#at first I thought it was a mistake but no

[satellite-evans]

in his eyes

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: it doesn't matter what people say on the internet, because Lando loves you.

Word count: 3.3k+

Warnings: giving birth, angst, fluff, insecurity, nasty people on the internet

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The room was still and peaceful. After hours of pain and screaming, it was finally quiet. You could hear the faint beeping of the heart monitor in the background, but it was as if everything else had faded away. In that sacred silence, your heart felt fuller than it ever had before.

Lando’s voice broke through the quiet again, but this time, it was a little more hesitant, as if he were trying to put words to the flood of emotions swirling in his chest. “I always dreamed of this moment... but seeing her here, in my arms... it’s so much more than I imagined.”

Your heart swelled at his words. You had always known how much he longed for this day—how much he dreamed of becoming a father. But to witness it, to see him holding their daughter with such reverence, was beyond anything you could have ever expected.

“She’s so tiny,” you whispered, leaning in a little closer to get a better look at the little girl in Lando’s arms. "It’s hard to believe she’s ours."

Lando nodded, his thumb gently stroking the baby’s tiny hand, his gaze never leaving her face. “I just want to protect her. I want to give her everything. She’s going to have the best life.”

You smiled, feeling tears well up in your eyes again. You had always known Lando was capable of deep love, but seeing him like this, seeing him so vulnerable, made you fall even deeper in love with him.

“I have no doubt, Lando,” you said softly. “She’s going to have everything she needs... and more.”

Lando turned his head toward you for the first time since he’d been holding their daughter, his eyes glistening with emotion. He smiled, a soft, loving smile that melted your heart. “I couldn’t have asked for a better partner. I can't believe she's mine as much as I can't believe I'm yours. We’re in this together.”

You reached out to gently stroke the side of his face, your thumb tracing the curve of his jaw. His words meant everything to you. There was no one else you’d rather share this moment, this journey, with. "I feel the same. You're going to be the best dad, Lando."

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’ll try my best. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she’s happy.”

The quiet room filled with the sound of a small yawn from your daughter, followed by the soft rustling of blankets. Lando chuckled softly, clearly enchanted by the tiny noise. “She’s already got her own little personality, huh?”

You both laughed quietly, and the sound felt like music, the kind of sound that made everything else in the world feel right. “I think she’s definitely going to keep us on our toes.”

Lando nodded, but his eyes were still soft and full of awe. "I'm ready for that. As long as we’re together... we can handle anything."

Your heart fluttered as you looked at him, this man who had been your partner, your best friend, and now, the father of your child. There were no words to fully capture the depth of what you felt in that moment. All that mattered was that you were here, together, in this perfect little bubble of love with your daughter.

“She’s going to love you so much, Lando,” you whispered, your voice full of certainty.

He smiled at you, a rare vulnerability in his eyes as he gazed at their daughter again. “I already love her more than I ever thought possible.”

As the moments passed, the three of you simply existed in this space, letting the world outside the hospital room fade away. There was no rush, no need for anything other than this precious time you had together, letting the quiet joy of the moment fill every corner of your hearts.

Lando's voice was low and full of affection as he spoke again, almost as if to himself. “This... this is everything I’ve ever wanted. You, her... us.”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "And we're just getting started."

The first few weeks after giving birth were a whirlwind of emotions, adjustments, and challenges. Your body was healing, and there were days when you felt overwhelmed by the exhaustion. Physical recovery was tough, and mentally, you wondered if you were doing enough. The sleepless nights, the constant feeding, the emotional rollercoaster—it was all a lot to process. But through it all, Lando was there.

You often found him hovering around you like a quiet guardian, making sure you were comfortable and had everything you needed. The first night you came home from the hospital, Lando insisted on taking the baby for a few hours to give you some rest. You were still recovering from the birth, and the thought of trying to breastfeed, soothe the baby, and manage the pain seemed overwhelming. But Lando stepped in without hesitation.

"I’ve got her, Y/N. You rest," he said, his voice soothing and steady as he gently took their daughter into his arms. You had to fight the urge to stay up, but you trusted him. You allowed yourself to close your eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you slept soundly for a few hours, knowing your baby was safe and loved.

When you woke up, the sight that greeted you made your heart swell. Lando was sitting on the couch, holding the baby against his bare chest. His face, usually so focused and intense, was softened in a way you had never seen before. He gazed at her with such love and tenderness, whispering sweet words to her as she napped peacefully in his arms.

" I know I said it like a hundred times already but, she’s perfect, Y/N. Absolutely perfect," Lando had said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid to disturb the serenity of the moment.

He made sure you didn’t feel the weight of the housework either. Whenever the dishes piled up, Lando was the one to wash them, even when he had been working on the simulator for hours or when the demands of his racing career were overwhelming. "I’ve got it. You just relax. You’ve done enough," he’d tell you. He even took on the responsibility of cooking, though you could tell his meals weren’t quite as delicious as when you were in charge. But it didn’t matter—what mattered was the effort, the care, the thoughtfulness he put into everything.

Lando was constantly reassuring you when you doubted yourself. He saw the way your shoulders would slump after a long day of caring for the baby, how the sleepless nights began to take their toll, and he’d be there to remind you that you were doing an amazing job. When you expressed how hard it was to adjust to motherhood and how difficult it felt to bounce back physically, Lando was quick to reassure you.

“You’re incredible. You brought life into the world, Y/N. That’s something amazing. You are enough,” he said with conviction, never once faltering in his support.

There were nights when the baby would cry, and Lando would take the lead, waking up to comfort her before you had even opened your eyes. He’d hold her, rock her gently, and whisper soft lullabies to her, making sure she felt safe and loved while you caught a few more hours of sleep. His patience was endless.

Sometimes, when you’d express that you didn’t feel like yourself, that you didn’t look like yourself, Lando would gently take your face in his hands, his eyes filled with love. “You’re the same Y/N I fell in love with. You’ll always be her. Nothing about you has changed, except maybe... you’re even more beautiful now,” he’d say with a warm, playful smile, easing the weight of your worries with his words.

Lando’s support wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, too. He never let you feel alone in this new chapter of your life. When you cried from the frustration of sleepless nights or the pressure of balancing it all, Lando would simply pull you into his arms. “I’m here, Y/N. We’re in this together,” he’d say, as you let the tears fall.

Even when you doubted whether you could be the kind of mother you imagined yourself to be, Lando believed in you completely. "I’ve never seen anyone do what you do with as much strength and love as you have. We’re a team," he’d remind you over and over again.

And he was right. He never let you feel like you were doing it alone. When you struggled, he didn’t hesitate to pick up the slack. Whether it was handling late-night feedings or changing diapers, he did it all with a quiet grace that made you admire him more than ever.

In those early weeks, as you both navigated the unfamiliar waters of parenthood, it became clear to you just how deeply Lando cared—not just for you, but for your little family. He did everything with the thought of making your life a little easier, even when he was running on empty himself.

"You’ve given me the greatest gift, Y/N," he told you one evening, after putting the baby to sleep. “And I’m so thankful for both of you.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

Lando smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’ll never have to,” he promised. "I’m always going to be here."

And in that moment, you knew—you were never alone.

One sunny afternoon, you felt like you had enough energy to step outside. The last few weeks had been a blur of late nights, feedings, and tender moments with Lando and your baby. You loved every second of it, but you also needed a break, a small taste of normalcy. You had always enjoyed little walks and small outings with Lando, and today, you wanted to do something nice for him. He’d been so incredible, taking on the lion’s share of the care and support, and you wanted to return the favor.

So, you decided to walk to your favorite bakery. The idea was simple: get a couple of your favorite pastries as a treat for both of you. It would give you some fresh air and a little exercise, and you couldn’t wait to surprise Lando with something sweet. You’d always shared a love for pastries, and there was something comforting about going there alone, just to clear your mind for a while.

As you strolled down the street, the air felt crisp and refreshing. Your body was still adjusting, but with each step, you felt a bit more like yourself. It was the first time in a while that you didn’t feel overwhelmed, and you even caught yourself smiling at the thought of Lando, who was back at home taking care of the baby.

When you arrived at the bakery, you paused for a moment to take in the familiar, cozy atmosphere. The warm, inviting smell of freshly baked goods hit you, and you felt comforted by the thought of how much Lando would appreciate this little gesture. As you stood in line, your fingers fiddled with your phone, glancing at the screen before it was your turn to order.

“Hi, I’ll have two of the almond croissants and one of the chocolate eclairs, please,” you said, giving the cashier a friendly smile.

But then, as you stood there waiting for your order, you heard the sound of giggles behind you. You barely registered it at first, but then it came again—a group of girls, no older than your mid-twenties, talking and laughing loudly.

“You know, I saw Y/N out in public the other day…” one of them said, her voice dripping with that judgmental tone. “She’s huge now. Like, I know she had a baby, but how can she just let herself go like that?”

The other girls snickered in agreement. “Lando deserves someone better than her,” one of them added. “I mean, he could have anyone, right? Why stay with someone who just let themselves go like that?”

The words felt like a sharp slap to the chest, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to blur. You didn’t know whether to cry, shout, or just run out of the bakery. They weren’t whispering or trying to hide it—they were speaking loudly, thinking you wouldn’t hear. But you did. Every word stung.

You wanted to turn around and say something, to defend yourself, but instead, you kept your eyes on the counter, trying to hold it together as the cashier bagged your pastries. You could feel the heat rise to your face, the tears pricking at the back of your eyes. It had been so long since you’d felt self-conscious, and yet, their words dug up insecurities you had worked so hard to bury.

You paid for the pastries with a forced smile, muttering a polite “Thank you,” before quickly exiting the bakery. You had to get home. You needed to get away from the cruel laughter that still echoed in your ears.

Once you were back home, the door clicked shut behind you, and you stood there for a moment, taking in the quiet of the house. You set the pastries down on the kitchen counter, the warm scent of fresh-baked goods filling the air, but it did little to lift the weight that had settled in your chest. You could still hear the words from the bakery echoing in your mind, the sting of the comments, and the cruel judgments of people who didn’t know you or what you’d been through.

With a sigh, you rubbed your eyes, exhausted both physically and emotionally. Your heart was heavy, and it felt like everything was crashing down around you. Lando had been so caring, so supportive, and you didn’t want to burden him with this—it wasn’t fair to him. He had done so much to make you feel loved and beautiful, and here you were, doubting it all because of a few words from strangers.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake it off. You didn’t want to ruin this moment—this quiet, peaceful time at home with your family. So instead of seeking out Lando, you slipped quietly into the living room, phone in hand, and tried to lose yourself in something else.

You knew scrolling through social media wasn’t healthy—especially right now—but it felt like a distraction, something to fill the empty space in your mind. But the moment you unlocked your phone, it all came crashing in. The familiar blue light illuminated the room, but instead of calming you, it brought a flood of negativity.

The comments began to pour in, one after another, and with each notification, your chest tightened. The words were sharp, cruel.

"She’s disgusting." "Lando should dump her and find someone who takes care of themselves."

The comments continued to pile on, each one worse than the last. "Fat," "ugly," "why does she think she’s still worthy of him?" They cut through you like daggers, tearing into every insecurity, every vulnerability you’d tried so hard to hide. The words hit you harder than you could have imagined, and it felt like the air was being sucked out of your lungs. Your heart ached as your eyes filled with tears.

Before you knew it, the tears were flowing, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. The hurtful words from the bakery combined with the hateful comments made everything feel too overwhelming. You wiped your face quickly, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

It wasn’t long before you heard footsteps upstairs. Lando had gone up to check on the baby, and now, his soft footsteps echoed down the stairs as he walked back into the living room. When his eyes found you, his expression immediately shifted from calm to concern. His gaze locked onto your red, tear-streaked face, and he froze, clearly taken aback by the sight.

"Y/N…" he said softly, his voice full of worry as he rushed over to where you sat. "What’s wrong?"

You hesitated for a moment, trying to hide the phone in your lap, but he could see the pain in your eyes. He knelt down in front of you, gently taking the phone from your hand. You didn’t have the strength to say anything, so you simply let him read what was on the screen.

His face darkened immediately as he scanned the words. The anger was evident in the tightening of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils. “What the hell is this?” he asked, his voice sharp and protective. His fingers clenched the phone as his eyes lifted to meet yours, filled with disbelief and fury.

“These people… they don’t know anything about you. About us,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. The softness in his expression faltered as he took in the full weight of your hurt. He sat down beside you, his arm wrapping around you and pulling you gently into his chest.

“Y/N…” he whispered again, his voice soft but full of conviction. “Listen to me. You are amazing. You gave me our beautiful daughter, and your body—your beautiful, strong body—did something incredible. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Inside and out.”

The words melted your heart, but it was still hard to fight the weight of the hurt. You sniffled, resting your face against his chest, your voice breaking. “But the comments… they’re right. I don’t look like I used to. I don’t—”

Lando pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve never looked more beautiful to me. Not once, not ever. You’re the woman I love. These people? They can say whatever they want, but they don’t get to decide how I see you.”

His words washed over you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the tight knot in your chest began to loosen. He cupped your face gently in his hands, his eyes full of love as he whispered, “If all the women in the world gathered together and shouted it, they couldn’t ever suppress your whisper. You’re perfect, Y/N.”

A fresh wave of tears stung your eyes, but they weren’t from sadness this time—they were from the overwhelming love you felt in this moment. Lando leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual.

“I’ll always see you for who you truly are,” he murmured, his voice full of warmth and tenderness. “And if they don’t see it… that’s their problem. But as for me? I’m right here, loving you more every day.”

You laughed softly through your tears, feeling the tension in your chest dissolve. Lando’s playful tone lifted your spirits even more. "And let’s be honest," he added with a cheeky grin, "even if all of them did shout, I’d still be right here. Loving you. And no one can change that."

The gentle teasing helped lighten your heart, and for the first time in hours, you felt a small flicker of hope. Lando was right. His love for you wasn’t based on anything as fleeting as looks. It was about who you were, what you’d been through together, and the life you’d created. No one could take that away.

Lando pulled you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips—gentle and reassuring, as if to seal the promise of his words. And for the first time since you left the bakery, you allowed yourself to believe it. You were enough. You were perfect, just as you were.

And you were loved, more than you could ever imagine.

[navybrat817]

hi navy!!! I might be too late, but I was hoping to send in a request for ficlet Friday with Bucky Barnes and the prompt "shoulders hunched over a chopping board, carefully dissecting fruit to deliver it to you in a bowl" and maybe avenger!bucky x avenger!reader if possible??

Thank you so much!!! <333

Hi, nonnie! I hope you like where I took this.

Better Tomorrow

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader

Summary: You get a small injury on a mission and it's part of the job, but Bucky still hates it.

Word Count: Over 950

Warnings: Established relationship, small injury, touch of angst, comfort, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You were careful to keep your breathing even when you got up from the couch. If Bucky heard you hiss or groan in pain, he’d rush to your side and demand to know why you got up. He’d also put you right back where you were sitting and remind you not to move. It was sweet when you thought about it and you adored that he wanted to coddle you for a bit, but there was no need.

A bullet grazed your arm on a mission earlier, a superficial wound. It wasn’t the first time that a mission ended with an injury nor was it a big deal. Deep down you felt that it didn’t make a difference to Bucky how artificial the wound was because you still got hurt. For a second you thought he’d kill the man who shot you, but he held back. And by holding back that bad guy would be spending some time in the hospital before he went to jail.

Tiptoeing toward the kitchen in the hopes that your boyfriend’s heightened hearing wouldn’t detect you, you froze when you spotted him behind the island. His hair down, wearing a white tank top, his shoulders hunched over as he carefully cut up pieces of fruit. The sight put a smile on your face and made your heart turn over.

Bucky was an Avenger. Both of you were. But this? Seeing your man in a domestic environment? It reminded you just how human you both were, that you could be vulnerable beneath the strength.

“You’re not resting,” he said, his eyes flickering to yours. He either heard you or he was that attuned to you. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been resting and I’m fine,” you smiled. He had already given you something for the pain, your favorite blanket and a book, and you could only sit for so long. “I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” he said, trying to continue the task with a look of indifference, but you knew better. He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and that wasn’t fair.

“You’re not, Bucky,” you gently spoke, taking a step forward.

“No, I’m not. Because you got hurt and I couldn’t stop it,” he confessed, letting out a breath and confirming what you thought. It was nothing more than a whisper, but it felt like he screamed it from the depths of his soul.

Your heart broke for him. He took the blame into himself when it wasn’t his fault, punished himself for crimes he didn’t commit. You wouldn’t let him do that tonight. Not when he was a hero and your loving partner.

“We’re Avengers, Bucky. We help people. We may get hurt along the way and it’s a risk we take, but it isn’t your fault if one of us does,” you told him, seeing a swirl of emotions in his blue eyes. “The guy who chose to shoot at me is the one to blame, not you.”

“So why do I feel so terrible?” he whispered.

“Because you love me and you don’t want me in pain. Maybe you even thought for a moment that you’d lose me,” you answered, your heart contracting when he flinched. You understood that fear all too well when it came to him. “But I’m here and I’m okay.”

Bucky set the knife down and flexed his fingers, his eyes shutting for only a moment before he rounded the island to get to you. You moved forward on instinct and met him halfway so he could pull you into his arms. You fisted a hand in his tank top and wanted to burrow your face in his broad chest, your heart beating faster as you breathed each other in. He was safe, and so were you.

“I can’t lose you, baby. I can’t,” he said, his voice tight, careful not to squeeze your arm when he tightened his hold. He would never ask you to stop being an Avenger since he was out there doing the same thing, but injuries reminded him of the tough parts about being a hero.

“You won’t,” you said. You were both strong, capable. If you left the world tomorrow, you’d still be with him because your heart was his. You wouldn’t lose him either.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, kissing your forehead, your eyelids, your nose, and finally your lips. It’s so soft yet so passionate that you couldn’t stop the tears from burning behind your eyelids.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, blinking the mist away. “Now will you come and rest with me? Maybe I’ll let you feed me that bowl of fruit.”

“You’d let me do that?” he smiled a little.

“I would,” you smiled back, gasping when he lifted you off your feet and was once again careful not to do anything to your arm. “Show off,” you teased, hanging on with your good arm.

“Just a little,” he said. Picking you up was no sweat to a super soldier. “Thank you,” he added in a whisper. Taking care of you was going to comfort him as much as it comforted you.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you whispered back.

You had a feeling that Bucky wouldn’t sleep well tonight. He’d be too busy watching over you and making sure you were okay. If he did sleep there was a chance he’d have nightmares over the gunshot or a past injury. But in the morning he’d feel better knowing that you were really home with him, that you were okay, and that he didn’t lose you.

And if he really wanted to coddle and dote on you a bit longer, you wouldn’t stop him.

Love and thanks for participating! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[beloveds-embrace]

will take quite anything you’ve got from the designationless au bc holy shit is it giving me brainworms in the best way possible

<333

The first few weeks with the 141 were… strange. Moreso for them, truthfully.

Not bad- just strange.

You could tell they weren’t sure what to make of you at first.

They were used to reading each other without words- the shift of a scent, the pull of an instinct, the push and pull of social cues as natural as breathing. But you were an anomaly. No scent to catch onto, no designation to categorize you, no instincts that guided your actions.

You could feel it in the way they watched you. Not with suspicion, but with an unspoken wariness, as if they were trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces. Honestly, it was still much better than the way a lot of other units treated you.

John was the first to adjust. He treated you no differently than any other soldier nor did he single you out, though there was a quiet sort of patience in the way he spoke to you, as if giving you space to find your place. You caught him watching you sometimes, thoughtful, assessing- but whatever thoughts he had, he never voiced them, and you didn’t feel like he was thinking badly of you.

Ghost… was harder to read. He was distant but you could feel the hesitance in the way he kept a careful distance at first, as if unsure how to act around you. He wasn’t standoffish, just… cautious. It took a while before his posture around you eased, before he stopped looking like he was waiting for something from you that would never come.

Soap tested it the first week by standing too close, brushing your arm as he leaned over to look at your tablet, waiting for any possible reaction.

Nothing.

No subconscious shift in posture, no inhaling of his scent, no reaction at all. You only glanced at him for a moment before turning back to your screen, as if you hadn’t even noticed he was trying to get a reaction out of you.

He blinked. “You always this quiet?”

You didn’t look up. “You always this chatty?”

Soap, again, was also the first to push past it. “Y’know, it’s a bit unfair,” he teased one evening, nudging you with his elbow as he sat down beside you. You knew the reet of the team could hear since they were also around. “Cannae scent when you’re in a mood. Gotta actually ask how you’re feelin’ like a proper conversation.”

You had huffed a laugh, tense shoulders relaxing. “Guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Guess so,” he agreed so easily you were left blinking at him in open surprise. “Gotta say, makes you good at poker. Cannae bluff with your scent.”

Gaz had been the one to struggle the most. Not because he didn’t like you, but because, as an omega, scent and instincts were so deeply ingrained in how he interacted with the world. He was tactile, expressive, used to weaving himself into the unit with ease. But with you-

With you, there was nothing to weave into.

You weren’t rejecting him, but you weren’t responding the way he expected either. No subtle scent shifts, no automatic lean into comfort, no instinctual give and take. Just… you.

Gaz made the mistake of offering his jacket one evening when the air grew cold. You accepted it with a nod, but when he sat beside you, waiting for that quiet inhale- the subtle, unconscious gesture of taking in a packmate’s scent- he realized it wasn’t coming.

“You don’t… smell people, do you?” he asked, half-joking.

You glanced at him, brow slightly furrowed, and shook your head. “Not really.”

The weight of it settled between them.

Another time, he tried to offer comfort- a hand on your shoulder, a scent meant to soothe- and got nothing in return, he had hesitated, clearly unsure of what to do.

You had seen the flash of confusion on his face, the way he had almost pulled back.

So you had done the only thing you could. You reached up and patted his hand, offering a small smile. “I don’t really… get it. But I don’t mind.”

Gaz had studied you for a moment, then exhaled a quiet laugh. “Alright,” he had murmured, giving your shoulder a squeeze before letting go. “We’ll figure it out.”

And they did.

It took time, but eventually, they stopped hesitating.

John still gave orders with the same confidence, Ghost stopped treating you like an unknown variable, and Soap- well, he was always himself.

Gaz, despite everything, still fussed.

It wasn’t the same as what he did with the others- there was no instinctual scenting, no designation-motivated soothing. But he still checked in, still sat beside you during downtime, still pestered you when he thought you were overworking yourself.

You were different. They didn’t fully understand it, but it didn’t matter because by then?

You were one of them.

[vrystalius]

I know i just requested with weird nicknames for squid game characters.

But I want to see their reaction to your wallpaper being them or being another person. Literally obsessed with what you write its so cute. Take my heart ❤️

Squid Game men’s reaction for putting them as your phone’s wallpaper.

They randomly check your phone one day and find a picture of themselves staring back. How will they react? What kind of wallpaper do they have?

Pairing: Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu x gn!reader

Summary: You putting them as your phone wallpaper, them putting you as their phone wallpaper

Genre: Fluff, maybe a little angst in Nam-gyu’s part (mention of drug use)

Words: 800 per character

Note: I wrote this during my medicine and head concussion induced haze, forgive me for any inconsistencies or mistakes 😭🙏 Also, the middle pictures are a suggestion as what said wallpaper could be.

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // Salesman

— Choosing you as your wallpaper. —

Mostly surprise and confusion spread swirled in his mind the first time he stared back at himself in the form of your phone wallpaper. He never thought you’d screenshot this picture let alone use it as your wallpaper because c’mon— let’s be honest, you could’ve chosen any other picture of him and yet you decided on this.

It’s weird. Gong Yoo feels a little watched as he tries to find the food delivery app on your phone while having his own eyes stare back at him.

Although he had grown more and more fond of it every time he opened your phone anew. He sees how you grin a little when turning on your screen, how you sometimes giggle when you stare at it for too long. Sometimes you show it off to him and complain about he barely ever wears any skincare masks anymore.

“So you can have a new wallpaper? I don’t think so. My skin is fine for now, thank you darling.”

To be really honest, he finds it incredibly endearing that you chose him as your wallpaper, especially a picture like this. He thinks of himself as a sophisticated, charming, handsome salesman that lures desperate people into a death game and messes with homeless people in his free time, but you seemingly just see him as your soulmate, the love of your life, your husband.

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

Two months into the relationship and after a couple of dates, Gong Yoo already set you as his phone wallpaper. It was nice to have a reminder looking back at him to text you, check in on you, give you a call or even come by for dinner. A reminder that he has a special someone to care and love for.

He switches his wallpaper up every few weeks or months, wanting to keep it updated to your appearance. His chosen pictures are mostly intimate ones, snaps he takes while you are being unaware of how cute, attractive or adorable you look.

Pictures like when you are asleep on the couch in his arms after watching a movie, you after waking up and sleepily brushing your teeth in the mirror, you showing your back to him while waiting for the microwave to finish heating up the cheap convenience food, maybe even you stuffing your face with ice cream after a long day.

Whatever picture he may choose (much to your dismay), it always makes him smile to himself no matter the situation. Even if another homeless person asks him for spare change or those two random mobsters tried to jump him in an alleyway and now he was forced to “get rid of them”, a quick glance on his phone and seeing a cute picture of you immediately forces a smile to break out on his face.

The sight of their kidnapper smiling at his phone so lovingly while they were tied up and playing rock-paper-scissors for their lives probably made the two men shit their pants more than feeling the barrel of a revolver being pressed against the side of their head.

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 230

— Choosing him as your wallpaper. —

At first, Thanos reeeaaaallly disliked the picture you chose as your wallpaper. It was just a random reaction picture he send you one day about something he doesn’t even remember, and you went ahead and chose this as your phone wallpaper? Seriously?! Can’t you choose something more handsome, flattering?

He even offered to pose properly for you so you have a better pic to use, but after Thanos obviously started mewing and tried his absolute best to look as attractive as possible (which he already is but shhh), your boyfriend got extremely offended when you started laughing at his posing.

Your boyfriend gave up after a few attempts of secretly changing your wallpaper and seeing you pout every time he did, changing it right back to the one before.

If you really like it that much, fine. Just don’t let anyone see that you have that as your phone wallpaper, or else his rapper persona will never be able to recover from being exposed like that.

You don’t even understand why he is being so dramatic about your wallpaper anyway.

“I look hella ugly there, c’mon baby! Work with me here!! Here, lemme pose for you real quick so you can change that thing.”

Although it does flashbang you in the middle of the night when you turn on your phone, the brightness of the picture vaporising your eyes in an instant. It’s not the most pleasant thing to look at first thing in the morning but you still think he looks kinda cute in the pic.

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

He was careful to choose the prettiest picture of you he can find and the proceed to show it off to everyone he meets. Thanos even showed you off to Nam-gyu multiple times, forgetting that he already showed his friend the same picture four times now. Nam-gyu is already totally looking forward to next week when Thanos shows you off again.

Your boyfriend grins like a child whenever he glances at his phone for too long, falling in love with your picture all over again.

He changes his wallpaper every week so he always has something cute to look at after performing at another underground club or while doing whatever, sometimes getting distracted from searching for a certain app and instead ending up scrolling through either your social media account or his photo library to search for more pics of you.

Whenever you catch Thanos grin at his phone again, your first instinct is to glance over his shoulder to check what exactly he is looking at, but he immediately closes his phone when you do. At first you thought he might be looking at some random girl’s profile or whatever, but when you open it up and find yourself staring back, you’re kind of surprised to be honest.

Although, he always denies that he really cares about his wallpaper. Your boyfriend is totally choosing it at random and totally does not match his lock screen with his homescreen and mostly chooses pictures of you two together, you kissing his cheek or him holding you. Not at all!

Nam-gyu // Player 124

— Choosing you as your wallpaper. —

You choose a rather cute picture as your wallpaper. You took it during one of your first dates where you dragged him to a festival that was being held near your home, dragging Nam-gyu there against his will. Back then he had shorter hair, wore his glasses more frequently. Back then he was a little shy believe it or not, at least when it came to romance.

He used more before he met you, being around alcohol and drugs at all times due to his occupation. It kind of came with his job and the circle of friends he was around, so before meeting you, there was barely any day he wasn’t high or having a hangover from some random drug.

Nam-gyu never noticed you had this picture as your phone wallpaper until he accidentally grabbed your phone, thinking it was his. Seeing this picture in particular gave him a brief jumpscare.

You took this picture after he managed to scrap out the star shape out of the sugar cookie he bought from a random stand during the festival. His hair was shorter back then and he wore his glasses more frequently, the mask a reminder of how times were 5 years ago. He struggled staying clean during that time and always felt like shit wich is why he didn’t want to go to the festival in the first place.

He didn’t even know you took this picture of him despite him fully looking at the camera. A small smile spread on his face at the thought of you really choosing a picture like this as your phone wallpaper.

Quickly putting your phone down, Nam-gyu quickly played off his reaction as he hard you come into the room.

“I’m smiling about nothing, shaddup. Go back to wherever you came from.”

With a dismissive hand wave, he tried to shoo you away. His attempts were futile as you instead pull him into a clingy hug, instead demanding cuddles instead. Who was he to deny your wish?

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

Nam-gyu likes taking 0.5x zoom pictures of you from above and choosing them as his phone wallpaper, pushing you away as you try to protest and stop him from putting them as his wallpaper because seriously, he can literally choose any other pic!

You can hear quiet, evil “hehe”s from the corner of the room whenever you two are together and he turns on his phone, briefly turning it around so you can see what he was giggling so stupidly at, only for him to giggle harder at the sight of your unamused face.

Even if he mainly chooses those pictures as his phone wallpaper to annoy you, he likes having a stupid picture of you always available to him.

Some shitty guy searching for a fight at the club? Quick glance at your face at a 0.5x zoom makes him crack a smile right after. Thanos called him Nam-su, Gyu-nam or literally anything else but his name again? Turning his phone on lightens his mood immediately.

Sure, a flattering or cute picture of you would have the same effect on him, but this is much funnier in his opinion.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

HAPPY LATE VALETINES DAYYYYYYY!!!! Since tumblr limits your tags to 30 tags per post I always have trouble tagging all of the Squid Game men, so I decided to split this one prompt into two posts. If this gets enough attention / love, I’ll post a part 2 with Dae-ho, Gi-hun and In-ho! Also, thank you for requesting, I needed a break from writing my smut draft 😭

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[thaylepo]

Back in grad school I TA'd a couple 400 level courses on stone tool production and zooarchaeology that involved a lot of technical memorization that required the students to learn complex terminology very quickly. They were two of the only such undergrad courses the program had (I think the third was Mesoamerican Pottery, and there was a grad course on Human Osteology), so none of them would have encountered much if any of this info in the two years since their first intro courses. There were over a dozen quizzes in each course, nearly one a week, and the grades were known to be abysmally low compared to the lab reports because of how much time you needed to spend in the lab handling the material in order to study for it.

I like being paid to have fun, so I bought some Transformers stickers and put one on every quiz that got over 90% (ie. the 'A' range). Any quiz that got an A+ got Optimus Prime himself. B grades still got a "good job!!" and any passing grade at all got a smiley face, but no sticker.

Y'all, 4th year arky courses are FULL of nerds. The MINUTE the first quizzes were handed back they went nuts over the stickers. There were stars in their eyes, they were crowing in excitement. These were students in their mid-twenties. Only one person got an Optimus Prime on that quiz, and when I told them the sticker rubrick and the requirements to get Optimus you could practically see the fire it lit. They would get those stickers. Optimus Prime was going to be theirs.

I fucking ran out of stickers TWICE throughout those courses. I had to go and buy whole packs JUST TO HAVE ENOUGH OPTIMUSES (Optimi?) for all the A+ quizzes that came in every time. That meant i had more generic TF stickers to promote the B grade papers to stickerdom. The materials lab was full of students every week, studying for these quizzes. They hyped each other up for them. They petitioned me to sticker their lab reports and final projects too (of course I did).

The prof, a delightful 80-something socks-and-sandals hippy of a guy who supervised my honours thesis, was fucking beside himself over this. He thought it was the best thing ever. He joked that the marks that semester were so abnormally high that he needed to look over the tests himself in case I was going too easy on them (I wasn't, those TF stickers were expensive). He had to look over them anyway in case *I* made a technical mistake grading them, which meant he was the first to see the stickers each time XD

Anyway, it's true. I've yet to meet an adult who didn't enjoy a sparkly sticker reward.

i literally love when people realize positive reinforcement works like yes its so silly isnt it. but it literally works humans love juice reward too

[muqingslover]

[ Second part of this because I don't keep my pookies waiting ;) Enjoy my dear Sylus lovers. ]

Sylus is a strong man. He knows that, and he makes sure those who defy him also understand exactly what that means.

However, now that you stood right in front of him, he found himself completely powerless.

Everything else around him seemed out of focus as he stared at you— You had changed, of course, but there was no mistake that his soul recognized that it was truly you.

Your smile was as breathtaking as when he had seen it for the first time and the sound of your laughter made his heart soar in a way it hadn't in a long time. You were even more beautiful than he remembered.

Sylus is not a fool. But he feels rather foolish right now.

Your words, your eyes, your body, your soul were completely rejecting him as he grasped your wrist to prevent you from retaliating again.

Perhaps he had approached the situation wrongly. Or maybe he had been too hopeful, too desperate, about finally having you next to him again.

"It's still me," he wished to say as his crimson eyes searched yours for any sign that you didn't despise his very presence "it's your Sylus."

He acted confident, proud was the man. Except he wasn't. Each jab towards how little you thought of him and the lack of trust between the two of you caused his frail heart to fall apart, one by one the pieces would shatter like glass.

Sylus is a weak man. You molded his heart with your very own hands and now those same hands were the ones crushing it. Was he no longer worthy of your kindness?

He had ripped his own scales, learned how to walk without his wings to support him when he fell and kept his mouth closed to prevent his 'ugly' fangs from being seen. 'Was it not enough? Was he no longer your dragon?'

Still, if only by being a villain in your story is how he is allowed to remain in your new life then he will play the part. He will accept the harsh words and make it easier for you when you need to hurt him.

"Please...Just once," He'd silently plead as you glared at him and pressed the gun further against his chest "look at me the same way you used to. I'm right here."

[dazevi]

CHAPTER THREE: CAN WE PRETEND?

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: you're not sure what comes over you tonight, but caught up in the moment, you make a reckless choice—one that could change everything.

content warnings: MDNI. nsfw (18+ content), angst, fluff if you squint idk, rockstar!vi, bookshop owner/writer!reader, exes to lovers, friends with benefits (kinda), sexual tension, again—vi is down bad, smut; needy sex, oral (r rec.), vi cums untouched, little bit of overstimulation, idk what else !!!

wc: 12,183

notes: happy late late late valentine’s day! (i was supposed to post it on friday but got busy) and sorry for the wait on this chapter! here it is—glorious smut lmfao,, kind of ashamed to say that the next chapter is way more smutty—but ofc with feelings!!!)

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The cold bites at your skin, but you barely even notice it. Not with the way your heart is hammering. Not with the way your nerves are tangled in your stomach. You stand outside Vander’s bar holding a small birthday gift in your hands, staring at the entrance like you haven’t walked through those doors countless times before.

But it’s been years. A lifetime ago, it feels like.

And standing here now, dressed in a pretty black dress you spent way too long debating over—god, what the hell were you thinking?

You tug your jacket tighter around you, like that will somehow make you feel less exposed, less like you’re making a mistake by being here. The leather is warm, but it doesn’t do much to muffle the voice in your head telling you that this was a bad idea.

That coming here, looking like this, feeling like this—it means something.

You used to love this place. Loved the way it always smelled of whiskey and smoke, of cheap beer but distinctly of home.

It’s different now.

Or maybe you’re the one that’s different.

Vi is probably already in there. Maybe she’s backstage, laughing with the band, tuning her guitar, oblivious to the fact that you’re standing out here like a fool, trying to gather the courage to step inside. Maybe she’s already seen you through the window, watching like she always used to—like she could read every thought in your head without you saying a word.

You close your eyes for a second, exhaling slowly. You could still turn around. You don’t have to go in. But then again, you didn’t have to dress up either, and yet… here you are.

The second you step inside, the warmth surrounds you. You hadn’t expected this many people, but clearly, word must have spread that Vi’s band was playing tonight.

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim lighting over the packed room. It’s overwhelming at first—the volume of voices overlapping, the clinking of glasses, the scrape of barstools against worn wooden floors. But then, beneath all of it, you hear Benzo’s boisterous voice cutting through the noise, followed by Vander’s throaty laughter.

It’s been years since you’ve been here, but nothing has really changed. The same old neon signs flicker against the brick walls, the dartboard near Vander’s glowing jukebox is still crooked, the pool table in the corner still missing a chunk from one of its legs, and behind the bar, bottles of liquor line the shelves, arranged in the same way Vander has always kept them.

And Vi is somewhere in here.

Your stomach twists at the thought, your heartbeat quickening as you scan the crowd.

Just as you’re about to turn toward the small stage, the sound of your name cuts through the noise.

“Is that really you?”

You barely have a second to react before a blur of blue rushes toward you, and suddenly, Powder is there, beaming up at you with wide, disbelieving eyes.

She looks different—older, maybe a tad bit taller—but the same excitement, the same energy, radiates off of her like it always has. Her hair is longer now, pulled back into two twin buns with trimmed bangs covering her forehead.

She doesn’t wait for confirmation before throwing her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

“Oh my god, it is you!” she laughs against your shoulder, squeezing you tighter. “I can’t believe it! When Vi said you might come tonight, I didn’t think—I mean, I hoped—but holy shit!”

You let out a breathy laugh, arms instinctively wrapping around her. It’s been years since you’ve seen her—since she left for college, since everything with Vi fell apart—but somehow, it feels like no time has passed at all.

When she finally pulls back, she holds you at arm’s length, her hands gripping your shoulders as she looks you over, like she’s trying to make sure you’re actually standing there in front of her and not some trick of the lighting.

“You look amazing,” she gushes, her eyes shining, before huffing playfully, shaking her head. “I mean, seriously—wow. Vi didn’t tell me you still looked like this. She’s soooooo in trouble.”

You blink at her words, your breath hitching slightly, but before you can even begin to unpack what that means, Powder grabs your hand, tugging you towards the bar.

“Come on, you have to catch me up,” she insists, grinning ear to ear. “How have you been? What are you doing back here? Wait, how did Vi even convince you to show up tonight?”

Your lips part, but you hesitate, glancing toward the stage. You still haven’t seen Vi yet, but now, with Powder in front of you, talking a mile a minute, you realize just how much you’ve missed this—her.

“Powder, slow down,” you laugh, grinning from ear to ear as you shake your head. “It’s really good to see you too.”

She beams, squeezing your hand once before looping her arm through yours like she used to when you were all younger.

“Dad, look who’s here!” Powder calls out, cutting through the music and chatter as she drags you toward the bar.

Vander stands behind the counter, just like he always used to, one large hand resting on the counter, the other holding a glass he’s in the middle of drying. He looks up at Powder’s voice, eyes darting toward the two of you.

His lips curve into something between a smile and a look of pure surprise. He sets the glass down, wiping his hands on a bar towel as he steps around the counter.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Vander murmurs, taking you in. His voice is just as you remember it—gruff but warm. “Look who finally decided to show her face.”

“Hi, Vander,” you say, your voice softer than you mean it to be.

He huffs out a chuckle, shaking his head before pulling you into a firm hug.

“You don’t gotta be shy, kid,” he says, patting your back like he used to when you were just a teenager sitting at this very bar, waiting for Vi to finish whatever dumb stunt she was getting up to. “Hell, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” you murmur.

When he pulls back, he looks you over, eyes full of something fond.

“You look good,” he says, before glancing at Powder with a smirk. “She givin’ you trouble yet?”

You laugh, shaking your head as Powder scoffs, crossing her arms. “Me? Trouble? Never.”

Vander chuckles, ruffling her hair before looking back at you with that same fatherly warmth that makes your chest ache.

“Vi’s gonna lose her damn mind when she sees you.”

And just like that, your heart flutters all over again.

Vander studies you for a moment, his gaze settling on yours like he can hear every thought running through your head. But he doesn’t push, doesn’t pry. Instead, he gives you one last reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before nodding toward the bar.

“Well, since you’re here, let me get you a drink,” he says. “On the house. Benzo!”

Powder grins, practically bouncing on her boots as she gestures to the small, neatly wrapped gift in your hands.

“Come on, I’ll put that gift over with the others!” she chirps, already reaching for it before you can protest.

The chatter dies down slightly as movement stirs toward the stage, conversations dipping into hushed murmurs. People turn their attention forward, waiting patiently as the band gets into place.

Vi stands in the center of the stage, tuning her guitar beside an amp, fingers practiced as she twists the tuning pegs, testing each note. She’s glowing, that pink of her bright against the light, also outlining the sharp angles of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbones, the ink that winds down her arms and up the side of her neck.

She looks really fucking good. Dressed in a snug black shirt that clings just right, showing off the sculpted muscle in her arms, the broad set of her shoulders. The sleeves are pushed up slightly, just enough to expose the edge of her tattoos. Paired with a pair of baggy jeans that sit low on her hips, the waistband of her boxers showing every time her shirt shifts upward slightly as she moves—

—God, you have got to get yourself together.

But even despite how cool she looks up there, there’s a pout pressed against her lips, so slight that most people wouldn’t even notice.

But you do.

Because you’ve seen that pout before.

It’s the same one she used to wear when she was waiting for you after class and you took too long saying goodbye to your friends. The same one she had when you were late to meet her for a movie, arms crossed as she huffed dramatically before breaking into a grin the second she saw you. The same one she’d wear when you teased her by refusing to kiss her.

And now, up on stage, she’s wearing it again.

Because she hasn’t seen you yet.

You swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of yourself. Of how you look, of how this dress looks on you, of the way your heartbeat has picked up.

You shouldn’t be this affected—you shouldn’t.

And then—just as she adjusts the strap of her guitar, rolling her shoulders back, her eyes sweeping slowly over the room, over the crowd, then towards the bar—

She finds you.

Her fingers still against the strings, her whole body tensing just slightly. Her lips part, eyes locking onto yours.

And then, just like that, her pout is gone, smoothed over with the faintest, laziest smirk.

You feel your stomach flutter.

Before you can fully process it, Ekko steps up to the mic, patting Vi on the shoulder, grinning out at the crowd.

Behind them, Steb is adjusting his drum stool and Loris, stands off to the side, his bass slung low, a cigarette tucked behind his ear as he watches the crowd with that same unreadable look he always has, like none of this phases him in the slightest.

Ekko leans into the mic, flashing a charming smirk towards the crowd smirk.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” he teases, though he’s clearly reveling in the attention, in the love the crowd is throwing at them. He lets the cheers die down just a little before continuing, “First off, gotta give a huge shoutout to the man who means the absolute world to me. Happy birthday, old man!”

The bar erupts into another round of cheers, laughter echoing through the room as Benzo raises his glass.

“I love you, Benzo!” Ekko adds, placing a hand over his chest in mock sincerity.

Vi chuckles beside him, shaking her head as she ducks slightly, her pink hair falling forward as she looks down for a second.

Your stomach twists as you watch her, taking in the way her fingers flex against the neck of her guitar, the way she glances at Ekko with that lopsided smirk before finally lifting her head again, pink strands shifting as she looks back out at the crowd.

And just for a second—so brief you almost miss it—her eyes fall back to you.

Ekko claps his hands together. “Alright, enough of the mushy shit. Let’s get this started, yeah?”

And the crowd cheers again.

The music begins, the first chords ringing out as Vi’s fingers find the strings of her guitar. The sound of the crowd fades into the background as she leans into the mic.

Every time her gaze sweeps over the bar, her heart skips a beat when she catches sight of you. You’re there, standing at the edge of the crowd, watching. Watching her. And god, it makes her feel alive. She can feel the heat rising in her chest, spreading down her arms, making her fingertips tingle as she strums the next chord. She can’t stop glancing at you, her smile widening every time your gaze meets hers.

She wants to impress.

She really fucking does.

And every time Vi steals a glance your way, her heart beats faster. It’s almost like the music fades and the room shrinks down until all she can focus on is you.

You look so damn good. Your dress is simple but it fits you perfectly, so prettily. The soft glow of the stage lights catches the curve of your neck, the way your hair falls just perfectly, and god—god—she’s getting distracted.

The thought crosses her mind before she can stop it—did you dress up for her? It’s silly, of course, but it flares in her chest anyway.

But then, before she can let herself spiral too far into that thought, she sees you again.

You came. You actually came.

I mean, you told her you would, but right now, she can’t stop smiling. She’s so fucking happy you’re here.

The set ends after an hour.

It wasn’t too long, but the crowd erupts into applause anyway, cheers and shouts and whistles echoing throughout room, although Vi didn’t really think much of it. She’s still buzzing, the tips of her fingers still tingling from the friction of the strings, but she didn’t care about it.

She doesn’t wait for the others. Ekko and Loris are already heading backstage, Steb cracking his knuckles as he follows, but Vi’s eyes are locked on you.

She doesn’t even care about the after show rituals—the sweaty gear, the backroom chatter—because right now, all she can think about is how badly she wants to get to you.

It doesn’t take long to find you. You’re sitting with Powder, a bright smile on your face, talking to Vander and Benzo at the counter.

And then, when she’s just a few feet away, you look up.

She opens her mouth, trying to say something—anything—but the words won’t come. She’s not sure why she’s so nervous now.

“Hey,” she says softly as she looks down at the counter, then back up at you. “You made it.”

Her smile is soft, almost shy, and she watches you carefully, her heart is pounding in her chest.

“I told you I would,” you reply warmly.

Vi nods softly and just stands there, her heart pounding in her chest, suddenly unsure of herself, the words slipping out of her mouth before she can fully think them through.

“You look… you look really good.”

It’s quieter than she meant it to be, but it’s honest. She can’t help it. She’s been trying not to let herself be completely consumed by the way you look tonight, but there’s really no stopping it. You do look amazing.

And she watches you closely, trying not to let her nervousness show too much, but it’s hard to hide the slight tremor in her voice.

Before you can even respond, Powder bursts in, her voice high and teasing as she slides up beside Vi and throws an arm around her shoulders, nearly knocking her off balance.

“Vi!” she says, her grin practically splitting her face, as she begins to tease her in hushed whispers, something about you coming tonight, maybe how nervous she was.

But Vi doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break her gaze from you. Her attention stays completely on you, even as Powder hugs her excitedly, laughing. Her focus is elsewhere. It’s on you. It’s always been on you.

For a moment, she almost wishes it was just the two of you in this room—no distractions, no people, no laughter, no teasing from an overly excited litle sister, just you and her.

Before either of you can speak, Powder pulls away from Vi, spinning on her heel as she looks around the bar.

“Say, where’s Ekko?” she asks. “I’ve got to go give him a talk about giving Isha the wrong cat food earlier.”

Without waiting for anyone to respond, she darts off into the crowd, running on pure energy that never seems to run out. You watch her blue hair disappear into the mix of people, the playful laugh she lets out fading as she vanishes.

Vi stands there, staring at you. There’s so much she wants to say, so much she’s been holding back for what feels like forever, but the words just don’t come.

“You guys sounded really great up there,” you say gently.

Her heart skips. She blinks, almost startled, and before she can stop herself, her lips curve into a wide, genuine grin, the pride swelling in her chest. She straightens slightly, shoulders relaxing just a little as her eyes soften.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, eyes glued to the way your tongue smooths over your bottom lip. “It, uh… feels good to be playing again… Here, I mean. At home.”

You smile again, and for a second, Vi forgets how to breathe.

“I bet it does,” you say, keeping your voice light. “I mean, I would have been disappointed if you weren’t any good.”

Vi chuckles at that. “Well, I couldn’t let you down. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, after all.”

“You’re being cocky,” you raise an eyebrow at her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she says quietly.

Vi swallows hard, trying her best to stay calm, but being with you like this, well, it catches her off guard.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” she smiles softly. “I really am.”

And she’s grateful. Very grateful that she gets to see you, to be with you like this, even though you weren’t really hers anymore.

She spent the rest of the night glued to your side like she’s afraid to let you slip away, her body leaning just a little too close whenever you’re talking to someone else.

It’s a subtle thing, the way she gravitates toward you, like there’s an invisible thread pulling her in, towards you each and every time.

Vander, Benzo, Powder, and the rest of the band surround you, laughing and teasing, recounting old stories from their countless gigs, but Vi isn’t really paying attention to any of that. Not when you’re sitting next to her, not when you’re wearing that dress.

The fabric fits your curves so perfectly, but it’s your legs that keep pulling her attention.

Every time you move slightly, every time you cross or uncross them, the way your thighs peek out, just enough to tease—Vi can’t tear her eyes away. It feels almost too much—like she’s seeing you in a way she hasn’t allowed herself to in a long time. She tries to focus on the conversations, on the laughter and the jokes being tossed around, but it’s impossible to ignore the way her body reacts every time you move right next to her, every time she catches a glimpse of your skin.

Her gaze moves back to you again, almost instinctively, and her breath catches just for a second when your eyes meet hers, that soft smile of yours playing at your lips.

“Vi,” Powder says, nudging her with an elbow. “Earth to Vi? You’ve been dozing out over there for a while.”

Vi blinks, shaking her head and forcing herself to focus on the others. She smiles, though, a little embarrassed, and laughs it off, trying to shrug it off as a joke.

“Sorry, just got distracted for a second,” she says, but her eyes dart back to you before the words are even fully out.

She can’t help it. You’ve always had that effect on her—always able to pull her in, even when you don’t mean to.

And when you laugh, when you lean forward to talk to Powder, it sends a shiver down her spine. She can’t stop herself from thinking about how much she’s missed this. How much she’s missed being with her family. How much she’s missed being with you.

Her heart beats faster in her chest.

She wants to reach out and touch you. To kiss you. To touch you in places people aren’t allowed to see. She wants to say something, but every word gets stuck in her throat.

And throughout the rest of the night, you could feel her eyes on you.

It’s not just her glances you notice, but the way her posture shifts when you move, the tension in her shoulders when she’s close to you, like she’s trying to keep herself in check, but her body betrays her every time.

It makes your heart race. You can feel her eyes on you, even when you’re not looking at her. It’s impossible to ignore. The way her attention feels so intense, the way she’s so obviously drawn to you, despite all the people around you.

And you start to wonder if coming here tonight was a good idea after all.

It’s silly, isn’t it? You came because Vi had asked you to. Because you couldn’t say no to her.

You force yourself to look away, focusing on Powder and Vander’s laughter, on Benzo’s loud voice cutting through the noise, but you can still feel it. And every time your eyes meet, she looks away just a little too quickly, like she’s afraid of being caught.

You glance at her again, and this time, she doesn’t look away quickly enough. Her eyes catch yours, and you see it clearly. Vi hasn’t really changed that much. She was still Vi. Still the girl you once loved, and maybe, in some strange way, still the girl you might love again—

God, what are you talking about?

Is that what this is?

Is that what she wants too?

You force yourself to look away, focusing back on the chatter around you.

Was this a mistake? You didn’t know that answer to that.

All you knew was that it was clear Vi wanted you.

And you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want her, too.

It gets pretty late into the night when the drinks, as light as they were, started to settle in, a warm flush spreading across your cheeks.

It’s not enough to make you drunk—nothing like that—but enough to make your limbs feel a little heavier, your eyelids a little more droopy than they were earlier in the evening.

You glance around the table, taking in the chatter of old friends, the lighthearted teasing and laughter, the way Powder is leaning into Ekko’s side while Benzo and Vander talk shop at the counter. It was soothing to be here and spending time with them.

But your body is tired, and as much as you don’t want to leave, you know it’s probably time.

You stand up slowly, feeling the slight unsteadiness in your legs, the gentle sway of the room, but you brush it off. You pull your jacket on, the cool leather against your skin reminding you of the chilly air waiting for you outside. You catch Powder’s eye, giving her a soft smile as she looks over at you, but she’s too wrapped up in a conversation with Ekko to notice how tired you’ve become.

“I should probably get going,” you say softly.

Your words are met with a series of warm and friendly goodbyes, but there’s something in the air now that you can’t ignore.

Maybe it’s the way you’ve been trying not to meet Vi’s eyes, the way you’ve felt her gaze on you all night.

But you turn to her finally and say, “Bye, Vi.”

She freezes. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, her lips parting as if she wants to say something—anything—but the words get stuck somewhere inside her all over again.

She doesn’t get anything out before you turn on your heel to walk out of the door.

Then, out of nowhere, Ekko elbows Vi lightly.

“Seriously?” he murmurs under his breath, though it’s loud enough for her to hear.

Vi blinks rapidly, snapping out of her trance, and before she can even register what’s happening, she looks up. She turns to the rest of the group, and to her surprise, the entire crew is watching her. Powder, Benzo, Vander—they’re all grinning, urging her with their eyes.

“Go!” Powder mouths.

And just like that, she just moves.

She grabs her jacket and practically runs, pushing past the tables and chairs, her heart pounding louder and louder.

But just as she reaches the door, her foot catches awkwardly on the edge something, and soon, she’s stumbling, the world tipping sideways before she crashes forward. Her head hits the doorframe with a sharp thud, and for a second, everything is disorienting.

And you hear it—the sound of Vi groaning behind you. You freeze, your heart leaping into your throat.

“Violet?!” you call out.

Vi’s still on the ground, her hand pressed against her forehead, trying to push herself up. Her face scrunches in mild discomfort, but as her eyes meet yours, she lets out a small, breathy laugh, shaking her head.

“I’m fine,” she says softly as she rubs her forehead where it collided with the doorframe.

Her eyes dart up to you, and she offers a sheepish smile. You can’t stop the small laugh that bubbles up in your throat. Your heart is still racing as you move toward her.

“Are you sure—”

“I’m okay, really,” she says again.

She reaches up, brushing her hair from her face, trying to play off the moment. You offer her your hand, your fingers brushing hers as you help her to her feet. She doesn’t let go immediately, her fingers lingering against yours for a moment longer than necessary.

“I… I wanted to catch you before you left,” Vi catches her breath. “Are you walking home?”

“Y-Yeah,” you finally say quietly. “It’s not too far.”

You motion vaguely toward the street, but it’s clear that the idea of walking back alone, in the late hour, with the chill creeping in, doesn’t sit quite right with you either.

“My truck’s at the back,” she says. “I’ll drive you.”

You blink, caught off guard for a moment. And before you can stop yourself, you start to protest, a gentle laugh slipping from your lips as you take a small step back.

“Oh, it’s fine, Vi. I don’t mind the walk. It’s not that far, really.” You try to brush it off, not wanting to be any more of a burden than you already feel like you are.

But she doesn’t let you get far.

“I’m driving you,” she repeats.

It’s not a suggestion. It’s not a question. It’s just fact.

You could argue, but there’s something about the way she looks at you, the way her eyes are so steady, so intent, that makes your inner protests feel futile.

So for once, you don’t argue.

“Fine,” you say softly, a smile tugging at the edges of your words.

Vi leads you toward the back lot where her old truck is parked, the cool night air settling over your skin as you follow a few steps behind her.

When you reach the truck, she moves ahead without hesitation, reaching for the handle and pulling the door open for you. It’s a small thing, but it catches you off guard—she does it like it’s second nature, like she’s done it a million times before. Well, she probably has.

You hesitate for a second, looking at her. Her pink hair is a little messy, strands falling over her forehead, but she doesn’t push them back. She just stands there, her hand still on the door, waiting for you.

“Thanks,” you murmur softly.

Vi just nods, not saying anything as you step up into the seat. She closes the door gently behind you, and a second later, she’s rounding the front of the truck, pulling herself into the driver’s side.

The engine stars, and Vi adjusts the rearview mirror before glancing over at you. You can tell that she has more that she wants to say, but instead, she just puts the truck into drive, her fingers flexing around the wheel before she finally pulls out of the lot.

The drive is quiet.

Not awkward, not tense—just quiet.

The road stretches ahead, the glow of streetlights passing in a blur, fleeting shadows across Vi’s face. Her jaw is set, a hand steady on the wheel, but inside the truck, everything feels so quiet.

You watch her from the corner of your eye, the way her fingers tap lightly against the wheel, the way she lets out a slow breath, like she’s thinking about something she won’t say out loud.

You shift slightly in your seat, your hands resting in your lap, feeling the warmth of the heater kicking in against your legs. You should say something—maybe thank her again, maybe fill the silence with small talk, maybe ask her again how long she’s staying in town, how long her break is, when she’s leaving again—but for some reason, you don’t.

You just sit there.

Eventually, the truck slows to a stop in front of your apartment building, the engine humming for a moment before Vi shifts into park and shutting the engine off. The street is quiet at this hour, the street lamps casting long shadows across the sidewalk, everything outside the window felt frozen.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just grips the wheel, her fingers flexing slightly before she finally moves, unbuckling her seatbelt.

Before you can protest—before you can even tell her that she doesn’t have to—she’s already stepping out, rounding the front of the truck with long strides. She opens your door for you again, and when you step down, you can feel how warm she is, close enough that you have to force yourself not to lean into it.

Then, she walks you up to your apartment door, taking the elevator, her steps slower now, like she’s drawing out the last few moments before she has to leave.

You fish your keys out of your bag, fingers brushing over the familiar metal as you try to ignore the way your heart is beating too fast.

But Vi… she just watches.

She’s standing a step behind you, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, her body tense like she’s holding herself back from something.

And she is.

Because she doesn’t want to leave.

Not when she’s spent the entire night thinking about you, stealing glances at you across the bar, admiring how the lighting made your skin glow, how your lips curled into that gorgeous smile she fell in love with—that she’s still in love with. Not when you looked so damn good in that dress, when all she’s wanted, since the second she saw you tonight, was to touch you, to press her lips against yours and see if you’d melt into her the way you used to.

Not when she still wants you.

But she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

She just stares, her jaw clenched slightly, her pink hair falling into her face as she tilts her head down, eyes darting between your face and your hands as you struggle with the keys.

She should say something. She should tell you goodnight, make some stupid joke to break the tension, turn and walk away before she does something reckless. Because every single part of her is screaming at her to stay, to close the space between you, to reach out and touch you the way she’s been dying to all night. To press you against that door and kiss you until she forgets where she ends and you begin.

She just bites the inside of her cheek, waiting—hoping—you’ll give her a reason not to go.

You finally find the right key, fingers brushing over the familiar grooves, you slot it into the door but you don’t turn it just yet.

Vi hasn’t moved, hasn’t said anything, and when you glance up at her, she’s still staring—not in an absentminded way… No, she’s simply watching you, like she’s trying to memorize every single detail.

Your throat feels tight, but you push through it, offering her a soft smile, one that feels a little shy.

“Thank you for inviting me out tonight,” you say quietly.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” she murmurs, almost hushed. “I—”

She stops, exhales through her nose, rubs a hand against the back of her neck before shaking her head, like she’s sorting through whatever thoughts are running wild in her head.

“I wanted you to come.”

You don’t know what to say to that, not when she’s looking at you like this, like she means it, like tonight actually mattered to her.

You swallow, gripping your keys a little tighter, trying to ignore the way your fingers tremble slightly.

“Still,” you say softly, meeting her gaze. “It was… nice.”

She looks at you like she wants to say more, like there’s so much more left to be said between you two, but she doesn’t say it.

Instead, she just nods, stepping just a fraction closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off her, close enough that if you tilted your chin just slightly, you’d be right there—right within reach.

And for the first time tonight, you realize you don’t want to step away.

Vi moves slightly, her hands still buried in the pockets of her jacket, like she’s physically stopping herself from reaching out. But her eyes tell a different story. They flicker over your face, down to your lips for the briefest second before settling back on yours.

“I… I wanna see you again,” she says quietly, almost desperately.

You freeze, the key still in your hand, but now the door feels so far away. Vi’s voice rings in your ears, and as you stand there, your mind spins.

You know what she means by those words.

You’ve already been seeing her as the weeks go by. As a friend—she came in to help with your bookshop, invited you out tonight. And now—now she’s expecting something more with you.

And you’re scared of that. Terrified, actually.

You can’t do this again. You won’t survive it.

You’ve lived through her absence, through the silence, through the distance. You’ve been holding your breath for years. You’ll expect her to leave the same way she did, promising you she’ll never forget you, that she’ll come home soon, she’ll call. You’ve already lived through it.

And soon, she’ll be leaving again. Once her break is over, she’ll be gone.

And whatever she wanted build with you now, you expect all of that to be gone the moment she is.

“Vi… I’ve been thinking about it for a while now… and I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you say, almost as if you’re talking to yourself, trying to convince yourself that this is the right decision. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t look at her as you speak, afraid that if you do, you’ll see the hope in her eyes, and it will break you.

Vi’s heart sinks at your words. But she doesn’t look away. She doesn’t argue.

Instead, she stands there, eyes locked onto the side of your face, refusing to let the space between you become any bigger than it already is.

She wants to say something—wants to convince you, to make you see that this time could be different, that she can be different.

But the words won’t come. They’re stuck somewhere inside her, tangled up with the fear of losing you again, with the ache of wanting you close, even knowing that you might not feel the same.

So instead of speaking, she just stands there, her hands still in her pockets, her chest rising and falling with every shallow breath she takes. Her gaze never wavers from yours, even as it breaks her inside to see the hesitation in your eyes. She doesn’t want to push. She doesn’t want to make it harder for you.

But god, she wants to be near you.

She wants you so fucking bad.

She wants you to say yes.

The lump in your throat feels like it’s made of stone as you swallow. Your hands tremble slightly as you stand there, staring at the door, tears already threatening to roll down your cheeks.

You can feel her eyes on you, searching, waiting for something, and you know—you know that she’s holding onto the edge of whatever this is.

But you can’t do this.

So, you say it quickly, almost too quickly.

“Goodnight, Vi.”

You can hear the hesitation in your own voice, the way it cracks just a little, as if you’re trying to make the decision for both of you.

You don’t wait for her to reply. You don’t give her the chance to stop you, to pull you back into her. You push the door open just a little more and step inside, slamming it behind you.

On the other side of the door, Vi stands completely still. She doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just stares at the space where you were. Her heart is pounding, your words still burning in her chest, but she doesn’t turn away. She doesn’t walk away. She stays in place, her eyes glued to the spot where you had been standing, as if she’s waiting for you to come back.

The sound of your footsteps on the other side of the door is faint, but it might as well be a symphony in her ears. Her hand reaches up slowly to knock, almost without thinking, like she’s trying to hold onto the last of the warmth that came from being so close to you, from having you near her again.

But it’s only cold now.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, doesn’t know how much time passes as she waits, hoping—just for a moment—that you might open the door again, that you might step back out and say that it wasn’t over, that it was just a misunderstanding.

But the longer she stands there, the more she realizes how hopeless that hope is, how much she’s already lost.

She almost turns on her heel to leave, the cold night air pressing in on her, but then—then—the sound of the door opening again stops her in her tracks.

You’re standing in the doorway.

For a split second, she doesn’t know what to expect. Her heart skips, and the breath she was holding catches in her throat.

“H-Hey,” Vi breathes out, her eyes widening. “Are you—”

Then, you move quickly, almost. You step up to her, and before Vi can make sense of it all, your hands are on her shoulders, and you’re standing on your tiptoes, and before she can breathe, before she can even think, your lips are on hers.

And holy fuck. Holy. Fuck. Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy— Is she dreaming? Are you really kissing her right now? Or did she really hit her head that hard?

Vi’s whole body freezes at first. It’s quick, but it’s enough to make her world tilt on its axis. She’s barely aware of what’s happening, of how she instinctively wraps her arms around you, pulling you closer. Her hands find their way to your waist, holding you gently.

She doesn’t want to pull away. She doesn’t want to let go of of you, not when it feels like you’ve come back to her. Her arms tighten around you, and she groans into your mouth, feeling the warmth of your body press against hers like she’s trying to make sure you’re really here.

Vi doesn’t think—she doesn’t have time to.

The second your lips press back into hers, everything else fades and she cant see anything else but you. She deepens the kiss, her hands squeezing roughly at your waist, pulling you impossibly close like she’s afraid you might slip through her fingers again if she lets even an inch of space come between you.

You respond just as eagerly, softly moaning into against her lips, your fingers fisting into the fabric of her jacket, pulling her forward like you can’t stand the distance either. Your body presses into hers, soft where she’s firm, delicate where she’s rough, and it only makes her want you more.

The kiss turns messy—more tongue, more teeth, like neither of you can get enough.

Vi doesn’t realize she’s walking forward until she feels you stumble slightly, your hands gripping onto her arms for balance. She guides you backwards, step by step, her lips never leaving yours as she pushes you back into your apartment. And with one firm kick of her foot, the door swings shut behind you both.

The moment the door clicks into place, she moves quickly—gripping your hips as she turns you, pressing you firmly against the solid wood making you gasp against her mouth, a quiet, breathless sound that sends a rush of heat straight through her.

Vi exhales sharply, pulling away from your lips only slightly to breathe, pressing her palms flat against the door on either side of your head, caging you in without a single inch of space between you. She can feel your breath against her lips, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you both try to catch up with what’s happening.

But then, as she leans in again, ready to kiss you breathless, she sees you.

Your eyes, wide and glistening, your lips swollen from the kiss, your breaths coming out in soft little gasps. And the trail of tears… still visible on your cheeks.

Vi’s stomach clenches.

Her chest tightens as she reaches up without thinking, brushing the pad of her thumb against your cheek, just beneath where the tears had dried. You don’t pull away, but you don’t meet her gaze either. You just stand there, still breathing hard, your hands still clinging to her jacket like you need something to hold onto.

Vi swallows hard, her fingers still lingering on your cheek, and she lets herself look at you—really look at you.

And it feels like a fucking punch to her stomach, a hard one, because you are still so beautiful, even like this.

And, she doesn’t know if she’s supposed to be here. If she’s supposed to be kissing you like this, touching you like this.

But when your eyes finally meet hers again, she knows one thing for sure.

She doesn’t want to let you go.

Vi opens her mouth, barely forming the words before you beat her to it.

“Vi,” you whisper softly. “I-If we do this… if we do this, we can’t commit.”

She blinks, once, twice, her breath still uneven from the way she’d just had you pressed against the door, her lips still tingling from kissing you like she had been starving for it. Her hands are still on you, one hand against your cheek, and another on your waist, her thumb ghosting over the curve of your hip.

“What?” Vi’s voice is barely more than breath.

You look up at her and she sees the hesitation in your eyes, the way you swallow thickly before you even attempt to explain.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. Because out of everything she expected you to say, this wasn’t it.

No commitment.

The words press into Vi’s chest like something sharp, something cruel, something that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does—but god, it does.

Her mind races, trying to make sense of what you mean, of why you’d say that after everything. After the way you kissed her, after the way you ran back out that door.

No commitment.

Did you think she’d leave again? Did you really think she’d break your heart a second time?

Vi swallows, her throat tight, her fingers twitching against you.

“What do you mean?” she whispers, careful, like she’s afraid if she says it too loud, you’ll pull away completely.

But she already knows.

She knows what you mean. She knows exactly what you’re saying without even having to hear the rest of it.

You don’t trust her. Not with your heart.

And fuck, she wants to argue again, she wants to tell you she’s different, that she wouldn’t leave you alone this time, that she would stay, that she wants to stay.

But you’re looking at her like you’re waiting for her to fight it, and she suddenly realizes—maybe you need this.

Maybe you need to believe that thi won’t be anything more than what it is tonight.

Maybe you need to protect yourself from what loving her again might do to you.

Vi’s jaw clenches, her hands tightening ever so slightly where they rest against your waist. She should say something. She wants to fucking say something.

You hold Vi’s gaze, your breath still uneven, your heart pounding so loudly it feels like it might drown out your own words. You don’t want to say it—you really don’t—but you force yourself to. Because if you don’t, if you let her look at you like that for a second longer, you might break.

“We just… we can’t do it,” you say, barely above a whisper. “We can’t pretend like we can just pick up where we left off, Vi. You’re still you—you have your whole life out there that you have to get back to, your career, your band, and I…”

You pause, exhaling slowly, pressing yourself back against the door.

“I can’t go through it again.”

Vi’s breath hitches in her throat.

But you see it—the way your words hit her, the way her fingers tighten slightly at your waist before she forces them to loosen, like she’s reminding herself to be gentle with you. Like she’s reminding herself that she did this.

That she gave you a reason not to trust her.

She wets her lips, blinking once, twice, all over again as if she was trying to process what you’re saying. But you can see the protest in her eyes. You can see how much she wants to protest, to tell you that you’re wrong.

“So… what?” she asks roughly. “You just want this to be… casual?”

You hesitate. You don’t want to call it that. It feels wrong, too small, too insignificant to name what’s happening between you.

Because it’s not insignificant. It never has been.

But you can’t give her what she wants.

So you force yourself to nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Vi stares at you, and it’s hard to read her face now, but you know her well enough to see the way her jaw tenses, the way she presses her tongue against the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to hold something back.

She looks down for a second, her hands still resting at your waist, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter.

“You… you want me to pretend that this—” she exhales, shaking her head just slightly, like she can’t believe she’s even saying it, “—that you don’t mean anything to me?”

Your chest tightens, and for a second, you almost cave.

“Vi…” You say her name softly, and it’s enough to make her close her eyes, her head tipping forward like she’s bracing herself for impact.

You bite your lip, shifting under her gaze, but you don’t deny it.

“I want something safe,” you say instead.

Vi stares at you longingly.

She runs a hand through her hair, exhaling a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she looks at you.

“Safe,” she echoes, like she’s tasting the word on her tongue, trying to decide how it makes her feel.

She knows exactly how it makes her feel.

It fucking hurts.

Because when it comes to you, Vi has never wanted safe.

She’s only ever wanted everything.

But she looks at you now and she can see the hesitation in your eyes, the way you’re holding yourself like you’re waiting for her to fight you, to push, to promise something she might not be able to keep.

And, Vi realizes that you probably need this boundary.

That this is the only way you know how to let her in without risking losing yourself in her all over again.

So she takes a slow breath, lets it settle in her chest before she speaks.

“Okay.”

You blink, like you weren’t expecting her to agree so easily.

“Okay?”

Vi nods, keeping her face straight and stoic.

“Okay,” she repeats, quieter this time.

She watches the way your lips part slightly, the way your breath catches, and fuck, she could kiss you again right now. Could prove to you that whatever this is—whatever it’s turning into—isn’t just something temporary for her.

That it never was.

But instead, she just looks at you, nods once more, and says, “I can do that.”

And she knows for sure if it’s a lie.

You can feel her breathing against you, warm and uneven, her body still so close. Your breath shudders, your fingers twitching at your sides.

You don’t know how to tell her that you’re just as scared, that this—whatever it is—is already starting to feel like something dangerous, something that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do the only thing you can do.

You lift your hands, slowly, hesitantly, and brush your fingers over the sides of her face, over the sharp line of her jaw, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your touch. Vi lets out a breath, and when you tilt your head slightly, your lips barely a breath away from hers, she doesn’t pull back.

She doesn’t run.

Neither do you.

And before she can say another word, before she can question it, you kiss her again.

Vi doesn’t hesitate this time.

The moment your lips crash against hers, she melts into it, melts into you. Her fingers tighten at your waist, pulling you impossibly close, like she needs to feel every inch of you against her. She’s warm, burning, her body radiating heat as she kisses you deeper, rougher, her teeth grazing your bottom lip before she soothes the sting with her tongue. A quiet moan escapes your throat, and that’s all it takes for Vi to lose whatever restraint she had left.

She cages you in again, her palms flat against the wood on either side of your head, her breath uneven as she pulls back just slightly. Not enough to create distance—just enough to look at you again.

She studies you, the way your fingers clutch at her jacket like you don’t want her to go anywhere, and for a brief moment, she wonders—is this what you need?

Because Vi doesn’t think she can just pretend.

She doesn’t think she can hold you like this, kiss you like this, and not want all of you.

But maybe… maybe right now, this is enough.

So instead of saying something that will ruin it, instead of pushing for something you aren’t ready to give, Vi does what she knows best.

She leans in again, slower this time, her lips brushing. Her hands move to your waist, then up your sides, fingers ghosting over your ribs before sliding down the the hem of your dress, slipping under the fabric to grasp at your thighs. She doesn’t rush—she takes her time, savoring the way your body reacts to her touch, how you shiver slightly beneath her hands.

“You sure about this?” she asks.

You nod, barely a whisper of movement, your hands sliding up her chest, over her strong shoulders, fingers curling into the soft fabric of her shirt.

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

One moment, you’re standing there, breathless, and the next, Vi is crashing into you, her lips slanting against yours.

You gasp against her mouth, and Vi grips you tighter, her strong hands sliding down, catching the backs of your thighs before lifting you up. You gasp, but your body reacts on instinct, your legs wrapping around her waist, arms winding around her shoulders as she holds you up with ease.

And, the way she holds you—firm, steady, possessive—makes the heat coil in your stomach.

She doesn’t stop kissing you, not even for a second, her tongue your mouth, tasting you. Vi carries you through deeper into your apartment, like she knows exactly where she’s going even though she’s only ever been here once for several minutes.

Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging slightly, and she groans against your lips, low and needy, sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel the tension in her muscles, the way her grip tightens around your waist.

She stumbles slightly as she reaches your bedroom door, blindly pushing it open with her foot before stepping inside. The moment she steps in, she presses you against the nearest wall, just for a second, just to feel you pinned against something, her body flush against yours, her breath hot against your lips.

“Fuck,” Vi mutters, her forehead pressing against yours.

Her breath is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly, and when she looks at you—lips swollen, eyes dark with want—you swear you’ve never seen her like this.

You don’t give yourself time to overthink. You don’t want to think.

You just pull her back into you, your lips crashing into hers once more, and she groans against your mouth as she finally moves again, finally carries you those last few steps toward the bed.

And when she lays you down—Vi stares.

Her body hovers over yours, her hands braced on either side of your head, her breath still uneven as she takes you in—really takes you in. And fuck, you look so pretty like this, sprawled out beneath her, lips swollen and your lipstick smudged slightly from kissing her. Your chest rises and falls with each breath, the thin fabric of your dress shifting slightly, and Vi can’t stop staring, can’t stop drinking you in like she’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and she exhales sharply through her nose, her hands curling into fists against the mattress as she forces herself to pause, to breathe. She feels like she’s standing at the edge of something dangerous, something she’s wanted for so long but never let herself have, and now that you’re here—now that you’re letting her have you—she feels like she might lose her fucking mind.

Her gaze trails down your body, heat pooling low in her stomach as she watches the way your thighs press together, the way your fingers twitch against the sheets, waiting for her to do something.

She wants you. Wants to make you forget everything except the way she touches you, the way she makes you feel, the way she’s about to have you.

Vi exhales again, slower this time, and when her eyes flicker back up to yours, she smiles bitterly—low, lazy, cocky.

“Oh, fuck,” she murmurs, shaking her head slightly, her pink hair falling into her eyes as she licks her lips.

She leans in then, pressing her lips against the soft skin of your neck, her teeth grazing just slightly as she whispers against you teasingly.

“Vi, hurry, please—”

“I’m on it, baby,” she says.

Vi doesn’t waste another second.

She shrugs off her jacket in a rush, the leather hitting the floor, and her fingers already working at the hem of her shirt. She pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in her jeans and her sports bra, barely noticing where it lands—because you’re right there.

Vi moves above you, her body pressing closer, and that’s when you see it.

The small glint of silver catches your eye, swaying gently as she hovers over you, her breath warm against your skin. Your lips part slightly, because you know that necklace—

And now, it’s still there.

Vi doesn’t seem to notice at first. She’s too lost in you, in the way your body moves beneath hers, in the way she’s been desperate to have you again. But when she feels you stiffen slightly beneath her, when she pulls back just enough to really look at you, she follows your gaze—and freezes.

Her breath falters, chest rising and falling just a little too quickly, her entire body suddenly too still.

She realizes what you’re looking at.

You don’t say anything, but you don’t have to.

And Vi—Vi feels like she’s been caught.

The necklace still rests against her skin every single day, always hidden beneath layers of fabric, unseen by anyone else.

But now, you see it. You know.

She doesn’t just want you tonight.

She wants you always.

Right in front of her, staring up with wide eyes, breath coming in soft, uneven gasps, your lips still swollen, and your dress still clinging to you.

And holy fuck, she needs you out of it.

Her hands find the fabric at your sides, her fingertips pressing into your skin as she tugs, as she urges your dress higher, bunching it up until she can pull it over your head.

You lift your arms for her, letting her take it off, letting her strip you down just like she wants, and Vi swears her brain short circuits the second she sees you like this.

Her breath catches, her pupils blown wide as her gaze drags down, raking over every inch of your skin exposed to her.

She groans softly, deeply and almost pained, before she lunges forward, her lips finding the soft skin of your collarbone, your shoulder, anywhere she can reach. She kisses you so messily, open-mouthed and desperate, her tongue flicking out between kisses, her teeth grazing just enough to make you moan.

She wants to taste every inch of you, mark you up so that you remember exactly where she’s been.

“V-Violet—”

Your voice—soft, breathy, breaking just slightly on her name—hits Vi harder than anything else has tonight. It goes straight to her chest, down to the part of her that remembers, that aches for every time you used to say her name like that, every time you used to fall apart for her.

And fuck, she’s missed it. She’s missed you.

A soft whimper rumbles from Vi’s throat, her teeth scraping gently along the delicate skin of your chest before she pulls back just enough to look at you. Your bra is pushed up, her hands eagerly roaming your tits, swueezing and pulling just like she always did whenever she was in a rush to make you feel good. Its not long before she reaches behind you, one hand undoing your bra and throwing it on the floor with the rest of your clothes.

And you’re already so wrecked, your lips parted, your breaths uneven, your body arching beneath her as she touched you.

God, she wants you—wants to ruin you, wants to hear you beg, wants to make you forget everything but the way she feels against you, around you… inside you.

Vi’s hands tremble slightly as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging at the fabric slowly down your legs. She watches the way you react—the way your breath catches, the way your thighs tense, the way your fingers clutch at the sheets like you’re bracing yourself. Like you’re nervous.

She pauses, her thumbs rubbing small, absentminded circles against your hips, trying to soothe the tension in your body.

She’s thought about this.

Fuck, she’s thought about this almost every night—about you, about having you like this again, spread out beneath her, breathless and wanting an be needing her.

It’s been so long. Too long.

And as much as Vi wants to devour you as soon as possible—she also wants to savor this. She wants to feel it.

You make a small noise—soft, hesitant—and when Vi finally drags the last piece of clothing down your thighs, when she finally sees you, all of you, she lets out a breath she didnt even know she was holding.

You shift slightly, instinctively moving to close your legs, to hide yourself, but Vi is already there—her hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open for her.

And then she sees the hesitation in your eyes. The way you bite your lip and glance away. Shy.

Something in Vi’s chest tightens.

She knows.

She knows.

You haven’t done this in a long time.

She wants to say something, but can’t find the right words. So instead, she does the only thing she can—she leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, her lips soft and wet.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” she murmurs against your skin. “Always been so pretty, baby.”

She kisses you again, this time closer.

But when your breath hitches, when you finally look at her, when your fingers twitch like you want to reach for her but don’t know if you should—Vi knows.

She knows you want this.

You need her.

So Vi immediately gets to work.

The second she spreads you open, the second she sees how wet you are, she groans low in her throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as she leans in without hesitation, before finally dragging her tongue through your wet folds.

Your body jerks as get tongue presses flat and firm against your clit, and your fingers immediately reach for her, tangling into her hair—longer now than it used to be, your fingertips curling around the strands, gripping on it, pulling on it.

Vi feels you everywhere—the way your thighs twitch slightly against her hands, the way your hips shift up as if you were chasing the warmth of her mouth, the way your fingers tighten in her hair the second she flicks her tongue just right.

She hums against you, reveling in the way you respond to her so easily, like no time has passed at all, like your body still remembers her, still wants her just as much as she’s always wanted you.

She licks into you again, her tongue delving deeper into your pussy, messily and slurping loudly while her hands grip your thighs as she pulls you closer, like she can’t get enough—like she wants to devour you whole.

“Fuck,” Vi breathes against you. “You taste so good. Missed this pretty pussy so much.”

You let out a soft, broken sound as your hips buck slightly, your fingers still tangled in her hair.

Vi whimpers against your cunt, at the way your body gives to her so naturally, so easily. She tightens her grip, pressing you down into the mattress as she speeds up, her tongue dragging through your folds with faster strokes before circling your clit.

And when you whimper, Vi fucking smirks against you, because this is what she’s missed. The taste of you. The sound of you. The way you fall apart so easily for her, like you were made for this, like you were made for her.

“Hah, mmph—F-Fuck, Violet—”

Vi rolls her eyes back in bliss, moaning into your messy cunt as she slurps and sucks on your swollen clit. She loves hearing you moan her name like that—absolutely lives for it. Craves it. And god, she could fuck you all day just so that she could hear the heavenly sounds that fall from your lips.

She feels it before you even say anything—the way your thighs tremble beneath her palms, the way you close her in between your legs, the way you pant quicker and wuicker by the second, the way your body starts to tighten.

She knows you’re close already.

She knew you would be—knew from the second she laid you out in front of her, from the moment she tasted you, from the way you gasped and clung to her, fingers tangled in her hair, pulling, tugging, harder and harder, your body arching.

And that only makes her hungrier.

Vi doesn’t let up.

If anything, she doubles down, her grip tightening on your thighs, her tongue moving faster, more precise, lapping up everything you give her like she needs it, like she’s starving for it. She slurps at your wetness desperately, her tongue flicking, curling, pressing your pussy just right—just perfectly—and it sends you spiraling.

You don’t stand a chance.

Your entire body tenses as the orgasm crashes into you, ripping through you so fast, so hard, that your back arches off the bed, your thighs squeezing around Vi’s head as your fingers pull at her hair, and you cry out.

“V-Violet!”

Vi doesn’t stop.

She doesn’t slow down, doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even pause—she just keeps going, her tongue still moving against you, inside you, her hands still gripping you tight, holding you down, keeping you there, like she’s refusing to let you come down from it, like she wants to drag you through it again and again and again.

And it’s too much.

Your breath stutters, your body twitching beneath her, overstimulated and shaking, but she’s relentless.

She moans against you, the vibration making you shudder, her tongue never stopping, pulling another wave of pleasure out of you before you can even recover from the first.

“V-Vi—” you gasp, broken and trembling.

But Vi just groans in response, like she loves how fucked out you sound, like it only spurs her on. She presses herself closer, tongue flicking faster, sucking have on got clit, drinking you down, devouring you, like she doesn’t plan on stopping until she’s satisfied—until you’re a mess beneath her, until you can’t think of anything else but her.

And fuck, with the way she’s going, you’re not sure she ever plans to stop.

Vi growls against you. Your body twitches beneath her, still trembling from your other orgasms, your breath ragged, uneven, and yet she doesn’t stop. Her tongue is still working you over and over, her hands still holding you down, still keeping you open for her, like she needs this just as much as she needs to breathe.

You gasp, your fingers tightening in her hair, tugging, pulling, trying to push her away, but Vi just moans at the feeling, her nails digging into your thighs as she keeps going, trying to drown you in the pleasure she’s giving you.

“V-Vi, I can’t—”

But Vi only smiles against you. Her fingers squeeze at your thighs, firm, steady, keeping you right there. And then, she finally pulls back—just barely, just enough to let her breath kiss over your wet, sensitive cunt as she tilts her head up to look at you.

Her lips are glossy with you, her pink hair disheveled from where your fingers have been pulling, and her pupils are blown, dark and hungry, her mouth curling into something dangerously smug, something so unbearably cocky.

“Can’t?” she echoes, raspy, teasing.

She presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss against the inside of your thigh, her teeth scraping just slightly before she smirks up at you.

And then she’s right back on you, tongue slipping inside, sucking at your clit, pulling another moan from your lips before you can even think to stop it.

You don’t know how many more times you came on her tongue.

It was so much.

And soon, you could hear Vi whimpering, louder and louder, her hands gripping your thighs tighter as she grinds her hips down onto your bed while she ate you out.

Vi was close. Untouched.

“V-Vi…” you breathe, your body trembling.

“Just a little more, baby, please…”

And you couldn’t say no to her. She always asked so nicely, even before—you loved it when she’d beg.

So she kept going and going and going.

Her whimpers grow louder, turning into moans, as she continuted to work her tongue against you. Fuck, she was so close. So fucking close. She could feel it tight in her cunt, waiting. All she needed was one more out of you. Just one.

She could feel you, almost there.

And when you jerk, trying to pull away from her mouth only for just a moment, Vi pulls you against her, wrapping her mouth around your clit and sucking. Hard.

You scream, the sound sending a wave over Vi’s body and that just about does it for her.

“M-Mmmph—Nn-ah, f-fuuuuck—” Vi whispers, gasping for air, her face still against your cunt.

She rests there for a moment, her cheek pressed againdt your inner thigh as she tries to catch her breath, her body shivering from cumming hard. She could feel her boxers, wet and sticky, and she swears you just sent her to heaven.

It doesnt take long for her to regain her energy, before crawling back up, leaving gentle kisses over your skin, before claiming your mouth with hers once more. You could taste yourself on her tongue, in her mouth. And you knew for a fact that Vi was cocky about it. She smiles against your lips before trailing back down to your jaw and neck, kissing the small bruises she left on them earlier.

Her hands are still resting lightly on your body, her fingers gentle now, as if she’s afraid you might shatter if she’s not careful. She pulls away a moment later, just enough to look at you.

She stares at you for a while, like she’s trying to memorize every inch of you—your flushed face, your lips swollen from the kiss, your eyes still half-lidded.

There’s a flutter in her chest. Vi can’t explain it—not really—not when every part of her is overwhelmed with the need to keep you close, to have you.

But she doesn’t say anything.

She just looks at you, her thumb gently brushing along the side of your cheek, her eyes soft as they lock onto yours. Her mind is running a mile a minute, every thought tangled up in the same three words that she wants to say but knows she can’t.

She says them to herself over and over.

I love you.

She says it in her head, again and again, her lips barely moving with the words as she stares at you. She wants to say them aloud, wants to let you know how much she means it, how deeply those words run for her, how she’s only ever felt like this for you.

But she holds herself back. She’s afraid of what might happen if she does.

Vi’s not sure if you feel the same way—if you even could, after everything that’s happened.

So instead of saying the words, she just leans down again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, letting her lips linger there for a moment, breathing you in. She pulls away slowly and moves to lay down next to you, her gaze still locked onto yours.

The room is quiet now. Vi watches you closely, her eyes tracing the rise and fall of your chest, the way your face softens as you drift off to sleep beside her. You’re curled against her, one of your hands still resting lightly on her chest.

The soft glow of the light outside the window makes your skin glow. She can’t stop staring.

Her fingers, still warm from where they rested on your skin, twitch at her sides, but she doesn’t dare move. She can’t tear herself away from you, from the way your hair spills across the pillow, the way your lips are still parted slightly. She reaches out slowlyc just to brush a few strands of hair from your face, her fingertips grazing your cheek gently.

You stir slightly, your lips parting in a soft sigh, and Vi feels her heart lurch again. She knows she should sleep—knows she should rest too, but the thought of closing her eyes and missing even a second of you like this seems impossible.

Vi can feel herself drawn to you, drawn to every subtle movement, every breath you take. Her mind spins with thoughts—of the past, of what could’ve been, of what might still be. She thinks of the way you kissed her earlier, the way you touched her, the way she was so sure of you before, and then everything fell apart. The distance between you both became something too big to cross, and now, after everything, she’s here again, watching you as you sleep beside her.

It’s not just being close to you—though, fuck, she wants to hold you, wants to feel you pressed against her until there’s no space left between you. But it’s the fact that she’s here with you. After all the years apart from you, she finally has you again. Right next to her. And she doesn’t know what it means or where it’s going, but right now, she feels whole in a way she hasn’t in years.

Her hand hovers for a moment, just over yours, but she doesn’t touch you. She just watches you, watches the way your chest rises and falls, the way your face looks so relaxed, so safe, like you’ve finally found peace in her presence.

Vi stays there all night, her eyes never leaving you. She watches the clock tick by, watches the light change, watches you sleep, and for the first time in so long, she doesn’t feel so alone.

series masterlist | next chapter (coming soon!)

taglist: @norwayromanoff @killuomi @wicked-laugh @bunnyrose01 @jupitism @sawaagyapong @trulyzizi @saturnhas82moons @oidloid @mk-a-1 @pornoangelz @savedforlaterr @catrapplesauces @ishamyshaylaaa @baylegend6 @auraclus @theapollochronicles @jivimatcha @chobssss @mystar-girl57 @narislvr @danonered @mikellie @xxyourlocaledgelordxx @thalchmy @ddandelionfluff @atittueball @brooks-lin @alex-thegiraffeboyy @visexualfemme @sugrcookiiee @fallingstarsburn @cupcakesnviolets @brbaabs @antobooh @london-uhmye @pen900 @quiquerwfx77 @violetszn @womenlover0 @tamale-4 @everybodyhatesari @sevyscoven @krilara @starrysetup22 @cyberdreamzzzz @jannesyjane @littl3cloud @caffeine-pup @hitmehardmommy

if you would like to be added to the taglist please leave a comment on the series masterlist post (its easier for me to track that way!)

[shadesofjinx]

Answering all of these because I have truly nothing to hide!

1. What are 4 tabs you have open on your browser right now?

swim team membership page, one of my own fanfics on ao3, my ao3 bookmarks, my dining hall’s daily menu

2. Have you ever thought about seriously harming someone?

Yes, my abusers:) and also because of intrusive thoughts and those being super horrible bc of certain traumas

3. How are you feeling emotionally right now?

Pretty damn good. I feel lucky, where I’m in college rn is pretty quiet and I feel like I’m in a bubble and privileged enough to not be dealing personally with the backlash of trumps administration here but I do my best to spread info around for those who need it

4. What type of place(like building) are you in right now?

My college dorm room / dorm building

5. Does anyone know your deepest, darkest secret?

Well no, not yet at least. There are some things in the past that are so fucked up we’d just rather go to the grave with it but we may get the courage to tell our therapist these things

6. Have you ever tried to feign mental illness for personal gain?

Thank God no, you heard it here first we haven’t ever done that

7. Do you have any enemies?

Donald trump, my abusers, and the American healthcare system that personally failed me <3

8. Do you have people you only pretend to like?

Absolutely not?? The people who pretend to like others are fake as fuck I’m sorry (not including people who are genuinely unlikable re: terrible people). I’ve been the victim of this several times and it hurts very much so don’t be that kind of person, be genuine in your connections or else you won’t wake up tomorrow:))

9. What is one item you never let anyone look at or in?

The one sex toy I have . Prettyyy self explanatory

10. Do you have any talents people say you have but you don’t actually have?

My dad likes my singing and I never believed I had the potential to be a singer or be in a choir (I thought my singing sounded horrible) but now I am and my choir teacher has been very encouraging I love her!! My singing has already gotten a lot better

11. Something you like that apparently other people don’t like?

Cats. A lot of people I used to know, key word used to were avid cat haters and I was not here for that

12. Are you a virgin?

Somewhat unfortunately. I say that cuz sex would be great but we have sexual trauma so go figure

13. Is there anyone your grandma would hate that you’re subscribed to on YouTube?

Yes, Tommyinnit cuz he swears quite a bit, and DanandPhilGames because both are out queer men who live together and she’s homophobic and conservative

14. Introvert or extrovert?

Bruh I mean I’m autistic so introvert I guess but i prefer to be alone unless I’m with my bestie

15. Most used app on my device?

Chrome because use it to read ao3

16. How much fanfiction have you actually read?

Good question! I don’t know! But I’ve been on that site for 4 years and have let’s see 81 pages of ao3 history

17. Worst Fears?

Deep water, touch (in some instances), dying alone, dying unmarried, heights (I say as if I’m not a rock climber and also want to go bungee jumping but it’s ok I’m an adrenaline junkie so the fear and potential adrenaline cancel out)

18. Biggest mistake you’ve ever made?

Trusting certain people in my past 👍🏻

19. Worst lie you’ve ever told?

When my brother was stalking me online for years and found out that my therapist and I thought I had DID at the time (diff therapist, now diagnosed with DID with specialist) and I lied to his face (that I didn’t have DID) for my own safety

20. Do you consider yourself a trustworthy person?

Pretty much yeah I’m not good with like positive secrets (like a surprise party, I’d just get too excited and want to tell the person yk!!) but if anyone ever tells me deep dark stuff and I’m told to keep it a secret (as long as they’re not in danger/a danger to themselves) then yeah I’ll take that shit to my grave nobody’s gonna know

“I have nothing to hide” Asks

(For those daring enough to reblog)

1. What are 4 tabs that you have open on your browser right now?

2. Have you ever thought about seriously harming someone?

3. How are you feeling emotionally right now?   

4. What type of place(Like building) are you in right now?       

5. Does anyone know your deepest, darkest secret?

6. Have you ever tried to feign mental illness for personal gain?

7. Do you have any enemies?

8. Do you have any people you only pretend to like?

9. What is one item that you never let anyone besides yourself look at or in?

10. Do you have any talents that people say you have but you don’t believe you actually have?

11. Something you like that other people generally do not like?

12. Are you a Virgin?  

13. Is there anyone that your grandma would hate that you are subscribed to on youtube?

14. Introvert or extrovert?

15. What is the most used application on your device?

16. How much fan fiction have you actually read?

17. Worst Fears?

18. Biggest mistake you’ve ever made?

19. Worst lie you’ve ever told?

20. Do you consider yourself a trustworthy person?

[zorostitties]

Aurora, 4 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 6k

A/N: God!!! I can't believe I finished this chapter so fast!!!! I really wanted to post it before monday. Hope this makes your sunday night a bit less depressing!! Thank you for all the comments past chapter 💞💞 they really motivate me to keep writing! Without further ado, please enjoy <3

⤕  Chapters: check masterlist in bio!  ⤕ Also on AO3

Dracula.

Your reflection on the lake’s surface was distorted – the perfect materialization of your troubled mind.

Dracula.

An acrid taste had been in your tongue for the past hours, making you wonder if you’d actually picked a poisonous mushroom by mistake. No… that probably wasn’t the reason. Your back was as straight as iron, your hands politely over your knees, as you strongly avoided even glancing at the half vampire in front of you while he and Richter rowed the boat.

Dracula was considered by many the Vampire King for a long time. He was extremely powerful.

Richter’s words had been replaying in your head nonstop. You thought about that entire conversation again, and again, and again, trying to put your finger on what exactly triggered that… memory. If you could call it a memory, that is.

It was more of a feeling.

Dracula.

The mention of that name made a shiver run down your spine. Made your reflexes sharpen as if, suddenly, you were in the presence of a hungry wolf ready to launch at you. Not a face awakened in your mind – but a sense of danger that, somehow, felt extremely familiar. As if “Dracula” wasn’t the name of a man, but of a natural disaster, like an erupting volcano.

Where have you heard of that name before?

Perhaps Erzsebet or Drolta had mentioned it around you? After all, Richter said he used to be the Vampire King, and Erzsebet considered herself the Vampire Queen – goddess –; it might’ve made sense for her to talk about him at some point. But why did that name evoked such fear in your gut? Richter also said that this Dracula had been killed hundreds of years ago. You couldn’t have actually met him. Although your sense of time was distorted, there’s no way you’d been alive for that long. You were not a vampire.

And yet… you healed like one.

The more you thought about it, the larger the question mark grew in your thoughts.

Why did you heal?

It wasn’t exactly an ability – you hadn’t learned it, your body just did it. You had no control over it. If you had, you wouldn’t have bothered staying alive for so long under Erzebet’s imprisonment. It was more of a… condition. No matter to what extremes Drolta went with her punishments or Erzsebet’s with her hobby of hurting you when she was bored, your body always mended itself back together.

In fact…

It was more than just “mending” itself back together. It could regrow if necessary.

Vampires could heal from injuries that were fatal for humans. But you’d seen vampires die a lot, too – by Erzsebet’s hands, by Alucard’s hands, by Richter and Annette’s hands. You’d never seen a vampire regrow entire limbs if they were cut using magic or sanctified weapons.

You didn’t heal like a vampire, as Alucard stated back then.

You healed better than one.

It was a bit baffling on your part to have never questioned this condition of yours. Now that you were experiencing the real world, you understood just how truly odd you were. This thing couldn’t be normal and you had no idea why. You were beginning to hate this word – why, why, why. Your existence was surrounded by whys, but your stupid head couldn’t say no becauses, it could only bring forward more whys–

Annette woke up with a loud gasp that made you gasp and flinch away from her.

The girl had been sleeping for the past hour, laying in front of you in a position that couldn’t be comfortable. She jumped to a sitting position, aiming her blade to… nothing, in such a sudden move that yanked you out of your own head and made the two man stop rowing the boat.

She was trembling. The three of you stared at her in shock for some seconds.

“...Annette,” Richter said quietly, as if afraid to scare her. “It’s okay. It was just a dream.”

The girl in yellow didn’t look at him, though, keeping her scared sight glued ahead.

“Are those dreams, too?”

Finally, you looked at where she was pointing with her blade.

It took a while to understand what was between the trees under the moonlight. You narrowed your eyes… and when you understood what you were seeing, you couldn’t help but gasp.

Corpses.

Countless corpses hanging from the trees on the river bank.

“This is Erzsebet’s doing,” Alucard said in a somber tone.

“But we’re miles from Machecoul,” Richter was in disbelief.

Alucard closed his eyes for a moment – a subtle and solemn act of respect, perhaps. “She has followers. Everywhere.”

But then, the wind brought voices to your ears. Groans. Screams. Cries.

There were still people there.

And yet – Alucard would go on to say the thing that would shock you the most.

“Keep rowing.”

The three of you looked at him in disbelief.

That’s… not what you were expecting of him. At all.

Perhaps the fact that, up until now, Alucard had been kind to you in ways that no other person ever were made you get a wrong image of him. A… softer image. You thought he wouldn’t refuse help to anyone, ever. You… didn’t expect his heart could be cold like that.

“Are you just going to leave them behind?” You blurted out before you could control yourself – and immediately regretted it.

Alucard didn’t look exactly angry; his face had the nonchalant expression you were getting used to. Yet, the way he slightly furrowed his brows made you shiver. I should’ve stayed shut, you reprimanded yourself. What right do I have to ask him to put himself in danger for anyone when I myself am pretty useless? What if Alucard gets angry at me? What if he starts hating me from now on?

“We don’t have time for distractions,” he replied, still rowing, still in that same controlled voice.

“But there are people in that village,” Annette argued. She looked angry at Alucard. “They’ll get killed if we don’t help them!” Richter looked from her to the hung bodies back to the vampire, not moving his oar.

“They’re right. We can’t just pass them by,” the blue eyed boy agreed.

The furrow in Alucard’s face deepened.

“If we rush to rescue every distressed villager, Erzsebet will rule the whole country before we have half a chance to stop her.” For the first time, Alucard’s tone showed a bit of emotion – annoyance. But the Belmont started to row towards the margin anyway. “Richter.”

If the white-haired vampire called you using that warning tone, you would’ve stopped whatever you were doing. But Richter wasn’t scared like you. He didn’t care about Alucard’s reprimand and instead kept rowing. Alucard could’ve stopped him, could’ve argued more – but, surprising you once again, he just let out a tired sigh.

Annette and Richter got out of the boat in a jump before it even touched the margin, not caring to wet their boots, and ran into the forest.

You were frozen. Heavens, what have you started? Well, you couldn’t assume that the other two wouldn’t act even if you stayed shut, but you were the first to speak up anyway. What if Alucard was angry at you? You wouldn’t be helpful anyway, so why did you even open your mouth?

Being alone with him for those brief seconds was like torture. You avoided his gaze, already feeling sweat forming on your temples, waiting for some sort of punishment.

But Alucard let out another tired sigh.

When he got up, you had no choice but to look at him. Indeed, he didn’t look angry. Just tired.

“Let’s get this over with, then.” He murmured more to himself than to you.

It was so quick that your brain didn’t properly register what was happening.

His arm got around your waist, forcing you to get up in a firm grip, gluing your back on his torso as if you didn’t weigh more than a watermelon. Then, you saw a red glow spread from his body to yours–

And you didn’t see anything anymore.

For a split second, you thought you got blind.

No, it wasn’t that–

Alucard was moving so fast that your eyes couldn’t distinguish what the hell they were seeing.

Everything became a blur. You heard the shuffle of leaves, wind howling on your ears– and then, you weren’t on the boat anymore, but deep within the forest – surrounded by vampires.

Your stomach dropped. The world spun around. Alucard carried you under his arm like someone carries a dog, your feet weren’t even touching the ground anymore.

The vampires looked as shocked as you, at least.

All of them launched at Alucard at the same moment he unsheathed his long sword.

Instinctively, you covered your head with your hands (as if it’d do much) while the white-haired vampire swung his sword around – and then everything became an incomprehensible cacophony of steel against steel, flesh being slashed and pierced, groans of effort and pain. Alucard was ridiculously superior to any of them; they were less of a threat than the guards at Erzebet’s chateau.

When the clearing had nothing but mutilated corpses, he did that thing again – red glow, wind swooshing, vision getting dark – and rushed to another clearing after a new group of vampires. You felt the taste of mushrooms on your tongue, but forced yourself to swallow it back, covering your mouth with both hands.

This is how a potato sack must feel, a stupid voice whispered in your head. You tried to focus your sight on anything, but Alucard moved so fast that it was impossible; sometimes he made his long cape fall over your body to confuse any attacks aimed at you, making it even more impossible to understand what was happening.

Two last enemies remained. One of them was running away. Alucard let go of his sword and the weapon flew on a beeline towards him; it impaled the vampire on a tree.

The other enemy launched itself at you, screaming in a last desperate attempt. Alucard raised you up with a single arm to get you out of danger’s line, his hand on your back as if you were quite literally a tray, and kicked the vampire on the stomach with such force that you were sure that you heard his spine breaking apart; the man shocked against one, two, three trees, destroying them on his way, before Alucard’s obedient flying sword landed the finishing blow.

And you were alone.

Only then Alucard put you on the floor.

“I think that was all,” he said – once again to himself, not to you – and held his sword. He didn’t show a sign of fatigue or… anything. Not even his hair was disheveled, as if it was magical like his sword and each strand could simply go back to its place. “Let’s see if the others finished–“

He interrupted himself when he saw your position – bent over, one hand on your stomach and the other covering your mouth.

“...Are you oka–“ He was about to ask – showing the most emotion up until then – but you lifted your finger at him.

“J-Just give me a–“ don’t vomit don’t vomit don’t vomit don’t vomit– “A second. Please.”

Surprisingly, Alucard obeyed.

You breathed slowly, in and out, focusing every fiber of your being into not throwing up. We don’t have time for that, you repeated like a mantra. When you felt the nausea fading away, you straightened your back and brushed the dust off your skirt, turning to him.

“Please, the next time you do that,” you said in a weak, breathless voice, as if you were the one relentlessly fighting vampires a second ago, “I’d like to know first.”

Alucard looked speechless at first, then you saw the ghost of a smile on his lips – oh, of course he finds my state quite funny, as if it wasn’t humiliating enough. He opened his mouth to say something–

A sharp pain on the left side of your face.

You stumbled back in pure shock.

You hadn’t noticed the trap in front of you – a deep hole on the ground covered by a carpet of leaves, some sort of trap for wolves, perhaps. From said hole, a vampire jumped up, launching himself in the air, his nails sharper than any knife and now covered with your blood.

The world moved in slow motion for maybe three seconds. You saw the man’s devious smile – he was probably so proud of himself for fooling both of you; his hiss made your skin crawl. You were his target. His landing trajectory was you, and his nails were once again ready to hurt you.

He never had the time.

The world was still moving in slow motion when Alucard sliced him in half. You watched in grotesque precision as the sharp blade cut through the skin of his stomach, his flesh, his guts, his spine. The cocky smile never faded away. The vampire didn’t even have time to realize he was dying.

Everything went back to its normal speed. You didn’t want to look at the body hitting the ground.

You stumbled two more steps back, instinctively touching your left cheek with your fingertips and wincing in pain. Hell. These weren’t just cuts – felt more like gashes. You realized that you couldn’t open your left eye anymore. Blood dripped down your face.

Wounds like that weren’t anything out of the ordinary. They hurt, yes – but you felt, at most, annoyed. How did you let yourself get hurt like that, even after all of Alucard’s efforts in keeping you safe?

And yet – your mind was silenced when you felt the gentle touch of a gloved hand.

With his left hand, Alucard lifted your chin; with his right hand and the utmost care, he pressed a handkerchief over your wounds.

“This looks bad.” His quiet, husky voice dripped with worry. His forehead was tense, his jaw was tightened. He made you turn your head slightly to get a better vision of the gashes before pressing the soft fabric over them once again. With the corner of your good eye, you noticed that he hadn’t sheathed the sword back in; now it floated near your body like a watchdog.

Maybe it was the embarrassment of getting hurt in front of him, or the fact that he was standing so close and holding your face with such care, or his unwavering gaze – or it was a mix of everything that made heat creep from your neck to your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful.” You held your breath; his tone was still quiet and gentle, yet you noticed the hint of anger in his voice; such anger wasn’t directed at you, however.

You couldn’t process that situation very well.

Alucard said I’m sorry. Not many people had said I’m sorry to you, as far as you remembered. And he sounded sorry.

You pressed your lips together. Why was he even sorry? Didn’t he already know that no injury was serious enough to you?

“It’s okay, Alucard,” you said sheepishly. If you had the courage, you’d have rested your hand over his wrist, but you gripped the fabric of the skirt instead. “I’ll heal.” And fast, as you already felt the familiar tingling sensation spread around the entire left side of your face.

“I know,” was all he said. He kept patting your wounds slowly, absorbing the blood with the handkerchief.

You didn’t know how much longer you could hold his piercing gaze. You gulped. “I-I guess the bleeding already stopped,” you stuttered, desperate for him to step back – and not because you didn’t like his touch, but because it was too overwhelming and you didn’t know how to physically deal with it.

Alucard distanced the fabric from your face. He hummed, analyzing the gashes once again, coming to the conclusion that the bleeding had stopped indeed. However, instead of distancing himself or letting go of your chin, he turned the handkerchief to the side that still wasn’t soaked; you held your breath when you felt his hand press on your jaw, on your chin, then on your neck – cleaning the blood that had dripped.

That heat spread to every corner of your body. You felt about to explode.

Only after he finished did he step away – not before making you still hold the handkerchief over your left cheek.

He looked so, so sorry.

It was the first time Alucard showed an expression that wasn’t subtle.

And for some reason, it made it hard to breathe.

You won’t get hurt, he told you back at the chateau. I mean it, he reinforced in the woods.

Oh… you got it.

Alucard probably felt like he broke his promise to you – even though that wasn’t exactly a promise.

“It’ll be healed in no time,” you repeated, hating how high pitched your voice sounded. You wanted him to stop worrying so much at that moment; you needed to avert his attention elsewhere. “We… we should go after the others.”

The white-haired vampire still hesitated, his gaze lingering on you for a while longer before nodding. “Let’s go.” When he said this, you almost sighed in relief.

He walked very close to you this time, his hand behind your back without exactly touching, acting more as a guide. The long sword still floated closer to you than to him.

The warmth of his touch, even through the leather gloves, was comforting; his movements much slower now compared to how they were minutes ago as he ruthlessly slashed vampires without struggle. It was even impressive how he could switch like that. Now, he moved around with the care of someone holding a scared kitten.

You didn’t know how to feel.

On one side, you liked it. Heavens, how could you not? When was the last time anyone had touched you with such care? You’d always associated vampires with violence and brute force… yes, Alucard could fight ruthlessly, and imagining him as your foe was frightening. But at the same time, he could be considerate, his touch as light as a feather, his hunting tiger eyes changing to worried ones in the blink of an eye. How could you not be… flattered by that?

On the other side, you wanted to dig a hole on the ground and hide there forever. You were beyond embarrassed – embarrassed because you got hurt in front of him, embarrassed that he was paying so much attention to you, embarrassed because Alucard was in a hurry (understandably) and he shouldn’t waste his time caring about the injury of someone that couldn’t take care of herself… and embarrassed because you liked the attention, even though you shouldn’t.

The pain of your wounds was nothing compared to your confused feelings.

When you found the other two after a short walk, your left eye had already reopened, although your vision was still blurry.

Annette held blades on both hands. She had a focused expression, but when she saw you, her eyes widened and she was about to run towards you. Richter also looked worried. Immediately, you lifted your hand; just Alucard was enough, you didn’t need anyone else focusing on you.

“Don’t worry! It’s nothing.” You tried your best to sound somewhat cheerful. See? It’s not so bad. It doesn’t even hurt. Don’t worry about me, please, don’t worry about me.

The amount of blood on the handkerchief – previously white, now completely red – made it hard to believe, even though you were hiding the wounds very well. Alucard looked at you with the corner of his eye, letting a glimpse of his worry pass through, before falling into the usual nonchalance.

“I think I killed all of them,” he stated. “None left to report back to Erzsebet.”

Any worries Richter might’ve had for you disappeared in a second. His shoulders fell down, his eyes dropped – and you immediately remembered what happened yesterday. Oh no. Tension bubbled up within your stomach. Annette sent a worried gaze from the Belmont boy to the vampire.

Unfortunately, Alucard noticed. “What?”

Richter sighed, realizing there was no way out of this. He turned to Alucard. “Yesterday, when we were fighting vampires…”

The white-haired man frowned. That simple action was enough to send shivers down your spine.

“...I might’ve given our destination away.” Richter confessed – embarrassed, hesitant. He closed his eyes for a second, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Alucard. “I was just–“

“Showing off. As usual.”

Another freezing cold shiver.

Alucard’s voice wasn’t loud – much the opposite. Low, raspy, similar to a hiss. It was the second time that day that you’d seen him show an emotion that wasn’t subtle.

“I’m sorry. It was stupid, I wasn’t thinking.” The Belmont boy very clearly felt the weight of embarrassment get heavier over his shoulders.

“No, you weren’t. You don’t.” Heavens – Alucard wasn’t even talking to you, yet you almost had the reflex of flinching away from him. It was the first time he used that tone. It was the first time he showed genuine, unclouded anger.

And it scared you.

Maybe not because it was him, but because your past captors taught you that anger meant punishment – and it was burned in your soul in a way that not even your healing condition could deal with.

“What’s done is done, Alucard,” Annette intervened in a defensive manner, perhaps because she thought that it could evolve into something worse. “Let’s just get moving.”

Obviously, Alucard knew she was right. You saw something in him – something that he surely kept very well hidden most of the time – that made you think that, perhaps, he was a stubborn person. Perhaps he was someone that didn’t like to back down when he felt he was right.

But then his eyes quickly paused on you. Maybe you were seeing too much, wanting to be more important than you actually were, and the other two definitely didn’t notice it. But you saw the way his eyes traveled from the bloody handkerchief pressed against your wound, or maybe he saw your expression – and that made him… give up.

Alucard simply let an irritated groan escape, sheathed his sword and walked towards the margin, not far from where you were.

You almost sighed in relief. A fight was the thing you needed the least right now.

While you watched Alucard’s tall figure distance himself, Richter expressed a little “thank you” towards Annette. She smiled, shrugging, before approaching you and resting her hand over your shoulder.

“Are you really okay?” she asked. It seemed that she wanted to take a look at your wounds, but you refused uncover them.

“Yes. It was just an accident.” Again, you faked a somewhat cheerful tone. “It’s already healing, so don’t worry. Really.”

Annette still looked hesitant, but ended up nodding anyway, making her way towards the boat.

Richter didn’t move at all. His fists were tightened, his eyes were down. Again, you couldn’t help but notice how his muscular body made such a contrast with his child-like features. He… looked like a boy. His round blue eyes were clouded by regret, embarrassment and a hint of sadness.

It brought forward a feeling you didn’t know you had. An… instinct.

“Don’t dwell too much on it,” you didn’t know where the courage to speak came from, but there you were anyway, your voice quiet in a tone you didn’t recognize. “He’s angry. It’ll pass.”

Even Richter seemed surprised at your words. He massaged the back of his neck and somehow managed to open a small smile before nodding.

“Let’s… get going,” it seemed he didn’t know what to reply. As you started to walk side by side, Richter eyed the left side of your face. “...You have a pretty high pain tolerance. I’m a bit jealous.”

You couldn’t help but let a light chuckle pass your lips.

And yet, your sudden reaction lingered in your mind for a while. The way you hated to see that boy looking even remotely sad. The way you found the words to try to comfort him, even though you usually struggled to speak most of the time.

...Could that be a memory, too?

You were used to feeling small.

It had nothing to do with height. Your captors made you feel small, minuscule, insignificant, for as long as you could remember. That wasn’t news. That was, in fact, ingrained in your brain in complicated ways.

And yet, Paris made you feel even smaller.

Not because you were being harassed this time, but because it was so big and there were so many buildings and there were so many people that you felt the size of a grain of salt.

You weren’t used to that.

You abandoned the boat a few hours before dawn. Two more hours of walking and finally, the first buildings peeked in the distance. The city was just waking up with the first rays of sunlight, and yet it was already flooding with people.

Too many people.

You didn’t know a city could have so many people. You didn’t know buildings could be that tall. You didn’t know a place could be so noisy. There were kids running around and carriages passing by and stray dogs barking at you (you almost peed yourself) and people selling bread and fruits on the sidewalks and there was a mother running after her son and a group of old ladies chatted very loud and there was a man wearing a monk cloak preaching something with a book in his hand and oh- the boy that was running from his mother almost got run over by a horse but the rider stopped it in time and cursed him using very bad names and the mother cursed the rider back using very bad names and the boy started crying–

A hand rested on top of yours. You gasped. It was Annette.

“I was asking if you were hungry,” she said, but by the look on her face you realized that you were doing it again, you were spiraling again in an embarrassing way – and worst, in front of all these people. You gulped and hid your shaking hands behind your back.

“N-No.” You were, in fact, hungry, but you didn’t know what you were saying at that point.

No one was convinced.

“Shouldn’t we rush to find the mummy?” Richter said – but after he finished that sentence, his stomach audibly growled. The Belmont boy blushed. Annette giggled. The white-haired vampire sighed.

“I suppose we should rest for a while. We made our way without any breaks, after all,” he said and put his hand in the inside pocket of his jacket, taking a small brown pouch from there. It tinkled with coins. He placed the pouch on Annette’s hand. “You two, get us something to eat. I’ll be waiting with Ruby at the square.”

Annette still asked if you wanted to eat something specific, to which you once again replied mumbling some nonsense. Richter looked visibly relieved to be away from Alucard, at least for a while. They made their way towards a fair around the corner.

Alucard touched your back softly. You instinctively flinched.

“It’s over there,” he pointed ahead with his chin. Indeed, you could see a great square at the end of the crowded street. You nodded.

Alucard walked in a calm stride, and you tried to match his pace, even though your heart pounded violently. Your nerves wanted you to run. Everything was so loud and chaotic. Even the pigeons were noisy. You tried your best to not cross eyes with anyone – especially with the many men wearing red, blue and white uniforms, holding bayonets over their shoulders.

You felt that you stood out in the middle of the crowd. Your deep blue gown apparently was not a very fitting attire to wear on the streets, even though it wasn’t as puffy or long as it used to be. Women wore much simpler dresses. You felt their gazes over you and it made you want to disappear. If you had a vampire’s ability to turn into a tiny bat, hell, you’d use that ability right now to fly away from all these people.

A hand rested on your arm.

You gasped a bit when you realized Alucard was gently pulling you close to him before a man could bump into you. Your shoulder pressed against his body.

The stranger seemed about to say something mean, but then he looked from you to Alucard’s frown and gulped. “My apologies, ma’am,” he stuttered with an awkward smile, but Alucard kept guiding you ahead instead.

Oh.

His sudden proximity to you cut the cacophony of the street for some moments.

Finally, the street opened to a large square with a big fountain in the center and multiple wooden benches scattered around it. As it had more space, it appeared less crowded. Groups of pigeons flew away as you approached one of the only empty benches closer to the fountain. You sat down, Alucard at your left side.

The sound of the water gushing in the fountain muffled the other noises, helping you calm down a bit, but not nearly enough. You nervously gripped the fabric of the skirt and shook your leg nonstop, the heel tapping on the stone pavement audibly. There were still too many people. Still too many noises. Still too much attention–

“Look. There’s a rainbow.”

You eyed Alucard, finding his sudden observation strange. He sat with crossed legs and hands resting over his lap in a tranquil position that matched his expression. He pointed forward towards the fountain, clearly not wanting you to look at him at that moment.

And so you did.

The fountain was probably three meters tall, with four sculptures of women holding jars from where the water fell towards a pool. Indeed, as sun rays hit the water, a small colorful rainbow was reflected on the small droplets around it.

“Y-Yes,” you stuttered.

Alucard hummed. His voice was even calmer than usual. “Now, close your eyes. Listen to the water.”

You still found it strange, but did it anyway. With no more visual stimuli, you could focus on the sound of the flowing water. It flowed, nonstop, a sound familiar and somehow comforting; after a while, it muffled all the other sounds, the voices and conversations and steps. It enveloped you in a bubble of… peace.

Your leg wasn’t shaking anymore.

Finally, you opened your eyes again, your breathing back to normal.

Alucard now had his arms crossed. He looked at nothing in particular. “All these people are too absorbed in their own lives,” his husky voice was as soft as velvet. “They don’t care about you, so don’t worry about them.”

You nodded.

In that moment… Alucard was like a cold spot next to you. But not in a bad way. Everything else was too hot, too uncomfortable; he was like the cold breeze you needed to refresh.

Sheepishly, you looked down at your hands resting over your lap. “I’ve… never been in such a crowded place.”

Alucard nodded. “You get used to it after a while.”

Silence lingered between you. It wasn’t uncomfortable now, though.

“Oh! I’m sorry about your handkerchief,” you extended the apology you didn’t want to say in front of the others. “I tried to wash it, but… it didn’t work.”

The white-haired vampire chuckled softly. “It’s alright. Blood stains aren’t easily cleaned… you don’t have to apologize at all.” His small smile immediately dropped. “I should be the one to apologize again for what happened.”

You turned your body in his direction slightly, lifting your palms in an appeasing gesture. “I-It was just an accident! You don’t need to apologize again.”

“Yes, I do. You’re under my responsibility and I failed you.” Alucard turned to look at you for the first time. “What if you didn’t have this healing ability? You would’ve lost one eye. I think you don’t understand how serious that wound was.”

You looked down to your lap again, fiddling with your fingers nervously. “...Let’s just be glad that my body works like this, then.”

Alucard was still watching you. It made that familiar heat spread from your neck to your face all over again. He turned his body slightly on your direction, resting his arm over the back on the bench.

“How does it work? Your healing.” His voice had a new hint of interest. He pointed towards your left cheek with a subtle movement of his finger.

Instinctively, you turned your body a bit towards him as well, still avoiding his gaze.

“It… depends.” You started, frowning a little. “If it’s a light injury, it heals in seconds. If it’s more serious, it might take longer. Though… with more serious injuries, I can’t tell exactly how long it takes. I’d usually pass out and wake up the next day with everything healed.”

Oh. You didn’t want to let that last part slip.

Alucard pressed his lips for a moment. They were… glossy. Plump and delicate almost the way you’d expect to see on a woman. In fact, Alucard was a perfect balance between masculine and feminine; his features could be soft and delicate – like his lips, his long eyelashes, shiny wavy hair – but he could also be extremely masculine with his broad shoulders, muscular physique, his height, his deep voice. He was very elegant. And it wasn’t an inherently “vampiric” feature, as you hadn’t seen other vampires act like that, even the ones that claimed to be “royalty”. It was something specifically his.

The warmth in your cheeks got worse. You had to look away from him.

You inhaled, building up courage to ask what had been sitting in your mind for days. “Alucard, have you… have you ever met anyone else like me? A human that could heal?”

He looked into the distance, thoughtful. “Not exactly.” He paused for a moment, as if hesitating if he should tell you or not. “...I met a black magician once, many years ago. He sacrificed children, absorbing their youth, to keep himself alive for longer than a human should live.”

You couldn’t help but gasp. A bad feeling settled in your gut. “Did he heal like me?”

“Healing required the sacrifice of another life. An equivalent exchange. So, no.”

“...What happened to him?”

“I killed him.”

You widened your eyes. “Well, I-I don’t remember ever sacrificing children before, so…”

Alucard closed his eyes and let a light chuckle. “We can assume that’s not your case.”

Once again, you fiddled with the fabric of the dress. “Do you… have any idea of what might be my case?”

The man hummed. A soft breeze played with the locks of his hair. A few loose strands glimmered under the sun. Heavens, it was so hard to keep eye contact with him… when he was looking at you, you felt about to explode. When he wasn’t, you felt like you could stare at him for hours. And you weren’t the only one; you noticed some women walking on the square, taking quick glances at him, giggling and blushing. He was wrong in his theory that people were “too absorbed” in their lives – at least, that was not the case when it was about him.

“I can’t be sure of anything.” Alucard started, holding his chin. “There are a few theories I thought of. You might’ve made a pact with a demon to keep you alive in exchange of something it wanted you to do. You might be channeling your life force from someone else, like the black magician did. You might even be like me… a dhampir, how scholars call my kind. Half-human, half-vampire. Yet, that might most definitely not be the case, as you lack all vampiric features or needs.”

You gulped. All of his suppositions sounded equally bad.

“Are there other dhampirs?” You decided to avert his attention from you for a minute.

Alucard shook his head slowly. “No.” He narrowed his eyes only slightly. “And I am almost certain that there can’t be others like me. I was only conceived because my father was especially powerful… and he had the means to keep my mother alive throughout pregnancy.” He frowned in a subtle disgusted expression. “...I have seen others trying to replicate my existence with human women. It… never ends well to them or the babies.”

Although his last sentence was horrifying, you felt a little bit excited; Alucard barely ever talked about himself… and he just talked about his father, Dracula. The strange name that seemed to evoke something familiar in you.

Hell. You wanted to ask him. You didn’t even know exactly what to ask, and you didn’t even know if Alucard would want to talk about his father. As Richter said, Dracula was the man that almost wiped out mankind, and Alucard had to stop him… had to kill him. That couldn’t be an easy topic to talk about. How do you even approach this conversation?!

But at the same time, “Dracula” seemed to be the most important memory you had retrieved up until now. It could provide answers.

“We could also scratch the ‘channeling life force from another source’, too, if we consider that you feel tired when healing from serious injuries,” Alucard kept on talking, unaware of your internal struggle. “If you feel tired, it means you’re utilizing your own force.”

And then, you were shaking your leg again. “So… pact with a demon it is. Sounds lovely,” you didn’t want to sound that nervous, but you couldn’t help it.

Alucard chuckled. It was… nice to see him like that. Not so aloof. Smiles, even tiny ones, looked great on him.

“As I said, they’re only theories. Don’t dwell too much on suppositions. We’ll find out the truth, sooner or later.”

A moment of silence lingered.

“What if… I am actually someone evil?” You wondered quietly. “I have no idea of who I was before her. So… that’s a possibility.”

Alucard took a while to answer.

“I have lived for long enough to understand that good and evil are not simple concepts.” He was using that tone again – the quiet, reassuring one. A tone that meant comfort, but in that moment, it also meant wisdom, perhaps wisdom beyond your comprehension. “No one is entirely evil. No one is entirely good. Even vampires. Sometimes, evil and good are completely intertwined. One might do evil deeds for a good cause or the opposite. It is… very broad and subjective.”

Finally, you lifted your gaze to look at him.

“And what do you think is my case?”

Once again, Alucard took some seconds to answer.

The arm that rested over the back of the bench approached your face, which caused your heartbeat to increase; he moved slowly like he did before – moving around a scared kitten. His fingers came close to your head; his touch, almost unnoticeable. He took a little leaf that was hidden between your strands with his fingertips.

Why such a mundane action made all of your insides twirl around like that?

“I’m not sure of your past,” he admitted quietly. “But I am sure of what I see right now; and in this moment, you’re not someone capable of evil. And this, to me, is enough.”

You… couldn’t really breathe.

Couldn’t really look away.

Suddenly, he was also inside your little bubble of peace. There were only the sounds of the fountain, the sunlight… and his golden eyes. Nothing else existed. His presence emanated tranquility, certainty, solace… and something else that you didn’t know how to name. The same thing that made warmth spread through your body anytime he was kind, anytime he smiled, anytime he took care of you somehow.

It felt like you had fallen into a spell. A sweet one. It had an ambrosial smell, a honeyed taste. You didn’t want to break away from it. Not this time.

You opened your mouth, thinking of what to say – anything, any word, but nothing came; you were frozen, breathless, speechless–

“We brought croissants!”

The bubble popped.

You snapped your head to the side. Annette held a basket with bread and Richter held a bottle.

“They’re fresh off the oven,” Annette said with a satisfied smile.

“And I got apple juice. It wasn’t easy to get, so please, appreciate it,” Richter boasted before sitting between you and Alucard unceremoniously.

Annette sat by your right side, handing you a croissant and frowning at him. “He fought an elder man to buy it. It wasn’t very gentleman-ly of you.”

“What? He skipped the queue! I was right. Besides, we need it more than he does,” Richter defended himself with a pout.

The other two kept humorously arguing, but you weren’t really listening to them, trying to calm your heart instead.

You looked at Alucard with the corner of your eye.

For the first time ever since you met, he averted his gaze from you… and it made another question mark pop in your head; this question mark, however, wasn’t as dark as the others.

...Could it be that Alucard felt the spell, too?

A/N: someone sent me an ask on tumblr that put a question mark in my head. They weren't sure if the fic was a self-insert or if Ruby was a separate character from "reader". If anybody else is confused, yess, this is a self-insert, I am calling you RUBY and this will be your new LEGAL NAME from now on, don't argue with me. (jokes aside - I thought this was pretty clear :( hope no one else is confused, and I hope that this detail doesn't make the fic unreadable to you!) As usual, feedback is MUCH MUCH MUCHHH APPRECIATED!!!! This girl put out 4 chapters, 20k words in like ten days. cough cough I do feel like I deserve it 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ 💞💞💞

[sirfrogsworth]

I'm still getting comments from people saying they've never seen Mr. Rogers.

It's clear this is my mistake. I really thought I made it clear I was just using that as an example. People are exposed to miniature photography all the time. Mr. Rogers was just a very strong memory for a lot of folks and I was trying to use that to gain interest. But after so many comments of that nature it seems I failed to convey that.

People also question the psychological aspect. I was really hoping to do an in depth explaination of the psychology of perception as an addition to this post. But shortly after I started feeling horrible and I never got around to it.

But there is one fun fact I found that I was really excited to share.

It is theorized that up to 90% of our visual perception is created by our brain based on past experiences.

Up to 90% of what you are currently looking at is your brain using old information to help you make sense of the immense visual input.

It is constantly making shit up and it makes me wonder if ghosts and UFOs and strange phenomenon are often caused by this.

You can look up Richard Gregory's "visual assumption theory" if you want to go down a rabbit hole.

There is also top-down vs bottom-up processing which is really fascinating too.

Top-down is stuff you've already experienced. It helps you read faster. You can see words instead of individual letters. Y_u ca_ ev_n re_d when letters are missing. Sometimes you will not notice misstakes or or duplicate words. Your brain can actually correct them as you read if you are not actively searching for them.

Bottom-up processing is new stimuli. Your brain has to figure out what it is looking at from scratch. I remember just a few weeks ago I saw a photo showing a perspective I have never encountered before.

At first, my brain literally didn't know what I was looking at.

I was confused and disturbed and I was just trying to interpret all the shapes and features to parse what I was seeing. And finally my brain noticed the hooves and teeth and then magically I saw a horse. And now when I look at the photo I can't not see a horse.

Basically everything we've experienced (or not experienced) influences our present perception. There is too much stimuli in the world for our brains to compute so it fills in a lot of blanks as we go.

People wondered if you hadn't seen Mr. Rogers (or the countless other examples of miniatures), would you still see tilt-shit photos as a miniature. And I'm not really sure. That would be difficult to prove. Once you've seen a stop motion movie or a toy advertisement, your brain already has stimuli to work from. It's going to use it if it has it in the data banks.

I think it would be a matter of intensity. I noticed that some folks mentioned certain tilt-shift photos did not give them a strong feeling of being miniature. Whereas I had a very strong sense of that for every photo. Probably because I have studied this a great deal and have absorbed countless examples.

So I would say you *might* still get a sense things are miniature without any previous experiences. There are other factors in tilt-shift photos that contribute to the effect. But once you have those experiences, they are going to inform and intensify your perception from then on.

The short answer is... a tilt-shift lens.

The slightly more complicated answer is... Mister Rogers.

Depth of field is the area in front and behind your chosen focus point that remains in focus and then slowly gets blurry as you get farther away.

Shallow depth of field only has a narrow slice of the image in focus and gets blurry super quick. This is caused by a large lens aperture and being close to the subject.

Deep depth of field can extend through the entire picture if your aperture is small and you are super far away.

Usually the depth of field lines up with the image sensor of your camera. So if it is tilted forward, the plane of focus matches.

The stuff outside the green area would be blurry. The edges of the green would be slightly blurry. And the dashed green line would be the sharpest area of the photo.

But the tilt-shift lens allows you to create chaos with your plane of focus. In most cases, you would use this to flatten the depth of field so you can get a 2D plane entirely in focus.

If you were to use a normal lens, the bottom left and top right would be blurry.

But with a tilt-shift lens you can do this.

The green area is taking a little nap on the floor.

However, there is an unintended side effect created by this lens. (The "Scheimpflug intersection" if you want to go down the rabbit hole.) You can choose absolutely wacky planes of focus that create a very narrow depth of field over a geographically large area.

Believe it or not, this is when psychology comes into play.

And possibly Mister Rogers.

Our only reference for such a large area having a shallow depth of field is our memories of miniatures on TV. So Mister Rogers and Thomas the Tank Engine trained our brains to see this effect as... small.

Depth of field shrinks the closer you are to something. And when filming miniatures, you are placing the lens close to the scene. But the scene represents something big in our minds. We buy the effect, but not 100%. That blurriness wouldn't be there at a regular scale. So our subconscious remembers we are watching small things pretending to be big. It just files that away in the back of our mind.

And then when we see something like this...

Our brain is all, "Look at all that tiny shit!"

Without Mister Rogers, our brains may have never made these connections and tilt-shift photography may just make us wonder why everything is all blurry. That connection to past experience is vital for this effect to be convincing.

Brains are neat.

[lovelymindescape]

Break You, Keep You

pairing — nam gyu x fem!reader

Summary - Namgyu’s rough flirtation with you turns into something deeper when you find yourself in his apartment after a night out. What starts as playful teasing quickly escalates into intense physicality, but when Namgyu’s roughness pushes you past your limits, he realizes his mistake.

warnings - 18+ Content MDNI - Explicit sexual content, including degradation, rough sex, and physical hurt/comfort. - Themes of dominance and submission, with a shift from rough to soft aftercare. - Contains elements of possessiveness and emotional vulnerability. - Explicit language.

author’s note — ignore typos , English is not my first language, this was inspired by a post from @amoristt and a reblog from @namsgyu

The club was buzzing, neon lights flashing in rhythmic bursts as bodies moved to the heavy bass. The air was thick with sweat, alcohol, and something dangerously intoxicating. Namgyu leaned against the bar, one arm resting on the counter as he nursed his drink, eyes locked onto you with a smirk.

"You know, babe," he drawled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "you don’t have to keep pretending you’re not staring." You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you took another sip of your own drink. "And you don’t have to keep pretending you’re not an arrogant asshole."

His smirk widened.

"I don’t pretend, sweetheart. I own it."

There it was—this constant back-and-forth, the unspoken tension that crackled between you like a live wire. This wasn’t new. This was your dynamic—flirty, biting, electric. You and Namgyu had always danced on the edge of something dangerous, something that threatened to consume you whole.

And tonight, you were teetering dangerously close to the fall. "You gonna keep playing hard to get," he murmured, stepping closer, "or are you finally gonna admit you want me?" You raised a brow, tilting your head. "Want you?" You let the words hang between you, savoring the way his eyes darkened. "I think you’re confusing me with one of those desperate girls who throw themselves at you."

He chuckled, low and dark. "Babe," he murmured, brushing his fingers against your wrist, "you’re not desperate, but you’re predictable." "Excuse me?" Namgyu leaned in, lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear. "Because you always end up in my bed." Your breath hitched, and his smirk deepened. Bastard. But he wasn’t wrong.

His hands were on you the second you stepped inside his apartment. "You act so fucking cocky," he murmured against your lips, pushing you against the door. "Like you don’t know you’re mine." You smirked, tilting your chin defiantly. "And you act like you’re not obsessed with me." His grip tightened. "Sweetheart, I don’t act." Then his mouth crashed against yours, and the teasing turned into something darker.

Namgyu wasn’t soft. He was all teeth and tongue, all rough hands and impatient touches. His fingers gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him as he backed you toward the bedroom.

"You wanna be fucked like a slut, don’t you?"

he murmured, his teeth scraping against your jaw. Your stomach clenched.

"Say it."

You swallowed hard, pulse racing. "I—" His hand suddenly wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who was in control.

"Say it, babe."

His voice was a low growl now, all amusement gone.

"I want it,"

you finally admitted, breathless. A dark chuckle. "That’s what I thought." Then he pushed you onto the bed, eyes gleaming with something wicked. Namgyu took his time, but not in a gentle way. He kissed his way down your body, but every touch was laced with dominance. His fingers ghosted over your thighs before gripping them hard enough to leave bruises.

"Look at you," he murmured, running a single finger up your inner thigh. "Already soaked, and I haven’t even touched you properly." You whimpered, hips shifting slightly.

He chuckled, dragging his finger through your slick folds before pulling away completely.

"Pathetic."

You glared at him, but he just smirked.

"Say it, babe,"

he murmured, dragging his thumb over your swollen clit in slow, teasing circles.

"Say you’re a desperate little slut for me."

Your pride battled with your arousal. Then he suddenly pulled away again, sitting back like he had all the time in the world.

"Namgyu—"

"Say it."

You clenched your jaw. "I’m—"

His fingers brushed your entrance, just barely. "I’m a desperate slut for you," you finally breathed. His smirk returned. "Good girl."

Then, without warning, he thrust two fingers inside you. You gasped, back arching as he set a brutal pace, his fingers curling just right. His free hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "See how easy that was?" he murmured.

"All that attitude, and now you’re just a little mess for me."

You could barely focus on his words, pleasure clouding your mind.

Then—

Pain.

His grip on your thigh suddenly hurt —too much.

His thrusts turned almost punishing. "Namgyu—" you gasped, a twinge of discomfort cutting through the pleasure. "Stop please". Everything just felt to much in that moment , every little thing.

The grip he had on you , his mean words , which you could barely make out tho.He didn’t notice at first. He just let a few more terms of degradation escape. They hurt. You were stressed , you felt pain and you couldn’t handle how he was talking down to you , it was to much , to hard and to mean.

You started to cry and beg him to stop. He let something along the lines of

"Oh , is it to much for the poor whore to handle" ,

slips past his lips ,his tone mocking. He was lost in his own dominance, in the way you swallowed, and suddenly he was very aware of how this isn’t about pleasure anymore.

You swallowed again.

Until—

A sharp intake of breath. A wince.

His hands stilled.

He immediately pulled back, eyes scanning your face. "Fuck," he muttered, his expression shifting. "Did I hurt you?"

You didn’t answer right away, still caught between arousal and the sudden change in atmosphere.Namgyu cursed under his breath.

"I—shit, I didn’t mean to."

There was a long pause before you heard him speak again.

"Baby, I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to... I wanted to make you feel good, but I crossed a line."

You finally looked at him. His eyes were wide, filled with regret, and his voice was shaky. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought... I thought you were just feeling to much pleasure. I should have listened when you asked me to stop."

You felt a knot in your chest loosen, but the sting of the violation still lingered.

"I...I....I don’t want you to ignore what I say, Nam-gyu." , you sniffled , still crying.

"I need to know that when I say please stop, y...yo..you’ll respect it. No matter what." "I know," he said softly, dropping down next to her, his hand hovering over hers but not quite touching. "I should’ve listened to you. I’m sorry I made you feel like your voice didn’t matter."

You took a slow breath. It wasn’t easy, but you could see the sincerity in his eyes. "I just want us to be on the same page. I don’t want to feel like I’m being pressured or pushed. I want to feel safe with you, emotionally and physically."

Nam-gyu nodded, his voice breaking slightly. "I understand. And I’ll work on it. I’ll make sure to listen next time. I don’t want to hurt you, Baby. I’ll do better."

Your heart softened as you reached for his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. There was still some little distance between you—emotionally and physically—but in that moment, you felt heard, seen.

"Do you still want to continue this" , he asked already prepared to go into Aftercare-mode.

"Yes I still want to , but could we go a little softer this time ,maybe ? ",

you look at him with your soft glazing eyes, tears still being held at the brim , he nods "Of course".

Next time," he murmured between kisses, "tell me if I go too far." You nodded, fingers threading through his hair.

"You’re mine," he murmured, voice rough with something deeper than lust.

Gone was the degradation.

The roughness.

Now, Namgyu moved like he was trying to make up for every bruise, every sharp word. His kisses were softer, his hands gentler. His touch, once demanding, now lingered with something almost reverent. As he got to the end of the bed , he slid off his remaining clothes.

"Tell me what you need," he whispered, crawling over your body again which ends with his lips brushing against your temple.

"You," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

A sharp exhale.

Then, his lips found yours again, slow and lingering, as he pushed into you slowly and with aching tenderness.He didn’t tease. Didn’t taunt. Just held you close, like he was afraid to let go.

His hips rolled into yours in slow, deliberate movements, each thrust sinking him deeper, pressing your bodies flush together.

There was no urgency, no teasing—just warmth, just him, filling you and holding you like you were something fragile, something precious.

His forehead rested against yours, breath mingling with yours, his lips brushing soft, wordless reassurances against your skin. A shiver ran through you as he reached between your bodies, fingers finding the bundle of nerves that made you tremble.

He worked you open with the same careful reverence, his touch gentle but sure, guiding you toward the edge. Your fingers curled into his back, nails ghosting over his skin as the pleasure built, slow and deep.

“Let go for me,” he whispered, his voice rough with restraint.

And you did.

A quiet moan slipped from your lips as pleasure overtook you, your body tightening around him. He groaned against your neck, his movements stuttering before he followed, hips pressing deep as he spilled into you, his breath heavy against your shoulder.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, tangled in the warmth of each other, in the steady thrum of your heartbeats slowing in tandem. Then, he shifted, carefully pulling out and pressing a lingering kiss to your collarbone before disappearing briefly.

He returned with a damp cloth, cleaning you up with gentle hands, his touch soothing.

“You okay again ?”

His voice was soft, searching. You nodded, eyes fluttering open to find him watching you with something tender, something almost hesitant. He settled beside you, tucking you against his chest, fingers trailing along your arm absentmindedly.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, he spoke again, voice careful.

“I… I don’t ever want to push you too far again , I'm really sorry.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, lifting your head to look at him.

He exhaled, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin. “Sometimes I get caught up in it. I don’t want to hurt you again.”Your chest ached at the sincerity in his tone. You reached up, cupping his face, your thumb brushing along his jaw.

“We can use a safe word,” you offered.

“Something that lets you know when I need you to slow down or stop.” His lips pressed together, considering. Then, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” A small smile tugged at your lips.

“Okay. Something easy to remember?”His expression softened, and after a beat, he chuckled.

“Pineapple?”

You huffed a quiet laugh.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s the point.” He grinned, brushing a kiss to your forehead.

“That way, I know for sure you’re not saying it by accident.”

You shook your head, amused, but warmth settled in your chest.

“Alright. Pineapple.”

His arms tightened around you, lips ghosting over your temple. “I love you, you know."

Your breath hitched, your heart stumbling over itself, but when you looked at him, his gaze was steady. “I love you too.” His smile was soft, a little relieved, and as he pulled you impossibly closer, you knew —this was safe. This was home.

[lynnieverse]

going going gone // rafe cameron

oneshot

ex!rafe cameron x reader

synopsis: you and rafe broke up a little over a month ago, and you're just now seeing him for the first time since...in a bar. once you talk, you realize you might have made a mistake.

1k words

From the first line you know it’s him. The deep, intoxicating voice you’d heard every car ride together filtered out of the bar’s speakers loudly. You whip your head around, immediately locking eyes with Rafe on stage. He’s in jeans and a t-shirt, but he looks good. Too good.

People are talking and laughing animatedly around you, but it all fades to the background as you hear what song he’s decided to sing.

“Like a runaway southbound train, like an Arizona desert rain, like lightning in the sky, like fireworks in July…”

Your heart drops at the realization, mouth parting slightly. His blue eyes penetrate yours with an intensity you almost can’t handle. You watch him pull the microphone from the stand and move around on stage, but he never stops looking at you.

You remember when he first played you this song, saying it was one of his favorites. You never understood why, but you could never hear it without crying.

You didn’t think going out to a karaoke bar with your girlfriends would end up like this. You haven’t seen him since the breakup, and you didn’t really want to. Things hadn’t ended the best, everything was left pretty open-ended.

“It’s like she was made for moving on, that girl is going going gone…”

Tears prick your eyes. Is that what he thought? You’re the first to admit you’re bad at relationships. You get scared easily. But putting the blame solely on you was just wrong. You felt him pulling away. You know you did. So why was this hitting so hard?

“Lovin’ her’s like roping in the wind…” he sang, voice cracking slightly.

You can see in his eyes he was trying to tell you something. You’re frozen, drink in hand, ignoring your friends' questions around you. This man…this man. He still has a hold on you. You’re entranced as he sings, words coming out of his mouth and stabbing you in the heart.

Rafe finishes his song, discreetly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and quickly leaves the stage. You immediately panic, trying not to lose him in the crowd.

“I’ll be back, I have to–” you don’t finish your sentence to your friend––Kiara––not even glancing back.

“What? Y/N!” she calls after you as you start pushing your way through the crowd. You ignore her, her voice blending into the rest the farther you get. You absentmindedly drop your cup, sticky liquid splashing on your ankles.

When you finally reach the back of the bar, you spot him. He’s sitting on a barstool, whiskey in hand, head hanging low.

“Rafe,” you say softly as you approach, making him jump.

“Y/N…what’re you doing here?” He sounds exhausted, eyes rimmed with red, and he can barely look at you.

“I…I honestly don’t know. I just–I felt like I needed to talk to you after that.” Rafe sighed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before downing it in one gulp.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N? You hurt me.”

You scrunch your eyebrows, crossing your arms over your chest. “I hurt you? Are you serious? You could hardly stand to be in the room with me towards the end. You were sneaking around, hiding your phone, and barely speaking to me! What was I supposed to think, Rafe? I couldn’t–” You run a hand through your hair.

“That’s what this about? Oh my God.” Rafe laughs in disbelief. Without warning he pushes the barstool out and stands up, gripping her arm gently and dragging her out of the bar.

“Hey! What’re you–Rafe!” You struggle against his hold, curious eyes watching you both but not bothering to help. As you’re pulled into the chilly night air, you wrench out of his grasp. “What is wrong with you?”

Rafe tugs on his hair in frustration. “Y/N. I was trying to surprise you for your birthday, but it killed me to lie to you! I wasn’t pulling away or cheating or whatever you thought!” Your mouth parts slightly, all the air leaving your lungs. The world stops as you stare at him. What?

“What’re you–what are you talking about?” That couldn’t be true…could it?

“I should’ve just told you–God I cannot believe that this was the problem!” Rafe throws his hands in the air.

“I thought you were tired of me!”

“So you just left? I thought you didn’t love me anymore! I thought you couldn’t handle me just like everyone else,” his voice broke. You immediately feel terrible. You had just packed your stuff and left a note…you didn’t even hear him out.

You are such an asshole.

“I’m so sorry, Rafe, I had no idea.” His eyes blazed. You’d never seen him look so angry. He slowly stalks towards you, only stopping when your chests are touching. The heat radiating off of him helps against the bit of the winter wind. You look up at him as a tear trails down your cheek. His hand reaches up, wiping your cheek, before moving slightly to caress the back of your head. His breath fans against your cheeks, eyes glassy as he stares down at you.

“Don’t ever leave me again. Not without talking to me first.” Then, his lips were on yours. Your body immediately reacted, shifting impossibly closer to him. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, needing more.

After an eternity you break apart, breathless. Lipstick is smudged on the corner of Rafe’s upturned lips, and you wipe it away fondly. For the first time in weeks you could breathe again. You’d almost forgotten how much comfort he brought you.

He didn’t look mad anymore, but a deeper conversation was definitely needed. But for now, you were just content with having the love of your life back.

And this time, you aren’t going anywhere.

[hrtwayne]

My Kink is Karma || Alexia Putellas [Part One]

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Physiotherapist!Reader

Summary: Where Y/n is hired as the new Physiotherapist for Barcelona Women's Team after a recent complicated breakup with one of the stars of English football.

Note: English is not my first language!

Warning: None!

Next Chapter | Women's Football Masterlist

Y/n Henry adjusted her sunglasses as she walked through the streets of the Northern Quarter, her favorite refuge in Manchester. Despite the overwhelming success she had achieved over the past two years with her skills in physiotherapy, working with the Arsenal women's team and the French national team, she always found a way to return to this place, with its record stores and the cafés of the neighborhood where she grew up.

Manchester wasn't just her hometown; it was the essence of who she was. Her way of thinking, her sporting spirit inherited from her father—a player so well-known by the Gunners' fans, Thierry Henry—and the influence of her mothers in aspects that didn't involve a football or late-night study sessions to find ways to help some player.

It was almost impossible to ignore the influences in her life, growing up in a home divided by two footballing passions. Her father, a football star who had marked an entire generation of Arsenal fans, always took every opportunity to remind her of her roots. On the other hand, her mother, a loyal Barcelona supporter, made sure to balance the man's fanatical narrative.

That morning, Y/n decided to start her day at a cozy café, Fig + Sparrow, a place she had loved since her teenage years. She ordered her usual flat white and sat at a table near the window, watching the flow of people walking down the streets. Some were in a hurry, others glued to their phones, and a few chatting idly. As Y/n finished up some last-minute work for the semester, she tried to forget everything that was happening in her life: a recent breakup with one of English football's stars, her possible departure from Arsenal, and her new contract with a Spanish team.

The Northern Quarter had always been a haven of creativity and calm for her, and even now, at the peak of her career, she returned to those bustling streets when she needed to unwind.

After her coffee, Y/n headed to Afflecks, the paradise of alternative shops, where she used to spend her teenage allowance buying books and vinyl records with her younger brother, Harry. As she walked with her phone in hand to let the blond player know she was near the store, Y/n started a small list of things to buy by the end of the day.

"I thought you'd never stop giving autographs," Y/n joked, hearing the man's chuckle.

Harry, who was leaning on a counter, looking at some vinyl records, turned his attention to his sister.

"Hmm, did Charlotte call you?"

"The last time she called me, she was in Los Angeles filming that series," Y/n replied, picking up The Smiths' album. "Did something happen?"

"You know, the same old story. The idiot ex-boyfriend she always ends up going back to," Harry said, grabbing the blue-covered album, which Y/n recognized as Taylor Swift's "1989."

Y/n rolled her eyes at Charlotte's excessive stubbornness.

"So, she called you to say she got back with him?"

Harry placed the vinyl in the basket along with The Smiths' album.

"She called saying they were going to film a 'romantic' scene together, and then they ended up drunk in the trailer," Harry explained, seeing the bored expression on his older sister's face. "Dad's going to kill her when he finds out."

"And you know he'll blame some of it on us, right? Charlotte's an adult, H. If she made a mistake like that, she should face the consequences," Y/n cut the conversation short, noticing how Harry sighed wearily. "You need to stop worrying about other people's problems and focus on yourself, dude. You have an important game in a few days."

Harry seemed to relax his posture gradually, nodding as he followed his sister to fill the basket with vinyl records and old discs.

That same day, around 8:40 PM, Y/n stepped out of the bathroom wearing an oversized Arsenal shirt, her hair still wet and a somewhat tired look on her face. The messy room in her Manchester apartment was filled with books and reports about some players.

That place was truly the perfect mix of her chaotic personality. Y/n sat on her bed, arranging the scattered papers to try to organize the post-apocalyptic zone.

The sound of her phone ringing broke the deep train of thought Y/n was in. The French physiotherapist sighed, putting the paperwork aside to answer the phone. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

"Hello?" Y/n said, her voice still tired.

"Hey, Y/n. Did I wake you?" A firm voice with a slightly funny accent asked.

"No, I just got back from a walk with Harry," Y/n replied, recognizing the voice as Aitana's. "Did something happen?"

"I heard about your breakup with the English player, and I wanted to know if you're okay," Aitana began, in a tone that Y/n immediately recognized as genuine concern. "Last time you said things weren't going so well between you two."

Y/n hesitated, taking a generous sip of the tea that warmed her throat. She knew she couldn't hide anything from the player.

"Maybe breaking up was the healthier solution, A. It wasn't exactly news that things weren't good between us," Y/n paused. "You know, I couldn't run away from it forever."

Aitana seemed to hesitate, and the call fell silent for a few seconds.

"And are you going to stay on the same team as her?" she finally asked, in an almost maternal tone.

"Well... I've received a few offers from some teams. Nothing too different from what I do here at Arsenal, but it might be a chance to try something new. My contract is up now, so I can sign a pre-contract with any team that's not an English rival."

"Don't tell me there's an offer from Barcelona in the mix," Aitana said, hearing the physiotherapist's chuckle.

"Well, you guessed it," Y/n said, in a fake tone of annoyance. "Next week I'll land in the city to sign the contract and start working."

"I can finally rub it in the English girls' faces that I have you on my team," the woman celebrated, making Y/n laugh. "Now I'll let you think about what you're going to tell your dad."

"Don't even remind me, he's going to be furious. But at least it's not Chelsea or Manchester," Y/n joked, hearing the midfielder laugh.

[cuntwrap--supreme]

I took English 2 my first semester in college because I got a decent enough AP score to get out of English 1. We had to write a paper in which we analyzed some short story (can't remember what) and give our thoughts on it. Writing is my strong suit. I love it. It's fun. So I was shocked when I got the paper back and it was a 0%, with big red lettering on the top declaring I'd completely missed the point and shame on me, etc. So I'm livid, obviously, because no I didn't. And I'm sitting in a car shop for hours "correcting" my mistakes before I go, "You know what? I'm not doing this. I refuse to let this woman say I interpreted something the wrong way when it's open fucking ended and ambiguous on purpose!" So every place she'd said something like "syntax error" (when nothing was wrong), I'd mark out and write "no it isn't, you dumb bitch, read it again." Any time she wrote some condescending bullshit about "that's not what was being said here," I'd write the whole paragraph out and then, "how is what I said incorrect????" Very last page was relatively blank, so I wrote down something like, "You clearly didn't even read what I wrote and gave me a 0 for no reason. I don't know what I did to you to deserve this, but this essay would get an A- at best in literally any other class. I refuse to receive a 0 on this assignment, you stupid fucking bitch. Fuck you." "Fuck you" was written massively, for emphasis. This was my final, btw, and worth 50% of my grade. I already had a meeting with a counselor over it because I was not going down without a fight. The next day, I came in, slapped it on her desk, and left. I got a notification my grade had been adjusted that night. Updated to a 100%. This is when I learned that I don't have to just take shit. That fighting people when they're clearly wrong is worth it. I should have kicked her in the stomach, 300 style, too.

when i was a kid i got a 90% on my kindergarten "what are your favorite things?" test because for the question "what is your favorite animal?" i wrote down "puma" and it got marked wrong because my teacher said a puma isnt even an animal its a kind of shoe

[monstersholygrail]

FREE USE CITY COLLEGE ????? Are you telling me there's a university there ???? 👁👁

Oh, to be a transfer student at FUCC 😫😫😫

Pfffff, I keep forgetting there’s lore I haven’t told you guys yet. I also keep forgetting there’s FUC drafts that I have to post but haven’t yet lol. But yes!! There’s a Free Use City College also known as FUCC. If there was a K word for college id use it! But alas. Anyway, it’s a whole thing and the city worked very hard to get the state to allow a college in their city.

If I’m being totally honest, I kinda went insane in this ask and wrote out a whole fic at the idea of a transfer student at FUCC. But I sorta fell in love with it and I’m making it into its own post. I’ll be posting it tomorrow so be on the lookout!

But I seriously love the idea of a transfer student going to FUCC. Not fully knowing that it’s a Free Use College and a Free Use City all together. They just have some reason to go there. Like maybe the program they’re interested in is better there. Or even just the price because FUCC is one of the most best and cheapest schools in the country.

The idea of a college student knowing full well what kind of city and college it is and FUCC still being their first choice is also an absolutely delicious thought.

Make no mistake though!!! While FUCC does have excellent and sophisticated programs, is one of the top schools below the ivy’s, and is one of the cheapest in the country… it is also extremely hard to get into. Their acceptance rate is medium/low and they’re even more picky about who they give scholarships to.

While a big part of it relies on your resume and grades, it also relies heavily on the kinda person you are. Because the city also doesn’t just allow anyone to enter. It’s part of what keeps the peace. And with a combination of those things, it’s not easy to get in.

But once you do get in it is soooo beyond worth it.

[solaceseven]

crawling back to you

pairing: sukuna x reader

genre: angst

inspired by the song do i wanna know? live at bbc by hozier

it’s been three months.

three months since the door slammed shut behind you, leaving nothing but silence in your wake. three months since you walked away, and sukuna didn’t chase after you—not that night, not the morning after, not the weeks that followed. he told himself it was for the best. that this was what you wanted.

but now, as he sits alone in his dimly lit apartment, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like a vice, he wonders if he made the biggest mistake of his life.

the buzzing of his tattoo machine is the only thing that keeps him sane most days. his clients come and go, faces he barely registers as he inks intricate designs onto their skin. it’s the only time his mind goes quiet—when his hands are busy, the hum of the machine drowning out the thoughts he doesn’t want to face.

but the second the machine powers down, reality creeps back in. and reality is cruel.

because no matter how hard he tries, you’re everywhere.

he sees you in the smallest things—things that shouldn’t remind him of you, but somehow always do. In the flicker of a neon sign outside the shop that hums the same soft glow as the fairy lights you used to hang in your room. in the faint scent of vanilla and jasmine that lingers when someone walks past him on the street, never quite matching the way it clung to your skin. in the half-empty coffee cup sitting on the counter, lipstick smudged at the rim, and he’s reminded of lazy mornings when you’d steal sips from his mug, laughing when he grumbled but never really minded.

you’re in the song that plays softly from the radio while he works—one he never paid attention to before but now knows every word to because it was always on your playlists. in the chipped black nail polish on his coworker’s hands, a fleeting reminder of the countless nights you sat cross-legged on his couch, painting your nails and teasing him for being too still as he let you paint his, too.

but worst of all, he sees you in his reflection—tired eyes that have lost their edge, the weight of regret carving its place in the lines of his face. in the faint traces of your touch that still linger like phantom sensations along the tattoos you used to trace absentmindedly with your fingers, as if memorizing every inch of him.

and when his coworkers scroll through their phones, laughter echoing through the shop, there you are again—captured in a fleeting Instagram story from some party last weekend. grainy, imperfect, but unmistakably you. smiling, carefree, eyes crinkling in that way that always made something in his chest tighten. and god, how he hates the way it guts him, wishing—aching—that he was still the reason for that smile.

you unfollowed him. he noticed immediately.

one day, your name was gone from his notifications, your profile nowhere to be found. he tried not to care. tried to convince himself that it was just social media. but it gnawed at him. you were cutting him out piece by piece, and all he could do was watch it happen.

he lurks in the shadows, hoping one of your friends posts something—anything—that gives him a glimpse of you. It’s pathetic, he knows, but it’s the only thing he has left.

there’s a bitter irony in it all. he was the one who pushed you away first. always keeping you at arm’s length, never letting you in too close. you wanted more—deserved more—but he couldn’t give it to you. not when vulnerability felt like a weakness he couldn’t afford.

and now? now, he craves your presence like a man starved.

the shop is quieter than usual tonight. it’s late, and everyone else has left. sukuna leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of traffic outside barely audible through the thick walls. the glow from his phone screen flickers beside him, but he doesn’t touch it.

not yet.

he’s been doing this every night. sitting here, contemplating. the urge to reach out is unbearable, but something always stops him. pride, maybe. or fear.

fear that you’ve moved on. that you don’t want to hear from him. that he’s too late.

his chest tightens at the thought.

he tried to fill the void, but nothing ever worked.

not the long hours at the tattoo shop, where he threw himself into his work until his fingers ached and his mind blurred. not the mindless scrolling through social media, hoping—not that he’d ever admit it—that he might catch a glimpse of you. not the empty nights spent lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for exhaustion to drag him under.

nothing could distract him from the ache of missing you.

his friends tell him it’s time to move on. they say three months is long enough to let someone go. that there are plenty of people out there. but what do they know? they didn’t spend endless nights memorizing the shape of your smile, or the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, like he was the only person in the world. they didn’t hear the quiet affection in your voice when you whispered his name in the dead of night, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the tattoos on his chest like you were trying to commit every line to memory.

his friends didn’t feel the weight of your absence like he did—the way it settled deep in his bones, heavy and inescapable. they didn’t know how every morning, he still reached for you instinctively, only to be met with the cold, empty space beside him. how even now, he still slept on his side of the bed, as if leaving room for you just in case.

how could he fall for someone new when he was still so busy being yours?

they didn’t see how badly he broke you when he shut you out.

the memory of your last fight is still fresh, even after all this time. you stood in the doorway, tears brimming in your eyes, asking him—begging him—to just let you in. to tell you what he wanted. and all he gave you was silence.

he thought you’d stay. you always had before. but that night, you walked away. and now, the silence is all he has left.

his fingers twitch toward his phone, but he stops himself. what’s the point? you deserve better than a half-assed apology three months too late.

but then he thinks about the what-ifs. what if you’re waiting for him to reach out? what if you’re lying in bed right now, staring at your phone, wondering why he never called?

he can’t take it anymore.

the weight of missing you presses down on his chest, suffocating and relentless, until it pushes him off his chair and out the door before he can even think twice. it’s reckless, stupid—but so is love, isn’t it?

the streets are quiet at this hour, the hum of the city softened under the cloak of night. his hands are shoved deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold, but none of it matters. all he can focus on is you. the thought of you, maybe asleep, maybe curled up in bed with your phone just out of reach. maybe dreaming of something—someone—that isn’t him.

the thought twists like a knife in his gut.

he walks with purpose, even though every step is a silent war between hope and dread. what if you don’t open the door? what if you tell him to leave? what if someone else is there?

he shakes the thought away.

it’s been three months, but it feels like no time has passed at all. and yet, it feels like forever.

before he knows it, he’s standing outside your apartment building, staring up at your window. the soft glow of light seeps through the curtains, and he wonders if you’re still awake or if you’ve just fallen asleep with the lamp on, the way you used to when reading late into the night.

his heart pounds so loudly he’s sure it’ll wake the whole block, but still, he climbs the stairs. each step echoes in the silence, a quiet reminder that there’s still time to turn back. but he doesn’t. he can’t.

and suddenly, he’s there. in front of your door. it’s familiar and foreign all at once.

he doesn’t have a plan. he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say. all he knows is that the thought of another night without you is unbearable.

he raises his hand to knock but hesitates. his breath is shallow, his pulse erratic.

but then, before he can stop himself, his knuckles rap gently against the door.

seconds pass. each one heavier than the last.

then, the faint sound of footsteps. the quiet click of the lock.

the door opens, and there you are.

soft, bleary-eyed, wrapped in a blanket, and so heartbreakingly familiar that it steals the breath from his lungs.

“sukuna?” your voice is quiet, confused, and laced with something that might be disbelief.

he swallows hard, the weight of the past three months pressing down on him all at once. “i know it’s late,” he says, voice rough and barely above a whisper. “i know i shouldn’t be here. but… i couldn’t stay away.”

you blink at him, and for a moment, there’s only silence. then, softly, “why now?”

his throat tightens, and he runs a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. “because i’m tired,” he says, voice cracking under the weight of everything he’s held back. “tired of trying to forget you. tired of pretending i’m okay. i’ve tried. god, i’ve tried. but i can’t. i miss you.”

his voice cracks at the end, and he hates how raw he sounds. how vulnerable. but it’s the truth. And right now, that’s all he has left to offer.

he sees the flicker of emotion in your eyes—the conflict, the hurt, the love you’ve tried to bury—and it guts him.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, voice thick with regret. “i’m sorry for not being enough. for not being what you deserved. i know I fucked up. i know i wasn’t always what you needed me to be.”

his hands tremble as he clenches them into fists at his sides. “but i swear… i’ll do better. i will. i promise you.”

his voice is raw now, barely more than a whisper. “just… tell me it’s not too late.”

you stare at him, eyes glossy, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something softer. and then, finally, you step back just enough to let him in.

and for the first time in three months, sukuna breathes.