narrative is that it's already established from Po's previous relationship that he's the kind of person to give himself entirely to a cause for someone else's benefit. He helped Earn to his own detriment, he picked up a small child so she could see, and he's risking his job to help Thame find happiness and peace.

So it's entirely in-character for him to, say, go through a whole room filled with boxes of rejected song lyrics trying to find one piece of paper that he had to tape back together. Only for it not to matter, because Thame mended fences with Dylan on his own.

I'd argue this is what makes Po think, Maybe I'm too emotionally involved in this. Especially after Jun has point-blank told him that Thame would never be interested in him that way.

We see the moment Po doubts his enthusiastic support of this whole project.

And it's clear that this could have been where it ended for Po.

Until Thame, observant and kind and the polar opposite of Earn, says exactly the right thing to him.

Because that was the major breaking point for Po in his relationship with Earn. He was made to feel disposable. Extraneous. Unnecessary. But Thame recognizes the work he's done, the effort he's put in. He may be reuniting the group for his own satisfaction, but he's not so selfish that he can let Po's contributions go unobserved and unappreciated.

Then, y'know. Thame talks to Po until he falls asleep—

—and serenades him in the morning.

And the thing is! Knowing all we know about Thame—that his parents don't seem to care about him, that he's been isolated from his friends, that he's been made helpless in his own career for so long after being manipulated into signing contracts that restrict his freedom—it makes sense for him to be the one pursuing Po this hard. Just as much as it makes sense for recently heartbroken Po to be interested and yet hesitant.

Setting all of this up in four episodes while covering the entire backstory of MARS and their gradual reunion is a feat of excellent writing. We have a reason to care about Thame and Po's relationship, because it's been clearly shown to us that they bring out the best in each other and that they're willing, even at this early stage, to take risks for each other. We've also got reason to care about MARS, because they seem to be more family to Thame than his own, and they're his current priority.

I'm genuinely thrilled to see such solid writing come from a GMMTV series because as I've said before, they seem more and more recently to chuck first drafts on an assembly line and just assume the fandom will watch anything regardless of the quality as long as certain khuujin are cast as the leads (which, y'know, isn't untrue).

While I enjoy some GMMTV QL series as mindless fluff to watch with friends, there are very few I'd say are written well. Apart from ThamePo, only five other series I've seen have what I'd consider well-executed scripts: Pluto (2024), Be My Favorite (2023), Dark Blue Kiss (2019), SOTUS S (2017), and SOTUS (2016). Sadly, I think Not Me (2022) was on track to be one of the best with its first half, but the production was infamously neglected with episodes cut by GMMTV at the last minute and the script deprived of major edits that left the second half almost shallow by comparison. (Of course, Not Me had a host of censorship issues as well, so we may never know how much that interfered with the quality. It's still an incredible series for its ambition and for Nuchy's directing, and I'll be mad every day of my reincarnation cycle that it didn't get the writing support it deserved.)

Otherwise, nearly every GMMTV series I've seen has at least one major basic storytelling flaw (no character arc, a sloppy resolution, unconvincing setup, weak characterization, excess filler, etc.), and they seem to be first drafts with very little depth. With that in mind, I hope to see ThamePo do well enough that it sends a message to GMMTV that they should focus more on the writing of their series. I think based on what we've seen in the first four episodes and in the trailer, the script quality is reliable, and ThamePo's relationship may be one of the best-written we've seen yet. <3

[bitchslapblastoids]

dan’s flush….. his slightly frantic energy….. I feel like anytime they did anything unrehearsed and live together, he had this heightened pre-defensive edge of energy and nerves. in a permanent saw trap.

meanwhile he’s saying things like “i’d be his victim” about evan peters with no hesitation. the queer attraction really was always so loud with him, even as he fought tooth and nail to act revolted by phil

zeroing in on the flushed red patch, my beloved…. here is the state of dan’s face right when the show starts:

a few minutes in, no real patch:

No patch UP UNTIL EDITING TIPS. Editing tips moment:

patch becomes flushed. And stays flushed for the remainder of the show (these screenshots are all from three completely different moments):

is it sad? is it funny? is it endearing? is it all the above? sweet daniel never able to hide a single emotion in his life. I think phil had so thoroughly become an iron vault of persona by this point, but never dan.

that recent convo about how tatinof era was their least romantically charged/least obvious time period… yeah, but the evidence was in things like this. how they were obviously so comfortable around one another and their natural chemistry was so seamless, and yet, when live on camera, they were so buttoned up and perpetually on edge. so crazed in their attempt to establish a perception of platonic distance. so proactively defensive. meanwhile, they’re never more than 2 inches apart and every single thing they mention doing in this show is something they did together and dan can never talk about phil’s eyes without naming three colors and they’re a perpetual “we” and dan’s preemptively yelling at us for judging phil’s coffee tastes.

and still the whole time, it looks like someone is periodically stabbing little acupuncture needles into dan’s skin.

[yinemw]

𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲

context: taking care of bf Tamaki when he’s anxious (gender neutral reader)

warnings: none

character: Tamaki Amajiki from MHA

m.list

“Oh Tamaki” you say softly, walking up to the poor boy who was standing up against the wall. Head rested against the cold stone, hands in his pockets as his body quivered ever so slightly. Mirio had texted you that he was having one of his ‘meltdowns’ again, knowing you always manage to make him feel better. “Hey, it’s me”

“…hey” he replied, taking a step back from the wall. Knowing what was coming next, it had become a habit of some sort for the two of you, almost a routine. Moving to stand in front of him, you let Tamaki rest his forehead against yours instead of the wall. Hands wrapped around your waist instead of being stuffed in his pockets. He wasn’t a pda type of guy, but it was better than standing alone against a wall.

Your arms circle around his shoulders, pulling him even closer. His eyes close and you feel his body calm down. “So, what happened?”

“Oh you know…the usual” he mumbles, arms tightening a little around you. He liked the contact of your body against his, to feel the warmth radiating from you. With his eyes closed, all he has to focus on was your breath fanning his face and your sweet voice reassuring him. “I just want to go home”

You can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his tense back with your fingers. “I know you do, but the day isn’t finished yet. We have one more class to attend, and after that we can go home, okay?”

“Not okay” he shakes his head slightly, leaning his head down to your shoulder instead and squeezing you in his arms suddenly. Feeling your heartbeat slowly sync up with his own. His heartbeat slowing down the longer you stayed standing like that, in each others arms. “They don’t look like potatoes Y/n, and I freeze up, unable to do anything”

You did truly feel bad for your boyfriend, his anxiety always eating up at him, making his daily life more difficult then it should be. But sometimes it also happened to be a little funny. Potatoes? You had heard that one before, first time he met you he had mumbled the same thing. Calling you a pretty potato and running off in embarrassment when he realized he had said the words out loud. “Maybe that’s a good thing? Talking potatoes would be creepy” you mumble into his pointy ear, continuing to rub your fingers into the muscles of his back.

Tamaki shudders, burying his head deeper into your neck. Eyes closed shut so all he saw was black and all he felt was you. “Let’s go home”

“Where exactly is home?” You ask softly, it’s not like you two lived together, but it seemed like recently you hadn’t been at your own place for ages. Always going over to Tamaki’s place, sleeping in his bed with him. Half of your clothes were in his closet and all toiletries in his bathroom.

“Wherever you are” he replies, not realizing the effect it had on you. He was being fully serious, meaning it wholeheartedly.

“What? That’s so cheesy…” you laugh nervously, trying to hide the fact you felt a clear blush on your cheeks.

“Is it?” He asks panicked, lifted his head from your shoulder, eyes slightly wide, looking into yours to see if he had done anything wrong to upset you or make you uncomfortable.

“No no! I was joking, it was cute. You feel like home too, why do you think I spend most of time at your place?”

His panic seems to fade, heartbeat still racing though, but for other reasons now. “O-oh, yeah, I like having you at my place”

You can’t help but smile, nodding your head in agreement. “Okay you know what, let’s call in sick for the last lesson today, I can say I got a fever and needed someone to take me home, and that someone is you, okay?”

He seems to light up immediately, letting out a relived sigh. “Yes please, I also need to buy some takoyaki on our way home”

“That’s fine, I’m pretty hungry anyways” you take his hand into yours and start walking with him. Leaning over and trying to press a kiss to his lips, you barely graze his lips before he pulls away.

“Y/n!! We’re in public!!” He covers his face in embarrassment and you don’t hold back your laugh, pulling him into a hug. Placing kisses all over his soft skin.

“I will always understand your anxiety and take care of you, but like hell I’m not gonna kiss my boyfriend no matter where we are. That’s just something you have to get used to”

Tamaki lets out a sigh, knowing you were right, he did have to get used to it. He couldn’t picture his life without you, and if it meant getting embarrassed in public by your kisses just to see your smile, he’d let you do it any time.

[wemalyri]

could you do enhypen reaction to ur self harm ?? I loved ur last post

pairing: hyungline!enhypen × gn!reader genre: angst, hurt/comfort warnings: feeling guilty, obv self-harm, brief description of negative feelings and thoughts + personal tw for each member w/c: 640+ a/n: thank you for your request!! sorry that it took me SO long(( (it's been in my drafts since august just so yk :/)e also I did only hyung line I hope you don't mind. I tried to mention and describe different reasons and situations. some members include sad endings and feeling of hopelessness. I know that if you're deep down in this even words of your loved ones might not help. if you have this problem pls remember that you're not alone( take care of yourself properly! also sunghoon one is kinds crazy, sorry for that !!! likes and reposts are welcomed !!!

Heeseung

tw: comparison to others, jealousy, toxic perfectionism

You hadn’t seen each other for a few months. The reason of it was Heeseung’s job. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t stay with you all of the time. Three months of tour felt like eternity. However, it was finally over and now you could see each other again. Heeseung promised you to come over as soon as possible but you didn’t expect him to do it so fast. Forgetting yourself, you ran to the front door and opened it with a bright smile. Heeseung immediately hugged you, holding you tight. His hand held your head, burying your face in his chest. “Gosh I missed you so much…” He inhaled your scent with a loud sound. “You smell like home.”

You playfully giggled and pecked his lips, looking at him. He pulled away to explore your appearance with a smile, but it immediately faded as his gaze fixed on your thighs. “Y/n…” He whispered with fear, not believing his own eyes. 

Upper side of your legs were covered in scars, recent ones. You absolutely forgot to cover them, too excited to meet your boyfriend. 

Yes, Heeseung was perfect for you but that only made your self-esteem worse. You always thought he was too good for you, you never were on the same level. Heeseung wasn’t just an idol, he was a goddamn ‘ace’. Perfect at everything, you never noticed his bad habits, selfish thoughts or actions. He was like an angel fallen from heaven, someone who would never match you. This is what you thought. And when he left on tour you knew he wouldn’t be able to control or see new scars if you left them. Every time you got jealous, you would blame yourself for this feeling, making your mental statement even worse. Negative feelings were too much to handle but you were too embarrassed and ashamed to share them with Heeseung, knowing pretty well that even his sweetest words wouldn’t help you. This is how you found a way to express everything you felt, punishing yourself for not being flawless.

Your eyes looked down, searching for a reason of Heeseung’s worried expression. When you saw your scars, you felt ashamed and guilty. 

“It’s nothing.” you answered, trying to sound casual.

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” Heeseung’s tone of voice was serious. It felt like you had never seen him with such an expression. His eyes met yours and you could see a deep worry and hurt in them. “Why have you done that?..”

You felt guilty. You didn’t want to hurt him with your words but you didn’t want to lie to him at the same time. “I…didn’t feel well.” The reason you named sounded so stupid that a sense of shame washed over you.

Heeseung’s expression didn’t change. It seemed like your words didn’t convince him at all. “You could call me… text me… anything but not that.” 

“I didn’t want to bother you. You have a busy schedule, I don’t want to wear you out even more.” 

“Y/n… It wouldn’t hurt me as much as this.” You went silent for a second, biting your lip.

“I didn’t want to complain to you, okay?” It felt like you didn’t understand each other at all.

“Baby, that’s not complaining when you tell me about your feelings. That’s normal. I’m your boyfriend, you don’t trust me enough to share your thoughts?” You didn’t say anything as tears welled up in your eyes. Heeseung immediately stepped closer, pulling you to him. Your hands wrapped around his waist, holding onto him as the last hope. He pecked your head, whispering. “Tell me when you don’t feel well next time, okay?” You slightly nodded, thinking that maybe it will help you to go through this. At least, you decided to give it a try.

Jay

tw: ED, fatshaming (reader to themselves)

Jay is the best cook you've ever known and everyone always says that they're jealous of your luck. Your boyfriend cooks for you everyday, he never fails to make sure you're eating well even when he's tired. However, for you personally this obsession with good meals never was for the best. Your relationship with your body never was the simplest one and even though Jay and you dated for a while, you managed to hide it from him. However, at the last time something went wrong and your boyfriend started noticing what attitude you actually had to food.

One day you were having a meal at your apartment and of course Jay cooked. Again. Sitting next to your boyfriend, you were picking at food. 

“Is something wrong? You don't like it?” Jay asked, looking at you through his eyelashes with concern. 

“No, everything's fine. Just not hungry.” You managed to say, trying to sound casual. Jay's eyebrows frowned and he pulled chopsticks away. 

“Are you sure? You haven't been eating well lately.” This question suddenly made you annoyed. You didn't want someone to talk about your eating problems, so you tried to change the topic. 

“Just not hungry.” The same words left your mouth and it made Jay confused even more. Something definitely was wrong and he just couldn't understand what exactly. 

“Y/n, I know something is wrong. Don't try to hide it from me.” Jay's tone was serious and it only irritated you even more. 

“I said I was fine!” You striked the table, that made your sleeves of shirt roll up and show off your scars. Jay looked at your wrists and his sight immediately catched those parts of skin you were hiding from him. Fresh scars were relieved for his eyes, blooming on your hands. 

“Y/n, your hands…” Jay spoke quietly in disbelief. Your eyes immediately widened in realization. He saw them.

You rolled down your sleeves, hiding marks of the hatred to your body, eyes looking down.

“How long ago did you make it?” Jay asked seriously, clenching his fists. He didn't hear an answer from you. “Why?..” For a minute that you were staying silent, a lot of different thoughts ran through his head. Weren’t you happy with him? Was he a bad boyfriend? Why did you hide it?

“Jay, it's not your fault.” His flaw of thoughts was ruined by your quiet voice. “It's just… me.”

He absolutely didn't understand. His eyes looked into yours with desire for more explanation. He was begging you to talk about it. 

“I-I don't like myself. My body. And I feel even worse every time you try to feed me. I'm fat. I can't let myself eat that much.”

Of course, he was so stupid all of this time. You had always been eating purely. Once he even noticed you judgingly looking at yourself in the mirror. And he did nothing.

“Gosh, I'm so stupid…” Jay hid his face in his hands, rubbing the forehead, trying not to bunch his head under the table. 

“No, you're not. I never talked about it. You were just being a good caring boyfriend.” You saw how awful he felt and it made you feel guilty. 

He quickly stood up from his place and you could see his watered eyes, when he slipped his hands away from his face. He approached you, gently pulling your wrist to the side to examine you. “Did you hurt yourself anywhere else? Are there any more scars?” 

“No, Jay.” You settled him down with your voice but he didn’t seem to believe you. “Really. That’s all.”

Jay slightly sighed, closing his eyes. “Listen, I’m sorry.” You stood up and placed your hand on his shoulder, feeling even more guilty. 

“You shouldn’t apologize to me. You should apologize to yourself.” Jay looked mad but this expression on his face was actually hiding his concern. He looked at you and was met with your sad puppy eyes that made him want to hug you. His hands pulled you to him and he pressed his lips to your head. 

“I know…” You mumbled into his chest. “I just can't. I don't want to.”

“Baby… do you hate yourself that much?” Jay asked looking into your eyes when he lifted your chin up. Your eyes watered, giving him a clear answer. “I'm sorry…” He whispered. “I'll make sure you'll love yourself.”

You slightly shook your head in resistance but didn't say anything, ran out of energy. Jay patted your head, kissing your forehead, and while looking into his eyes full of love you thought that maybe he will keep his words. 

Jake

tw: reader can’t express their feelings, bad experience in sharing problems

Jake always was clingy towards you but it never was the problem. His hands almost always were wrapped around you, no matter if you were in public or not, you would feel his touch on your back or shoulder.

One day you had a movie-night and Jake was clinging onto you as usual. Wrapping hands around you, laying his head on your thighs, caressing your skin, he almost touched your recent scars that were covering your shoulder. Everytime Jake moved or shivered you would slightly flinch, avoiding contact between his hands and your scars under the shirt. 

Suddenly, your boyfriend pulled away from your thighs, holding onto your shoulder and you immediately gasped. “Ouch!”

Jake looked at you with worried eyes, pulling his hand away and holding it in the air. “Sorry! Did I grip too hard?”

You sighed, looking at him. “Yeah, a bit harsh. But it's okay.” Jake's gaze switched to your shoulder, covered with a shirt. He slightly pulled your sleeve up. “I'm sorry… There might be a bruise now. Let me look.” You immediately flinched from him. He didn't have to know about your scars. 

“No, it's okay.” Jake's eyes switched to your face with worry. 

“Baby, I'll just look…” He gently placed his hand on yours and you looked away, giving up. You knew he wouldn't leave you alone. Insisting would only cause more questions. 

Jake's fingers slowly pulled your sleeve up and his eyes widened. “Baby… what is that?..” Now he could see your recent scars that were blooming on your skin. 

There wasn't a certain reason why you did that. Sometimes negative feelings were too much to cope with and you, the person who had never been learnt how to take care of yourself and let your emotions out, would express everything, hurting yourself. You knew it was wrong but the thought of sharing your feelings with someone was too strange. Of course, you had tried. But it always ended the same. People would say you complain a lot and you would shut up, regretting letting out true feelings. But this time it was Jake. Jake who was your boyfriend, Jake who would never let himself hurt you. 

Your eyes watered with a feeling of despair but you didn't dare to meet his gaze. Awkward silence took the air away, not letting to breathe. However, tension in the room suddenly disappeared with Jake's gentle voice. “Hey…” His fingers tilted your chin up. Jake’s worried eyes met watered yours. “Where are they from?..” 

He looked so genuinely concerned that you couldn’t confess you were the one who did that with yourself. You bit your bottom lip, holding tears that started welling up in your eyes. There was no response. Jake started realising what your silent answer meant and his world faded away.

“It wasn’t you, right?..” he whispered, scared of his own words “You wouldn’t do that to yourself?…” Silence was making Jake go insane and he called you by your name. 

“Y/n?..” his hands held your, slightly squeezing them “Please, say something. I won;t judge you, I swear.”

You looked in the corner of the room quietly saying only a few words “That was me.”

Jake’s jaw clenched but he managed to ask “Why?..”

“I don’t know… I wasn’t… feeling well…” your voice was slightly shaky. Jake leaned close to you, making sure you could see everything in his eyes. 

“You have me. You can always share with me, you know that, right?” 

“I don’t want to complain to you. You don’t know what you’re signing up for.” you warned him, recalling your past experiences. 

“I don’t care. I want to make sure I’m doing the best I can to make you happy.” Jake saw your slight smile and leaned even closer to peck your lips before wrapping hands around you and whispering in your ear “Can you do that for me? Next time you feel bad… Tell me, scream at me, yell at me. As much as you need until you get rid of wanting to hurt yourself.” 

You caressed his hair pulling him closer and whispering “I love you, Jake.”He smiled, replying with the same soft words “I love you too.”

Sunghoon 

tw: self-harm in details, blood, low self-esteem, anxiety, jealousy, reader has REAL mental problems… (this one is crazy fr)

You knew Sunghoon pretty well as much as the fact that he only seemed to be cold. When you first met him, you thought he hated you for something or just didn’t like you, but after a while you found out you were wrong. Because of his cold appearance it’s hard to say what he’s feeling or thinking about. Still, you’ve loved him the way he is. However, your anxiety and self-esteem suffered the most in your relationship. Not because Sunghoon was too cold, but because you were afraid of doing or saying something wrong. Mental problems and fears took control of you and sometimes it led to hurting yourself. 

Sunghoon went out with friends. You were absolutely fine with that until it started being late and stars covered the dark sky. Sunghoon didn’t answer your calls, didn’t reply to your messages and you started worrying too much. Was he with other girls? Did he lie to you about his feelings? 

Minutes with these thoughts and attempts to call him again and you already found yourself in the bathroom with a blade in your hands. Fear of losing Sunghoon and hatred to yourself led you towards irrecoverable actions.

Consumed by your feelings, you didn’t notice the sound of unlocking door and footsteps of your boyfriend. He was surprised by not seeing you greeting him in the hallway and suggested you were sleeping. As Sunghoon carefully headed towards the bathroom he stood still in the doorframe, seeing you with bloody hands sitting on the cold tile. His eyes widened in fear and he ran to you, holding your shoulders and turning you to him.

“Y/n! Are you here? Do you hear me?” he enquired with fear slightly shaking you. 

Your eyes shoot opened “Hoon? What are you doing here?” 

“What do you mean? I came home as usual. What’s happened?..” he looked over you with worried eyes “We need to take you to the hospital.” 

Sunghoon started lifting you up but you stopped him lightly tapping his shoulder. 

“No… It’s okay…” You weakly smiled, tears on your cheeks becoming dry.

“It’s not okay. Your wrists are literally bleeding…” You could tell he was trying his hardest to stay calm but hysterical notes in his voice were telling the opposite. Sunghoon laid you on the bed and called the ambulance with shaky hands.When the call ended the room went silent. 

“We need to stop your… blood first” He hurried to the bathroom for some bandage to negligently stop your blood. Fortunately, cuts weren’t deep.

“I thought you wouldn’t come…” you mumbled watching Sunghoon treating your wounds.

Sunghoon looked at you with confusion “Why did you do that?.. I don’t understand…” His voice was quiet, your heart breaking into million pieces. 

“I’m sorry…” you whispered reaching for his cheek. “I thought… I thought you lied to me. You weren’t answering my texts and calls…” Your thumb slowly caressed his skin, wiping away a lonely tear that escaped from his watering eyes. Sunghoon gently took another hand of yours in his, rubbing the knuckles.

“My phone was discharged…” 

Oh. That was so stupid of you. How could you overreact so much?..

“Oh… I didn’t think about that…” The room went silent again. 

“Y/n, please… I’m begging you. Never do that again. Okay?..” Sunghoon’s pleading voice broke the silence. You hesitated before slowly nodding. “I don’t want to lose you like that.”

Your eyes watered, you started realising your mistake and what you did, what could happen. “I’m sorry, Hoon… I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The room was suddenly filled with a syren of the ambulance that flew from the opened window.

[airybcby]

hi !! i wanted to request for your most recent event could you do ness with 🧁 and 🍊 ?? i love your writing so much :3 also if the events close please just ignore this! ^^

hi! tysm for giving me the opportunity to write abt ness, i love him!

an alexis ness orange citrus cupcake :)

જ⁀♡⊹｡° let me love you goodbye

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event !

♡ content — alexis ness x gn! reader, gn! reader, ex bf! ness, ness being peer pressured into breaking up, mentions of kaiser (once), pining (ness), reader does try to stay strong, second chance romance

♡ synopsis — when you and alexis ness broke up, it shattered something in you that never quite healed. well, or so you thought.

You hadn’t seen Alexis Ness in almost a year.

After he walked away—after you walked away—it became easier to think of him as someone from a chapter of your life you’d already closed. No texts, no calls, no random appearances at the coffee shop where you used to meet. It was like he’d erased you as easily as wiping dust from a mirror.

And maybe that was for the best.

Because loving Alexis Ness had been all-consuming.

He was kind, soft-spoken, and impossibly thoughtful when it came to you. But he was also impressionable—so much so that others’ opinions carried more weight than they should have.

And when Michael Kaiser told him that you were a distraction—someone holding him back from becoming his best self—he believed it.

He’d tried to explain, of course. Told you how much he loved you, how much it hurt him to let you go, but he couldn’t risk his future. He couldn’t let anything interfere with his soccer career.

You’d cried, argued, and begged him to see that you weren’t the obstacle he thought you were. That you were rooting for him, standing in his corner no matter what.

But it wasn’t enough.

So, when the two of you broke up, it shattered something in you that never quite healed.

When you saw his name listed as your partner for the marriage simulation program, your first reaction was disbelief.

Your second reaction was anger.

Of all the people they could have paired you with, why him? Why Alexis?

But as much as you wanted to march to the program administrator’s office and demand a change, you didn’t. Instead, you gritted your teeth and resolved to survive the next few weeks.

It was just a simulation. Nothing more.

You could handle being around him again.

The first day was awkward, to say the least.

“Hey,” he greeted you at the door of the shared apartment, his voice careful, like he was afraid you’d bolt.

“Hey,” you replied flatly, stepping inside with your suitcase.

The apartment was small but cozy—a living room that flowed into a tiny kitchen, and two bedrooms tucked away in the back.

“Uh, I took the room on the left,” Alexis said, fidgeting with his shirt sleeve. “But if you want it, we can switch.”

“I don’t care,” you said, brushing past him.

The air between you was heavy, filled with all the words you hadn’t said to each other in a year.

The first few days were a study in avoidance.

You spoke when necessary—coordinating chores, reviewing assignments—but nothing more.

The points staring at the two of you in your living room, the bright red number of '2'...only because you'd split the chores. Other couples were already in the hundreds.

It was easy for them, they may have actually liked their partner.

Still, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart twisted every time he smiled, or the pang of longing when he casually said your name, like he hadn’t shattered your heart a year ago.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. Not anymore.

But then, one evening, everything changed.

The two of you were tasked with planning a mock anniversary celebration as part of the program.

“You always liked candlelight dinners,” Alexis said quietly, glancing at you from across the table.

The words caught you off guard. “You remember that?”

He smiled faintly. “I remember everything.”

You looked away, focusing on the flickering candle between you. “It doesn’t mean anything, Ness. It’s just a simulation.”

“Is it?” he asked, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite name. Regret? Hope?

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t respond.

Later that night, as you cleaned up the mock dinner, he spoke again.

“I was wrong,” he said suddenly.

You froze, your hands stilling on the dish you were drying.

“About everything. About you,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “You weren’t a distraction. You were the only person who ever truly supported me, and I was too stupid to see it.”

Your chest ached as you turned to face him. “Why are you telling me this now, Ness? A year ago, I begged you to stay. I begged you to believe in us. And you walked away.”

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes glistening. “And I’ve regretted it every single day since.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You can’t just say that and expect everything to be okay.”

“I’m not asking for everything to be okay,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m asking for another chance. To prove that I’m not the same person who let you go.”

For a moment, you considered walking away. Turning your back on him the way he had on you.

But then you saw the sincerity in his eyes—the same eyes that once looked at you like you were his whole world.

And maybe, just maybe, you could believe in him again.

The simulation ended a few weeks later, but your story with Alexis Ness didn’t.

This time, he stayed.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt whole again.

the ending is rlly crappy but my brain wasn't working

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!